Tuesday, December 29, 2015
Fly The Friendly Skies
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 32 of BABY HEISTER, after shooting and killing the motorcycle cop, Jo pulls the hearse off the freeway into a gas station in a nasty part of town, where she runs afoul of a gang of pint-sized gang bangers. Meanwhile, Doc, Kelsey, Dusty and Reno negotiate fitting themselves plus their bags of loot in a charter plane bound for LAX ...
EXT. FREEWAY - DAY
The hearse turns off at the next exit.
Goes down the ramp.
EXT. EAST LA - INTERSECTION - DAY
A REALLY shitty part of town.
Crumbling apartment blocks.
The hearse pulls into
an abandoned gas station.
INT. HEARSE - DAY
Jo slips the gun in her pocket.
Opens the car door.
EXT. ABANDONED GAS STATION - DAY
She gets out. Looks around.
Not a soul to be seen.
Sees a pay phone. Walks over to it.
Lifts the receiver. Listens. Dead.
SNEERING GANG-BANGER (O.C.)
Hey, lady. Where’s the funeral?
She turns, sees a pair of
THIRTEEN-YEAR-OLD HISPANIC KIDS
They FLIP them open menacingly.
Looks like someone got lost or somethin.’
What you doin’ in this neighborhood?
This is OUR territory.
I had a -- little problem with the police.
You hear DAT? She had a
little trouble with the five-oh?
Well, now you have a little trouble with US.
Give us your WALLET, bitch.
(WHIPS OUT her gun)
The TROUBLE involved SHOOTING A COP.
Now get the FUCK out of my face
before I BLOW A HOLE in your REFRIED BRAINS.
Holy SHIT. Don’t shoot, lady.
Yo, chill. We were just fuckin’ with ya --
(CLICKS the safety)
Get your CHALUPAS the
FUCK out of my FACE. NOW.
They RUN. Jo watches them go.
Thinking. A light bulb POPS.
Jack Cotton --
EXT. PALM SPRINGS INTERNATIONAL AIRPORT - DAY
Gorgeous, beautiful mountains in the distance.
A small, white circular building
with passenger ramps around it like an octopus.
Planes taxi on the runways.
EXT. CHARTER FLIGHT HANGER - DAY
A smallish building for private jets.
Parked in front is a PIPER CUB.
One of those tiny planes used for
crop dusting and pulling banners across the sky.
Standing next to it is BRUB (50’s),
a grizzled pilot.
He looks at Doc, Kelsey, Reno and Dusty.
Then the duffle bags.
Plane’s too small.
Jo said it would only be two people.
We had a change of plan.
(points at Reno)
What if I sit on his lap?
Yeah. We could squeeze in real tight.
Too much weight.
I can take two of you, plus the bags.
Shit. What are we gonna do?
Tell ya what. It only takes
fifteen minutes to get to LAX.
Why don’t I take two of you first,
then come back?
That means we’d have to wait half an hour --
Seeing as how we go way back and all --
I’ll only charge half-price
for the second trip.
It’s a deal.
Kelsey and me will go first, with the bags.
Wait a minute.
I thought we were splitting up
the take on the plane.
If something happens,
we’re shit outta luck.
Tell ya what.
We’ll take one bag, leave one with you.
But who says each bag has
the same amount of dough in it?
Each bag has about a half-million in it.
What’s the fucking problem?
Doc’s giving you a lift, AND
letting you stay at his loft. Chill OUT.
We’ve gotta get the fuck OUTTA here
instead of wasting our time
standing around ARGUING.
See you at LAX.
Dusty nods. Brub opens the door.
Doc picks up a bag. Stuffs it in.
He and Kelsey get in. Then Brub.
The plane’s propellers start WHIRRING.
Starts taxiing down the runway.
Let’s go see what kinda grub they got.
Fuck that. I could use a drink --