Fucking Zuckerberg

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 13 of LEGS, Episode Two, porn star Laura Lang gets into trouble at the Ritz Carlton waiting for her lunch date that never shows when she tangles with a pair of arrogant baby tech moguls ...


INT. RITZ CARLTON HOTEL - BAR - DAY
Laura sits at the bar,
now three sheets to the wind.

She drains her martini.
Flags down the bartender.

LAURA
Can I --
(hiccups)
Get another?

BARTENDER
You sure that’s a good idea?

LAURA
Are you fucking kidding me?
Martinis are always a good idea.

An INVESTMENT BANKER (50’s)
next to her raises his glass.

STUFFY INVESTMENT BANKER
I’ll drink to that.
(to the bartender)
Serve the lady. On me.

Bartender rolls his eyes.
Turns to go make it.

LAURA
Thanks, love.

STUFFY INVESTMENT BANKER
(nods)
You look familiar.
Are you an actress?

LAURA
That’s funny.
You don’t look the type.

STUFFY INVESTMENT BANKER
The type of what?

LAURA
I guess everybody DOES watch porn.

STUFFY INVESTMENT BANKER
Oh. So you’re a --

Bartender serves her.
She smiles grimly.
Takes a sip.

LAURA
I was supposed to be meeting
Nick Orleans about starring in
'Battlestar Cracktica,'
but it looks like he stood me up.

A couple of YOUNG STUDS (20’s)
on the other side of her look,
nudge each other.

Whispering to themselves.
Snickering.

STUFFY INVESTMENT BANKER
'Battlestar Cracktica?'

LAURA
So I guess it’s your lucky day.
Wanna take me out for a spin?
I’ll only charge half-price,
since it’s a matinee.

STUFFY INVESTMENT BANKER
Of all the vulgar --
(throws money on the bar)
Well, I never --

He gets up off his stool,
storms away in a huff.

LAURA
Apparently not.

The Young Studs,
grinning Stepford Son types,
turn and leer.

DARK-HAIRED STEPFORD SON
You’re Laura Lang.

LAURA
Well, look what we have here.
A two-fer.

DARK-HAIRED STEPFORD SON
Hi. I’m Whit --
(points at his friend)
And this is Heath.

HEATH
Hey, there.

WHIT
We were wondering if
you’d like to go a party --
on my yacht.

In the background,
we see Stuffy Investment Banker
talking to Hotel Manager.

He points at Laura.
Then leaves.

LAURA
That might be arranged.
I might even give
you boys the group rate --
or should I say 'grope rate?'

She sips her drink. Chuckles.
The Stepfords exchange glances.

WHIT
PAY for it?
I never PAY for it.

HEATH
Do you realize who he IS?

WHIT
Of course she doesn’t.
Fucking whore wouldn’t recognize
a tech start-up mogul
if it bit her on the fake tits.

Laura THROWS her drink at him.
Gets up.

Whit SPUTTERS.
Grabs a napkin.
Wipes his face.

LAURA
That’s for calling me a 'whore,'
you fucking Zuckerberg.
Go jerk each other off
on your fucking BOAT.

She storms off.
Bartender CALLS OUT after her.

BARTENDER
HEY. You didn’t pay your BILL --

CAMERA finds Hotel Manager,
speaking on his cell phone.

WHIT
Thank you, officer.
I’d like to report a
prostitute on our premises --
(listens)
The Ritz Carlton.

OUTSIDE IN FRONT
Officious Valet brings
Laura’s Dodge Dart around.
Hops out.

Hands her the keys.
Laura takes them.
Gets in. Drives away.

Officious watches her angrily.
Shakes his fist.

HOTEL MANAGER (O.C.)
Medium height, blonde, British.
She just left, driving an old,
light green Dodge Dart Swinger --
(listens, chuckles)
Well, I guess you’re right.
There’s no such thing as a
NEW Dodge Dart Swinger, is there?