The Natives Are Restless

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.

In Chapter 34 of HIT & RUN HOLIDAY, just as fugitive screenwriter Friday Foster gets her apology live on TV from the film studio executives she's holding hostage at gunpoint, the cops arrive and demand that she give herself up ... but then get interrupted by a full-blown race riot in the streets ...

INT. WHITE LINE PICTURES - CONFERENCE ROOM - Dy
A DEEP, MALE VOICE BOOMS
over a loudspeaker from outside.

DEEP, MALE VOICE (O.C.)
Friday Foster!
This is the police!
We have you surrounded!
Come out with your hands up,
and you won’t be hurt!

FRIDAY
Damn. They really say that?

DEEP, MALE VOICE (O.C.)
Friday Foster, I REPEAT!
Come out RIGHT NOW,
hands on top of your head --
or we’re COMING IN AFTER YOU!

Silence. Worried looks all around.

FRIDAY
Who’s gotta cell phone I can use?

Everyone pulls theirs out.
Offers them.

FRIDAY
My god.
Reach out and touch me.

She takes Jimmy Joe’s.
Fingers a number --

FRIDAY
Hello? 911?
(listens)
Yeah, can you put me through
to the cop who’s outside
White Line Pictures
yelling over a bullhorn?
(listens)
I’m the one in the building
with a semi-automatic weapon
and a 357 Magnum that he’s yelling at --

EXT. WHITE LINE PICTURES - FRONT ENTRANCE - DAY
AN OLD, BLACK POLICE SERGEANT
holds a cell phone to his ear.

OLD BLACK POLICE SERGEANT
Hello? Ms. Foster?

SPLIT SCREEN WITH:
Friday pulls open the blinds.
Looks out the window.

FRIDAY
Hey, it’s me. Call me Friday.
What’s the 411, homes?
Can I get a shout-out?

OLD BLACK POLICE SERGEANT
(to himself)
I’m too old for this shit.
(into the phone)
We’ve got a situation here -- Friday.

FRIDAY
Understatement much?

OLD BLACK POLICE SERGEANT
So what are we going to do about it?
Are you going to come out and
surrender like a good citizen?

FRIDAY
I get it --
you’re the Morgan Freeman character,
the voice of affirmative action reason.
Cliched, but it still works.
When done well.

OLD BLACK POLICE SERGEANT
'Morgan Freeman character?'
(hears something)
Wait a minute.
I’ve got another call coming in --
(presses call-waiting)
Ridikuluss has been assassinated?
By WHITE COPS?

A large BOOM outside.
Friday looks, sees --

A MOB of marauding RIOTERS
swarm the street.

100% ‘of color,’
they SMASH AND GRAB goods from stores.
SHOOT GUNS in the air. Light FIRES.

WHOOP and HOLLER.
It’s scary. Out of a movie.

Oh. Wait a minute.

FRIDAY
It’s Rodney King time all over again.

Everybody crowds around the window.
Looks.

CARRIE
The natives are restless.

JIMMY JOE
They’re keepin’ it real,
up in the stolen TV.

OLD BLACK POLICE SERGEANT
(on the phone)
But we’ve got a hostage situation here.
I can’t just leave and --
(hears something, looks)
Holy shit. I see ‘em. Alright, goddamit.
(hits call waiting)
This is your lucky day, lady.
Stay in the building where you’re safe.
We’ll come back and get ya later.
(beat)
Hello? Friday? Ms. Foster?
(shuts off phone)
Friday. What hippie-ass
shit kinda name is that?

INT. WHITE LINE PICTURES - CONFERENCE ROOM - CONTINUOUS
Everyone watches the big-screen TV.
On it --

A RED-FACED ANCHOR
glares into the CAMERA.

Twitching with anger.
Self-righteousness.
Right-wing bravado.

