Bonnie And Bride

Hey there, crime kids. Happy Friday. 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 37 of A DISH BEST KILLED, murderous lovers on the run Haven and Jett hole up in a seedy beach-side motel. Meanwhile, homicide detective Cal Seely and his crew tighten the noose around them ...


EXT. COUNTY ROAD - CONTINUOUS
The pickup FLIES down the road.
Behind them, a DODGE DART SWINGER
pulls out of the bushes,
and ROARS after them.

INT. SHERIFF’S MUSTER ROOM - AT THAT MOMENT
Your typical shitty institutional
municipal squad room.

Cal Seely stands at a lectern
in front of a dozen UNIFORMED OFFICERS
and a handful of PLAINCLOTHES DETECTIVES.

CAL
We’ve put out an APB.
All regional airports,
bus stations and trains
are being watched.
The highway patrol is on it.
And we’ve alerted the media,
who is calling them Bonnie and Bride.

A smattering of chuckling.

CAL (CONT’D)
This isn’t a fucking JOKE.
We need to FIND them,
and find them NOW.
This is front page news, people.
I want you to fucking
take apart that whore’s boat,
and that fucking dyke’s apartment --
and find out where
the fuck they’ve gone.
(beat)
Do I make myself clear?

EXT. MOTOR COURT - NIGHT
A foghorn BLEATS somewhere off the coast.
A dense FOG has rolled in from the ocean.

Lights look blurry, fuzzy.
There’s a sharp, damp,
pungent chill in the air over --

THE BUCCANEER.
A small motor court motel
across the street from the beach.

A deserted area far away
from the touristy crap.

A small semi-circle of
shitty bungalows face the water.

The middle one has a sign
that reads OFFICE. VACANCY.

Jett’s pickup pulls up
behind it and stops.

INT. PICKUP TRUCK - CONTINUOUS
Jett shuts off the ignition.
Slips on a cowboy hat. Shades.

HAVEN
I like the hat.
Makes you look -- rugged.

JETT
Let me check in by myself.
You’re too -- memorable.

HAVEN
That sounds like a
line from something.

JETT
From our life, baby face.

INT. MOTOR COURT OFFICE - MOMENTS LATER
A plump BUCK-TOOTHED WOMAN
sits at the desk reading
a true crime magazine.
Riveted. Slowly eating potato chips.

Jett comes in quietly.
Closes the door behind her.

JETT
Evenin’. Mighty cold out there.

BUCK-TOOTH
It’s the fog.
Cold and wet it is.

She smiles strangely.
This bulb is definitely low-wattage.

JETT
Can I get a cabin for the night?

BUCK-TOOTH
Sure thing. Got one left.
But the heater’s broke.
Got a fireplace, though.

JETT
How much?

BUCK-TOOTH
(hands her a key)
Fifty bucks.
Check out is at eleven.

JETT
(takes it)
Mighty obliged.

BUCK-TOOTH
How can you see in those shades?
It’s night-time, mister.

PUSH IN ON Jett. Delighted.