Monday, February 10, 2014
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’,
walks a pair of GOLDEN RETRIEVERS
on a leafy foot path.
Fingers his smart phone.
Ooh. Overnights are in --
The dogs STOP. Tense. GROWL.
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
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.
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.
This’ll make SAW
look like Pee-Wee’s Playhouse.
He rubs his crotch, gingerly.
Looks down. Winces.
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.
And hey, is that a five-o’clock shadow?
Right now she’s chatting on her cell.
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.
get nearer. Nearer.
Start to pass the house, as --
YANKS on the wire,
pulling it up across the road,
up about three feet.
He hooks it around a big spike, and --
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.
giggles. Unhooks the wire.
ACROSS THE STREET
a spinning wheel WHIRLS,
pulls the cable back with a SNAP.
grabs the box.
Closes the window, and the blinds.
Sits down with his prize.
Opens the box.
Takes out a small camcorder.
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.
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.
-- where Hollywood producer Harvey Flender
disappeared while walking his dogs --
His phone RINGS.
He picks up --
Yes, I’m watching right now --
I know. Tragic.
Probably someone else
whose calls he didn’t return --
You are AWFUL.
We should meet.
How about Scandals?
Say around six?
PUSH IN ON Ken.
yes dancing with a mischievous gleam.