Baby's In Black

Get ready for an explosive blast of estrogen firepower in the form of sultry, deadly government agent April Street, hot the trail of terrorists, black op agents, assassins ... just another day for NOWHERE GIRL.

Screened a real clunker last night. My god. Holy fucking shit. FREEDOMLAND, with Sam Jackson and Julianne Moore. (Sorry, Julianne, we're Facebrook friends and all, but all you seem to do on there is play 'Mafia Wars. Maybe you should spend more time reading scripts.) A VERY depressing story about a woman who kills her child, lies about it, and says a black guy carjacked her. Politically correct racial outrage ensues. Shut it off after 90 minutes in -- I really gave it a chance -- but it was Friday night, and slitting my wrists is no longer an option. FUGGEDABOUTID. Ug.

Onto today's rip-roaring episode of NOWHERE GIRL -- where we next meet Homeland Security agent April Street, who not only makes that agency suddenly cool, she'll get you incredibly hot ...


INT. AIRPORT SECURITY CHECKPOINT - AT THAT MOMENT
A long line of weary TRAVELLERS wait in line.
An ANGRY-LOOKING GUARD waves a metallic wand
across a FAT MAN’S suit. The detector SHRIEKS.
Angry’s face lights up.

DOWN THE CORRIDOR
A WOMAN is SPRINTING toward us.

Meet APRIL STREET (20’s). Eyes burning fire.
Tall and foxy, with legs for days. Baby’s in black.
But how can she run so fast in stiletto heels?

As she runs, she KNOCKS over shit.
PLOWS into a ELDERLY MAN.

APRIL
(British accent, over her shoulder)
Sorry! Government agent!

She gets closer.
We see she’s a dead ringer for Cherry Nation.
Like sisters. What’s going on here?

April RACES up to the checkpoint.
Flashes her ID.

APRIL (CONT’D)
Homeland Security!
Outta THE WAY!

An open-mouthed guard takes a look at the badge.
Fancy stuff. Holograms and shit.

OPEN-MOUTHED GUARD
Sure thing, uh --

APRIL
MOVE IT, Kojak.
This is a NATIONAL EMERGENCY --

She KNOCKS HIM OVER
and RACES down the corridor.

INT. AIRPORT BAR - AT THAT MOMENT
Cherry looks at the Hipster.
Unsure of what to do.

CHERRY
I need your help.

HIPSTER
You in some kind of trouble?

Cherry raises her wrist.
Exposing the handcuff, and the case.

CHERRY
You might say that.

HIPSTER
Holy shit. Are you a --
(leans over, whispers)
A spy?

CHERRY
(lowers it)
Hell, no. I’m a dancer.
Some asshole just cuffed me to this -- briefcase.
Said I needed to deliver it to someone.
If I didn’t, he’d --
(tears up)
Kill my family.

HIPSTER
Holy shit.

CHERRY
You keep saying that.

Pause.

HIPSTER
I’m -- Peeler.

CHERRY
What?

PEELER
My name.
Peeler. Peeler Mardo.

CHERRY
Oh. I’m Cherry.

PEELER
You certainly are.

Pause.

CHERRY
Look, I need your help,
not your hitting on me, okay?
He threatened MY FAMILY.

PEELER
Okay, okay. I’m sorry. I’m a guy.
(beat)
So where are you supposed to deliver it?

The door FLIES OPEN.
April RACES into the room.
WHIRLS AROUND. Stops.
WHIPS OUT her badge.

APRIL
Homeland Security, everybody FREEZE!
Anybody moves, and I'm gonna Gitmo your ASS.

Incident At Gate 7

Happy Friday, gunslingers. What a great way to start the weak-end -- a little early. A brand, spanking-new story is awaiting you kids. NOWHERE GIRL -- a balls-out, hardboiled, femme-driven spy thriller, straight from my demented mind. Get ready for the joyride of your life ...

Whew. Tons of stuff going on. Have a director and producer interesting in shooting my film noir A DISH BEST KILLED -- which I will post here at a later date -- but since it's also lesbian-tinged, I want to show you all that I can write hetero people. (Ha.) That's right kids, this new one is for the masses. Needless to say, I''m totally stoked to be starting up my second film. We're still in the preliminary 'taking a meeting' phase, but I promise to keep you posted as things develop ...

