Monday, January 4, 2016
Sore Thumb City
Hey there, crime kids. Happy New Year. 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 33 of BABY HEISTER, loose cannon robbery-homicide detective Flint Cole arrives at LAX with a view to nabbing Doc and Kelsey's gang as they try to make their escape. Meanwhile, after shooting a highway patrolman, Jo is stranded in East LA, and enlists the help of Viet Nam vet Jack Cotton, an old flame ...
EXT. LOS ANGELES INTERNATIONAL AIRPORT - DAY
A Yellow Cab pulls up to the curb.
Flint Cole pops out the back door.
SLAMS it. Heads into the building,
on a mission.
AT THE SECURITY CHECK LINE
He flashes his badge at a
SURLY TSA OFFICER.
Cuts ahead of the line.
Goes through the metal detector.
It starts BEEPING. He grins.
Heads down the corridor.
EXT. SHITTY APARTMENT COMPLEX - DAY
A piece-of-shit grey cement slab
of suburban hell on a cul-de-sac
with the freeway right behind it.
The ROAR of traffic going by is deafening.
Ah, beautiful West Covina.
INT. SHITTY APARTMENT - LIVING ROOM - DAY
Threadbare, old furniture. Threadbare decor.
But spic and span clean.
An OLD GUY (70’s) sits in a big wing chair
watching CNN on an old console TV.
Sipping a can of beer.
Fucking liberal panty-waists.
The phone RINGS. He reaches over.
Jack Cotton --
Meet JACK COTTON. Former Marine.
Still fit, in shape.
A little soft around the edges.
White hair in a buzz cut.
Blue eyes clear and sharp,
if a little red.
Jo Hazard? How the hell ARE ya --
INT. EAST LA STREET - DAY
Jo stands at another pay phone
across the street.
Well, normally, just great --
What’s wrong? Are you in trouble?
You could say that.
Out with it, woman. What’s going on?
Doc did a job where
the inside man tried a cross.
A cop got killed,
our cover was blown,
and we had to blow the ranch.
He’s traveling to
our safe house with the crew,
and I’m transporting the stash.
Holy SHIT. Don’t tell me --
and something fucked you up?
Yeah, got pulled over by a cop --
And you popped him.
You always were a mind-reader.
Had to be in Nam.
So I assume you need me to
run a little recon?
Sky you out?
If you could, yeah.
I’m in a bit of a jam.
Semper Fi, little lady.
Give me your coordinates.
I’m at an abandoned gas station
in East LA on the corner
of Whittier and Soto.
What are you driving?
A black, eighty-five Cadillac hearse.
The stash is in the casket.
No wonder you had to
pull off the freeway.
(looks at his watch)
I’ll be there in fifteen minutes.
Thanks, Jack. I owe ya one.
Hey. Didn’t I always tell ya
I’d always be there for ya?
Why do you think I called?
Move the car behind the building.
Don’t want to tempt the locals
with your splendor.
Don’t worry about me.
I’m a big girl.
Just need a little roadside assistance --