RED-FACED ANCHOR
-- while leaving the downtown courthouse
after appearing for an arraignment on a
weapons product-placement parole violation,
hip-hop artist Ridikuluss was assassinated
in cold blood in broad daylight
by rogue police officers.
(beat)
Unfortunately, rival news channel
Crime TV was on the scene,
and aired footage of
the shooting moments later.

REBECCA
Go, team. GREAT footage.

CARRIE
But they’re not cops.

JIMMY JOE
How kin ya tell?

CARRIE
The swastika tattoo on the neck?
Dead giveaway.

RED-FACE
shakes his head.

RED-FACED ANCHOR
Mayor York has declared martial law,
an immediate curfew, and is
suspending all valet parking in the city.

JIMMY JOE
Damn.

Rebecca goes to Carrie.
Takes the camera.

REBECCA
Okay, that’s it. Gotta jam.
Bigger, better story, folks.
(shouts)
Howard! Scott!
Get your lazy asses in here!

FRIDAY
You can’t just -- leave --

REBECCA
Oh, yes I can.
You got your apology.
Story over. Nice little piece,
but no shoot-out with the cops,
no suicide, no mayhem.
Let’s face it, your ‘siege’
had a lame ending.

Howard and Scott appear in the doorway.

REBECCA (CONT’D)
Come on, fellas.
We gotta riot on our hands.
Move it, move it, move it.

They race over,
grab their equipment.

FRIDAY
'Lame ending?' LAME ENDING?

REBECCA
Don’t take it personally, hon.
I mean, think about it, you’re alive.

She goes to the door.
The crew follows. Then Kelly.

CARRIE
Where are you going?

KELLY
Life-changing epiphany.
(to Howard)
Coffee, later?

HOWARD
How do you take it?

KELLY
Uh -- black?

They leave.
Friday goes to the window.
Looks at the carnage.

FRIDAY
Jesus fucking Christ.
How am I gonna get outta here?

Like Chunks In Sauce

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 33 of HIT & RUN HOLIDAY, fugitive screenwriter Friday Foster has taken film studio executives hostage at gunpoint in their conference room. The TV news crew she asked for has arrived to tape their apology for killing her movie deal ... when they suddenly get interrupted ... by the cops.


INT. CONFERENCE ROOM - DAY
Jimmy Joe holds his piece on the group.
Smiles.

DON
You realize you’ve killed your chances
of starring in ACTION MOVIE 2 --

JIMMY JOE
Fuck your piece of shit ACTION MOVIE.
I’m only here because my
agent begged me to.
(beat)
Like I would co-star with Lil’ Nig.

HANS
Jimmy Joe.
Put ze gun down.
Let’s talk about zis.

JIMMY JOE
Sorry, Girlie-man --
but the lil’ lady asked me
to keep ya’ll covered,
an in tha int-rest of
keepin’ ya’ll alive,
I’m gonna do jus’ that.

GARY
Fucking redneck.
This isn’t a goddamn movie, Jimmy Joe.

FRIDAY (O.C.)
Hell, no -- it’s A LOT more fun.

FRIDAY
comes in.
Followed by Rebecca,
holding her mike.

Carrie behind the camera.
Kelly FLASHES the light.

Friday goes to the
head of the table. Sits.

REBECCA
Coming to you live
from White Line Pictures, ‘
The Siege: Crisis in Development Hell.’

FRIDAY
(to the executives)
Don’t you just love it
when the media gives cool names
to wars and disasters?
(to Rebecca)
Cue the GRAPHICS.
Take me to the global village.
Let’s get that DEMOGRAPHIC.

REBECCA
ROLL CAMERA.

Rebecca raises her mike.
Cocks her head.
Full of importance.

REBECCA (CONT’D)
This is Rebecca Diaz, Crime TV,
reporting to you live
from White Line Pictures --
where Friday Foster has
taken the top executives hostage.

FRIDAY
Damn straight.
We shall overcome.
Redemption song.
Free Nelson Mandella.
I have a dream.
All that shit.