But first let me tell you about a cool little British flick I screened last night, THE FOURTH ANGEL, a nifty little thriller with Jeremy Irons, Forest Whitaker and Jason Preistly (!). A ripping good time was had with this one. To say anything about the plot would give too much away ... but I WILL tell you this ... if the idea of Jeremy Irons with an AK47 submachine gun gets you excited, then see this film. SOON. It's THAT good.

Drumroll, please. Hold onto your secret decoder rings, kiddies, cause today I'm unveiling NOWHERE GIRL, the spy thriller from hell. Balls-out, non-stop action from start to stop.

Brace yourself ...

Oh, did I mention one of the main characters is a former porn star, now stripper?

Well, Cherry Nation makes Jason Bourne look like a piker ...


INT. LOS ANGELES INTERNATIONAL AIRPORT - BAR - DUSK
One of those bland watering holes for travelers
who aren’t picky about ambiance. Or their cocktails.

A WOMAN (20’s) sits a table near the windows, watching the planes.
Unbelievably hot, with long, long black hair. Reckless curves. Sleek. A gazelle.
Meet CHERRY NATION. Exotic dancer. Future entrepreneur.
Single mother of two.

Right now she’s sipping a whiskey sour and talking on her cell phone.
She tugs on her miniskirt.

CHERRY
Thanks for watching the kids for me, Shag.
I owe you one.
(listens)
Yeah, the money is fucking AMAZING.
I’m getting close to having the amount I need
to quit dancing and open the store.
(listens)
My MEDS? Mind your own business.
(listens)
Okay, okay -- I’ll call you when I get to Vegas.

She feels something in the small of her back.

MALE VOICE (O.C.)
Don't move.
I have a gun pointed at the base of your spine.

CHERRY
What the fuck?

MALE VOICE (O.C.)
Don't speak. Just listen.

CHERRY
But --

The gun CLICKS.

Camera PULLS BACK to reveal --

A TALL, UGLY THUG in shades and a trench coat
seated at the table behind her back.
He smiles. Not a pretty sight.

TALL, UGLY THUG
I don’t know what kind of game you’re playing,
girlie, and I don’t care. Get off the fucking PHONE.

She clicks it shut.

TALL, UGLY THUG (CONT’D)
Good girl. Now listen carefully.
The briefcase is next to your chair.

He FLIPS an envelope on her table.

TALL, UGLY THUG (CONT’D)
Take this. In it, you’ll find an address.
Take the briefcase there. Got it?

CHERRY
Listen to me, I think you’ve got the wrong --

TALL, UGLY THUG
If you don't deliver the package by sunrise,
we’ll kill you. And your family.
(nudges her with the gun)
GOT it?

She nods. Frightened to death.

TALL, UGLY THUG (CONT’D)
Lower your left arm.
Put it near the case.

She does.
We hear a SNAP, CLICK.

TALL, UGLY THUG (CONT’D)
If you change your mind,
or go to the cops,
your family will DIE.
GOT it?

Cherry nods slowly.

TALL, UGLY THUG (CONT'D)
Good girl. Now you’re being smart.
I’m gonna leave now,
and you’re gonna keep facing the window.
DO NOT MOVE. Understand?

CHERRY
Y-yes.

TALL, UGLY THUG
One last thing. DO NOT open the briefcase.
If you do, you’ll die.
(beat)
Enjoy your cocktail.

He stands.
And in one fluid movement, he’s gone.
Cherry vibrates in her chair, shaking.
Blinking back tears.

She raises her hand.
We see she’s clutching the briefcase.
And that she’s been handcuffed to it.
She puts it back down.

A good-looking HIPSTER
slides into the chair next to her.
Studiously messy hair.
Five-hundred dollar torn jeans.

HIPSTER
These airport bars kinda suck,
don’tcha think?

Your Columbine Or Mine?

