Sore Thumb City

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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.

OLDER GUY
Fucking liberal panty-waists.

The phone RINGS. He reaches over.
Answers it.

OLDER GUY
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.

JACK
Jo Hazard? How the hell ARE ya --

INTERCUT WITH:

INT. EAST LA STREET - DAY
Jo stands at another pay phone
across the street.

JO
Well, normally, just great --

JACK
What’s wrong? Are you in trouble?

JO
You could say that.

JACK
Out with it, woman. What’s going on?

JO
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.

JACK
Holy SHIT. Don’t tell me --
and something fucked you up?

JO
Yeah, got pulled over by a cop --

JACK
And you popped him.

JO
You always were a mind-reader.

JACK
Had to be in Nam.
So I assume you need me to
run a little recon?
Sky you out?

JO
If you could, yeah.
I’m in a bit of a jam.

JACK
Semper Fi, little lady.
Give me your coordinates.

JO
I’m at an abandoned gas station
in East LA on the corner
of Whittier and Soto.

JACK
Nice neighborhood.
What are you driving?

JO
A black, eighty-five Cadillac hearse.
The stash is in the casket.

JACK
No wonder you had to
pull off the freeway.
Sore-thumb city.
(looks at his watch)
I’ll be there in fifteen minutes.

JO
Thanks, Jack. I owe ya one.

JACK
Hey. Didn’t I always tell ya
I’d always be there for ya?

JO
Why do you think I called?

JACK
Move the car behind the building.
Don’t want to tempt the locals
with your splendor.

JO
Don’t worry about me.
I’m a big girl.
Just need a little roadside assistance --