Dazed & Confused

Hey there, crime kids. Happy Friday. 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 17 of WILSHIRE BOULEVARD, private eye Carrie Love picks up the pieces after losing her home in a fire with a little help from B-movie queen Landon Hall. Meanwhile, shitty TV movie producer Roland Yavo calls his transgendered daughter Nikki and disowns her because she appeared in a porno ...


EXT. MUNICIPAL BUILDING - PARKING LOT - NIGHT
Landon and Jenny sit in Carrie’s Olds.
Landon, behind the wheel.

Jenny, in the back seat.
Shivering in short sleeves.

Carrie comes up to the passenger side.
Dazed. Lost.

CARRIE
(softly)
Landon.

LANDON
Carrie.
Are you okay?

CARRIE
I’ll live.
(sees Jenny)
You came, too?

JENNY
(blushes)
I -- don’t have a ride.
(shy)
And I wanted to see
if you were okay.

CARRIE
Thanks, guys --

She walks around the car.
Gets in beside Landon. Stares.

LANDON
Let’s go get you cleaned up.

CARRIE
(fighting tears)
That would be -- nice.

LANDON
(looks at her watch)
We’ve got just enough time
before I have to leave
for the airport.

CARRIE
You’re -- leaving, too?

LANDON
Didn’t I tell you?
I got a part in the
new Scorcese flick.
(big smile)
‘Sleazy B-movie actress No. 2.’

PUSH IN ON Carrie.
Weak smile.

CARRIE
Glad to see you weren’t -- typecast.

EXT. OCEAN AVENUE - AT THAT MOMENT
A riot of red, orange and yellow
smears the sky above crashing waves.
Wind WHIPS through the fifty-foot palms.

A sleek, black Lexus coupe
ROARS down the coastal boulevard.

INT. YAVO’S LEXUS - MOVING - CONTINUOUS
Yavo DOWNSHIFTS at a yellow light
at the Malibu Canyon pass.

Stops at the red.
Shouts into his hands-free cell.

YAVO
I got a call from your DIRECTOR.

SPLIT SCREEN WITH:

INT./EXT. NIKKI’S JAGUAR - MOVING - CONTINUOUS
Nikki’s stuck in traffic on the 405.
Puffs fiercely on an
ultra-long, thin cigarette.
Cell phone clamped to her ear.

NIKKI
My d-director?

YAVO
Yeah -- the sleazebag that shot
the tranny porno you STARRED in.

NIKKI
Listen, I can explain --
it’s a student film, it’s --

YAVO
Shut the FUCK up and LISTEN.
The creep set up a MEETING
with me using YOU as bait,
now he’s trying to BLACKMAIL me!


NIKKI
But, but --
YAVO
No BUTS -- except maybe YOURS.
This freak show of yours
has crossed over into my BUSINESS.

THE LIGHT
changes to green.
Yavo STEPS ON IT.

YAVO
I’ve HAD IT with you.
outta my house, outta my will,
and I’m NOT paying for college.
You’re ON YOUR OWN, Nancy-boy.

NIKKI
No, please -- let me EXPLAIN.

YAVO
I told you to
SHUT THE FUCK UP.
You are DEAD to me.

He GROWLS.
RIPS the cell off his ear.

FLINGS IT into the
dashboard with a CRACK.

Trouble Is My Business

Happy Thursday, crime slicksters. It's time once again to take a trip to the dark side, where the girls are hot, the drinks are cold, and the hardboiled-pulp-noir action is non-stop, right here, at the coolest crime joint in cyberspace ... at That Killing Feeling.

In Chapter 16 of WILSHIRE BOULEVARD, it's a clusterfuck of epic proportions when private eye Carrie Love's house burns down and she beats the shit out of her asshole neighbor that laughs about it ...


EXT. OZONE AVENUE - NIGHT - A FEW MINUTES LATER
Carrie and Jenny walk down the leafy avenue.
Foliage glowing from a dim street lamp.
Weaving a little from cocktail time.

CARRIE
So why do you work there?

JENNY
I’m a writer.
It gives me access to producers.
Agents. You know --

CARRIE
So you write TV movies?

JENNY
God, no.
I write really dark crime thrillers.
With a lot of blood.

CARRIE
Hey. My kind of girl.

Jenny blushes. Turns away.

CARRIE
Maybe you can tell me.
When I saw Yavo at The Office,
he was with this really
creepy-looking skinny guy.
Cajun, I think.

JENNY
That’s Hub Flower.
He owns the biggest production
company in New Orleans.
We’ve made a few movies with him.
(wicked grin)
And now the FBI is investigating him --

CARRIE
That must have been
what they were arguing about --

A SIREN SCREAMS into the night.
Jenny JUMPS.

CARRIE
(looks)
That’s coming from right down the street.

They walk toward the noise.
See clouds of BLACK SMOKE.
People start SHOUTING.

FEMALE VOICE (O.C.)
Carrie, FIRE!
Get out, GET OUT!

CARRIE
What? I’m right --
(realizes)
My HOUSE!

She starts TEARING down the street.
Jenny follows.

EXT. CARRIE’S JOINT - FRONT PATIO - MOMENTS LATER
The house is ENGULFED IN FLAMES.
A crowd of NEIGHBORS stands nearby.
Watching. A LITTLE GIRL starts crying.

CARRIE
Oh my FUCKING GOD!
Somebody DO SOMETHING!
Where is the fucking FIRE DEPARTMENT?

Another SIREN WAILS a few doors down.
HONK-HONKS. SHOUTING.

Oh, shit.
The walkway street.
The fire truck is too big.

Carrie sees the truck.
Starts YELLING.

CARRIE
Come on, over here!
Hurry UP, GODDAMN IT!
It’s MY HOUSE, MY HOUSE, MY HOUSE!

A pair of FIREFIGHTERS
race toward her with a long hose.

TALL FIREFIGHTER
Everybody out of the way!
Stand back!

BLACK FIREFIGHTER
Move it people, make room!

But the house is a goner.
Rich, red FLAMES engulf
the roof, the walls.
Searing, shimmering waves of heat.

Carrie GRABS Jenny.
Almost collapses.
Crying, SHRIEKING.

CARRIE
NOOOOOOOOOOOOO -- !

JENNY
(grabs her back)
It’s okay, it’s okay,
it’s gonna be okay.

A MALE VOICE behind them snickers.

MALE VOICE (O.C.)
Anybody got any marshmallows?

Carrie WHIPS her head around.
Sees --

PAUL MARTUNE
(28) natty in Billabong. Not.
A bit flabby.

Cruel goatee wrapped around a stogie.
Grey eyes crinkle.

MARTUNE
Hey, Carrie.
Guess you got to hell a little early, huh?

CARRIE
You fucking ASSHOLE.

She GRABS Martune.
THROWS him to the ground.
PUNCHING, KICKING, SPITTING.

He tries to fight back,
but years of flabby TV-watching
on the couch do him in.

BLACK FIREFIGHTER
Stop it, you’re going to KILL HIM.

CARRIE
That’s the fucking IDEA!

PUSH IN ON Carrie.
As she beats his face to a pulp.

INT. MUNICIPAL BUILDING - CELL BLOCK - NIGHT
A row of cells. Lit by diffused light.
The standard institutional decay.

Angry voices. Mad voices. Drunk voices
echo hollowly against the brick and linoleum.

INT. JAIL CELL - CONTINUOUS
Carrie sits on the lower bed.
Filthy, torn clothes.

Blood on her hands.
Head between her knees.
Beyond in shock.

CARRIE (V.O.)
I was spinning out of control.
The raging fire burned
in my eyes, over and over.
Closing them only made it worse.
I saw Martune’s ugly face.
Taunting me. Then I saw red, and --
(beat)
Here I am.

She slowly, in agony, gets up.
Goes to the sink.
Turns on the faucet.

SPLASHES cold water in her face.
Looks in the mirror.

CARRIE (V.O.)
Been awhile since I was
booked and fingerprinted.
Nothing like a full body cavity search
to brighten your day.
(beat)
I hope I didn’t kill him.
That’s the last thing I need.
I still owe my lawyer five K
for the last DUI he fixed --

MALE VOICE (O.C.)
How you doin’?

BERNIE
stands at the bars. Spooked.

CARRIE
Look who the cat --
(starts to lose it)
Bernie, I, I -- blacked out --

BERNIE
(quiet)
I’m sorry you lost your house, Carrie.

CARRIE
Martune, is he --

BERNIE
He’s alive, yes.
He’s at UCLA Medical Center.
Ran a check on him.
Turns out he has a couple of priors.
Mail fraud. Embezzlement.
Got off each time.
His father is some
big-shot attorney downtown.

CARRIE
No -- arson?

BERNIE
You don’t think he’d be stupid enough to -

CARRIE
I don’t know what to think anymore.

BERNIE
(over his shoulder)
GUARD.

CARRIE
You’re -- letting me go?

An angry-looking BLACK GUARD
comes to the cell door.

Sticks his key in.
Unlocks it with a CLANG.
Opens it.

BERNIE
Your friends posted bail.
Don’t get me wrong,
I’d love to keep you in here.
Keep you outta trouble.

Carrie shuffles out.
Stops. Weak grin.

