Special Sauce

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 34 of FILLMORE, Slim gets rousted by the cops, who find the stash of coke he procured at a local joint under the guise of buying barbecue ... then gets busted by the Secret Service for 'possession of gold.'

EXT. SAN FRANCISCO - TENDERLOIN - NIGHT
Slim talks with HONEY (20’s) one of his new Frisco girls,
a white statuesque brunette with an enormous rack.
She smiles, hands him a big gold medallion on a chain.

HONEY
It’s for you.

Slim takes it. Turns it over. Examines it.

SLIM
Looks like pure gold --

HONEY
It is.

SLIM
Where’d you get it? You holding out on me?

HONEY
No, silly. One of my regulars, a jewelry dealer.

SLIM
He just GAVE it to you?

HONEY
Hell, no. I swiped it. C’mon. Put it on.

He does. Holds it up.

SLIM
You’re the best, baby.
(off her smile)
Now get back to work.

INT. KANSAS CITY BARBECUE - NIGHT
Slim goes to the counter. FOLEY, the owner (40’s)
a hard-working guy in shirt sleeves greets him.

FOLEY
Fillmore Slim. What can I get you, my brother?

SLIM
My man Foley. Best barbecue in San Francisco.
I’d like an order of the special ribs.

FOLEY
Good choice. That’ll be forty-five dollars.

Slim nods, pulls out a wad of cash. Pays him.
A FAT WOMAN (30S) standing nearby looks at him.

FAT WOMAN
Forty-five bucks?
Must be pretty motherfucking GOOD barbecue.

SLIM
(looks at her, winks)
It’s the special sauce.

INT. SLIM’S CAR - NIGHT
Slim gets in the car holding his order in a brown paper bag.
Sits. Opens it. Pulls out a bindle of COKE.

Sticks it in a box of tissues on the dashboard.
Drives off.

EXT. CITY STREET - NIGHT
Slim drives down the avenue, eating barbecue,
listening to music on the car stereo.

A police siren WHOOP-WHOOPS behind him.
He looks in the rear view mirror.

SLIM
Shit.

INT. SLIM’S CAR - MOVING - NIGHT
Slim pulls over to the curb.
Grabs a couple tissues, cleans off his hands.

A GRIM POLICE OFFICER (30’s)
comes up to the driver’s-side window.
His PARTNER (20’s) stands nearby.

GRIM POLICE OFFICER
Step out of the car.

SLIM
What did I do, officer? I wasn’t speeding.

GRIM POLICE OFFICER
I see Fillmore Slim, I got probable cause.
Get the fuck out of the car, NOW.

Slim opens the door. Gets out.
The officer gets in, starts searching.

Checks the glove box. Nothing.
Looks at the box of tissues.
Sticks his hand in it, pulls out the bindle.

GRIM POLICE OFFICER
Hmmm, what do we have here?

He climbs back out. Takes out a pen.
Pokes it through the plastic. Tastes it. Smiles.

GRIM POLICE OFFICER
You’re under arrest for
possession of a controlled substance.

His partner CUFFS Slim.
Grim sees Slim’s medallion.
YANKS it off his neck.

GRIM POLICE OFFICER
And possession of gold.

INT. SLIM’S APARTMENT - NIGHT
Slim lies in bed watching TV, drinking from a flask.
A loud POUNDING on the door.

ANGRY MALE VOICE (O.C.)
Secret Service. OPEN UP.

Slim looks at the door. In shock.

SLIM
Secret Service?

ANGRY MALE VOICE (O.C.)
Clarence Sims, open this door, NOW.

He scrambles off the bed. Goes to the door.
Opens it. A pair of SECRET SERVICE AGENTS (40’s) BURST IN.

SLIM
What can I do for you?

One of the agents, a blonde Robert Redford type,
starts searching the room.

The other, dark-haired, taller, points at Slim.
PUNCHES him in the chest with his finger.

DARK-HAIRED SECRET SERVICE AGENT
You were picked up by local law enforcement
in possession of gold. We know you have more,
and we want to know where it is, NOW.
(off his blank stare)
It’s a Federal offense.

SLIM
I ain’t got no gold.

Blonde Agent rifles through Slim’s cabinets.
THROWING shit on the floor. Goes to the couch.
RIPS it open with a knife.

SLIM
Aw, c’mon -- do you have to do THAT?

DARK-HAIRED HOMICIDE DETECTIVE
This will go a lot faster
if you tell us where it is.

SLIM
I ain’t lying. I ain’t got no gold.

Blonde Agent searches Slim’s clothes in the closet.
Doesn’t find anything. Goes to the bathroom door.
OPENS it. A NAKED GIRL (18) sits on the toilet. YELLS.

NAKED GIRL
HEY. Do you fucking MIND?

Blonde Agent walks in.

BLONDE AGENT
Sorry, Ma’am.

Slim and Dark-Haired stare at each other a beat.
Blonde Agent comes back out. Shakes his head.
The girl SLAMS the door.

DARK-HAIRED SECRET SERVICE AGENT
We’ll be watching you.

SLIM
Can I get my medallion back?

BLONDE AGENT
In your dreams.

They shake their heads. Leave.
SLAM the door behind them --