REBECCA
As you can see,
our captor is quite eloquent --
and irreverent.

FRIDAY
I’m a writer --
what do you expect?
‘Hi, Mom?’

REBECCA
No, but I’m rather surprised
at your flip attitude,
and that you seem to be having fun.
You’re not even scared.

FRIDAY
Scared? Can you say EMPOWERED?
(points Uzi at her)
Enough fucking around,
let’s hurry this up.
Before I spray your shellacked head
like chunks in sauce.

REBECCA
Okay, okay -- so, tell us,
what are your demands?

FRIDAY
All I want --
is this Hollywood hack --
(points gun at Don)
To apologize for ruining
my fucking life.

REBECCA
(whirls to the camera)
And in a stunning surprise,
we’ve learned that
Friday’s demand isn’t money,
or anything material,
not even a movie deal.
(pause for effect)
She just wants an apology.
In these consumer-driven modern times,
it’s refreshing to see someone who --

CARRIE
Enough with the reportage.
Let Red apologize.

FRIDAY
Carrie?
First at the club, and now here?
What are you, fucking stalking me?

CARRIE
I want to help you.
If you surrender, maybe I
can help you get a deal,
get a lighter sentence.

REBECCA
Wait a minute.
Now I know where I’ve seen you --
you’re that cop that got suspended,
it was all over the news.

KELLY
Are you kidding me?
That means we’ve been breaking the law.

CARRIE
Well, if you want to split hairs.

KELLY
No wonder you wanted to help her --
you’re an outlaw, too.

FRIDAY
Kelly? Kelly Klavan?
What are YOU doing here?
What is this?
Former-FUCK week?

KELLY
Friday.
Nice to see you. I’m, uh --
here to tell your story.
I’m a journalist, too, you know.

Friday stares at Kelly.
Then Carrie. Head reeling.

JIMMY JOE
Well, shit --
I kin read the subtext here.
If these two were willin’ ta
risk their lives tryin’ to help ya,
ya must be one helluva lover.

FRIDAY
I’ve had no complaints.

DON
What is this, the fucking View?

GARY
It’s more like Jerry Springer.

HANS
Fuck Jerry Springer.
Is like Dr. Phil.
And I HATE Dr. Phil. Fucking QUACK.
Fat fucking tub of lard with DIET BOOK.

FRIDAY
Everybody SHUT UP. Let’s DO IT, NOW.
(to Carrie and Kelly)
Lights, camera -- ANGER.

THE CAMERA
shoots Don. In close up.

FRIDAY (O.C.) (CONT'D)
I’m waiting --

DON
As the chairman
of White Line Pictures,
I’d, uh -- like to apologize --

A DEEP, MALE VOICE BOOMS
over a loudspeaker from outside.

DEEP, MALE VOICE (O.C.)
Friday Foster!
This is the police!
We have you surrounded!
Come out with your hands up,
and you won’t be hurt!

Late-Breaking Bulletin

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 32 of HIT & RUN HOLIDAY, while fugitive screenwriter Friday Foster continues to hold the movie executives hostage at gunpoint, TV reporter Rebecca Diaz and her news crew arrive on the scene, but when her sound man suddenly collapses, homicide dick Carrie Love takes his place ...


INT. WHITE LINE PICTURES - ELEVATORS - MORNING
Carrie and Kelly creep up toward the lobby entrance.
She pulls a gun out of her boot.
Leans against the wall. Listens.

FRIDAY (O.C.)
And, you -- ex-boss from hell.
You made me read your
piece-of-shit screenplay.
AND give you notes on it.
Right, like I could really
be honest with my BOSS?
It was painful, the
WORST PIECE OF SHIT I ever READ.
(low)
How dare you.

CARRIE
(whispers)
She’s really mad.

KELLY
About reading a script?

CARRIE
Well, look where we are.

REBECCA (O.C.)
Come on, this way.
Shhh. Be careful.

REBECCA DIAZ
and Lighting Guy approach.