CARRIE
Hey. Trouble is my business --

Sins Of The Father

This summary is not available. Please click here to view the post.

The Cat And The Canary

Happy Tuesday, crime slicksters. It's time once again to take a trip to the dark side, where the girls are hot, the drinks are cold, and the hardboiled-pulp-noir action is non-stop, right here, at the coolest crime joint in cyberspace ... at That Killing Feeling.

In Chapter 14 of WILSHIRE BOULEVARD, private eye Carrie Love arrives at Yavo/Flender films to question the employees about producer Harvey Flender's murder, and more than sparks fly when she meets comely production assistant Jenny Lane ...


INT. YAVO/FLENDER FILMS - FRONT OFFICE - DUSK
The harried-looking woman we saw earlier
furiously CLACK-CLACKS on her keyboard.

Meet JENNY LANE (32), stressed-out
business affairs worker bee.
Manning the hive.

CAMERA gets closer.
We see she’s actually quite fetching.

The kind that grows on you.
Imagine if she could get some rest.

The phone RINGS.
She PUNCHES a button.

JENNY
(into her headset)
Yavo/Flender Films --
(listens)
And you are -- ?
(listens)
One moment, please.

Jenny STABS another button.

CARRIE
walks into the room.
Rakish in that slightly tipsy way.

Jenny looks.
Does a double-take.

JENNY
(into the phone)
Lief Weinrib on three.
(to Carrie)
Hi.

CARRIE
Carrie Love, PI.
Mrs. Flender hired me.
(beat)
Nice to see you again.

She hands Jenny her business card.

JENNY
Oh. Wow.

CARRIE
I’d like to snoop around a bit,
ask a few questions.

JENNY
(reads the card)
Fast, cheap and out of control?

CARRIE
Marketing gimmick.
Criminals love it.

JENNY
I’m sorry, but Roland’s
not here right now.

CARRIE
I know.
I just bumped into him in a bar
down the street waving a gun.
Had to disarm him --

JENNY
Roland?
Down the street?
A, a g-gun?

CARRIE (V.O.)
We met once before when
I crashed their Christmas party.
We had a couple dozen shots,
hit it off, and did some
heavy petting by the copier.
The rest of the night
is kind of a blur.
But nice.

Jenny worried look melts.
She smiles shyly.

CARRIE (V.O.)
I could tell she’d
never been with another woman.
And that she wanted to.
Call it a sixth sense.
Intuition. Gaydar, if you will --
(beat)
She looked like she’d been
beaten down by the job. Life.
But there was still a spark.
(beat)
Flickering right at me.

Carrie leans on the desk.
Puts her hand on her hip.

Raising her jacket.
Revealing her Glock
in a shoulder holster.

JENNY
(eyes wide, sees the gun)
Who do you want to -- talk to first?

CARRIE (V.O.)
Showing the rod does it every time.

AN INSTANT MESSAGE
on her computer monitor starts FLASHING --
WHO IS THAT?!

JENNY’S
fingers FLY across the keyboard.

THE MESSAGE BOX
reads I’M ON A CONFERENCE CALL!

A nearby door
SLAMS SHUT with a BANG.

JENNY
I could go first.

Carrie’s eyes work their strange magic.
Jenny fidgets.

CARRIE
I think you and I should
go talk somewhere else.
Away from here.
I have a feeling you’re the only one
that’ll give me the straight scoop.

JENNY
Okay --

PUSH IN ON Jenny.
Faking nonchalance. Badly.

CARRIE (V.O.)
Complete bullshit, of course.

INT. CONFERENCE ROOM - MOMENTS LATER
Odd-Looking Sad-Face sits at the end
of the conference table across from Carrie.
Gripping Variety for dear life.

Meet FLEMING BOOR (49),
Harvey Flender’s assistant.

Paunchy. Bug eyes blinking.
Sparse hair trying for a Ceasar.

Approaching the final chapter
of a life of quiet desperation.

CARRIE
Tragic death. I’m sorry.
(writes some notes)
How long did you work for him?

FLEMING
Twelve years.
We’ve made seventy-nine movies together.
Nine minis. And two series.
(mutters, to himself)
And still no producer credit --

CARRIE
Impressive.
His wife told me that
he had a lot of enemies.
Do you know anyone who might have
wanted to do him harm?

FLEMING
Look in the Hollywood Creative Directory.
Start with the letter ‘A.’

CARRIE
(smiles)
His wife told me that
Harvey was rather -- frugal.

FLEMING
You can say THAT again.

CARRIE
So you know about his --

FLEMING
Of COURSE. He was a THIEF, a CROOK.
(raises a finger)
And now I am poised to take his place.

PUSH IN ON Fleming.
Quivering with quiet rage.

INT. YAVO/FLENDER FILMS - CORRIDOR - MOMENTS LATER
Carrie walks past a closed office door.
A hand-made sign reads LEGAL IS CLOSED.

Jenny appears.
Has her coat on.
Holds her bag.

JENNY
I’m sorry, but Betty left.
She gets here at 7:30.
Leaves at six sharp,
has to race home to her
unemployed, drunken husband.

CARRIE
(nods at the closed door)
What about Legal?

JENNY
That’s my boss, Modi.
He won’t talk to you.
He doesn’t talk to visitors.

CARRIE
I see.
I like a challenge.
I’ll ambush him another time.

JENNY
So where do you want to go?

PUSH IN ON Carrie.
The cat about to get the canary.

CARRIE
How do you feel about shellfish?

Tootsie Role

Hey there, crime kids. Happy Monday. 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 13 of WILSHIRE BOULEVARD, Christian pornographer Ken Rice has finished shooting his latest opus, which features producer Roland Yavo's son 'Nikki' in drag ... but when Nikki finds out that Ken knows her father, she tries to steal the videotape, with disastrous results ...


INT. SHITTY MOTEL ROOM - DAY
The shoot is over.
Ken packs up his camera equipment.

Rat sits on the couch
reading a comic book.

IN THE BATHROOM
Nikki freshens her makeup.
Does her lips.

Opens her compact.
Shakes out some fairy dust.

SNORTS a line.
Then ANOTHER.

Shakes her head,
clearing out the cobwebs.

She goes to the door.
Puts her hand on the knob, and --

IN THE NEXT ROOM
the phone RINGS.

Ken places the shoot videotape
on the back of the couch, near Rat.
Picks up his cell.

NIKKI
stays put.
Listens.

KEN
answers the call.

KEN
Heavenly Pictures, this is Ken.
(beat)
Well, hello, David.
(beat)
Just shooting some test footage
of a promising new starlet
I discovered.
(beat)
You know the drag review
at the Cock Ring?
Guess who’s now in the show --
(beat)
Yavo’s son.
Yavo’s SON is a TRANNY.
You know Klaus, the bartender?
He told me --
apparently she was
bragging about her old man
in the movie biz --
(beat)
Last night.
I bought her a drink
after the show
and chatted her up.
I didn’t tell her I knew
who her father was.
Told her I liked her look,
and would she like to
stop by the location
for a test shoot.
(beat)
You have a filthy mind.

NIKKI’S
eyes go wide. Shit.
This freak knows my FATHER?

She sees Ken
over by the window,
his back to us.

Rat on the couch.
Riveted to Action Comix.
Mouth slowly reading the words.

She gets down on her knees.
Crawls over behind the couch.
GRABS the videotape, just as --

KEN
hangs up. Turns.
Looks at Rat.
Smiles warmly.

KEN
That was my agent.
Nice guy.
(brilliant idea)
Hey.
How about getting
a bite to eat?
My treat.
We could go to Applebee’s.
(notices the tape is gone)
Hey.
Where’s the --

He looks behind the couch.
Sees Nikki.

KEN
Hey, what the heck
do you think you’re doing?

Nikki looks up.
Wan smile.

NIKKI
I lost a -- an earring.

KEN
No you didn’t,
you have my videotape.
Hand it over, NOW.

Nikki stands.
Holds the tape
behind her back.

NIKKI
I never would have
acted in this if I
knew you knew my FATHER.

KEN
Life’s tough,
and so am I.
Hand it over, fella.

NIKKI
(winces)
I’m not a FELLA.
(panics)
If my father found out
about this, he’d --

KEN
Rat?
I need your help.

Rat sighs.
Puts down the comic.

Damn.
Right at the good part.

He stands. Turns.
Reaches over.

Grabs Nikki by the throat
with a big, meaty paw.

RAT
Hand it over.
If you like breathing.

Nikki gives Ken the tape.

KEN
See now?
That wasn’t so hard.
(to Rat)
Now, would you please
escort the lady out?
Her services are
no longer required.

Rat GRABS Nikki by the wrist,
pulls her toward the door.

NIKKI
I’ve got money,
how much do you want?

KEN
See you at the movies.

Rat opens the door --

NIKKI
Please, if my father sees that --

And SHOVES Nikki out.
SLAMS it shut, BANG.

KEN
Well, that was
most unpleasant.

RAT
How daya think I feel?
I had to fuck her --

Sacrificing For Your Art

Hey there, crime kids. Happy Friday. 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 12 of WILSHIRE BOULEVARD, widowed trophy bitch Gay Flender is attacked in a home invasion with a twist ending. Meanwhile, torture porn filmmaker Phillie Pfugg and his wife Chinette shoot a fake snuff film that unexpectedly turns deadly ...