Hold onto your hat, kids ... cause it's time once again for your favorite crime joint, That Killing Feeling. Today we're gonna be wrapping up things up on the latest story, so you don't wanna miss one ... so get yer tight asses in here ...

The time has come to pull the plug on WILSHIRE BOULEVARD on this blog. Not that I don't want to post the whole thing, but my manager advised me against it, as someone might steal it. Now, I know there's a snowball's chance in hell of this happening, but I gotta do what he says. But I won't leave you in the lurch. If any of you (and that means both of you) out there would like to read the ending, send me an email at parker.carole@gmail.com, and I'll shoot you a copy.

Tomorrow I'm gonna start serializing my big-budget spy thriller NOWHERE GIRL. Methinks you're gonna love it, because it's balls-out, hardboiled action from start to finish. And did I mention its REALLY violent? Oh, yeah -- and there's tons of hot chicks. Good times.

So, without any further, adieu, let's catch up with Carrie Love, who, along with Jenny Lane, are about to confront the ones who framed her for murder ...


EXT. JENNY’S APARTMENT BUILDING - CANAL - NIGHT
The moon glimmers on the inky black waterway like thick brush strokes.
Five of WHITE GEESE float by, single file.

Jenny and Carrie sit on an old sofa under a tree. Watching.

JENNY
The guy in that five-million dollar home
on the other side bought them for his wife.
(beat)
Only the kids pay any attention to them.

CARRIE
Did you feel his pulse?

JENNY
No, I freaked out. I just split.
Then I called you.

CARRIE
He’s probably okay.
We could go to my place,
check the police scanner --
(realizes)
Shit.

Carrie closes her eyes.
Quietly shaking.

JENNY
(takes Carrie’s hand)
Stay here tonight.

CARRIE
I can’t drag you into this.

JENNY
I’m ALREADY into this.

CARRIE
(opens her eyes)
I guess you are.

JENNY
(sits up)
Come on, let’s go in.
I’m getting cold.

CARRIE
(pulls her back down)
Can you just -- hold me a sec?

They embrace.

Three soft GUNSHOTS RIP through the sofa
just above Jenny’s head --
THWIP. THWIP. THWIP.

JENNY
(jerks up)
What was THAT?

CARRIE
(pulls her down)
Someone’s shooting a B-B gun at us.
Stay down. Don’t move --

Carrie GRABS the top of the couch.
Then Jenny. Does a roll.
Pulls the sofa down over them.
They crouch low. Listen.

More shots THWIP, THWIP, THWIP
into the cushions.

CARRIE (CONT’D)
How very Columbine.

JENNY
Who are they shooting at?
You or me?

CARRIE
I don’t know.
But we have to get the fuck out of here.
My car is across the street.
Which car is yours?

JENNY
The gold BMW, two spaces down.

CARRIE
You have a beemer --

JENNY
Don’t get excited. It’s a ‘72.
That bucket of bolts cost me more in repairs
than what I paid for it.

CARRIE
But it’s -- working, right?

EXT. CANAL - AT THAT MOMENT
Across the canal, a FIGURE IN BLACK crouches down.
Rifle poking through the wooden fence along the footpath.

THE COUCH
is lifted, tilted, tipped up on end.

THE GUNMAN
squeezes off a series of SHOTS --
THWIP. THWIP. THWIP. THWIP.

EXT. JENNY’S APARTMENT BUILDING - GARAGE - CONTINUOUS
Jenny’s vintage gold BMW PEELS RUBBER, and flies away.

INT. JENNY’S BEEMER - MOVING - NIGHT
Carrie drives like a demon.

CARRIE (V.O.)
Enough crying in my cocktail.
Fucking around playing footsie.
I still had my work. Still had this case.
And it was time to get my shit together and do what I do best --
crack this sucker wide open.

She FIRES UP a smoke, and --

JENNY
Careful, there’s a --

PUNCHES the gas.

JENNY (CONT’D)
Stop sign.
(grips the door)
Where are we going?

CARRIE
To Gay Flender’s joint.

JENNY
But didn’t you say you suspect her of --

CARRIE
I did. I do.

JENNY
And that she set you up?
Won’t she be --

CARRIE
Not if she’s distracted.

