Running For Re-Erection

Happy Thursday, crime slicksters! It's time once again to take a trip to the dark side ... to place where your most violent, hardboiled fantasies become sins of the flesh, right here, at the coolest crime joint in cyberspace ... at That Killing Feeling

In Chapter 8 of FULL BODY, Croatian crime boss Yuri Vlaovic, owner of The International, steps out to meet with his co-conspirator in a scheme to blackmail a government official. Meanwhile, back the 'gentleman's spa,' newbie Summer Donovan gets ready for her 'date' with destiny ... former US Vice President Cameron Bisby ...


EXT. DANCE STUDIO - NIGHT
A run-down looking studio on the ground floor
in the cheap seats side of town.
A large hand-painted sign reads ‘Yitzi’s Dancing Academy.
Let me take you to the stars.’

INT. YITZI’S STUDIO - CONTINUOUS
Xavier Cugat’s bizarre cha-cha-cha cover of GOLDFINGER over --

A large dance floor. Mirrors everywhere. Flashing lights.
The obligatory disco ball. Joint deserted. Except for --

YURI
doing a wicked tango with YITZI (50’s).
Former knockout. Now knocked around a bit.
But still Eastern Europe’s answer to Ginger Rogers.

She STOMPS her cha-cha heels. TWIRLS --
And her left cone-missile JABS Yuri in the shoulder.

YURI
Vatch it, doll-face.
You have license for that?

YITZI
License to carry.

YURI
License to kill is more like it.

They tango across the dance floor.

YURI
We on for payoff?

YITZI
Is ready.
He said to be at reflecting pool
near Vashington Monument at midnight.

YURI
You’re giving me monument in pants.
Why the cloak-and-dagger-stuff?
Can’t we just meet in bar over wodka?

YITZI
You’re fucking blackmailing him.
Vat do you expect?

YURI
Fucking crooked government official.
Can’t have drink with comrade,
not sure I trust him.

YITZI
I can think of one hundred thousand reasons
why you should trust him.
(beat)
And I took the pictures --

YURI
Don’t worry.
You’ll get your ten percent.

She reaches down and GRABS Yuri by the balls.

YURI
Ow! Hey!

YITZI
I know that.
And is now TWENTY percent.
(lets go, CLAPS loudly)
Okay! Is time for Mambo!

INT. CORRIDOR - AT THAT MOMENT
The big band cocktail-swing of Paul Anka’s cover
of Nirvana’s SMELLS LIKE TEEN SPIRIT over --

Summer walks down the Persian-carpet
flanked by two grim-looking
SECRET SERVICE AGENTS.

TALL, OLDER AGENT
(touches his earpiece)
Mountaineer. Approaching the lair.

PUDGY AGENT
Don’t use the word ‘lair.’
It sounds -- jokey.

They arrive at a black door.
Summer goes for the knob.

TALL, OLDER AGENT
Please, Miss. Allow us.
You don’t know what could be
on the other side of that door.

PUDGY AGENT
Deal or no deal.

TALL, OLDER AGENT
Now look who’s being jokey.

SUMMER
Are you guys really Secret Service?

INT. BLACK MASSAGE SUITE - MOMENTS LATER
Summer sits on the massage table
while the men scan the room.
They hold I-pod looking devices with earphones.

TALL, OLDER AGENT
The lair is clean.

PUDGY AGENT
You won’t let go of the lair thing, huh?

He walks over the video monitor.
Takes out a small rubber cap.
Places it over the lens.

IN THE SECURITY ROOM
on the monitor, The Presidential Seal.
With the word ‘Classified’
in block letters underneath.

ROD
Shit.

IN THE MASSAGE ROOM

TALL, OLDER AGENT
(into his lapel)
Mountaineer to Shadowboxer.
Okay to bring in Dirk Diggler.

PUDGY AGENT
Dirk Diggler? Like from --

TALL, OLDER AGENT
Don’t look at me, I didn’t pick it.

The door opens. In walks --

CAMERON BISBY, (50’S)
former U.S. Vice President.
Small and squirly.
Almost too good-looking.

Frozen smile part deer in the headlights,
part bland emptiness.
He raises his hands.

BISBY
At ease, gentlemen.
Thank you for the escort,
but you can leave now.
It’s starting to look like a gang-bang in here.
(looks at Summer)
Got a top-secret meetin.’ Heh-heh.

TALL, OLDER AGENT
We can’t do that sir, national security --

PUDGY AGENT
Yes sir, what if someone tried to --

BISBY
Kill me? Please, gimmee a break.
Who’d want to kill me?
I left the White House fifteen years ago.
Took Jay Leno over a year
to stop crackin’ jokes about me.
Go on now. Leave me be.
I need my R&R,
take a break from the -- uh -- stuff I gotta --

The Agents stifle a chuckle. Bow. Leave.

BISBY
(starts untying his tie)
So what’s your name, little lady?

SUMMER
Summer -- sir.

BISBY
Summer breeze, makes me feel fine.
Pretty name. Parents were hippies?

SUMMER
No, sir. Just -- imaginative.

BISBY
Enough of the sir stuff, Summer.
Call me Cammy.
All my friends do.

SUMMER
Cammy?

BISBY
(touches her face)
Music to my ears --

A BULGE appears in his pants.
He looks down.

BISBY
Well now,
looks like I’m running for re-erection --

PUSH IN on Summer’s face.
About to take the plunge.