EXT. FLENDER ESTATE - FRONT LAWN - DAY
Sprinklers WHOOSH water
across the immaculate grounds.

INT. KITCHEN - CONTINUOUS
Gay looks at her watch.
Anxious. Goes to the fridge.

Gets a bottle of wine.
Pours a glass.
Takes a sip. Thinking.

Rummages through her purse
on the counter.

Pulls out a vial.
Shakes out a pill.

GULPS it down.
More wine.

Suddenly the glass in the
outside patio door SHATTERS.

A GLOVED HAND reaches in.
YANKS the door open.

A FIGURE IN BLACK
wearing a stocking mask enters.

Gay SHRIEKS.
The intruder pulls out a GUN.

HOODED FIGURE
(muffled)
Shut the fuck up,
and you won’t get hurt.

Hooded walks up to her.
Leans in. Takes a whiff.

HOODED FIGURE
You smell nice.
(strokes her hair)
Feel nice.
(her cheek)
Soft. Real soft.

GAY
Please, I’ll --
do anything you want.

HOODED FIGURE
You got that right.

He GRABS her wrist.
YANKS her toward
the living room.

ON THE STAIRWAY
Hooded PUSHES her forward,
up the steps.
She TRIPS. Falls.

He PICKS HER UP.
Carries her into --

THE BEDROOM
where he THROWS
her on the king-size.

GAY
Please, don’t --
please don’t, kill me.

HOODED FIGURE
(SLAPS her face)
Shut up.

He SLAPS duct tape on her mouth.
Pulls out a large,
gleaming hooked KNIFE.

RIPS a button off her blouse.
TEARS it open.

Goes to her skirt.
YANKS it off.

Gay trembles.
Scared shitless.

He SNIPS off her bra.
Then her panties.

Hooded turns her on her stomach.
Drops his pants.

Enters her from behind.
Sharp, animal THRUSTS.
Gay CRIES OUT.

He grunts. Groans.
She moans.

Getting turned on.
Inflamed.

Hooded COMES violently.
Gay SHRIEKS with passion.

They stop.
Muscles clenched.

Then let go.
He rolls off her.

Reaches over.
YANKS off the tape.
Pulls off his stocking.

We see it’s MODI.
He turns to Gay. Beaming.

MODI
That was unbelievable.
We gotta do this again.

Gay smiles.
Fires up a smoke.
Exhales a French curl.

GAY
How about -- naughty Girl Scout
selling cookies?

PUSH IN ON Modi.
His crude, arrogant leer.

MODI
I’ll take two boxes
of the thin mints.

INT. PFUGG RESIDENCE - BASEMENT - AT THAT MOMENT
A gorgeous, faded B-MOVIE QUEEN
sits tied to a chair.

A scrap of plywood
strapped across her chest.
Mouth tightly gagged.

She struggles against her restraints.
KICKS the floor.

We recognize her as the star of
DEATH TAKES A HOLIDAY.

Phillie frames the scene
through a digital video camera.

CHINETTE
(whispers)
This is gonna look so real.
(looks at B-Movie)
I mean, check it out.
That’s Heather Dick.
From ‘La Cienega Place.’
One of my shows.
And she thinks she’s gonna die.

PHILLIE
(to Heather)
See what happens when you start
chasing the YouTube demographic?
(to Chinette)
Okay.
Time to suspend your disbelief.
Places, please.

Chinette finds her mark.
Facing Miss Dick.

PHILLIE (O.S.)
And -- action.

CAMERA POV
The muscle-woman
removes her hoodie --

Revealing an hourglass shape
in a merry widow.

And a black leather
shoulder holster.

She reaches behind,
slides out a PISTOL --
and takes aim.

B-Movie JERKS against the ropes,
muffled gagging screams.
BANG. BANG. BANG.

CLOSE ON --
Heather Dick.
Slumped over in the chair.

Bullet holes in the wood.
Blood seeping down her body.

CHINETTE (O.S.)
Oh my GOD, holy SHIT,
I’ve SHOT her!
(turns)
You said we were using BLANKS.

PHILLIE
stares in disbelief.
Then, the barest hint of smile.

PHILLIE
We were -- at least,
I thought we were.
(beat)
Well, at least we know
it looks -- realistic.

CHINETTE
Realistic? Realistic? REALISTIC?
I just fucking KILLED someone!

PUSH IN ON Phillie.
Cluck-clucking.

PHILLIE
Darling.
Haven’t you heard the phrase
'sacrificing for your art?'

Where The Streets Have No Fame

Happy Thursday, crime slicksters. It's time once again to take a trip to the dark side, where the girls are hot, the drinks are cold, and the hardboiled-pulp-noir action is non-stop, right here, at the coolest crime joint in cyberspace ... at That Killing Feeling.

In Chapter 11 of WILSHIRE BOULEVARD, private eye Carrie Love has time to kill before interviewing her first batch of murder suspects, so she heads over to her favorite dive bar for a shot and beer ... but the shit hits the fan when she runs into her client's dead husband's producer partner, who is NOT glad to see her ...


EXT. WILSHIRE BOULEVARD - BANK - DAY
Carrie wheels her monster Olds
down Wilshire going East.

Henry Mancini’s THE BIG BLOWOUT
rocks the sub-woofers.

CARRIE (V.O.)
I had time to kill.
But I was on that stretch
of Wilshire just west of Bundy,
a real no-man’s land.
The cheap seats,
where the streets have no fame.
I had an itch that needed scratching,
but I was lost in a
canyon of fast food joints,
shitty storefronts and
low-end office towers.
But no bars.
(beat)
WAIT a minute.

She suddenly WHEELS
the car in a U-turn.
Heads back west.

EXT. BAR - DAY
Carrie pulls up to a
small, old-school dive.

Sign reads:

THE OFFICE. OPEN 6 AM.
GET YOUR DAY STARTED RIGHT.

INT. THE OFFICE - DAY
Tequila-soaked Tex-Mex on the juke.
The Iguana’s OYE ISABEL.

Very dark. A bit dank. And dead.
Two OLD REGULARS sit at end
of the long bar glued to
some Mexican soap opera on the TV.

Carrie takes a stool
at the other end, near the door.
Beside a big, red leather booth.

A large PONYTAILED BIKER-LOOKING BARTENDER
ambles over.

CARRIE
Draft and a double shot of Kessler’s.

PONYTAILED BIKER BARTENDER
Comin’ right up.
(goes to get it)
I remember you.
You’re the one
talks like Bogart.
You sang that song
about fucking on karaoke night.

He slides over a cold one
and a large shot glass.

She DOWNS it.
Take a long pull from the bottle.

CARRIE
‘I Might Like You Better
If We Slept Together.’
(beat)
Axel, right?

AXEL
Uh-huh.
And I’ve got a girlfriend.

CARRIE
Those are the lyrics from the song.
'Never Say Never.’
Romeo Void. 1982.

AXEL
I knew that.

The front door OPENS.
In walks Roland Yavo, and --

A SKINNY CREOLE MAN (40’s),
stick-thin, dapper in that
decayed New Orleans underworld kinda way.
Pencil moustache frames a
smug whisper of a smile.
Meet HUB FLOWER.

They take seats in the booth
right behind Carrie.

Yavo squints in the darkness.
Checks out the joint.
Axel shuffles over to the table.

AXEL
What’ll it be, gents?

Hub raises his hand.
A pinky ring glistens.

HUB
Mint Julep, my good man.

AXEL
Sorry.
How about a Long Island Ice Tea?

Hub nods. Smiles.

YAVO
You got single-malt scotch?

AXEL
We got Johnny Walker. Red.

YAVO
(grumbles)
That’ll do.

Axel leaves.
Yavo glowers.
Carrie strains to listen.

YAVO
(harsh whisper)
It’s one thing to add a million,
two maybe -- but you’ve got
the budget at eighteen.
On a four-million dollar picture.

HUB
My boys are running for reelection.
And I have to make sure
the tax incentive --

Axel returns with their drinks.
Hub pulls out a big bankroll.

HUB
I’ve got it.
(hands Axel a twenty)
Keep the change.

YAVO
Listen, Flower -- the FBI
has been up my ass so far
we’ve been picking out CHINA PATTERNS.
And since that stupid fuck Flender
got himself killed,
the place has been crawling with cops --

HUB
Relax, Roland.
It’s just a grand jury.
No charges have been pressed.
We just need you to testify --

YAVO
(drains his drink)
TESTIFY? Like HELL.
You’re destroying my REPUTATION.
I’ve produced over A HUNDRED movies.
I’m a GOD in this town!

HUB
I know, Roland.
You and Harvey, over a hundred credits --
(strange, big smile)
Such a shame about Harvey --

ROLAND
Don’t you DARE fucking THREATEN me!

He FLINGS the glass across the room -- CRASH.

AXEL (O.C.)
Hey! What THE FUCK
do you think YOU’RE DOING?!

Axel appears.
Livid. Beet-red.

YAVO
Keep your shirt on.
I’ll pay for it.
We’re discussing something private.
Get the fuck out of my face.

AXEL
WHAT did you say?

YAVO
I said, GET -- THE FUCK --
OUT -- of MY FACE!

AXEL
No, YOU get out -- NOW.

