Happiness Is A Warm Gun

Hey there, crime kids. Happy Wednesday. It's time once again to take a trip to the dark side, where your most violent fantasies become sins of the flesh, right here, where the hardboiled action is non-stop, at the coolest crime joint in cyberspace ... at That Killing Feeling.

In Chapter 8 of GUN-WILD, after successfully robbing the 7-11, trigger-happy runaway Cam Clinch has passed her initiation, so the gang heads to the beach, where they start planning their next job ... robbing a bank ...


INT. OLDS CONVERTIBLE - MOVING - CONTINUOUS
Hondo BANGS on the back of her seat.

HONDO
She did it! She DID IT!
You did it, baby-doll.

NET
HA. 'Gidget grows up.'

ROD
(shit-eating grin)
How do you feel?

Cam beams with million-dollar wattage.
Eyes lit up like a Christmas tree.

CAM
Happiness is a WARM GUN.

EXT. SANTA MONICA PIER - PARKING LOT - DAY
A large, empty lot adjacent to the pier at the beach.

The Olds is parked near the sand.
Surf guitar on the stereo.

Hondo sits on the back of the car,
legs dangling onto the rear seats.

Net snuggles next to him.
They drain cans of beer.
SMASH the empties on their foreheads.

HONDO
(sings)
When the sun goes down,
and the moon comes up --

NET
I turn into a teenage GOO-GOO MUCK.

Rod and Cam walk up the car.
Pant legs rolled up, barefoot.

CAM
Water’s WARM.

ROD
(grabs her, tickles her)
Gidget goes SURFING.

CAM
(laughing)
Stop calling me GIDGET.

Hondo leans down, GRABS a six-pack.
Tears off a beer.

HONDO
Play-time is over, kiddies.
We got work to do.

He TOSSES the can. Rod CATCHES it.

CAM
Me, too -- gimmee, gimmee.

Hondo CRACKS off another one.
Tosses it. HARD. She GRABS it.

CAM
OW.

HONDO
Look who’s getting all
self-confident and shit.
(beat)
Okay, sports fans, listen up.

He jumps out of the car.
Pulls out a piece of graph paper
out of his jacket. Unfolds it.
Lays it down on the hood.

Everyone gathers around.

HONDO
(points)
Okay. Here’s the window
where the two tellers are.
(points)
And there in the corner is the vault.
It’s ALWAYS open during business hours.

NET
Stupid hillbillies.

CAM
Santa Monica’s no hillbilly town.
We’re talking rich, Benz-driving,
Starbucks-swilling, yoga class assholes.

HONDO
Shut up and listen.
Enough from the peanut gallery.
(points)
Here’s where the security camera is.
Right above the front door.
After we walk in,
Cam’s gonna spray-paint it.

CAM
Got it.

HONDO
(to Cam)
Here’s how it’s gonna work.
You go in first and get the guard.

CAM
GET the guard?

HONDO
Don’t worry. He’s an old fart.
Just waive your gun in his face
and he’ll piss his pants.

CAM
Okay.

HONDO
Then yell out
NOBODY MOVE, THIS IS A ROBBERY --
and then Net and I come in with our shotguns.
Then spray-paint the camera
and make the guard lock the door behind us.

CAM
I’m on it.

HONDO
Then Net and I will do our thing
and clean the fucking place out.
(beat)
Now here’s the best part.
The place is always fucking dead.
Cam here will hang around a bit in front
and check real casual-like
to see who’s in there.
When it’s empty, we go in.

ROD
That’s fuckin’ brilliant.

HONDO
I know.

NET
That’s my lil’ bank robber.

HONDO
I love you too, honey-bunny.
(to Rod)
Now what I need you to do, Rod,
is drive around to the rear alley,
and wait for us near the back entrance.

ROD
The bank has a BACK ENTRANCE?

HONDO
Yeah. Told you it was podunk shit.
Fucking teller takes her
SMOKE BREAK out there. I seen her.

ROD
You’ve really thought this out.

HONDO
Learned it in the joint.
Gotta plan the shit out of it.
That makes for a successful job.
No one gets hurt,
and we get a big pile-a dough.

Everyone nods.

HONDO
One last thing.
We gotta do it FAST,
cause these local cops GET THERE fast.
Cop shop’s only a mile away.
Minor drawback, but if
we’re real quick-like,
we’ll manage it.
(holds up his watch)
Everyone synch up. Its now 10:36.
When we get to the bank,
everyone look at the time.
We got two minutes to finish the job --
but if we’re not done in two minutes,
we gotta split.
(beat)
Got it?

NET
Whatever.

Hondo pulls out a joint.
Fires it up. Takes a big hit.
EXHALES. Passes it to Rod.

HONDO
So who feels like
gettin’ some cotton candy?