Livin' La Vida Loca

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 19 of WILSHIRE BOULEVARD, the shit hits more than the fan when private eye Carrie Love arrives at The Hotel California to interrogate TV movie producer Roland Yavo and finds him dead. Meanwhile, homicide dick Bernie Keko tangles with his new partner, Israeli amazon Aya Meir.


EXT. HOTEL CALIFORNIA - PARKING LOT - NIGHT
Splashy, flashy cars abound.
Carrie maneuvers the whale into a space.
The fly in the ointment.

INT. CARRIE’S CAR - CONTINUOUS
Carrie finishes an In-N’-Out burger.
Jenny munches on fries.

CARRIE
Just wait here.
I’ll be right back.

JENNY
Okay.
Be careful --

Carrie gets out.
Leans into the window.

CARRIE
Thanks for hanging out with me.
It’s weird. It feels like
I’ve known you a long time.

JENNY
Is that -- good?

CARRIE
You tell me.

INT. HOTEL CALIFORNIA - FRONT DESK - NIGHT
Carrie stands at the counter.
No one.

She sees a bronze bell.
BANG-BANG-BANGS it --
BRING, BRING, BRING.

FEMALE VOICE (O.C.)
Hold on, I’m coming, I’m coming!

A FAT, GROTESQUE WOMAN
emerges from the back room.
Repulsive.

Layers of fat ooze out
from under her belly top.

Her three chins.
Greasy grey hair in bangs,
clipped up on the sides
for that ‘teenage look.’

Her stained T-shirt reads
Livin’ La Vida Loca.

CARRIE
(pulls out a badge)
Homicide, fourth Precinct.
I’m looking for a Roland Yavo.
He’s staying here.
Or so I’m told.

GROTESQUE CLERK
Haven’t had the law
around in a while.
(eyes flickering)
What he do?

CARRIE
Nothing.
I just want to talk to him.

She pulls out a ten spot.
Slides it over.

GROTESQUE CLERK
(pockets it)
He’s in twenty four.
Second floor.

EXT. HOTEL CORRIDOR - MOMENTS LATER
Carrie creeps down the outdoor walkway
that runs the length of the place.

Reaches twenty four. Stops.
Puts her ear to the door.

Faint TV sounds trickle out.
Some old movie soundtrack.

Carrie KNOCK-KNOCK-KNOCKS
on the door.

CARRIE
Roland.
Roland Yavo.
It’s Carrie Love --

She listens.
Silence.

Pulls a pick from her pocket.
Works it in the lock.

A soft CLICK.
The door SWINGS OPEN.
She moves in.

INT. HOTEL ROOM - CONTINUOUS
A front room of a nice suite.
Cozy. Touristy-tacky.
Nautical artwork.

A plasma-screen TV
flashes over a fake fireplace.

Empty.

Carrie moves to the bathroom.
In the doorway, we see a
pair of bare feet on the floor.
In a large puddle of BLOOD.

CARRIE
(softly)
This is not good.

She goes in.
Yavo lies on the tiles.
Shot in the temple.

His Colt lies next
to his right hand.

CARRIE
Clumsily staged suicide.
Amateur-hour.
Strictly non-pro.

Carrie grabs a hand towel.
Wipes down the doorknob.

All the surfaces she touched.
Closes the door.

OUTSIDE IN THE CORRIDOR
she looks around. No one.

Wipes that knob, too.
Hurries off.

EXT. HOTEL CALIFORNIA - PARKING LOT - MOMENTS LATER
Carrie slides into the Olds.
GUNS the engine. HITS the gas.

JENNY
What’s wrong?
You look spooked.

CARRIE
Yavo’s dead.
Single gunshot,
right in the kisser.

JENNY
What?

CARRIE
Shot with his own gun.
Old Raymond Chandler device.
Nice. When it works.

JENNY
Did you -- call the police?

CARRIE
Not yet.
I’ve finally been
dealt a good hand.
And I’d like to play it out --

EXT. MUNICIPAL BUILDING - PARKING LOT - AT THAT MOMENT
Aya sits behind the wheel
of a nondescript unmarked sedan.
Bernie comes up to her window.

BERNIE
Slide over.
I’m driving.

AYA
No. I’m driving.

BERNIE
I ALWAYS drive.

AYA
Hurry up, get in.
We have a grieving widow to interview,
and we don’t have time for your misogyny.

Bernie does a slow burn.
Walks around the car. Gets in.
Aya puts the car in gear, and TEARS off.

INT./EXT. UNMARKED CAR - MOVING - CONTINUOUS

AYA
In Israel, everyone serves in the Army.
I’ve killed a man with my bare hands.

BERNIE
Palestinian soldier?

AYA
No, my godfather.
He tried to rape me.

BERNIE
Shit. Wow.
(beat)
I’m sorry.

AYA
Don’t be.
He was a slave trafficker.
He would have kicked the can
sooner or later.

BERNIE
It’s 'kicked the bucket.'
Kick the can is a kid’s game.

Bernie checks her out.
This might not be so bad after all.

BERNIE
So, I guess you -- played basketball?

AYA
No.
But I bet you play
a mean game of miniature golf --