YAVO
You gonna try and make me?

He stands.
All five-foot-four inches.

AXEL
Oh.
So you’re a tough guy.

Yavo pulls out a long-barrelled
COLT-45 REVOLVER.

YAVO
Do you know who I AM?
Fucking trailer park piece of SHIT?

The barrel of a large, gleaming GLOCK
rests against Yavo’s temple.
The safety CLICKS.

CARRIE
comes into frame.
Holding the weapon with both hands.

CARRIE
Dust it, Yavo.
Drop the heater.

YAVO
(drops his gun)
Fucking cunt.
What are YOU doing here?

CARRIE
(picks it up,
empties the bullets,
hands it back)
One of life’s little mysteries, short-stuff.
Call it karma. Kismet. Candid Camera.
I really don’t give a fuck.
(to Axel)
He’s all yours, sport.

Axel GRABS Yavo by the arms.
Drags him toward the door --

YAVO
Get your fucking hands OFF ME.

And THROWS him into the street.
Flower does a take.

Bows slightly, and high-tails it
out of there.

AXEL
Nice piece.
You a cop or something?

CARRIE
Something like that.

The Silence Of The Clams

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 10 of WILSHIRE BOULEVARD, private eye Carrie Love arrives at Yavo/Flender Films, a production company that makes shitty TV movies to question all five employees, all suspects in the murder of producer Harvey Flender. But first, Carrie needs to get through the pearly gates ...


EXT. WILSHIRE BOULEVARD - BANK - AFTERNOON
The big-band swoon of The Brian Setzer Orchestra’s
bourbon-drenched TOWN WITHOUT PITY
blares its seedy swing over --

A FAT, HOMELESS WOMAN in a wheelchair
festooned with a flag,
pinwheel whirling in the breeze.

Giant lobster-red legs scuttling
crab-like movements down the sidewalk past --

A 70’s-era red brick bank
in the no-man’s land just west of Bundy.


The SIGN reads ‘FI ST NATIONAL PHILIPPINES B_NK.’

CAMERA glides up the path
to the front entrance. Doors OPEN.

PIGGY SECURITY GUARD
sits at the desk, a human hog.

Shakes his jowls.
Let’s loose a HORRIFYING SNEEZE.

PIGGY SECURITY GUARD
A-CHOOOOOOOO!

He HAWKS UP a big glob of phlegm.
SPITS behind the desk.

It hits the bottom
of the wastebasket with a PING.

CAMERA moves left, revealing a GLASS DOOR.
YAVO/FLENDER FILMS, LTD
stenciled in plain black lettering.

Underneath, a small, hand-lettered sign
in all caps reads
‘JUAN, PLEASE COME SEE ME.
I HAVE YOUR CHANGE.’

The right door OPENS.
CAMERA glides in.

THE LOBBY
isn’t much to look at.
More like the front room.

Cheesy TV-movie posters abound.
We ZOOM IN on one.

A FADED TV-ACTRESS in a Santa hat
brandishes a gun.
DEATH TAKES A HOLIDAY.

CAMERA glides by --
In the corner, desk against the plate glass,
a HARRIED WOMAN, (30’s).

Winsome, dark-haired. Sleepy-eyed.
Cute in denim mini and red Ramones T-shirt.
She murmurs into her headset.

HARRIED WOMAN
Stretch limo, smoking, with DVD player,
first priority hair and makeup?

CAMERA continues its journey, glides past --

AN OPEN DOORWAY
where we see a red-faced INTENSE GUY (30’s).
Persian good looks. Shaved head.

Bloodshot eyes burning with
self-important, bipolar rage.
MODI FARAHT, head of legal.

He POUNDS on his keyboard.
BARKS into the phone.

MODI
ONE MILLION?
Go fuck yourself!
We paid Marsha Day Wallace
three-hundred-fifty,
and she’s an OSCAR WINNER.

CAMERA CONTINUES down a narrow hallway.
On the walls, FRAMED ONE-SHEETS
of Yavo/Flender’s TV movie masterpieces --

MURDER ON THE BELTWAY: FOR THE LOVE OF A SNIPER

BILLY! THE BILLY JOHN STORY

GUYS AND DOLLS: THE NEXT CHAPTER

CAMERA reaches the end, turns right,
where we see --

A HORRIBLE, PIG-FACED WOMAN
sitting at a large work area.
Papers everywhere.

Furiously CLACK-CLACKING on her keyboard.
A dead ringer for Anne Ramsey
from THROW MOMMA FROM THE TRAIN.
She speaks into her headset.

HORRIBLE PIG-FACED WOMAN
There’s more beer in the garage, Larry.
But I thought you were working today --

CAMERA MOVES past her, to another workstation.
Behind a computer sits an
ODD-LOOKING SAD-FACED MAN reading Variety.

ODD-LOOKING SAD-FACE
I brought that margarine
in the squeeze-top bottle
I was telling you about.

HORRIBLE PIG-FACED WOMAN (O.C.)
That’s convenient --

A tiny, wild-eyed cigar-smoking FURIOUS MAN (60’s)
appears in his office doorway.

Meet ROLAND YAVO, the senior partner,
a bundle of manic energy. Bluster. Bravado.
And right now, 'last producer standing.'

YAVO
BETTY!
Where THE FUCK is my conference call?

Pig-Face turns her head. Looks.

BETTY
It got cancelled on account of --
(beat)
What happened.

YAVO
WHAT? I’ve GOT to close this FUCKING DEAL.
We’ve had cops and media all over the place,
and nothing’s getting done!

BETTY
I’ll see if I can get Izzy on the line.

YAVO
You do that.

He storms back into his office.
The phone RINGS.
Odd-Looking answers it.

ODD-LOOKING SAD-FACE
Yavo/Flender Films.
This is Fleming.

SPLIT SCREEN WITH:

EXT. WILSHIRE BLVD. - CARRIE’S CAR - MOVING - AT THAT MOMENT
Carrie drives, talks on her cell.
Wind WHIPPING her hair.

CARRIE
Hi. My name is Carrie Love,
I’m a private eye.
Gay Flender hired me.

Fleming looks at Betty.
Mouths ‘it’s a private detective.’

FLEMING
Uh-huh --

CARRIE
I’d like to swing by and talk to you.
All of you, actually.

FLEMING
Well, we’ve had a lot of visitors today.
Right now isn’t such a good time.

CARRIE
What if I gave you a hundred clams?

FLEMING
Really?

CARRIE
Really.

FLEMING
(low)
Come around six-o’clock.

Warm And Fuzzy

Happy Tuesday, crime slicksters. It's time once again to take a trip to the dark side, where the girls are hot, the drinks are cold, and the hardboiled-pulp-noir action is non-stop, right here, at the coolest crime joint in cyberspace ... at That Killing Feeling.

In Chapter 9 of WILSHIRE BOULEVARD, private eye Carrie Love and her ex-husband, homicide dick Bernie Keko discover Carrie's neighbor Kip Slobotnik with his head blown off, much to their disgust, but the shit really hits the fan when they discover they're both working the same case ... and will have to work together ...


INT. ASSHOLE NEIGHBOR'S HOUSE - DAY
Bernie stands in front
of an old, worn sofa bed.

Opened up, revealing a
very dead KIP SLOBOTNIK.
Half his head, gone.

We hear RETCHING
in the next room.

BERNIE
(to someone off-camera)
Are you okay in there?

Carrie comes out.
Wiping her face
with a hand towel.

CARRIE
Too early in the day
for brain chunks.

BERNIE
Or are you still with the
Bushmill’s for breakfast?

CARRIE
Dangle, bub.
Put a sock in it.
(nods at the couch)
Think it was the bloody toupee.
The blast knocked it
clear across the room.
Disgusting.

BERNIE
So that’s definitely him.

CARRIE
Yeah.
I’d know that rug anywhere.

BERNIE
So what about his roommate?
Where is he?

CARRIE
Martune travels alot on business,
he’s a cigar rep, always
smoking those stinky fucks.

BERNIE
Well, I’m gonna
have one of my boys
stake this place out
until he comes home.
I’ve got bigger fish to fuck.
(boasting)
You see on the news
about that movie producer
who was shot in the face
and left on the
Hollywood Walk of Fame?

CARRIE
No.
But his wife just hired me.

BERNIE
What the fuck?
That’s MY case.

Carrie goes
to the front door.

Opens it.
Turns.

CARRIE
Looks like we’re
working together again, bucko.
See you on the set.

EXT. CARRIE’S CAR - MOVING - DAY
On the car stereo,
Divinyl’s BULLET spits
shards of broken glass over Carrie.

Hot in leather.
Cool in shades.

The car cruises the
Main Street strip
in Santa Monica.

CARRIE (V.O.)
My father taught me
how to be tough.
How to make it
on your own
in the world.
He taught me
that life sucks,
and that sometimes
you have to shake off the shit
that gets shoved in your face
and move on.
Like the day my mother
packed her bags and left.
He said it was
just us now,
us against the world.
(beat)
Until that morning
he blew his brains out
with his service revolver.
Carrie stops at a light.
Lights up a smoke.

CARRIE (V.O.)
That’s what Slobotnik looked like.
Like half my father’s head
sprayed across his barcalounger.