The girls exchange looks.
Carrie, excited. Jenny, scared.

JENNY
Oh, no you’re not. I’m not gonna --

CARRIE
Yes, you are.
All you have to do is talk to her
about how Modi hit you,
and that you’re thinking of suing,
but if you could get your job back --

PUSH IN ON Jenny.
Eyes darting. Pensive.

JENNY
I could -- do that.

Cock-Blocked

Happy hump day, crime victims. You ready to get your hardboiled/pulp groove going ... because its time for another daily dose of noir, shot right between your legs. Better watch your step, because the bodies are piling up, the clocke is running out, and it's no time to be squeamish ...

Screened a nice little flick last night ... Johnny Depp in NICK OF TIME, directed by John Badham. A box office bomb, and JD's first attempt at a mainstream role. Tight little crime flick that takes place in real time ... seems that Chris Walken and his evil chick friend have kidnapped Johnny's daughter ... and they force him to assassinate someone. A real nail-biter. Quite the sleeper. Very suspensful. A shame this one died on the vine, cause it's just great.

Onto today's nail-biter from WILSHIRE BOULEVARD. Homicide Dicks Bernie Keko and Aya Meir are ... quite literally ... hot on private eye/murder suspect Carrie Love's trail ...


EXT. THE HORSE HEAD - NIGHT
Carrie walks out the front door. Lights a smoke.

CARRIE (V.O.)
I was cocked-blocked by a skirt.
First time for everything. It was just as well --
I mean, I was just going through the motions.
Sex with a stripper is like having desert for dinner.
Tastes great, less filling --
but you’re hungry again a couple hours later.
And besides, I have a damsel in distress to attend to.
(beat)
And right now, she’s about all I have left.

BERNIE (O.C.)
It’s right down here.
A real dive, one of her favorite places --

CARRIE
(hears him)
Shit.

She pulls down her hat.
Walks quickly in the opposite direction.
DUCKS into a TATTOO PARLOR.

BERNIE AND AYA
appear in front of the bar.

AYA
Disgusting. I can smell it from out here.

BERNIE
(fondly)
I know --

INT. TATTOO PARLOR - AT THAT MOMENT
Carrie walks up to the counter.

Behind it, a HUGE, TATTOOED BRUTE
looks her up and down. Wipes his mouth. Leers.

TATTOOED BRUTE
Hey, mamma -- how 'bout a little ink?

Carrie pulls out her GUN.
Waves it in his face.

CARRIE
I’m lookin’ for the back entrance, DOG.

TATTOOED BRUTE
You sure? I gotta fresh needle --

She marches past him toward a curtained-off doorway.

INT. THE HORSE HEAD - AT THAT MOMENT
Bernie and Aya approach the bar.
Case the joint. Take seats.

Scary bartender ambles over.
Clocks them immediately.

SCARY BARTENDER
What can I do for you, officers?

BERNIE
(pulls out a photograph)
Have you seen this woman?

SCARY BARTENDER
(looks at it)
Can’t say I have.

AYA
You sure?

SCARY BARTENDER
I’d sure as hell remember HER.

Bernie frowns.
Puts the picture down.
Checks his watch.

BERNIE
Hey. It’s six. I’m starving.

AYA
It’s that late already?

BERNIE
(to Scary)
You still have those -- horse burgers?

AYA
HORSE burgers?

SCARY BARTENDER
(wistful)
We usedta. Gotta new owner.
Now just have beef.

BERNIE
I’ll take a bacon cheeseburger, bloody-rare,
with the works.
(to Aya)
You -- hungry?

AYA
Starving.
(to Scary)
Can I get a veggie burger?

SCARY BARTENDER
Sorry. No veggie.

AYA
I’ll just have some fries, thanks.

Scary nods. Goes off to fix the grub.

CURVY (O.C.)
Hey. I saw this girl. She was just in here.

CURVY
stands next to Bernie.
Picks up the photo. Squints.

CURVY (CONT’D)
Her hair is different, got this dykey
Jodie Foster thing now, but that’s her.

BERNIE
Holy shit. How long ago was she here?

