Wednesday, July 24, 2013
Fast, Cheap And Out Of Control
Hey there, crime kids. Happy Hump Day. 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 3 of LEGS, disgraced cop Carrie Love opens her private eye shingle and gets her first client, 'the hearing aid guru to the stars' ... who wants to meet her at a porn shoot ...
EXT. CRAFTSMAN BUNGALOW - DAY
A funky, brightly-colored,
on a leafy walkway street
on the north end of Venice Beach.
A sign on the gate reads
‘Carrie Love, Private Investigations.’
So I did what any self-respecting
former homicide detective
that was thrown off the force
for illegal and immoral activity WOULD do --
Put up my own private eye shingle.
Hey. It worked for Phillip Marlowe, didn’t it?
Okay, okay -- so I’m more like Jim Rockford --
INT. CARRIE’S BUNGALOW - LIVING ROOM - DAY
A bright, airy space with funky, comfortable furniture.
Big fireplace. Giant sound system.
Big-screen TV. Pin-up art.
Movie posters of iconic female action heroes.
In the corner sits Carrie’s office area.
Right now she’s rocking the laptop, working the mouse,
studying the monitor.
So now here I am, after years of
catching LA’s most notorious
serial killers, rapists and murderers,
I’ve been reduced to posting an ad
for my services on fucking Craig’s List.
(clicks on an email)
A MISSING CAT?
I think NOT.
Buh-bye, MORRIS --
Kibbles and SHITS.
The plan was to
take easy, simple cases --
spouses who cheat,
stuff like that.
Just wanna the pay the rent, folks.
I thought about bounty hunting --
I mean, that's where
the real bucks are --
but I like breathing,
thank you very much.
Problem was, the only
people answering my ad
were an endless parade of losers.
I hadn’t had a single client yet,
and the bills were piling up
higher than Andy Dick
on a Saturday night.
Her phone RINGS.
She looks at it.
Then up at the ceiling.
So you were listening to my voiceover?
(picks it up, into the receiver)
Carrie Love Investigations, this is Carrie --
EXT. SUNSET BOULEVARD - COFFEE BEAN - DAY
Sidewalk tables overflow with
hip, young film biz posers.
And a liberal sprinkling of Eurotrash.
Five-dollar coffee, ahoy.
In the mix sits DICK DAERR (60).
Short and stocky, barrel-chested, shirtless.
Seated nearby is a
GOLDEN RETRIEVER wearing a scarf.
Right now he’s on his cell phone.
He holds up a business card.
Squints at it in the bright sunlight.
Yeah, hi. Dick Daerr here,
Hearing Aid Guru To The Stars --
Carrie makes a face.
Looks at the phone.
(mumbles, to herself)
Here we go again --
I’m sure you’ve heard of me --
So what’s up?
(stares at the card)
Your slogan --
Yeah. What about it?
'Fast, cheap and out of control?'
Is that any way to
advertise your business?
Criminals love it.
And you called, didn’t you?
You were recommended by Irv Lipbaum --
Oh, yeah -- how is ol’ Irv?
Jew-bastard shyster got offed
by one of his clients.
LONG story --
I need your help.
My daughter is missing.
When was the last time you saw her?
About a week ago.
She moved out of the house
and started working as a stripper
at The Cheetah Lounge on Sunset.
Owner said she hasn’t
reported for work the last few days.
The Cheetah Lounge --
Yeah. You know it?
Too well --
That’s right, Irv said you were a --
Uh, anyway -- can you help me?
I charge five-hundred bucks a day,
plus expenses, with a retainer --
I’m fucking rolling in it.
Can you come over now?
Let me check my schedule.
Carrie holds the phone away from her.
Taps her foot.
Waits a beat.
Then gets back on.
You’re in luck.
I just had a cancellation.
Where you located?
I’m at sixteen-twenty-two Queens Road,
in the Hollywood Hills.
I’ll be there in thirty minutes.
Oh. One last thing --
There’s a porn film
shooting there right now.
Just wanted to warn you.
Yeah. When you get there,
just knock on the front door
and ask for me.
I’ll be in my office.
What kind of porn film?
Light bondage. All-girl --
What’s the title?
'Learning The Ropes.'
PUSH IN ON Carrie’s face.
Her impish grin.
I certainly hope so --