Fast, Cheap and Out of Control

Happy Monday, fellow crimesters. As Elvis Costello sang, 'welcome to the working week.' Gotta fresh new episode of Wilshire Boulevard to brighten -- or darken -- your day. So get your crime groove on and check this one out. C'mon, you know you want to ...

Yesterday was my first full day with Bobby the Dog, and boy are my arms tired. Slept like the fucking dead. Bobby's twice the size of my last mutt, and need long walks. Thank god I live at the beach. A real workout. Talk about cardio ... but he's settling in nicely and watching me right now. Bobby D., this one's for you.

Screened a cool little movie last night that went under my radar before. 16 BLOCKS, starring Bruce Willis and Moss Def. Bruce is an alcoholic cop (my favorite kind), who has to deliver Mos -- you guessed it -- 16 blocks to a courthouse to testify against some bad cops -- including Bruce -- and, unfortunately, the aforementioned 'bad cops' try and stop him. Good, simple, nasty fun, directed by Richard Donner, of SUPERMAN fame. So that's where he's been. Check it out. Great fun to see Bruce in loser mode for change ...

Onto today's scene from WILSHIRE BOULEVARD, and this one is a doozy. Carrie awakens to find Felina has flown the coop ... starts drinking to ease the pain ... and then gets a phone call from another former fling ... who hires her to find her missing husband ...

***

INT. CARRIE’S BEDROOM - DAWN

Walls and ceiling a deep, vibrant red.

A queen-sized bed, seductive in black satin sheets

and a lux leopard bed spread.

Twin gilt sconces curled into flowers of light on the wall.

Carrie lies on the bed, mouth open. Alone.

Thrashed covers and pillow and sheets.

Mess of black, leopard and bare skin.

She turns onto her back.

Reaches up to itch her nose.

We see a CHROME HANDCUFF on her wrist.

She COUGHS. The cuff WHACKS the side of her head.

Carrie BOLTS UPRIGHT.

CARRIE

OW, what the --?

She looks around. No one.

CARRIE (CONT’D)

Felina?

WHIPS OFF the covers.

Throws on her robe. Pads into --

THE BATHROOM

Empty.

CARRIE (CONT’D)

Felina?!

She WHIRLS AROUND, dashes into --

THE KITCHEN

Empty. A small handwritten note on the bar.

Carrie GRABS IT.

THE NOTE

reads ‘You know how much I hate good-byes.

Be strong. Stay sexy.

I’ll be home for Christmas.

Love, F.’

Carrie stares at the piece of paper. In shock.

CARRIE (V.O.) (CONT'D)

My heart was breaking.

My love story never makes it to the third act.

I don’t even get the big Casablanca goodbye.

Carrie pulls up a bar stool. Sits.

Surveys the libations.

CARRIE (V.O.) (CONT'D)

I was a ship cut adrift in an ocean of sorrow.

My whole fucking life is a pulp noir written by

some drunken Philip Marlowe wannabe

on a one-way ticket to loser-ville.

Raymond Chandler knew the deal.

Phillip Marlowe drank like a fish.

Helped him think. Gave him strength.

Clarity.

She reaches over, grabs a bottle of Kessler’s.

CARRIE (V.O.) (CONT'D)

Forget those martini-swilling lightweights

Nick and Nora Charles. Kid stuff.

William Powell, my ass.

Carrie pours two fingers into a cut-glass tumbler.

CARRIE (CONT’D)

Philip Marlowe didn’t drink for fun.

He drank to forget.

(takes a sip)

And then remember.

She downs it.

Phone RINGS.

Wipes her mouth. Pours another.

RING-RING.

CARRIE (CONT’D)

Leave me the fuck ALONE.

RING-RING.

She turns her head. Realizes.

GRABS the receiver. Listens.

CARRIE (CONT’D)

Felina?

INTERCUT WITH:

A GLOSSY, DARK-HAIRED FEMME FATALE

in an armchair, turned 3/4 away from us.

On the phone.

GLOSSY FEMME FATALE

Carrie?

CARRIE

You’re not Felina --

GLOSSY FEMME FATALE

Who’s Felina? Carrie, it’s me -- Gay.

Gay Flender.

CARRIE

Isn’t it a bit little early in the day for -- stalking?

GAY

I’m not stalking you. I need your help.

CARRIE

What’s the matter,

the batteries in your vibrator went dead?

GAY

I need a -- a private detective.

You did that job for my husband’s business partner --

CARRIE

Ah, yes -- the missing gay son.

That was a weird case.

Kinky little bastard.

GAY

He’s not gay. He was just -- experimenting.

CARRIE

Right. On a drag queen porn shoot in Tijuana.

‘Shemale Trouble,’ I believe?’

GAY

It’s my husband. He’s -- missing.

Carrie pours a shot. Holds it up to the light.

Downs it.

GAY (CONT’D)

Hello? Are you still there?

Carrie closes her eyes. Thinks.

CARRIE

When did you last see him?

GAY

Last night. He, he -- went out to walk the dogs,

and he -- never came back.

CARRIE

(to herself)

Guess there’s a lot of that going around.

GAY

What? So are you available? Can you help me?

Can you find him for me?

CARRIE

I’ll have to check my calendar.

She pours another. Takes a sip.

GAY

I’m at my wit’s end. I didn’t get any sleep last night --

Gay breaks down, starts sobbing.

CARRIE

(winces, takes a hit)

Alright, alright -- keep your knickers on.

I’ll do it. But it’s just business.

GAY

You will? Oh, yes -- thank you, thank you,

I don’t know what to --

CARRIE

My fee is five hundred bucks a day.

Plus expenses.

GAY

Oh, don’t worry about that. We’re loaded.

How soon can you come over?

Carrie pours another shot. Downs it. Shivers.

GAY (CONT’D)

Carrie? You still there?

Pause.

CARRIE

I’ll be right over.

GAY

I’m at 134 24th Street, one block north of Montana.

(beat)

Can I ask you something?

CARRIE

Sure. Why not.

GAY

Why does your card say --

‘Fast, Cheap and Out of Control?’

CARRIE

Oh, that --

(pours another)

I believe in truth in advertising.