The light changes.
Carrie HITS the gas.

CARRIE (V.O.)
Enough warm, fuzzy
childhood memories.
I’ve got to get ready
for my close-up --

Legs For Days

Hey there, crime kids. Happy President's 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 8 of WILSHIRE BOULEVARD, Christian 'filmmaker' Ken Rice shoots a low-budge porno in a cheap motel room with an unusual 'girl.' Meanwhile, private eye Carrie Love and her ex, B-movie queen Landon Hall have to deal with Carrie's ex-husband, homicide dick Bernie Keko after he finds a dead body next door ...


INT. SHITTY MOTEL ROOM - DAY
One of those cheap flea-bag
by-the-hour joints
on Sunset deep in the
scuzzy bowels of Hollywood.

Weird, old disco plays
on a large, ancient boombox.
IT’S GOT TO BE LOVE, indeed.

A small fan pushes
gusts of air over --

A tall, BEAUTIFUL GIRL (19)
poses for us.

Azure eyes.
Legs for days.
And weeks.

She moves with the music.
Coltish, a bit awkward.
Which makes it sexier.

Behind the camcorder,
Ken Rice adjusts the lens.

KEN
Lovely.
Just lovely.
You have the face
of an angel, Nikki.
(dramatic)
Okay -- PLACES, PLEASE.
And -- ACTION.

A door opens.
In walks the MONSTER
we saw at Scandals.

Meet RAT KODICK,
West Hollywood’s answer
to Ratso Rizzo.

Without the charm.
A hulking, sweaty mass
of useless flesh.

RAT
(to the girl)
Hey, baby.
What’s cookin’?

NIKKI
(gives him the once-over)
Apparently, you are.

He walks over to her.
Places his hands on her ass.

RAT
I’d love to put
something in your oven.

NIKKI
Mmmm.
That’s funny, cause
I’m awfully hungry --

A cell phone RINGS.

Nikki races over to a knapsack
on the kitchenette counter.
Pulls out a cell phone. Listens.

NIKKI
Hello?
(beat)
Oh, hi --

KEN
Stop! Cut!
What are you DOING?

NIKKI
(male voice)
It’s my father.
Hold on to your wig.

‘Nikki’ listens.
Lights up a smoke.

NIKKI (CONT'D)
I can’t talk,
I’m in class right now.
(beat)
Music?
I’m in music class --
(beat)
My grades?
But I’ve got the
rest of the year to --
(beat)
Dinner?
Well, I dunno -- I have
this exam I have to cram for --
(beat)
Alright, okay.
See you then.

Nikki angrily CLICKS
the phone shut.
STOMPS her foot.

NIKKI
Stupid old FUCK.

She pulls out
a coke snifter.

HONKS a bump.
Then another.

KEN
Everything okay?
NIKKI
(smiles sweetly)
Never better.

INT. CARRIE’S JOINT - LIVING ROOM - MOMENTS LATER
Carrie and Landon sit
on the giant sectional couch,
spiffed up in tight jeans
and wife-beaters,
sipping Coronas with lime wedges.
Carrie sports a bag of ice.

CARRIE
So tell me again why we broke up?

LANDON
Uh, I met my boyfriend Zack?

CARRIE
Oh, yeah -- that’s it.

A loud KNOCK-KNOCK-KNOCK
at the door.

CARRIE
Cue the fuzz.

In walks Bernie.
Shaking his head.
He checks out the girls.

BERNIE
Ladies.
(nods at the beer)
Got another one of those?

CARRIE
You’re on duty.

BERNIE
Okay, we’ve got
one dead hippie next door.
Clumsily hidden in a sofa bed.

CARRIE
That would be Kip Slobotnik.

BERNIE
Kip got capped
three times in the face.
At EXTREMELY close range.
Actually, there’s not much
of a face left.

CARRIE
Serves the greasy fucker right.

BERNIE
Excuse me?

CARRIE
He made my life
a living nightmare.
Up all night
blasting bad music,
getting in my face,
hitting on my chicks --

BERNIE
Looks like somebody
might have a motive --

CARRIE
Can it, Bernie.
You think I killed Mr. Natural,
then knocked myself out in the alley
where I could be found?

Pause.

BERNIE
Can you come
and identify the body?

CARRIE
With pleasure.

LANDON
(gets up)
Okay.
That’s my cue.
Gotta date with Zack.
See ya later.

CARRIE
And just where are you two
lovebirds going?

LANDON
We’re gonna go see
the new Vin Diesel flick,
then go to ‘Hot Dog On A Stick.’

Bernie’s eyes light up.

CARRIE
ZIP IT, buster.
Not a word.

BERNIE
But I was just gonna --

CARRIE
No.

BERNIE
Ask her if they had --

CARRIE
BERNIE.

BERNIE
Bearded clams on a bun.

Carrie shakes her head in disgust.

BERNIE
See?
It wasn’t a dick joke --

Card-Carrying Carpet Muncher

Hey there, crime kids. Happy Valentine's 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 7 of WILSHIRE BOULEVARD, private eye Carrie Love has a tete-a-tete with her neighbor and former squeeze, B-movie queen Landon Hall, resplendent in rollerblades and a bikini ... but the shit hits the fan when they get interrupted by Carrie's ex-husband, homicide dick Bernie Keko ...


EXT. CARRIE’S JOINT - BATHROOM - DAY
Carrie'S in a short, silk robe.
Hair up in a towel.

Fresh-scrubbed. Wholesome.
If you squint your eyes.

She pads into --

THE KITCHEN
and goes to the fridge.
Grabs an energy drink.

CRACKS it open.
Takes a sip.

Looks out the window
over the sink at --

THE HOUSE ACROSS THE ALLEY
an old, white-clapboard bungalow, like hers.

But this one is in serious disrepair.
Gunshots suddenly POP! POP! POP!

CARRIE
Sounds like the natives are restless.

She goes to the counter.
Reaches into a wicker basket.
Pulls out -- nothing.

CARRIE
My Magnum --
(beat)
Shit.

She opens a cupboard.
Pulls out a GLOCK.

Goes to the back door.
Opens it.

Steps out into the alley.
Listens.

CARRIE (V.O.)
Two people lived next door to me.
Paul Martune and Kip Slobotnik.
Both assholes.
Maybe this was my lucky day.
Maybe they were dead.

Carrie creeps up to the back door.
Puts her ear to the door.

CARRIE (V.O.)
All was quiet. Too quiet.
I could hear my heartbeat
thump-thumping in my chest.

Footsteps.
They stop. Carrie turns --

CARRIE (V.O.)
I felt a CRACK on my head.
(she falls, hits the ground)
And I fell down,
deep down into a black hole,
swimming, under water,
current pulling me down, down, down --
(beat)
Until I was gone.

EXT. CARRIE’S JOINT - REAR ALLEY - DUSK
Carrie lies on the flagstones.
Towel askew.

FEMALE VOICE (O.C.)
Carrie?
Are you okay?!

A YOUNG WOMAN (20’s) approaches,
all legs, boobs and hair.

Meet LANDON HALL, B-movie queen,
Carrie’s neighbor, former flame,
and complete knockout
in a bikini and Rollerblades.

She shuffles over to Carrie’s body.

LANDON
Carrie!

She tries to reach down.
But the wheels SLIP
on the smooth stone,
and she FLIPS up,
and lands on her ass
with a CRACK.

LANDON
OW.
(beat)
Shit --

Carrie stirs.
Opens her eyes.
Looks at Landon.

CARRIE
Hey, doll-face.

LANDON
Hey, you.
Are you okay?
What happened?

Carrie rubs the back of her head.
at her hand.

CARRIE
I heard gunshots,
came over to check it out --
(beat)
And that’s the last I remember.

MALE VOICE (O.C.)
Well, that’s convenient.
Given that there’s a dead body
in the living room.

Homicide detective BERNIE KEKO (40’s) appears.
Rugged good looks.

Formerly buff, now a bit gone to seed.
World-weary eyes stare at the women,
the expanse of soft flesh.

CARRIE
Bernie.
What the fuck are you doing here?

BERNIE
Well, let’s see --
when I heard on the police scanner
that gunshots were fired,
next door to your place,
I just HAD to check out
what trouble my ex-wife was in.

CARRIE
Hey.
I was assaulted.
I’m a citizen --

LANDON
THAT’S your ex-husband?

CARRIE
Unfortunately.
Bernie, Landon, Landon, Bernie.

BERNIE
Please to meet you.
I saw that movie you did
with Dana Plato,
Two Jills & A Jack.

CARRIE
Bernie --

BERNIE
Hey.
It isn’t every day a guy
gets to meet
a real live movie star --

LANDON
Aw --

CARRIE
Bernie --

BERNIE
(to Landon)
So was your affair with my wife
research for the role,
or are you a card-carrying
carpet-muncher, too?

LANDON
What?

CARRIE
Ignore him.

Carrie pulls Landon up.
They hug.

CARRIE
C’mon, babe.
Let’s get dressed.
I think we’ve given him
enough jerk-off material for now.

LANDON
(fake-shocked)
Carrie!

CARRIE
(to Bernie)
Eat your heart out, copper.

BERNIE
You ladies get dressed.
I wanna check out
the crime scene.
Then I’ll have some
questions for you.

