No Woman, No Cry

Happy Thursday, 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 9 of BLUE HOTEL, boozy screenwriter Holly Land leaves the boardwalk dive hotel on a mission of mercy to the local liquor store ... and gets a most violent surprise ...


EXT. DAVEY JONES’ LIQUOR LOCKER - NIGHT
An old, nasty liquor store on a cobblestoned side street.
A hand-lettered sign in the window reads NO CHECKS.

A pair of tiny, VICIOUS-LOOKING GANG-BANGERS (20’s)
loiter outside.

Holly eyes them.
Hurries into the store. In a daze.

INT. DAVEY JONES’ LIQUOR LOCKER - CONTINUOUS
Holly glides over to the counter.
Looks at the row of vodka bottles.

The CLERK, a tall Rasta in shades (30’s)
with dreads down to his waist ambles over.
'No woman, no cry' indeed.

RASTA WEARING SHADES
What can I get you, mon?

HOLLY
Can I get --
(looks)
Two bottles of Absolut?

RASTA WEARING SHADES
(grins)
Absolutely.
(turns, grabs the bottles)
You havin’ a party?

The gang-bangers BURST into the store.
Holding small, piece-of-shit gats.

The taller one RUSHES the counter.
PUSHES Holly out of the way.
She hits the floor, THWUMP.

TALLER, VICIOUS-LOOKING GANG-BANGER
(SHOVES the gun in Rasta’s face)
Open the register, homes -- NOW!

Rasta stares at him wide-eyed.
Must be the sticky kush.

UNDER THE COUNTER
With one hand, he reaches for
a sawed-off shotgun.

BEHIND THE COUNTER
With the other, he opens the drawer.
Starts to grab the cash.

TALL RASTA
Okay, mon -- easy now.
I give you the money --
HOLLY

Lies on the floor.
Staring at them. Freaking out.

TALLER, VICIOUS-LOOKING
Waves the gun, impatient.

TALLER, VICIOUS-LOOKING GANG-BANGER
Hurry up, MOTHERFUCKER.

RASTA
FLIPS the gun up.
SHOOTS Tall’s head off. BANG.

Blood, brains and bone SPLATTER
the display behind him.

His piece goes FLYING,
skitters across the floor --

Landing right next to Holly.
She GRABS it.

SHORT, UGLY GANG-BANGER
Races toward the counter. SCREAMING.

Shoots Rasta in the head.
BANG. BANG. BANG. BANG. BANG.

RASTA
Falls over, dead. THWUNK.

SHORT, UGLY
Races over to the counter.
Scoops up the money into a plastic shopping bag.
GRABS a bottle of something expensive.

HOLLY
Stands behind him.
Holding her gun in both hands.

HOLLY
(screeches)
DON’T MOVE! Or I’ll fucking SHOOT!

SHORT, UGLY GANG-BANGER
(whirls around)
Fuck you, BITCH.

Holly SHOOTS him in the shoulder.
BANG. He DROPS the bag.

SHORT, UGLY GANG-BANGER
What THE FUCK?

HOLLY
SHUT UP!

And she FIRES again.
BANG. BANG. BANG.

Gets him in the arm. The leg.
He falls, GASPING.

The bottle hits the floor. POP.
Booze and blood start to form a sick-looking puddle.

SHORT, UGLY GANG-BANGER
Fucking CUNT. You SHOT ME --

He lies there. Bleeding.
Struggles to raise his gun.

SHORT, UGLY GANG-BANGER
I’m gonna -- kill ---

She moves closer. Fires again. BANG.
Gets him right between the eyes.
Lights out. Holly SCREAMS.

HOLLY
FUUUCK!

MALE VOICE (O.C.)
Holy SHIT.

Holly turns. Looks.
Sees a CROWD OF PEOPLE outside the door.

She sticks the gun in her pants.
GRABS the bottles of vodka --

And RACES into the back of the store.

CLOSE ON --
A video camera on the ceiling.
Red light BLINKING.

IN THE BACK ALLEY
Holly runs toward the street. Stops.
Sees a small cardboard box. Puts the vodka bottles in it. Hurries on her way.
ON THE BOARDWALK
Holly walks carefully, looking around. Sees a big CROWD gathering ahead. POLICE OFFICERS. A NEWS VAN pulls up.
HOLLY
I need a DRINK --
She gets to entrance of the hotel. Hurries up the stairs.
FEO

Sits on a nearby bench facing the hotel. Fingers working madly on his BlackBerry. He looks up. Sees her.
FEO
Same chick. Wouldn’t mind hitting that.