CURVY
She just left.

AYA
Which way did she go?

CURVY
Hell if I know --

They LEAP off their stools. RACE toward the door.

SCARY
appears from the back with the food.

SCARY BARTENDER
Hey! Where ya GOIN’?

A Hell of a Woman

Greetings crime hipsters. What's the deal? You feel like taking a little trip to the dark side? Ready for a blast to your solar plexus? A little heat under the collar? Well, then you 've come to the right place. A place that time forgot ... on That Killing Feeling.

Screened a real pip last night. Brian De Palma's THE UNTOUCHABLES, from 1987. Back before he lost his mind ... or his talent .. I dunno. (I think THE BLACK DAHLIA killed his career .. I mean, Hillary Swank as a femme fatale? Last time I looked, hot, killer dames didn't have horse teeth.) Hadn't seen this one in eons, and it's aged really well. A young-looking Kevin Costner, Sean Conner, Andy Garcia and Charles Martin Smith go up against Bobby DeNiro's Al Capone, and the dark, nasty fun begins. Classic sequence on the library steps with a baby carriage cribbed from THE BATTLESHIP POTEMKIN -- love those homages. Go, Brian, go. So what the F happened? You lose your mojo? I dunno ... (ever seen RED MARS? Ug.) Check this one out when you get a chance, and light a candle ... maybe some day he'll get his fire back. Here's hoping.

Onto today's joint from WILSHIRE BOULEVARD -- and you better start savoring these, because pretty soon I'm going to have to pull the plug. My manager doesn't want me posting the whole screenplay on the net, as some knucklehead might try and steal it. (As if.) Not to worry, I've got another story I'm about to unleash on you. But for now ...

Let's rejoin private eye Carrie Love, where she loves to hide out. In a dive bar ...


EXT. VENICE BOARDWALK - THE HORSE HEAD - SUNSET
Classic dive bar. A couple of OLD DRUNKS smoke butts in front.
Shivering in the brisk air of the beach at dusk.
An OLD HOMELESS HIPPIE (60) in a top hat shuffles by.
Holding up his pants at the crotch. Weaves slightly.

Carrie walks toward the bar.
Stops. Peers inside.

CARRIE (V.O.)
Some shamus I turned out to be.
On the lam, holed up like grifter
out of a Jim Thompson fever dream.
A Hell of a Woman, my ass.
I wasn’t on the case, the case was on me.
I wasn’t following leads, they were following me.
Suspects? I was the fucking suspect.
And now I was on a tear, a bender, a non-stop trip to hell.
Cause when the going gets tough, the tough --
(beat)
Go to happy hour.

INT. THE HORSE HEAD - CONTINUOUS
Unbelievably dank and dark. Broken ceiling fan.
Scary-looking BARTENDER watches a ball game
on a shitty little black-and-white.
Two DRUNK LOCALS sit nearby nursing their beers.
The jukebox spills out the scuzzy guitar shards
of Urge Overkill’s SISTER HAVANA.

An off-duty CURVY STRIPPER drinks and twists, oblivious.
Celebrating some private party.

Carrie slides onto a bar stool.
Eyes Curvy’s moves.

CARRIE
(to herself)
I’m in a Roger Corman movie --

The BARTENDER leans over.
Glares. Barely whispers.

SCARY BARTENDER
What’ll it be?

CARRIE
Heinekin, double shot of bourbon.
Kessler’s, if you got it --

SCARY BARTENDER
(nods, grim)
Kessler’s. Smooth as silk.

He turns to get her order.

HISPANIC MALE VOICE (O.C.)
How ya doin,’ mommy?
Haven’t seen you in here before --

Carrie looks left. Then down, at --

A GUY IN A WHEELCHAIR
near her stool. The wannabe lothario grins, wolfish.
Takes a slurp of beer. Looks up. Beady eyes leering.

CARRIE
Sorry, Mack. I don’t do the ‘Coming Home’ thing.
But slide me your digits, and I’ll give ‘em to Jane Fonda.

Scary returns with the drinks. Sees Wheelie-Boy.

SCARY BARTENDER
Leave the babe alone, Rodriguez, okay?

