One Crazy Frill

Happy Tuesday, crime slicksters. 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 2 of WILSHIRE BOULEVARD, private eye Carrie Love and super-spy Felina Bella Donna leave Club Fuck and hit the road to Venice Beach, where they have an intimate picnic in the sand ...


EXT. SANTA MONICA FREEWAY - NIGHT
Carrie drives her monster 68 Olds, top down.

Hair slicked back. Leather jacket covers
the remnants of the evening’s excitement.

Felina lays back,
feet up on the dashboard.

On the car stereo,
the ghostly fuzz-reverb surf guitar of
The Raveonettes’ ALLY WALK WITH ME echoes ominously.

CARRIE
(looks at Felina, pensive)
I had fun tonight.
Despite the bloodshed.

FELINA
C’mon love, cheer up.
I’ll be back. For Christmas break.
I’ve got spies to catch.
Terrorists to seduce.
Double agents to lick --

She leans over.
Sucks Carrie on the neck.
The car SWERVES.

CARRIE
Whoah, easy on the vampire bite.
We’re almost there.

FELINA
I want to suck your --
(beat)
Hey, I could give you head --

CARRIE
(shakes her head)
Slippery when wet, doll --
your tongue could cause a five-car pileup.
Why don’t you open the champagne?
Keep your hands busy.

FELINA
More booze!

She reaches into the back seat,
pulls out a bottle of Moet.
Starts SHAKING it maniacally.

CARRIE
What are you doing? Your gonna --

FELINA
I’m gonna christen the love boat!

Felina unties,
pulls off the wire around the cork.

CARRIE
Wait, don’t! You’ll --

But it’s too late.
Felina POPS the cork,
and a geyser of champagne WHOOSHES out,
SPRAYING both of them.

Felina takes a big chug.
Passes it to Carrie.

FELINA
Relax. You’re in rubber.
No stains.

CARRIE
(takes the bottle)
Bitch. Now I’m soaked.
(laughs, takes a chug)
You are one crazy frill.

FELINA
And you love it.
(raises the bottle)
Drive on, MacDuff.
Take me to your sand castle.

EXT. VENICE BEACH - NIGHT
The women sit before a campfire.
Huddled together under a blanket.
Toasting marshmallows.

The remnants of a picnic dinner
lay strewn about.
Bottle of wine chilling.

CARRIE
I have this awful feeling --
you’re not coming back.

FELINA
Don’t be daft.
I’ve never met anyone like you.

CARRIE
That’s what I’m afraid of --
(looks)
Careful, it’s gonna burn.

FELINA
I LIKE it burned -- to a crisp.
Black and crunchy.

CARRIE
I’m a golden-brown kinda gal myself --
(beat)
Soft and --

FELINA
(looks)
Hey. You’re crying. Baby --

CARRIE
I’m NOT crying. I’m --

MALE VOICE (O.S.)
Gonna give us your fucking wallets.

A NASTY SURF PUNK
stands across the campfire.
Wielding a switchblade.

A sickly, FILTHY BEACH JUNKIE,
next to him, waves a broken beer bottle.

NASTY SURF PUNK
Toss ‘em over, NOW.

FILTHY BEACH JUNKIE
And your boom box, bitch.
Gimmee, gimmee.

NASTY SURF PUNK
Maybe we should fuck ‘em first.

The girls WHIP OUT their guns.
The assholes FREEZE.

CARRIE
I’ve got stinky.
You get ugly.

FELINA
Which is which?

CARRIE
Flip a coin.
(at them, smooth)
Get your white trash
crust-infected asses
THE FUCK outta here.

FELINA
Before we BLOW OFF
your bloody DINGLE-BERRIES.


They scuttle away.
The girls smile.
Lower their guns. Kiss.

CARRIE
Let’s blow this sand dune.
The bungalow awaits.

FELINA
Did that -- ruin the mood?

PUSH IN ON Carrie.
Eyes burning with mischief.

CARRIE
Actually, it kinda started one --