Rules Of Procedure

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 4 of NOWHERE GIRL, Homeland Security agent April Street gets reamed by her boss, black ops spook Sledge Crafton about letting 'the package' get away. Meanwhile, exotic dancer Cherry Nation and Silverlake hipster Peeler Mardo lay low at his joint and try to figure out where to deliver the briefcase handcuffed to her wrist ...


INT. TAXI CAB - MOVING - NIGHT
April drives down city streets.
Talks into her hands-free.

APRIL
I TOLD you.
Someone got there
before I did.

INTERCUT WITH:

INT. INTELLIGENCE OFFICE - CONTINUOUS
SLEDGE CRAFTON (50),
beefy ex-Marine,
now gone to seed,
leans toward the
speakerphone on his desk.

Strokes the ugly scar
that crisscrosses his face.
Angry. Beet-red.

SLEDGE
You really fucked
this up, Street.
GODDAMIT.

APRIL
Hey!

The traffic was FUCKED
on the 405.
And I was ON TIME.
The fucker was EARLY,
and he gave the package
to SOMEONE ELSE.

SLEDGE
Another heartbreaker?
Like yourself?

Pause.

APRIL
Look, chief.
We did it one time.
It was a mistake.
I was grieving --

SLEDGE
Didn’t you ever
wonder why I took you on?
(BANGS on the desk)
A fucking STUNT WOMAN
with no experience?

APRIL
But you said I --

SLEDGE
I fucking said
what you wanted to hear.
I wanted to
get in your pants
from day one.
And against all odds,
I molded you into
one of our top operatives.
(beat)
Until now.

APRIL
For your information, BOSS,
I’m right now approaching
the house of the person
has the package.
I WAS calling in
for back up.
But never mind.
I’ll handle it myself.
You can go FUCK your
rules of procedure.

SLEDGE
Now THAT’S the feisty lass
I groomed for greatness.
You get that case,
AND make the delivery,
I MIGHT JUST consider
keeping you on.

PUSH IN ON April.
Royally pissed.

APRIL
Wow.
Does that mean I
can still come to
the company picnic?

EXT. SILVERLAKE STREET - BUNGALOW - NIGHT
A decrepit pre-war bungalow
on a street with
similar small houses.

Classic cars and bicycles
dot the landscape.

Peeler opens the front door,
ushers Cherry in.

PEELER
It’s not much,
but I call it hovel.

INT. MARDO’S JOINT - CONTINUOUS
Classic hipster combination of Ikea,
found threadbare furniture.

Ironic art.
Plants. Pizza boxes.

Giant plasma screen, though.
And a decent stereo.

Cherry walks around.
Inspecting.

CHERRY
Not bad for a guy.
Not filthy.
(stops, looks at him)
I’m not fucking you,
you know.

PEELER
I wasn’t -- thinking you --
(beat)
You want me to
fix you a chai latte?

CHERRY
Gag me.
You got a beer?

PEELER
Sure thing.

Peeler wanders into the kitchen.
Cherry goes to the couch.
Plops down.

Puts the briefcase next to her.
Pulls out the envelope.

RIPS it open.
Pulls out the instructions.
Reads.

Peeler comes in with
two large bottles of beer.

PEELER
(hands one to her)
Here you go --

CHERRY
(takes it, looks)
What the hell kinda
beer IS this?

PEELER
Flat tire.
Microbrew.

CHERRY
I bet you listen to
a lot of Beck.
(holds up the piece of paper)
We gotta take the briefcase
to this address.
But I don’t where it is.

PEELER
Let me see.

She hands it over.
Peeler reads it.

CHERRY
Where is it?

PEELER
Dude.
That’s in the
Hollywood hills.

A FIGURE IN BLACK
appears in the window.
Then disappears.

CHERRY
Will you go with me?

PEELER
I don’t -- have a car.
It’s in the shop.

MALE VOICE (O.C.)
That’s okay.
I do.

TOKEN WARE
Walks into the room.
Holding a sawed-off shotgun.

TOKEN
You should lock
your front door.
Open invitation
for dangerous criminals --