Rock The Casbah

It's time once again to take a trip to the dark side, where the girls are hot, the drinks are cold, and the hardboiled-pulp-noir action is non-stop, right here, at the coolest crime joint in cyberspace ... at That Killing Feeling.

In Chapter 28 of FULL BODY, would-be singer Summer Donovan smokes a little 4:20 before her performance at The Eighth Street Lounge. Meanwhile, French-African gazelle Ayanna Prouxl gets sick from heroin withdrawal in the bathroom at trendy restaurant Dhumba, so she calls her client the Surgeon General Chick Almond, who is right now in his limo with a pair of hookers ...

INT. THE EIGHTH STREET LOUNGE - NIGHT

DOWN THE HALL
in another dressing room,
sits SALI’, the headliner.

Pan-Asian/Jamaican goddess.
Sultry in native silk.

Waterfall of dreadlocks frame island perfection.
Right now she’s finishing rolling a big spliff.
Licks it. Holds it up to the light.

SALI’
An offering -- to Jah.

She digs into her large canvas bag. Searching.

SALI’ (CONT’D)
Shit.

IN SUMMER’S DRESSING ROOM
the girls sit on kilms atop straw mats on the floor.
Lindsey dumps coke on her compact.
Starts chopping lines.

SUMMER
What have I gotten myself into --

LINDSEY
Just relax. Couple-a toots up the Maytal,
and you’ll be ready rock the Casbah.

Summer leans over. Does one.
And another. Offers the straw.

A soft KNOCK-KNOCK-KNOCK at the door.

SUMMER
Shit, cover it up.
(to the door)
Hold on a sec!

Lindsey deftly closes the compact.
Slides it under a pillow.

Sali’ shuffles in.
Beaming. Arms outstretched.

SALI’
Greetings, sisters.

SUMMER
Sali’ -- hi.

LINDSEY
You know her?

SUMMER
Sali’s the headliner.

SALI’
The honor is mine.
Sorry to interrupt your ritual, but --
(holds up the joint)
I need to catch a fire.
Can you help out a sister in need?

Summer pulls out her lighter.

SUMMER
Have a seat.
Care to share your Rastaman vibration?

SALI’
(sits)
No woman no cry.
(beat)
I smell -- fear.

Summer lights Sali’s spliff.
She nods. Inhales.

SUMMER
Fear?

Sali’ holds it in.
Her eyes start to water. Then --
EXHALES a cloud of smoke.

SALI’
(offers it to Summer)
Yes. You are afraid of your passion.
Your pleasure. Your -- art.

SUMMER
(takes it)
No --

Summer takes a big hit.
Eyes wide. Hands it to Lindsey.

LINDSEY
She’s not afraid, she’s just a little --
(inhales)
Nervous about performing.

SALI’
(takes the spliff)
A tigress in the jungle can smell fear
from a hundred feet away.
That’s how she finds her prey.
Animal instinct. Survival of the fastest.

And with that, she takes a large toke.

SUMMER
So what do you do to --
calm your nerves.

Sali’ exhales, CHOKES with laughter.

SALI’
My dear girl --
(passes the joint)
This.

PUSH IN ON Summer.
Taking the joint. Nodding.

INT. DHUMBA RESTAURANT - LADIES ROOM - AT THAT MOMENT
Ayanna stands at the sink.
Splashes cold water on her face.

AYANNA
I feel -- sick. Have to -- sit down.

Weaves toward the loo.
SLAMS a door open.
LURCHES into the stall.
GRABS the walls.
Lands on the toilet seat, BANG.

Rummages through her purse.
Pulls out her cell. Dials.

AYANNA (CONT’D)
C’mon -- answer, you old fuck.

SPLIT SCREEN WITH:

INT. STRETCH LIMOUSINE - MOVING - DAY
Bratty, nasty, techno-fuck. Peaches’ SLIPPERY DICK over --
Chick Almond sits with a pair of HISPANIC HOOKERS.
Hands them each a length of tubing from a large hookah.

CHICK
My stars!
No, it’s NOT for smoking crack.
It’s for cannabis.
Crack is for street trash.
(realizes)
Present company excluded, of course.

The girls look at him blankly.

CHICK (CONT'D)
Mary Jane? Reefers?
(off their stares)
Da chronic?

The hookers smile.
Chick’s cell VIBRATES.

CHICK (CONT’D)
Whoa, Nelly.
Gotta rocket in my pocket.
(pulls out cell)
Hold that thought --
(listens)
This is Dr. Almond’s phone.

AYANNA
Dr. Almond, uh -- Chick?
I need your help.

CHICK
Saints preserve us.
Your first jones. Poor thing.
How are you feeling?

AYANNA
Like shit. Can you come -- help me?

CHICK
But of course.
You’re my favorite patient.
Where are you?

AYANNA
Dhumba, it’s this restaurant --

CHICK
I know it well.
Pan-fried hummus to die for.
I’ll be there faster than
two shakes of a prawn’s tail.
Just sit tight.

He shuts off the phone.
Looks at the hookers. Reaches over.
Hits a call switch. Speaks into it.

CHICK (CONT’D)
Driver. Please stop the car.
(to the hookers)
I’m sorry ladies,
I have a patient to take care of.

HAIR EXTENSIONS HOOKER
We ain’t goin’ nowheres
till you PAY us,
cracka mutha-fucka.
My time be MONEY.

GIANT GOLD EARRINGS HOOKER
Yeah, you think you can just
kick us outta da car,
you skanky ol’ white piece-a shit,
mutha-fucka?

Chick pulls out a REVOLVER.

CHICK
You foul-mouthed -- CUNTS.
This could have ended nicely,
with a tidy profit for each of you.
But you’ve insulted my intelligence
with your mercenary greed and racial slurs.
(KICKS the door open)
Get out of the car NOW,
before I blow off your
surgically enhanced fun-bags.

The girls SCRAMBLE out. SLAM the door.

CHICK (CONT’D)
Driver. To Dhumba.
And step on it --
we have a damsel in distress.
(low, to himself)
Weak in the knees,
and ripe for the licking.