Carrie SLAPS down a ten-spot.
Slides off her stool.

CARRIE
Watch my change, will ya?
(to Rodriguez)
What do you call someone who’s
HIV-positive in a wheelchair?
Roll-AIDS.

She turns, walks toward Curvy.
Scary ROARS with laughter.
Downs her shot. Sips her beer.
Moves to the music.

Curvy senses Carrie’s presence.
Turns. Stares. Likes what she sees.
Starts dancing for her.

CARRIE (CONT'D)
Where’s a pole when you need one?

CURVY
Can I get a hit offa that?

Carrie hands her the beer.
Curvy takes a long, luxurious swallow.
Holds the bottle against her forehead.

CURVY (CONT’D)
Thanks. I needed that.

CARRIE
Makes two of us.

Curvy smiles.
The deal is closed.
Carrie’s cell phone RINGS.

CARRIE (CONT’D)
Hold that thought.
(answers it, listens)
Jenny.

SPLIT SCREEN WITH:INT./EXT. JENNY’S APARTMENT - BALCON
Jenny leans on the railing with a stiff cocktail.
Looks at the canal. She turns toward us.
We see she has a black eye.

JENNY
(into the phone)
How are you? You -- okay?

CARRIE
Yeah. Hold on a sec.
(covers the phone, to Curvy)
Be back in a sec. Business call.
Why don’t you go warm up a bar stool for me?

Curvy smiles.
Trots off to the bar.
Carrie sits at a table.

CARRIE (CONT’D)
I’m back.

JENNY
(jittery)
That’s just -- just great.

CARRIE
What’s going on?
You sound -- strange.

JENNY
Modi and I got into a big fight and he fired me,
I went to his place after work to try and get my job back,
we argued some more, he hit me,
and I pushed him, and he, he --
(beat)
Fell. He hit his head. He’s, unconscious.

CARRIE
No way.

JENNY
C-can you come over?

CARRIE
(looks off camera at Curvy)
Shit.
(sighs)
Be right there.
(clicks the phone shut)
Damn. Stripper-interruptus.

What The Fuck Are You Looking At?

As Elvis Costello once sang, 'Welcome to the working week.' And you know what that means, don't you? You betcha. It's time for another amazing chapter of that hardboiled/pulp story I like to call WILSHIRE BOULEVARD. So, strap yourself in, buckle up tight, and get ready for the ride of your life.

Screened a classic from the 70's last night, THE GAMBLER, featuring James Caan, along with a raft of classic actors including Jimmy Woods, Lauren Hutton (!) and a baby-faced Paul Sorvino. Terrific cautionary tale written by my man James Tobak about the perils of gambling. Not to give anything away, but I was squirming in my seat watching Caan fuck up his life betting all his money on losers -- several times. Terrific stuff. They just don't make 'em like that anymore ... Rent it if you've never seen it. A real classic.

Onto today's joint from WILSHIRE BOULEVARD today, and this one's a corker. The plot is heating up -- as Bernie and Aya are closing in on Carrie ... quite literally ...


INT./EXT. UNMARKED POLICE CAR - MOVING
The car cruises Speedway.
A narrow street just behind the Venice Boardwalk.
It passes BUMS, young HIPSTERS. SURFERS.
Bernie’s behind the wheel. Aya sips a designer coffee.

BERNIE --
and the bartender looks at the guy and says,
‘Hey. I was talking to the duck.’

Bernie ROARS with laughter.
Aya does a slow burn.

BERNIE (CONT’D)
C’mon, that’s funny.

AYA
You fucking sneak. I was driving.

BERNIE
Payback for stopping at Star-FUCKS.
How can you drink that shit?
It looks like a milk shake, not a COFFEE.

Bernie’s cell phone RINGS.
He pulls it out. Listens.

BERNIE (CONT’D)
Keko here --
(beat)
Holy shit.

AYA
What?

BERNIE
(to Aya)
Martune’s dead --
(listens)
We’ll be right there, chief --
(hangs up, to Aya)
Step on it, baby.
We’ve got another body.

AYA
(does a ‘take’)
You called me -- baby.