PUSH IN ON Carrie’s face.
Royally pissed.

CARRIE
Don’t hurry on my account --

By The Balls

Happy Thursday, crime slicksters. It's time once again to take a trip to the dark side, where the girls are hot, the drinks are cold, and the hardboiled-pulp-noir action is non-stop, right here, at the coolest crime joint in cyberspace ... at That Killing Feeling.

In Chapter 6 of WILSHIRE BOULEVARD, torture porn director Phillie Pfugg gets interrupted doing postproduction by his wife Chinette, who's looking for a little action. Meanwhile, private eye Carrie Love meets with former one-night-stand trophy wife Gay Flender at her mansion about her missing film producer husband Harvey ...


INT. PHILLIE PFUGG’S JOINT - HOME STUDIO - DAY
Phillie sits at his computer workstation.
PUNCHES a button on his reel-to-reel.
We hear --

MALE VOICE (V.O.)
It’s a simple job.
Five thousand now,
five thousand after it’s done.
we have a deal?

PHILLIE (V.O.)
Deal.

MALE VOICE (V.O.)
And remember, you have to
get rid of the body.
How is up to you.

He PUNCHES the tape off.
Grins. Pleased with himself.

PHILLIE
Got you by the balls, sucker.

Chinette walks into frame.

CHINETTE
'Get rid of the body?'
I heard someone say
GET RID OF THE BODY.

PHILLIE
Darling, let me explain --

CHINETTE
Explain?
You said you retired,
and now I hear someone
hiring you to do a JOB.

PHILLIE
That’s ADR for Head Shot,
sugarplum. Looping.
I’m timing the lines
to make sure they fit.
(beat)
Bruce Campbell.
Hell of an actor.
I’m still pinching myself --

CHINETTE
Bruce Campbell?
I LOVE Bruce Campbell.
saw him do
Evil Dead in the Park.

PHILLIE
Well, Head Shot is gonna make
Evil Dead look like
High School Musical, love-muffin.
And YOU’RE gonna be
on the red carpet with ME,
waiving to the all the fans.

CHINETTE
Oh, Phillie, you know
just what to say to a girl --
(suggestive)
What do you say we go upstairs?

PHILLIE
I’m sorry, hun --
but it’s not -- healed yet.

CHINETTE
I thought the infection was --
(alarmed)
Is it -- okay?

PHILLIE
Not to worry, my pet.
It just needs --
a little more time.
Pretty soon I’ll be riding you
like a well-oiled Harley.

PUSH IN ON Chinette’s face.
Dreamy.

CHINETTE
Kick-start my heart, baby --

EXT. FLENDER RESIDENCE - DAY
A super-sized faux Tudor monstrosity
on a leafy cul de sac.

Porsches, Beemers and Benzes
dot the landscape.

A HISPANIC HOUSEKEEPER waters a garden
in the dappled sunlight.

INT. FLENDER LIVING ROOM - CONTINUOUS
Carrie sits in a big wing chair.
Sipping a beer.

Eyes roaming the large, lush room.
Slowly nodding. She looks at --

GAY FLENDER (mid-30’s),
splayed out on the couch.

The kind of blinding beauty
that stops traffic.

Azure eyed. Chestnut mane.
Curvy. With shiny, toned gams.
The stuff of dreams.

CARRIE (V.O.)
And there she was.
A solid-gold siren from
the right side of the tracks.
(beat)
The problem with a sex addiction
is it spills over into
your professional life.

Gay lights a cigarette
with trembling hands.

CARRIE (V.O.)
Take Gay Flender.
I had met her at
her dead husband’s office --
and within one hour
we were playing ‘frisk the perp’
at the Motel Starlet
on the wrong end of Pico.

Gay rummages in her Prada bag.
Pull out a prescription bottle.

Pops a pill.
Takes a sip from her designer water.

CARRIE (V.O.)
Guess it was a combination
of my carnal knowledge --
and the three martini lunch.
Of course, I had to
cut if off right away.
mean, I was working
for her husband’s partner.
And I learned the hard way
that mixing work and play
is like looking for love
at the Neverland Ranch.

Carrie sips her beer.
Smiles grimly.

CARRIE
Nice joint you have here.

GAY
Thank you.
We just did a complete re-model.
We used Brendan of --
(gasps)
Thanks for -- coming on -- such --

She breaks down.
Softly sobbing.

CARRIE
I’m so sorry -- Gay.

Pause.

GAY
The fucking bastard
had it coming.

CARRIE
Excuse me?

GAY
Don’t get me wrong,
I loved the jerk,
but he was a fucking crook.

Carrie takes a pull
from her bottle.
Narrows her eyes.

CARRIE
How so?

GAY
He’d pad the budget on his movies
and pocket the difference,
never paid profit participation,
and he --
(whispers)
Stole people’s projects.

CARRIE
So he was old-school Hollywood.
(off Gay’s nod)
This is the point where I ask you
if he had any enemies --

GAY
Enemies?
The whole town hated him.
But watch, now that he’s dead,
he’ll be a martyr.
Full-page ads in Variety,
a Peter Bart column,
the works.
(beat)
Isn’t it a bit early
in the day for a beer?

CARRIE
I’m having a --
personal crisis of my own.

GAY
What happened?

CARRIE
Let’s just say --
I’m unlucky in love.

GAY
I’m so sorry --
(stares, thinking)
Are you sure you’re up for this?

Carrie drains the beer.
Eyes bore into Gay
like kleig lights.

CARRIE
(quiet, terse)
I never let my personal life
affect my work.
In fact, when I’m upset
and my nerves are frayed,
my focus becomes razor-sharp.

GAY
That’s nice.

CARRIE
(stands)
So where should I start?
I mean, if the whole town --

GAY
(gets up)
Start by checking out the freaks
at his production company.

CARRIE
The whole company?

GAY
Don’t worry.
It’s now only five people.

PUSH IN ON Carrie.
Lighting up a smoke.

CARRIE
Now that’s what I call
a 'mini-major' --

Half-Cocked

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 5 of WILSHIRE BOULEVARD, private eye Carrie Love races to meet with her client Gay Flender about her missing movie producer husband Harvey ... just as the cops find his dead body on the Hollywood Walk Of Fame. Meanwhile, Christian producer Ken Rice meets with his 'agent' at a chickenhawk bar to pitch 'his latest project' ...


EXT. CARRIE’S CAR - MOVING - DAY
Carrie’s monster '68 Olds cruises north
through a tunnel of palm trees.

Passes lux beach joints.
Ivy at the Shore --

CARRIE (V.O.)
Ah. Smoggy, muggy Los Angeles.
Like a sauna, blanketing this
godforsaken burg like a warm, damp shroud.
Just the thing for a hangover.

The car stops at a light.
The sign reads MONTANA AVE.

Carrie signals.
Turns right.
Starts heading east.

CARRIE (V.O.)
My mouth was dry.
Heart, pounding. Head, throbbing.
Muscles aching from my tryst
with the Empress of the Damned.

CAMERA flies by a series of trendy boutiques.

CARRIE (V.O.)
Maybe this would help take my mind off
being left at the dog collar.
An easy, simple missing husband --
who’s probably sleeping off a bender
in some sleazy motel room
with a high-priced call girl.

The car turns left onto 26th Street.
Passes by beautiful multi-million dollar homes.

Luxury SUV’s.
Luxury nannies with luxury strollers
pushing luxury heiresses and future CEO’s.

CARRIE (V.O.)
This neighborhood always makes me feel like
Ray Milland in ‘Sunset Boulevard.’
(beat)
Hungry. Desperate. Doesn’t belong.

Carrie’s car pulls over to the curb.
Stops.

She inspects herself in the rear view.
Sniffs an armpit.

CARRIE (V.O.)
Not too bad.
But I probably should have
jumped in the shower.
(beat)
Nah. Never stopped Sam Spade --

EXT. VINE STREET - AT THAT MOMENT
A couple blocks south of Hollywood Boulevard,
where the celebrity stars end.

An old hotel, ‘The Grand,’
now not-so.

A small CROWD OF ONLOOKERS is cordoned off
behind yellow police tape.

A uniformed COP ON HORSEBACK
pushes them back.

COP ON HORSEBACK
Behind the BARRICADE --

Another OFFICER, this one a beefy,
plainclothes HOMICIDE DICK,
leans against the hotel steps.
Hung-over. He pukes.

BEEFY HUNG-OVER DICK
GAAA.

ANGLE ON --

The bug-eyed dog walker we saw earlier.
Now a corpse lying on a star.

Shot in the mouth.
The eyes. Crotch.

The name reads --
'Don Simpson.'

BEEFY
walks over. Takes a look.

His PARTNER, a tall, lanky string-bean,
searches through Bug-Eye’s billfold.

BEEFY HUNG-OVER DICK
Whattawe got?

STRING BEAN DICK
Name’s Flender.
Some movie producer.

EXT. WEST HOLLYWOOD - SCANDALS - DUSK
A restaurant on the second floor,
above a gay video store.

INT. SCANDALS - CONTINUOUS
Connie Francis’ SECOND HAND LOVE
plays on a jukebox over --

Dark, very old school.
BARTENDERS in shirt and tie.

Cute, buff WAITERS strut about.
The patrons are all men.

