A Hell of a Woman

Greetings crime hipsters. What's the deal? You feel like taking a little trip to the dark side? Ready for a blast to your solar plexus? A little heat under the collar? Well, then you 've come to the right place. A place that time forgot ... on That Killing Feeling.

Screened a real pip last night. Brian De Palma's THE UNTOUCHABLES, from 1987. Back before he lost his mind ... or his talent .. I dunno. (I think THE BLACK DAHLIA killed his career .. I mean, Hillary Swank as a femme fatale? Last time I looked, hot, killer dames didn't have horse teeth.) Hadn't seen this one in eons, and it's aged really well. A young-looking Kevin Costner, Sean Conner, Andy Garcia and Charles Martin Smith go up against Bobby DeNiro's Al Capone, and the dark, nasty fun begins. Classic sequence on the library steps with a baby carriage cribbed from THE BATTLESHIP POTEMKIN -- love those homages. Go, Brian, go. So what the F happened? You lose your mojo? I dunno ... (ever seen RED MARS? Ug.) Check this one out when you get a chance, and light a candle ... maybe some day he'll get his fire back. Here's hoping.

Onto today's joint from WILSHIRE BOULEVARD -- and you better start savoring these, because pretty soon I'm going to have to pull the plug. My manager doesn't want me posting the whole screenplay on the net, as some knucklehead might try and steal it. (As if.) Not to worry, I've got another story I'm about to unleash on you. But for now ...

Let's rejoin private eye Carrie Love, where she loves to hide out. In a dive bar ...


EXT. VENICE BOARDWALK - THE HORSE HEAD - SUNSET
Classic dive bar. A couple of OLD DRUNKS smoke butts in front.
Shivering in the brisk air of the beach at dusk.
An OLD HOMELESS HIPPIE (60) in a top hat shuffles by.
Holding up his pants at the crotch. Weaves slightly.

Carrie walks toward the bar.
Stops. Peers inside.

CARRIE (V.O.)
Some shamus I turned out to be.
On the lam, holed up like grifter
out of a Jim Thompson fever dream.
A Hell of a Woman, my ass.
I wasn’t on the case, the case was on me.
I wasn’t following leads, they were following me.
Suspects? I was the fucking suspect.
And now I was on a tear, a bender, a non-stop trip to hell.
Cause when the going gets tough, the tough --
(beat)
Go to happy hour.

INT. THE HORSE HEAD - CONTINUOUS
Unbelievably dank and dark. Broken ceiling fan.
Scary-looking BARTENDER watches a ball game
on a shitty little black-and-white.
Two DRUNK LOCALS sit nearby nursing their beers.
The jukebox spills out the scuzzy guitar shards
of Urge Overkill’s SISTER HAVANA.

An off-duty CURVY STRIPPER drinks and twists, oblivious.
Celebrating some private party.

Carrie slides onto a bar stool.
Eyes Curvy’s moves.

CARRIE
(to herself)
I’m in a Roger Corman movie --

The BARTENDER leans over.
Glares. Barely whispers.

SCARY BARTENDER
What’ll it be?

CARRIE
Heinekin, double shot of bourbon.
Kessler’s, if you got it --

SCARY BARTENDER
(nods, grim)
Kessler’s. Smooth as silk.

He turns to get her order.

HISPANIC MALE VOICE (O.C.)
How ya doin,’ mommy?
Haven’t seen you in here before --

Carrie looks left. Then down, at --

A GUY IN A WHEELCHAIR
near her stool. The wannabe lothario grins, wolfish.
Takes a slurp of beer. Looks up. Beady eyes leering.

CARRIE
Sorry, Mack. I don’t do the ‘Coming Home’ thing.
But slide me your digits, and I’ll give ‘em to Jane Fonda.

Scary returns with the drinks. Sees Wheelie-Boy.

SCARY BARTENDER
Leave the babe alone, Rodriguez, okay?

Carrie SLAPS down a ten-spot.
Slides off her stool.

CARRIE
Watch my change, will ya?
(to Rodriguez)
What do you call someone who’s
HIV-positive in a wheelchair?
Roll-AIDS.

She turns, walks toward Curvy.
Scary ROARS with laughter.
Downs her shot. Sips her beer.
Moves to the music.

Curvy senses Carrie’s presence.
Turns. Stares. Likes what she sees.
Starts dancing for her.

CARRIE (CONT'D)
Where’s a pole when you need one?

CURVY
Can I get a hit offa that?

Carrie hands her the beer.
Curvy takes a long, luxurious swallow.
Holds the bottle against her forehead.

CURVY (CONT’D)
Thanks. I needed that.

CARRIE
Makes two of us.

Curvy smiles.
The deal is closed.
Carrie’s cell phone RINGS.

CARRIE (CONT’D)
Hold that thought.
(answers it, listens)
Jenny.

SPLIT SCREEN WITH:INT./EXT. JENNY’S APARTMENT - BALCON
Jenny leans on the railing with a stiff cocktail.
Looks at the canal. She turns toward us.
We see she has a black eye.

JENNY
(into the phone)
How are you? You -- okay?

CARRIE
Yeah. Hold on a sec.
(covers the phone, to Curvy)
Be back in a sec. Business call.
Why don’t you go warm up a bar stool for me?

Curvy smiles.
Trots off to the bar.
Carrie sits at a table.

CARRIE (CONT’D)
I’m back.

JENNY
(jittery)
That’s just -- just great.

CARRIE
What’s going on?
You sound -- strange.

JENNY
Modi and I got into a big fight and he fired me,
I went to his place after work to try and get my job back,
we argued some more, he hit me,
and I pushed him, and he, he --
(beat)
Fell. He hit his head. He’s, unconscious.

CARRIE
No way.

JENNY
C-can you come over?

CARRIE
(looks off camera at Curvy)
Shit.
(sighs)
Be right there.
(clicks the phone shut)
Damn. Stripper-interruptus.