Let Sleeping Gangstas Lie

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.

I started this blog almost four years ago after I got laid off my nine-to-five job and started writing full-time. It's been a rocky road, but I've survived, and now have fairly big motion picture about to move forward. Believe it or not, this is my 1000th post. My, how time flies when you're living a life of crime. Thank you all for reading my serialized stories up to now. It's been a real treat to share my work with you, and I humbly thank you for your patronage.

In Chapter 24 of HIT & RUN HOLIDAY, fugitive screenwriter Friday Foster makes her escape from the Chateau Marmont with the help of the gold-toothed gangsta in the bungalow next door. Meanwhile, the waitress she terrorized at the Venice Beach coffee shop appears on Howard Stern ... and suspended homicide dick Carrie Love tangles with mercenary-for-hire Bland Loosener, who's hot on Friday's tail ...


EXT. BUNGALOW FIVE - TERRACE - EARLY MORNING
Friday climbs over the railing.
Walks over to Bungalow Six.

Raises herself up, and
climbs onto the terrace. Looks around.

FRIDAY
Should probably let sleeping gangstas lie.

INT. BUNGALOW SIX - EARLY MORNING
Friday tip-toes into the darkness.

A hulking FIGURE appears,
drinking from a gallon jug of milk.
It’s Gold-Tooth.

GOLD-TOOTHED GANGSTA
What are the bloody fuck
are YOU doing here?

FRIDAY
Sorry to barge in,
but I gotta jailbait suicide
and a comatose security guard
back at my place,
and I didn’t think it would be
a good idea to stick around
for housekeeping.

GOLD-TOOTHED GANGSTA
(impressed)
I understand.
(beat)
And you want to -- hide out here?

FRIDAY
Tempting, but I can’t,
I have an appointment.
Big pitch meeting.

GOLD-TOOTHED GANGSTA
And what, you need a ride?

FRIDAY
Yeah. I’ll pay you
a hundred bucks a mile.
Plus gas.

GOLD-TOOTHED GANGSTA
Cash?

FRIDAY
(tosses him a wad of cash)
Your tip. In advance.

GOLD-TOOTHED GANGSTA
Madam, your carriage awaits.

INT. THE HOWARD STERN SHOW - AT THAT MOMENT
Howard sits at his console.
Leans into the mike.

HOWARD
Uh, Lux LeBon was the waitress that --

GARY DEL’ABATE, the producer,
escorts in LUX LEBON (25)
who we recognize as the
waitress at the Cracked Earth Cafe.

HOWARD (CONT’D)
There she is. WOW.
You are smokin’ HOT.
Look at the bod on YOU --

Lux sits on the couch.
Haughty in a Melrose Avenue minidress.

LUX
Hi, Howard.

HOWARD
You are the waitress that Friday Foster
threatened with a gun in the YouTube video.
It’s had over five million hits.

LUX
That’s me.

ARTIE LANGE
leans into his microphone.

ARTIE
She is SMOKIN’.
Who would want to point a gun at HER?

LUX
She said I was rude to her.

HOWARD
Were you? Rude to her?

LUX
Hell, yeah.
And thank fucking God.
Since that video went up,
my agent’s phone’s been ringing off the hook.
I just got my own fucking REALITY SHOW.

HOWARD
That’s great. What’s it called?

PUSH IN ON Lux. Big, Cheshire grin.

LUX
'Who Wants To Be A Bitch?'

EXT. WEST HOLLYWOOD - ALLEY - AT THAT MOMENT
Carrie’s piece-of-crap Olds
idles behind a strip mall.

INT. CARRIE’S CAR - CONTINUOUS
Carrie sits behind the wheel.
Kelly rides shotgun.

In the back is Bland,
hands cuffed in his lap.

On the car stereo, DJ Sammy’s
glistening trance-cover of CALIFORNIA DREAMIN’
punctuates the early morning light.

BLAND
What is this shit?

CARRIE
Don’t worry about it, listen to me --

KELLY
I like it. It’s kinda peppy.

CARRIE
I’m offering you a deal.
You help us find her,
and the charges will be dropped.
Help us -- before she gets in more trouble.

BLAND
It’s a sacrilege.
‘California Dreaming’
is a CLASSIC American song,
and now it’s all faggy and shit.

Carrie CRANKS the volume.

CARRIE
Do we have a DEAL?

Bland looks at his feet. Winces.
Shakes his head.

He LURCHES FORWARD, jerks the chain
around Carrie’s neck. CHOKING her.

BLAND
Turn it off! Turn it off!

Carrie GAGS. Her eyes BULGE.
She THRASHES against the seat.
Kelly shuts off the music.

KELLY
Stop it! Stop it!
You’re gonna kill her!

BLAND
Give me the gun! The gun, the gun!

Kelly GRABS it, gives it to him.

Bland RELEASE Carrie with a flourish.
She GASPS for air.

CARRIE
Uh, uh, uh, uh --

Bland CRACKS Kelly on the side of the head --

KELLY
Ow!

Swivels, KICKS OPEN the car door.
Hops out, and DASHES AWAY.

KELLY (CONT’D)
Criminy! There he goes!
(looks at Carrie)
Are you okay? Are you okay?
(beat)
My head, my head --
(feels it)
I’m bleeding.

CARRIE
Goddamit.

She uses all her strength,
PUSHES open the car door.
Gets out. Unsteady on her feet.

KELLY
Where are you going?

CARRIE
I’m gonna go fucking get him.
(reels, stops, looks at him)
Stupid ass. You gave him my gun.

KELLY
He was gonna strangle you.

CARRIE
That’s no excuse.

And she TAKES OFF --

KELLY
(rubs his temples)
I bet Woodward and Bernstein
never had to deal with all this folderol --