PUSH IN ON Bernie’s face.
In pain. Confused.

BERNIE
Don’t get used to it.

INT. VENICE MOTOR COURT HOTEL - ELEVATOR - AT THAT MOMENT
Carrie rides down. Pulls out her Glock. Checks the chamber.

EXT. VENICE MOTOR COURT HOTEL - CONTINUOUS
Bernie and Aya’s car pulls into the front entrance. Parks.

IN THE LOBBY
the elevator doors open.
Carrie walks out.
Then hears --

BERNIE (O.C.)
-- homicide detective Keko,
and this is detective Meir.
We’d like to see the register.

Carrie FREEZES in her tracks --

CARRIE
Shit.

Turns, and walks toward the garage exit.
Goes through a door.

AT THE FRONT DESK
Bernie and Aya look through the book.

BERNIE
Than Dong Ng, Werner and Hilda Schmidt,
Lucia Greco -- fucking United Nations.

The officious PIMPLY YOUNG CLERK (22) nods stiffly.

PIMPLY YOUNG CLERK
Well, Venice Beach IS a major vacation destination.

AYA
Do you have a photocopier?

PIMPLY YOUNG CLERK
Sorry. There’s a Kinko’s about a mile away, on Lincoln.

BERNIE
Fuck that --
(to Aya)
You stay here, write down all the names
going back the last twenty-four hours.
I’m gonna go scope out the parking garage.

AYA
Gee, thanks, officer.
You go prowl why I stay here
and do the secretarial work?
I think NOT.
(shoves the book at him)
YOU write down the names
while I go check out the garage --
(off his stare)
If she happens to be down there,
she WON’T recognize ME, GET it?

The clerk watches. Amused.

BERNIE
That’s -- a good idea.
(to the clerk)
What the fuck are you looking at?

Code Blue

What's that? You thought I forgot about you? Heaven forbid. It might be Sunday, but that doesn't mean I'm asleep at the wheel. And I've got just the thing for a lazy weekend afternoon ... a fresh, steamin' hot chapter from Wilshire Boulevard.

Didn't screen a movie last night. Was reading a book. How many people can say THAT about their Saturday Night? I'm re-reading some of Dashiell Hammet's short stories, looking for one to adapt for the screen. Haven't found the right one yet, but I'm having a great time. If you haven't read his stories, you should. I'm now into a great collection called 'The Continental Op.' Check it out sometime. You won't be disappointed.

Onto today's joint from Wilshire Boulevard, and this one's DARK. Beware, my sweet ... because Carrie Love is about to get revenge from Paul Martune, the jerk that burned down her house ...


INT. SANTA MONICA HOSPITAL - CORRIDOR - DAY
A bustling hallway right out of ER. DOCTORS, NURSES, TECHS
weave in and out like ants marching up the hill.

A DOOR opens to a room marked NURSE’S LOUNGE.
A tall, thin NURSE strides briskly into the throng.
Starched white hat atop chunky blonde locks.
She stops. Turns. Looks.

It’s CARRIE.
Looks at the door numbers. Searching. Aha.

A DOORreads ‘134.’
A female hand pushes it open, and we go into --

INT. HOSPITAL ROOM - CONTINUOUS
Dark with the lights out. Drapes pulled.
Quiet, except for the machines chirping.
Lights blinking.A hulking FIGURE lies on the bed.
Tubes and wires inserted.
Large wooden FRAME is affixed to its head
with a series of bolts, like scaffolding.
Like it’s under construction.

It’s MARTUNE.
Being rebuilt. Like beachfront property.

Carrie tip-toes up to the bed.
Turns on the light.
Martune doesn’t react.
Sleeping the dreams of morphine bliss.

CARRIE
Wakey, wakey, RISE AND SHINE.
It’s time for your SPONGE BATH.

Martune’s eyelids flicker.

CARRIE (CONT’D)
And then maybe take a little BLOOD.

His eyes slowly open. Try to focus.

CARRIE (CONT’D)
Take your RECTAL TEMPERATURE.
With a FUCKING KNIFE.

