Friday, October 19, 2018
Happy Friday, 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 the next to last chapter of A DISH BEST KILLED, Haven and Jett hide out from the cops in their secret beach dive motel, where they have a little carnal fun with a suitcase full of cash ...
INT. SHITTY BUNGALOW - LIVING ROOM - MOMENTS LATER
Quaint and cute. Forty years ago.
Now, musty and well-worn.
Wooden furniture. Ancient TV.
An overstuffed couch facing a stone fireplace.
Typical shitty paintings of ships at sea.
Haven walks in, hefting a large briefcase,
followed by Jett, carrying their luggage.
Who knew eight-hundred grand was so HEAVY.
Jett drops the luggage with a BANG.
I thought I told you to pack light.
She goes to the fireplace. Gets a fire going.
Hey, a girl’s gotta have a change of outfits.
Don’t you want me to look sexy for you?
Jett walks over to her. Kisses her.
You’d look good in a burlap bag.
You know what I wanna do?
Roll around in it.
Roll around in what?
Haven goes to the briefcase. Opens it.
The money. I wanna feel it on my skin.
She takes out a bundle.
RIPS off the tape. THROWS it in air.
It flutters down like confetti.
Haven SQUEALS with joy.
You think you should do that?
What if somebody comes by?
No one’s coming.
We’re all alone, and it’s late.
C’mon, it’s FUN.
Haven takes out two more.
RIPS them open. TOSSES them.
She twirls in the fluttering
bills like a dancer.
Jett stares. Takes some money.
RIPS it open. THROWS it.
They both start LAUGHING MADLY.
A storm of cash RAINS down on them.
Haven stops. SHRIEKS --
And strips off her dress.
Glorious in lingerie and heels.
The vixen gets down on the carpet
and ROLLS AROUND in it.
Jett showers her with more cash.
Fuck me, BEN FRANKLIN.
Jett takes off her boots. Her jeans.
Then joins Haven on the money-covered
rug in front of the roaring fire.
We made it, baby.
There’s nobody else in the world.
And you’re mine. All mine.
There’s nobody else.
And they start making love, like animals.
Jett BITES Haven’s throat. She CRIES OUT.
Friday, October 12, 2018
Hey there, crime kids. Happy Friday. 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 37 of A DISH BEST KILLED, murderous lovers on the run Haven and Jett hole up in a seedy beach-side motel. Meanwhile, homicide detective Cal Seely and his crew tighten the noose around them ...
EXT. COUNTY ROAD - CONTINUOUS
The pickup FLIES down the road.
Behind them, a DODGE DART SWINGER
pulls out of the bushes,
and ROARS after them.
INT. SHERIFF’S MUSTER ROOM - AT THAT MOMENT
Your typical shitty institutional
municipal squad room.
Cal Seely stands at a lectern
in front of a dozen UNIFORMED OFFICERS
and a handful of PLAINCLOTHES DETECTIVES.
We’ve put out an APB.
All regional airports,
bus stations and trains
are being watched.
The highway patrol is on it.
And we’ve alerted the media,
who is calling them Bonnie and Bride.
A smattering of chuckling.
This isn’t a fucking JOKE.
We need to FIND them,
and find them NOW.
This is front page news, people.
I want you to fucking
take apart that whore’s boat,
and that fucking dyke’s apartment --
and find out where
the fuck they’ve gone.
Do I make myself clear?
EXT. MOTOR COURT - NIGHT
A foghorn BLEATS somewhere off the coast.
A dense FOG has rolled in from the ocean.
Lights look blurry, fuzzy.
There’s a sharp, damp,
pungent chill in the air over --
A small motor court motel
across the street from the beach.
A deserted area far away
from the touristy crap.
A small semi-circle of
shitty bungalows face the water.
The middle one has a sign
that reads OFFICE. VACANCY.
Jett’s pickup pulls up
behind it and stops.
INT. PICKUP TRUCK - CONTINUOUS
Jett shuts off the ignition.
Slips on a cowboy hat. Shades.
I like the hat.
Makes you look -- rugged.
Let me check in by myself.
You’re too -- memorable.
That sounds like a
line from something.
From our life, baby face.
INT. MOTOR COURT OFFICE - MOMENTS LATER
A plump BUCK-TOOTHED WOMAN
sits at the desk reading
a true crime magazine.
Riveted. Slowly eating potato chips.
Jett comes in quietly.
Closes the door behind her.
Evenin’. Mighty cold out there.
It’s the fog.
Cold and wet it is.
She smiles strangely.
This bulb is definitely low-wattage.
Can I get a cabin for the night?
Sure thing. Got one left.
But the heater’s broke.
Got a fireplace, though.
(hands her a key)
Check out is at eleven.
How can you see in those shades?
It’s night-time, mister.
PUSH IN ON Jett. Delighted.