Wednesday, January 2, 2013
Rules Of Procedure
Hey there, crime kids. Happy Wednesday. It's time once again to take a trip to the dark side, where your most violent fantasies become sins of the flesh, right here, where the hardboiled action is non-stop, at the coolest crime joint in cyberspace ... at That Killing Feeling.
In Chapter 5 of NOWHERE GIRL, Homeland Security agent April Street gets into an argument with black ops head spook Sledge Crafton which reveals a stunning surprise about how she got her job. Meanwhile, fugitive stripper Cherry Nation holes up at hipster Peeler Mardo's Silverlake joint so she can plot her next move ...
INT. TAXI CAB - MOVING - NIGHT
April drives down city streets.
Talks into her hands-free.
I TOLD you.
Someone got there before I did.
INT. INTELLIGENCE OFFICE - CONTINUOUS
SLEDGE CRAFTON (50), beefy ex-Marine,
now gone to seed, leans toward
the speakerphone on his desk.
Strokes the ugly scar
that crisscrosses his face.
You really fucked this up, Street.
Hey! The traffic was FUCKED on the 405.
And I was ON TIME. The fucker was EARLY,
and he gave the package to SOMEONE ELSE.
We did it one time.
It was a mistake.
I was grieving --
Didn’t you ever wonder why
I took you on?
(BANGS on the desk)
A fucking STUNT WOMAN
with no experience?
But you said I --
I fucking said what you wanted to hear.
I wanted to get in your pants from day one.
And against all odds, I molded you
into one of our top operatives.
For your information, BOSS,
I’m right now approaching the house
of the person who has the package.
I WAS calling in for back up.
But never mind.
I’ll handle it myself.
You can go FUCK
your rules of procedure.
Now THAT’S the feisty lass
I groomed for greatness.
You get that case,
AND make the delivery,
I MIGHT JUST consider keeping you on.
PUSH IN ON April.
Wow. Does that mean I can
still come to the company picnic?
EXT. SILVERLAKE STREET - BUNGALOW - NIGHT
A decrepit pre-war bungalow on a street
with similar small houses.
Classic cars and bicycles
dot the landscape.
Peeler opens the front door,
ushers Cherry in.
It’s not much,
but I call it hovel.
INT. MARDO’S JOINT - CONTINUOUS
Classic hipster combination of Ikea,
found threadbare furniture.
Ironic art. Plants. Pizza boxes.
Giant plasma screen, though.
And a decent stereo.
Cherry walks around. Inspecting.
Not bad for a guy.
(stops, looks at him)
I’m not fucking you, you know.
I wasn’t -- thinking you --
You want me to fix you a chai latte?
Gag me. You got a beer?
Peeler wanders into the kitchen.
Cherry goes to the couch. Plops down.
Puts the briefcase next to her.
Pulls out the envelope.
RIPS it open.
Pulls out the instructions. Reads.
Peeler comes in with
two large bottles of beer.
(hands one to her)
Here you go --
(takes it, looks)
What the hell kinda beer IS this?
Flat tire. Microbrew.
I bet you listen to a lot of Beck.
(holds up the piece of paper)
We gotta take the briefcase to this address.
But I don’t where it is.
Let me see.
She hands it over.
Peeler reads it.
Where is it?
That’s in the Hollywood hills.
A FIGURE IN BLACK appears in the window.
Will you go with me?
I don’t -- have a car.
It’s in the shop.
MALE VOICE (O.C.)
That’s okay. I do.
Walks into the room.
Holding a sawed-off shotgun.
You should lock your front door.
Open invitation for dangerous criminals --