Wednesday, August 15, 2012

Weapons Of Mass Distortion


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 3 of HIT & RUN HOLIDAY, having lost her home, her girlfriend and her car, unemployed screenwriter Friday Foster has a breakdown ... and steals a pizza delivery car, where she finds a gun, a laptop, and a briefcase full of cash. Meanwhile, Bland Loosener, Israeli mob enforcer, the owner of the car, has to report the theft to his crime boss, who is NOT happy ...


EXT. VENICE APARTMENT BUILDING - BACK ALLEY - DAY
A pizza delivery CAR idles.
A crappy, late model Nissan Sentra
with a cardboard triangle sign on top.

FRIDAY
shudders.
Something goes through her.

She tip-toes up to the car.
Empty. The door’s ajar.
She looks around. No one. Huh.

And, faster than you can
say 'pepperoni', she JUMPS in,

JERKS it into drive --
and TAKES OFF.

Just then, BLAND LOOSENER (27) appears.
Six feet of corn-fed muscle.

Spiky Mohawk. Combat fatigues.
Toking on a fattie.

He nods to the music on his headphones.
Takes a hit. Smiles.

BLAND
Nice. Weapons of mass distortion --
(looks around)
My car! My fucking car!
Somebody stole my fucking CAR!

EXT. VENICE ALLEY - DAY
Friday barrels down the alley
in her newly-stolen wheels.

Right behind the boardwalk,
behind the shops and drunks.

FRIDAY
Thirty minutes or less!
Or we take your FUCKING CAR.

EXT. VENICE APARTMENT BUILDING - SIDE ALLEY - DAY
Bland fingers a number on his cell phone. Listens.

BLAND
Zvi? It’s Bland.
We’ve got a problem.
Uh, someone stole my car.

INT. MARINA DEL REY - BEACH CONDO - AT THAT MOMENT
A large, burly, TANNED ISRAELI (45)
in white linen listens on the phone.

He’d be quite the catch,
gold chains, Rolex --

If it weren’t for the bright, shiny
electronic ankle cuff.

Meet ZVI BEN-ARUT,
international raconteur.

Sex broker. Under house arrest.
Right now pacing, furious. Red-faced.

ZVI
You stupid fuck.
You LEFT THE ENGINE RUNNING?
SPLIT SCREEN WITH:

EXT. VENICE BEACH APARTMENT BUILDING - CONTINUOUS

BLAND
Don’t worry, I’ll find it. I’ll find it.

ZVI
You better.
Or else you’re dead.
Understand? Go, now. Find it.
Use the tracking device
in your fucking laptop.

BLAND
The laptop’s -- in the car.

ZVI
You fucking JAR-HEAD.

BLAND
I’m sorry boss, I fucked up.
I know. I’ll make it right,
I promise -- I --

ZVI
What the fuck were you doing?
No, wait -- don’t tell me.
You were fucking SCORING DOPE.

BLAND
It’s medicinal, Zvi --
Gulf War Syndrome -

ZVI
I’ll fucking give you a 'syndrome.'
Get your ass over here, NOW.
(beat)
God help me, but you’re gonna
have to take one of my cars.
(to himself)
God-DAMit.

BLAND
Which one? The SUV? The BMW?

ZVI
Dumb fucking slab of ‘American war hero,’
NO. You take the bug.

BLAND
But that’s -- a girl’s car.

ZVI
Exactly.
(sneers)
Mission accomplished.

INT. NISSAN SENTRA - CONTINUOUS
Friday pulls the car into an alley.
Parks. Looks around. No one following her.
Heart pounding. What to do? Should I -- ?

She notices the pizza delivery cases
in the back seat.

Three of them.
Breakfast. Lunch. Dinner.

Her stomach GROWLS.
She reaches over, grabs one.

Puts it on her lap.
Opens it, to reveal --

A brand new Apple G-6 laptop.
It sparkles in the sunlight.

FRIDAY
Holy shit.

Friday turns it on.
Places it on the seat next to her.

FRIDAY
Can finally check my email --

She grabs another one.
Opens it. Her jaw drops.

The case is stuffed with
banded wads of HUNDRED DOLLAR BILLS.

FRIDAY
Holy FUCK.

She quickly SNAPS it shut.
Places it under her seat.

WHIPS around. GRABS the last box.
FLIPS it open, to reveal --

A large pizza.
With pepperoni and sausage.

Steaming hot.
Friday grabs a slice,
wolfs it down hungrily. BELCHES.

FRIDAY
So ladylike.

Greasy hands. She needs a napkin.
Searches. Opens the glove box,
and finds -- A 357 MAGNUM. She GRABS IT.

FRIDAY
Come to Mama.

Just then A PATROL CAR creeps by.
Friday deftly slides
the gun under the seat.

Shit. Shit. Shit.

The cop stops.
Classic stone-face.

He glances into the Sentra,
sees the pizza box.

FRIDAY
Hi, officer.
Is there a problem, sir?

Black aviator shades glare at her.
What’s he doing?
Looking up her license plate?

COP
Won’t you get in trouble
if you eat the pizza?

She realizes.
The pizza sign on the car.

FRIDAY
I get it to eat if it’s a no-show.
Must of been some kids, a prank --
COP

Nice perk. Have a nice day.

FRIDAY
Thanks. You too, officer.

He drives away.
Friday sits a moment.
Heart still pounding.

FRIDAY
To protect and shit my pants --

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