Hey there, crime kids. Happy Monday. 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 24 of DAZED, BEAUTIFUL & BRUISED, suspended homicide detective Carrie Love blows off some steam at the shooting range, then at a dive bar, but when she gets an emergency phone call from her porn star girlfriend Laura Lang on the set of her latest film, she has to spring into action and come to the rescue ...
INT. BEVERLY HILLS GUN CLUB - FIRING RANGE - NIGHT
Some swanky, techno-Euro crime theme.
Rows of stalls with targets, too brightly lit. Empty.
Except for Carrie.
Messy drunk in a slip of a cocktail dress, heels, shades --
And a gleaming 357 Magnum
out of a Guy Ritchie wet dream.
She lowers her sunglasses.
Scratches an itch in her eye.
We see she’s been crying.
CARRIE (V.O.)
It’s easier to see
after you’ve had a few cocktails.
She slides them back up. Takes aim. And --
BANG. BANG. BANG. BANG. BANG. BANG. BANG. BANG.
THE TARGET
A ‘Smiley face’ smack dab on the figure’s head.
ANGRY HISPANIC OWNER (O.S.)
Hey, you! Breakfast at Tiffany’s!
You better put dat thing down
before I call da cops!
CARRIE
stops, turns --
CARRIE
I am a fucking cop!
And swings her weapon toward him.
He raises a sawed-off shotgun.
Click-click.
ANGRY HISPANIC OWNER
That’ll be the last move
you ever make, lady.
Carrie lowers her weapon.
Whips off her shades.
ANGRY HISPANIC OWNER (CONT’D)
Oh, hi Carrie --
I didn’t recognize you.
You clean up good.
CARRIE
Thanks, Enrique.
I’ll be done a few minutes. ‘Kay?
ENRIQUE
(big smile)
You got it, Legs.
He bows, leaves.
She takes out more bullets, reloads.
CARRIE (V.O.)
My life has become a trashy cult film.
I have more death, betrayal, seedy glamour
and sexual situations in my life
than any ten women in this town.
(beat)
And this is Los Angeles.
(beat)
The only place on earth
where you fall in love --
and your partner thinks
she’s taking a meeting.
But you still fall,
and you fall so hard,
it makes you lose all sense of
judgment, morals, self-esteem --
and any desire to play
the game of life by the rules.
She slowly SPINS AROUND --
aims up, up, and --
ANGLE ON --
A row of ceiling lights.
Bullets hit them, one by one.
POP, POP, POP, POP, POP, POP.
EXT. BAR - NIGHT
The Gas Lite, a crappy Santa Monica dive.
The sound of a sloppy bar band
spills out from within.
A ponytailed BIKER BOUNCER
stands out front, smokes.
Two pretty COLLEGE GIRLS
approach him, huddle in the cold.
BIKER BOUNCER
(toothy grin)
ID, please.
PRETTY COLLEGE GIRL
(takes out license)
Hi. Is there a band tonight?
BIKER BOUNCER
Yeah, The Chollos.
Blues band.
The door FLIES OPEN,
and out stumbles Carrie.
Obliterated.
CARRIE
(to the bouncer)
G’night, Eddie.
Eddie tips his cap,
checks out her legs.
Carrie swerves, looks at
the fresh-faced young flesh.
CARRIE (CONT’D)
Whoa. Hi. Let me guess -- UCLA?
PRETTY COLLEGE GIRL
(not shy)
Loyola Marymount.
PRETTY COLLEGE GIRL 2
We’re good girls.
CARRIE
(devouring with her eyes)
That’s a shame.
PRETTY COLLEGE GIRL
C’mon, Debbie -- I’m cold.
They giggle, rush inside.
Carrie stops, stares at the door.
EDDIE
You okay?
CARRIE
Yeah. Just thinking about
the combination of drugs
it’d take to get those two in the sack.
INT. CAR - NIGHT
Carrie sits behind the wheel
of her monster ‘68 Olds.
Fumbles for a cigarette.
Her cell bleats.
She fishes it out, listens.
CARRIE
Laura? Slow down, slow down --
what’s the matter?
(listens, horrified)
Hold tight, I’ll be right there.
(listens)
It’s okay, it’s okay,
it’s gonna be okay.
I’ll be right there, just hold on.
Click. The line goes dead.
CARRIE
Goddamn fucking Frankenstein --
No comments:
Post a Comment