Martune tries to speak, but he’s drugged to the gills.
His voice comes out sideways, like a ventriloquist.

MARTUNE
Cahrrie -- Lohv --

CARRIE
That’s right, buster -- it’s me.
Here to wake you from the dead.
Cause we’re gonna have a little party.
Play ourselves a little game --
‘confession junction.’

She pulls a small dictating recorder from her pocket.

CARRIE (CONT'D)
(into it)
Testing, testing -- one, two, three.
Is this thing on?
Golly gee, officer, I was only going ninety.

Carrie pulls out her GLOCK.
Aims it Martune’s head.

CARRIE (CONT’D)
Don’t worry. This is just for insurance.
I’d rather just turn off your life support.
More dramatic. And less messy.

MARTUNE
Yoo -- funkin’ -- bih.
She places the dictaphone on the pillow beside his head.

CARRIE
All I want is your confession,
and then I’ll leave you alone.
(beat)
Maybe.

With great effort, gaining strength,
Martune grimaces.

MARTUNE
You stole -- ma girfren.’

CARRIE
Well, that’s the problem with a menage et trois, big guy.
It’s rarely an even three-way.
Two of them really get into each other,
and leave out the third.
Nine out of ten times,
it’s the two women,
leaving Mr. ‘I Just Wanna Watch’ out in the cold.
And in your case,
poor little baby was sick of your smug shit
and jumped on the first life preserver she could find.
(beat)
Me.

Carrie pulls out his IV tube.
Martune winces in pain.
Reaches for the call box on the bedside table.

MARTUNE
I’m gonna -- call -- security.

Carrie GRABS the box.
Places it out of his reach.

CARRIE
Enough. Pipe down. Sit still.

She raises the gun.
Places it against Martune’s temple.

CARRIE (CONT’D)
You’re gonna spill it. NOW.
(CLICKS on the recorder)
Talk to me, Jesus. Tell me about the fire.

MARTUNE
Shit, no -- don’t shoot, don’t shoot.

CARRIE
All of a sudden you can talk?

MARTUNE
(looks at the missing IV tube)
Morphine -- I need -- morphine.

CARRIE
Give me your statement. NOW.
Then you can take a trip to paradise city.
Where the grass is green and the girls are pretty.

Carrie CLICKS the hammer.

MARTUNE
Okay, okay. DON’T SHOOT.
(exhales)
I started it, okay?
I burned down your house because you stole my girlfriend.
I LOVED that girl, and you -- took her AWAY from me.

CARRIE
Aw, isn’t that touching.

She PISTOL-WHIPS him, CRACK.

CARRIE (CONT’D)
So you torch my DREAM HOME.
(seething)
Last question, asshole.
You killed Slobotnik, didn’t you?

Martune blink-blinks. Frightened.

CARRIE (CONT'D)
(raises the gun)
You want more of this?
ANSWER ME.

MARTUNE
Okay, alright. I shot -- Kip.

CARRIE
Why?

MARTUNE
He -- made a pass at me.
Said he was -- in love with me.
I -- snapped.

Carrie smiles. SNAPS off the recorder. Stands.

CARRIE
Well, I guess that wraps it up.

MARTUNE
Please, morphine -- I’m in pain.

Carrie looks around.
Sees a small washcloth on the bed post.
She balls it up. SHOVES it in his mouth.
Leans over. Re-inserts the IV tube into Martune’s arm.
His eyes cry out with immediate relief.

CARRIE
See? I’m not a totally bad person.
(beat)
I may not be a health care professional,
but I play one on TV.

One of the monitors starts BEEP-BEEP-BEEPING.
Oscilloscope patterns dance madly on the screen.

CARRIE (CONT’D)
Shit.

She presses the call button.
Then hurries out of the room.

IN THE CORRIDOR
Carrie looks at her clipboard. Starts moving.
Blends into the crowd.

A MALE VOICE
rises above the din on the PA.

URGENT MALE VOICE (O.C.)
CODE BLUE, CODE BLUE,
room 134, cardiac arrest!
Move it, move it, STAT.

PUSH IN ON
a VIDEO CAMERA on the wall.
Red light on.