Will Success Spoil Laura Lang?

Happy Hump Day, crime humpsters. Rainy daze got you down? Then we've got the cure for what ails you. A fresh, steaming, hardboiled slice of pulp, served by a femme fatale with dangerous curves ... right here, at That Killing Feeling

Onto today's joint from LEGS, where things take turn for the worse. It seems that private eye Carrie Love has happened across an invite to a 'snuff film wrap party,' whose guest list includes her most recent one-night stand, her new client, and her dead ex-lover ...

So what does she do?

She high-tails it to her favorite dive bar, and drowns her sorrows ...

INT. DIVE BAR - DAY

Chez Jay, a trendy beach dive. Old. Dark. Dank.

The jukebox softly plays an old, Sinatra-like classic.

Carrie and Megan sit at the bar with a couple of DRUNKS.

The BARTENDER watches a Mexican soap opera with the sound off.

CARRIE

(to the bartender)

Can I get a Corona and two shots of Cuervo?

He nods.

MEGAN

A Diet Coke, please.

(to Carrie)

Isn't it a little early in the day for a shot and a beer?

CARRIE

"Will Success Spoil Laura Lang."

MEGAN

All porn films have stupid names like that.

It’s a takeoff on that old Jayne Mansfield flick.

The bartender serves them. Carrie smiles grimly.

She salts her wrist, licks it. Does a shot. Then another.

Bites a lemon wedge. SLAPS the bar. Closes her eyes.

CARRIE

Two more, please.

He pours them. Fascinated. Concerned.

MEGAN

Don't you think you should slow it down a little bit?

CARRIE

(downs one)

Pretty fucking funny, huh.

(downs the other)

Who knew snuff films had wrap parties?

MEGAN

Snuff films? What are you talking about?

The bartender lifts the bottle like a question.

Carrie nods. He pours.

CARRIE

Just to refresh your memory --

Jayne Mansfield was decapitated in a car accident.

And the crew? My new client,

the dominatrix I fucked last night,

her Gestapo friend,

some fuck-head named after Superman’s father,

whoever the fuck HE is --

and the "special guest star" is my headless lover?

(downs the shot)

Do I need to draw you a fucking picture?

EXT. CAFÉ MED RESTAURANT - DAY

A sultry bossa nova drum-and-bass simmers in the background.

The swanky bistro on Sunset Boulevard is bustling at lunchtime.

Trendy patrons sit at cafe tables, el fresco.

A cell phone RINGS. Everyone grabs theirs, checks it.

EXT. CAFE TABLE - CONTINUOUS

Klaus and Felina sit eating salads. Very glam.

FELINA

(on her cell phone)

Do I need to draw you a fucking picture?

(beat, listens)

Listen, Sultan, I don't care how much --

(beat, angry)

No!

She SNAPS it shut.

KLAUS

He really wants you to eat dog shit?

FELINA

From his royal Doberman.

And he keeps upping the price.

She takes out a cigarette case.

Lights up a red Sherman's.

FELINA (CONT'D)

And you wonder why I want to take down my shingle.

KLAUS

What a shame. I always wanted to shoot in Brunei.

Pause.

FELINA

I still don't understand how you can get away

with selling snuff films on the net.

What's gonna stop the Feds from tracking your location?

KLAUS

They’re not snuff films --

you need to think as if there were no box.

They’re programming. Product. Content.

The ultimate reality show --

fulfilling the American public’s craving for the worst of humanity.

(beat)

And as for the Feds -- they’ll never find me.

My domain uses a split-mirror server.

Anyone who tracks the website gets reflected back

onto a shitload of addresses across the country.

It looks like I'm at a thousand places at once.

FELINA

How diabolical.

(beat)

Don’t tell me. German technology?

KLAUS

Is there any other?

(beat)

So -- you ready for the matinee?