Very old. Or very young.
Ambiance heavy and quiet
with lust and money.

Welcome to a ‘chicken-hawk’ bar.

Ken sits at the bar with DAVID NANCE (50’s),
gender-fuck clone from another planet.

Stick thin.
Fashion a’la ‘85.

Spiky hair teased with blond tips.
Eyes bright with makeup.

He raises a pink cocktail
with an umbrella.

DAVID
Here’s to the demise of the
biggest fucking thief in Hollywood.

Ken grins.
Raises his glass.

KEN
And -- to my pet project.

They sip.
Eyes twinkling.

DAVID
And just why doesn’t your AGENT
know about this ‘pet’ project? Hmmm?

KEN
I’ve been keeping it to myself for a bit.
I didn't want to go off half-cocked.

DAVID
Who does?
(winks)
So spill it.

KEN
Okay.
Did you see on the news
about that teacher
that had an affair
with one of the students?

DAVID
I saw it on Perez Hilton.
The boy is what, 13?
Talk about prime rib.
(sips his drink)
Shame on that teacher,
seducing a young boy like that.
Old enough to be his mother.

KEN
This is another one.
The teacher, a man,
had an affair with a student,
a sixteen-year-old BOY --
(dramatic pause)
Who turns out to be his SON.

DAVID
Kinky.
But I can’t sell that to a network.

KEN
I have a plan.
(sips his drink)
The Lord works in mysterious ways, my boy.

Ken notices someone
at the other end of the bar.

His eyes light up.
He leans over to the bartender.

KEN
You see that great, big
bear of a man down there?
Would you please send him
another drink? On me --

ANGLE ON --

A large, hulking freak of a guy.
A 300-pounder.

Massive, misshapen head
like something out of FREAKS.

He finishes his drink.
Starts CRUNCHING ice.
Dim bulb flickering.

KEN
And be sure to tell him
who its from --

Fast, Cheap And Out Of Control

Happy Tuesday, crime slicksters. It's time once again to take a trip to the dark side, where the girls are hot, the drinks are cold, and the hardboiled-pulp-noir action is non-stop, right here, at the coolest crime joint in cyberspace ... at That Killing Feeling.

In Chapter 4 of WILSHIRE BOULEVARD, private eye Carrie Love wakes up in the morning to find her girlfriend has unexpectedly left town. Heartbroken, she goes to the bar and pours a stiff one ... and then gets a call from a one night stand who wants to hire her ...


EXT. VENICE WALKWAY STREET - EARLY AFTERNOON
CAMERA gliding down a picture-book side-street
behind the Venice boardwalk,
a magical neighborhood byway for
pedestrians, bicycles, skates.
No cars allowed.

We continue down the bucolic boulevard
through a tunnel of trees.

We approach a six-foot-high wooden fence.
CAMERA TILTS up, up, and reveals --

THE HOUSE.
A hundred-year-old bungalow.

One-and-a-half stories, with a
single window in the peak of the roof.

Peering out the window
is a three-foot tall blonde doll,
like some kind of girlish guardian spectre.
Playful. Spooky.

CAMERA PUSHES through the gate,
passes by a flagstone patio.

Lush plant life.
Big jacuzzi, blue water bubbling invitingly,
steam rising into the night.

We go up three steps to an enclosed deck.
Push open the lattice-work wooden door --
Revealing the antique wood and glass front door,
swung open to reveal --

INT. BUNGALOW - LIVING ROOM - CONTINUOUS
A riot of color, a pop art explosion.
Imagination. Big-screen TV.

Wall of sound stereo.
A room-width altar.

Candles abound, every size, every color.
Walls painted a bright, deep red.

Barbies everywhere, in
‘installations’ doing strange things.

A child-sized doll atop the giant TV,
lava lamp up her skirt, grins maniacally,
as if daring a visitor to turn on the tube.

In the corner of the room is
a tiny, glassed-in work space, painted pink.

A loft above it,
bed-sized skylight open to the stars.
Spilling moonlight across the vaulted ceiling.

CAMERA continues its journey through --

THE DINING ROOM
Walls and ceiling a deep tangerine.
A long walnut table
with six primitive place settings,
dwarfed in the sea of wood.

Crystal vase with a
‘bouquet of Barbies’ in fresh water.

We pass by --

THE BAR
tricked out like a 60’s Vegas tiki lounge.
Fully stocked.

A big lit Schlitz globe slowing turns,
spinning out pin spots
like a drunken mirror ball.

CAMERA PUSHES through a curtain
of colored glass beads into --

THE KITCHEN
A deep school bus yellow,
dimly lit in amber
from several Jesus clocks.

And the ice dispenser on the fridge.
We snake through into --

THE BATHROOM
Like a ship’s stateroom,
at crazy knotty pine angles.

Leopard shower curtain
ringed around the oval footed tub.

Walls lined with a collection of
framed 60’s exotic dancer, pin-up photography.
Racy pulp novel covers.

CAMERA glides through
a curtain of gold beads into --

CARRIE’S BEDROOM
Walls and ceiling a deep, vibrant red.

A queen-sized bed,
seductive in black satin sheets
and a lux leopard bed spread.

Twin gilt sconces curled into
flowers of light on the wall.

Carrie lies on the bed,
mouth open. Alone.

Thrashed covers and pillow and sheets.
Mess of black, leopard and bare skin.

She turns onto her back.
Reaches up to itch her nose.

We see a CHROME HANDCUFF on her wrist.
She COUGHS.

The cuff WHACKS the side of her head.
Carrie BOLTS UPRIGHT.

CARRIE
OW, what the --?

She looks around. No one.

CARRIE
Felina?

WHIPS OFF the covers.
Throws on her robe. Pads into --

THE BATHROOM
Empty.

CARRIE
Felina?!

She WHIRLS AROUND, dashes into --

THE KITCHEN
Empty.

A small handwritten note on the bar.
Carrie GRABS IT.

THE NOTE
reads ‘You know how much I hate good-byes.
Be strong. Stay sexy.
I’ll be home for Christmas. Love, F.’

Carrie stares at the piece of paper.
In shock.

CARRIE (V.O.)
My heart was breaking.
My love story never makes it to the third act.
I don’t even get the big Casablanca goodbye.

Carrie pulls up a bar stool.
Sits. Surveys the libations.

CARRIE (V.O.)
I was a ship cut adrift
in an ocean of sorrow.
My whole fucking life is a
pulp noir written by some
drunken Philip Marlowe wannabe
on a one-way ticket to loser-ville.
Raymond Chandler knew the deal.
Phillip Marlowe drank like a fish.
Helped him think.
Gave him strength. Clarity.

She reaches over,
grabs a bottle of Kessler’s.

CARRIE (V.O.)
Forget those martini-swilling lightweights
Nick and Nora Charles. Kid stuff.
William Powell, my ass.

Carrie pours two fingers
into a cut-glass tumbler.

CARRIE (V.O.)
Philip Marlowe didn’t drink for fun.
He drank to forget.
(takes a sip)
And then remember.

She downs it.
Phone RINGS.

Wipes her mouth.
Pours another.

RING-RING.

CARRIE
Leave me the fuck ALONE.

RING-RING.
She turns her head. Realizes.
GRABS the receiver. Listens.

CARRIE
Felina?

INTERCUT WITH:

A GLOSSY, DARK-HAIRED FEMME FATALE
in an armchair, turned 3/4 away from us.
On the phone.

GLOSSY FEMME FATALE
Carrie?

CARRIE
You’re not Felina --

GLOSSY FEMME FATALE
Who’s Felina?
Carrie, it’s me -- Gay.
Gay Flender.

CARRIE
Isn’t it a bit early
in the day for -- stalking?

GAY
I’m not stalking you.
I need your help.

CARRIE
What’s the matter, the batteries
in your vibrator went dead?

GAY
I need a -- a private detective.
You did that job for my
husband’s business partner --

CARRIE
Ah, yes -- the missing gay son.
That was a weird case.
Kinky little bastard.

GAY
He’s not gay.
He was just -- experimenting.

CARRIE
Right.
On a drag queen porn shoot in Tijuana.
‘Shemale Trouble,’ I believe?’

GAY
It’s my husband.
He’s -- missing.

Carrie pours a shot.
Holds it up to the light.
Downs it.

GAY
Hello?
Are you still there?

Carrie closes her eyes.
Thinks.

CARRIE
When did you last see him?

GAY
Last night.
He, he -- went out to walk the dogs,
and he -- never came back.

CARRIE
(to herself)
Guess there’s a lot of that
going around.

GAY
What? So are you available?
Can you help me?
Can you find him for me?

CARRIE
I’ll have to check my calendar.

She pours another.
Takes a sip.

GAY
I’m at my wit’s end.
I didn’t get any sleep last night --

Gay breaks down, starts sobbing.

CARRIE
(winces, takes a hit)
Alright, alright --
keep your knickers on.
I’ll do it.
But it’s just business.

GAY
You will?
Oh, yes -- thank you, thank you,
I don’t know what to --

CARRIE
My fee is five hundred bucks a day.
Plus expenses.

GAY
Oh, don’t worry about that.
We’re loaded.
How soon can you come over?

Carrie pours another shot.
Downs it. Shivers.

GAY
Carrie?
You still there?

Pause.

