Wednesday, July 31, 2013
When The Going Gets Tough
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 8 of LEGS, more than sparks fly when private eye Carrie Love visits her ex-husband and ex-partner, homicide detective Bernie Keko at police headquarters to get info on her client's missing daughter ...
EXT. SANTA MONICA POLICE HEADQUARTERS - DUSK
A run-down, faded joint built in the 70’s
right next to City Hall.
Bucolic grounds, sprinkled with just
the right amount of homeless people.
COPS leave and enter the building.
Carrie’s car pulls into a space in front.
She gets out. Marches toward the entrance.
It was strange being back,
but I needed to get Dina Daerr’s police record.
And there was one person on the force
I could still go to for help --
And ex-partner -- Bernie.
When the going get tough,
the tough get codependent.
INT. DETECTIVE’S SQUAD ROOM - DUSK
A small, cramped, cluttered office
brought to you by the color puke.
A warren of old desks litter the joint.
Seated at one is a BIG COP (40’S).
Right now he’s talking on the phone.
You can’t let him WALK.
There was enough DNA at the crime scene
to make Marg Helgenberger wet her pants --
Meet homicide detective BERNIE KEKO (40s).
Armenian, good-looking on a budget.
Formerly buff, now a bit gone to seed.
Carrie walks in.
RAP-RAP-RAPS on the door sill.
Bernie TURNS, looks.
Sees her. Face goes white.
(into the phone)
The succubus just walked in.
Call you later --
(listens, eyes her)
If you don’t hear back from me,
notify my next of kin.
He SLAMS down the phone.
Stares at Carrie. Disbelieving.
What the fuck are YOU doing here?
Nice to see you too, Bernie.
You got a lotta nerve,
I’ll give you that.
There once was a time
you loved 'a lot of nerve.'
And there once was a time
when you still FUCKED GUYS.
The Big Bang, I believe?
You realize the chance you’re taking,
showing up here?
If the chief sees you,
he’s gonna blow his stack.
Better that than his load --
You didn’t come here to do the
Tracy-Hepburn dance with me.
Enough witty repartee.
Out with it.
I need you to get me
someone’s arrest record.
Oh? And just why would I
do that for a civilian?
I’m now a licensed private investigator,
working a case.
Look out, Sam Spade --
More like Sue Grafton.
B Is For Bitch.
C Is For Carpet Muncher --
Bernie stares. Incredulous.
Then EXPLODES with laughter.
One way or another,
I’m gonna getcha, getcha, getcha --
Gimme the name,
and I’ll see what I can do.
Just get the fuck outta here
before the chief sees you, okay?
Twenty years old.
Lives in the Hollywood Hills on Queens Road.
Ran away from Daddy, Dick Daerr.
I owe you one.
You owe me a hundred. Go. Now.
I’ll call you when I have something.
Then you can buy me a beer
and tell me the secrets
of the saphic arts.
'The saphic arts?'
Color me impressed.
You’re looking good.
Every day --
You still pass out on the couch
watching old movies?
I’ll call you when
I get her record, okay?
Legs. Go. Scoot.
If the chief --
PUSH IN ON Carrie’s face. Wistful.
Yeah. See ya --