CARRIE
I’ll be right over.

GAY
I’m at 134 24th Street,
one block north of Montana.
(beat)
Can I ask you something?

CARRIE
Sure. Why not.

GAY
Why does your card say --
‘Fast, Cheap and Out of Control?’

CARRIE
Oh, that --
(pours another)
I believe in truth in advertising.

Head Shot

Hey there, crime kids. Happy Monday. 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 WILSHIRE BOULEVARD, movie producer Harvey Flender gets abducted by a stranger in black while out walking his dogs. Meanwhile, wannabe filmmaker Phillie Pfugg takes a break from editing his magnum opus to shoot a violent jerk-off 'cinema verite' ...


EXT. SANTA MONICA HILLS - NIGHT
It’s dark. Misty.
With only the light of a half-moon.

A STRANGE-LOOKING MAN (40’s), Ceasar ‘do’,
bug-eyed, bowling-pin-shaped,
walks a pair of GOLDEN RETRIEVERS
on a leafy foot path.

He giggles.
Fingers his smart phone.

STRANGE-LOOKING
Ooh. Overnights are in --

The dogs STOP. Tense. GROWL.

STRANGE-LOOKING
Summer, Autumn -- what’s wrong?

Just then a FIGURE in black
GRABS Strange-Looking from behind.

YANKS the dog’s leashes free.
SHOOTS into the sky.
BANG. BANG. BANG.

The dogs RUN OFF.
Strange is pulled into the dense foliage.

EXT. HOLLYWOOD HILLS - DAWN
Mulholland Drive.
The peak of the land of dreams.

INT. BLACK RANCH MANSION - STUDIO - AT THAT MOMENT
A cozy, dim, wood-panelled basement rec room.
Posters of Bunuel. Goddard.
Russ Meyer. Hershel Gordon Lewis.

A HULKING FIGURE (40’s)
leans over a computer monitor.

Tiny, piggy eyes.
Hooked nose.

Kinky black hair in a mullet
with bangs trying to cover
a receding hairline.

Meet PHILLIE PFUGG.
Right now rockin’ the Avid.
Cutting his masterpiece.

He grins. HONKS a large glob
of phlegm into his hand.

Rubs it on his jeans.
Smiles at his work, pleased.

PHILLIE
This’ll make SAW
look like Pee-Wee’s Playhouse.

He rubs his crotch, gingerly.
Looks down. Winces.

PHILLIE
Say hello to my big ‘fren --

IN THE KITCHEN
is CHINETTE PFUGG, Phillie’s better half.
Cute face, but on the body of a dude.

Tiny steriod-breasts.
And hey, is that a five-o’clock shadow?
Right now she’s chatting on her cell.

CHINETTE
'Torture porn?'
Are you fucking kidding me?
Phillie’s the next Scorcese.
‘Head Shot’ is gonna clean up
at the box office.

EXT. MULHOLLAND DRIVE - AT THAT MOMENT
A hundred yards down the road,
a large group of CYCLISTS form a human chain.

Dressed like the Tour de France.
Shouting excitedly to each other.
Laughing. FLYING by --

IN PHILLIE’S STUDIO
he looks at his watch. Smiles.
Goes to the window. Opens it. Leans out.

Grabs the end of a shiny steel cable.
FLICKS a switch on a small wooden box
mounted on the outside wall.

THE CYCLISTS
get nearer. Nearer.
Start to pass the house, as --

PHILLIE
YANKS on the wire,
pulling it up across the road,
up about three feet.

He hooks it around a big spike, and --

THE CYCLISTS
HIT THE WIRE!

They JERK, JOLT in mid-air, skid,
fall and SKITTER across the road,
causing the row behind, and the next,
and the next to WIPE OUT,
falling like dominos.

PHILLIE
giggles. Unhooks the wire.

ACROSS THE STREET
a spinning wheel WHIRLS,
pulls the cable back with a SNAP.

PHILLIE
grabs the box.
Closes the window, and the blinds.

Sits down with his prize.
Opens the box.
Takes out a small camcorder.

PHILLIE
Won’t need any lube with THIS one.

EXT. WEST HOLLYWOOD - AT THAT MOMENT
A small strip mall. Dry cleaners.
Burger joint. Check cashing.

And, at the end, a small concrete bunker.
Small sign in the window reads
‘Heavenly Pictures. By Appointment Only.’

INT. HEAVENLY PICTURES - CONTINUOUS
A pink-faced MAN (40’s) sits at a desk.
Boyish blonde haircut, parted.

Body, slug-like.
Mouth a tight little smear.

Meet KEN RICE, bottom-feeder extraordinaire.
Right now he’s reading the Bible,
mouth slowly forming the words.

He hears something. Looks.
Eyes LIGHT UP. He PUNCHES a remote.

HIS COMPUTER MONITOR
shows a CNN news feed.
A smiling but grim anchor leans in.

ANCHOR
-- where Hollywood producer Harvey Flender
disappeared while walking his dogs --

KEN
smiles.
His phone RINGS.
He picks up --

KEN
David, hi.
Yes, I’m watching right now --
(listens)
I know. Tragic.
(listens)
Probably someone else
whose calls he didn’t return --
(giggles)
You are AWFUL.
(listens)
Of course.

We should meet.
(listens)
How about Scandals?
Say around six?

PUSH IN ON Ken.
yes dancing with a mischievous gleam.

Slippery When Wet

Hey there, crime kids. Happy Tuesday. 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 2 of WILSHIRE BOULEVARD, private eye Carrie Love and dominatrix/double agent Felina Bella Donna continue their party at a picnic on the beach under the moonlight ... until they get rudely interrupted ...


EXT. SANTA MONICA FREEWAY - NIGHT
Carrie drives her monster 68 Olds, top down.
Hair slicked back.

Leather jacket covers the remnants
of the evening’s excitement.

Felina lays back,
feet up on the dashboard.

On the car stereo,
the ghostly fuzz-reverb surf guitar of
The Raveonettes’ ALLY WALK WITH ME
echoes ominously.

CARRIE
(looks at Felina, pensive)
I had fun tonight.
Despite the bloodshed.

FELINA
C’mon love, cheer up.
I’ll be back.
For Christmas break.
I’ve got spies to catch.
Terrorists to seduce.
Double agents to lick --

She leans over.
Sucks Carrie on the neck.
The car SWERVES.

CARRIE
Whoah, easy on the vampire bite.
We’re almost there.

FELINA
I want to suck your --
(beat)
Hey, I could give you head --

CARRIE
(shakes her head)
Slippery when wet, doll --
your tongue could cause
a five-car pileup.
Why don’t you open the champagne?
Keep your hands busy.

FELINA
More booze!

She reaches into the back seat,
pulls out a bottle of Moet.
Starts SHAKING it maniacally.

CARRIE
What are you doing?
Your gonna --

FELINA
I’m gonna christen the love boat!

Felina unties, pulls off the wire
around the cork.

CARRIE
Wait, don’t! You’ll --

But it’s too late.
Felina POPS the cork,
and a geyser of champagne WHOOSHES out,
SPRAYING both of them.

Felina takes a big chug.
Passes it to Carrie.

FELINA
Relax.
You’re in rubber.
No stains.

CARRIE
(takes the bottle)
Bitch.
Now I’m soaked.
(laughs, takes a chug)
You are one crazy frill.

FELINA
And you love it.
(raises the bottle)
Drive on, MacDuff.
Take me to your sand castle.

EXT. VENICE BEACH - NIGHT
The women sit before a campfire.
Huddled together under a blanket.

Toasting marshmallows.
The remnants of a picnic dinner
lay strewn about.
Bottle of wine chilling.

CARRIE
I have this awful feeling --
you’re not coming back.

FELINA
Don’t be daft.
I’ve never met anyone like you.

CARRIE
That’s what I’m afraid of --
(looks)
Careful, it’s gonna burn.

FELINA
I LIKE it burned -- to a crisp.
Black and crunchy.

CARRIE
I’m a golden-brown kinda gal myself --
(beat)
Soft and --

FELINA
(looks)
Hey.
You’re crying.
Baby --

CARRIE
I’m NOT crying.
I’m --

MALE VOICE (O.S.)
Gonna give us your fucking wallets.

A NASTY SURF PUNK
stands across the campfire.
Wielding a switchblade.

A sickly, FILTHY BEACH JUNKIE,
next to him,
waves a broken beer bottle.

NASTY SURF PUNK
Toss ‘em over, NOW.

FILTHY BEACH JUNKIE
And your boom box, bitch.
Gimmee, gimmee.

NASTY SURF PUNK
Maybe we should fuck ‘em first.

The girls WHIP OUT their guns.
The assholes FREEZE.

CARRIE
I’ve got stinky.
You get ugly.

FELINA
Which is which?

CARRIE
Flip a coin.
(at them, smooth)
Get your white trash
crust-infected asses
THE FUCK outta here.

FELINA
Before we BLOW OFF
your bloody DINGLE-BERRIES.

They scuttle away.
The girls smile.

Lower their guns.
Kiss.

CARRIE
Let’s blow this sand dune.
The bungalow awaits.

FELINA
Did that -- ruin the mood?

PUSH IN ON Carrie.
Eyes burning with mischief.

CARRIE
Actually, it kinda started one --