REBECCA (CONT’D)
Who are you?
What channel are you with?
You look familiar --
(sees the gun)
Oh, shit.

CARRIE
(sharp whisper)
Quiet. I’m a fucking cop --

REBECCA
(flashes press ID)
And I’m a reporter.

LIGHTING GUY
I do the lights.
(to Kelly)
Hi, there.

KELLY
Hi. I’m Kelly.
I’m a print journalist.
(beat)
Nice -- instrument.

BALD CAMERAMAN
appears in the stairwell doorway.
Sweating. Red-faced.

REBECCA
There you are.
Get your fat ass over here.

BALD CAMERAMAN
I don’t feel -- so good --

He HITS the flood with a THUD.

REBECCA
Shit.

LIGHTING GUY
Low blood sugar.
I told Scott to have a snack,
but no -- he said he’s on a diet.

CARRIE
Shhhhh. She’ll hear us.
(beat)
I gotta think --

REBECCA
(to Lighting)
Great.
Who’s gonna operate the camera?

CARRIE
I am.

She goes to the lying figure.
Picks up the Sony digital.

KELLY
But she’ll recognize you.

CARRIE
Not if I’m in disguise.
(to Lighting)
Gimmee your hat.

LIGHTING GUY
Sorry, doll. It’s a Prada.

REBECCA
(to Lighting Guy)
Howard.

He takes it off.
Hands it over.
Carrie slides it on.

CARRIE
Kelly, you’re gonna operate the lights.

HOWARD
I can’t let him --

CARRIE
Oh, yes you can -- do you want
to be charged with obstructing justice?

HOWARD
Okay. But be careful.
It’s not a toy.

He takes off his shoulder harness and kit.
Hands them to Kelly.

Who slides them on.
Carefully passes over his light.

KELLY
Wow. It’s heavy. I bet it’s a --

HOWARD
Good workout.

CARRIE
(to Rebecca)
Okay, anchor-babe, here’s the plan.
We go in, nice and slow --

REBECCA
I’m not going in there.
I could get shot.

CARRIE
She’s not going to hurt us.
She ASKED for a news crew --
she wants to deliver a statement.

KELLY
I thought you were the
big, investigative reporter?

REBECCA
I am.
(beat)
From a distance.

FRIDAY (O.C.)
Holy shit. It’s the media.
I thought I heard something out here.

Friday appears.
Magnum in one hand.
Uzi in the other.

FRIDAY
Come on kids, join the party.
Gotta late breakin’ bulletin for ya --

Dog Day Afternoon

Happy Thursday, 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 Chapter 31 of HIT & RUN HOLIDAY, while fugitive screenwriter Friday Foster is holding the White Line Pictures executives hostage in their conference room, mercenary Bland Loosener is making his way through the building to capture her. Meanwhile, not only has a news crew invaded the building, but the police have just arrived ...


INT. WHITE LINE PICTURES - CONFERENCE ROOM - MORNING
Friday waves the Uzi at the suits.
Jimmy Joe listens.

FRIDAY
So they offered me a deal,
optioned the script,
got the wheels in motion,
fast-tracked my payment,
I quit my job --

JIMMY JOE
And then they pulled the plug.

FRIDAY
AFTER the story had hit the trades,
after they fucking OUTED ME.
(to Don)
You fucking promised, asshole.

JIMMY JOE
So what do you reckon yer gonna do?

DON
Jimmy Joe, shut up the fuck up.
You’re egging her on.

GARY
Idiot.
You could become an accessory.

HANS
Like vat, a handbag?

JIMMY JOE
Shut up, all a’ y’all.
This lady’s goddamn angry,
and we’re gonna have to
figure out a way to satisfy her --
or else we’re gonna have ourselves
a Dog Day Afternoon here.

GARY
Then let’s hurry this the fuck up.
I’ve got a story meeting at ten.

FRIDAY
FUCK your story meeting.
THIS is the story.
And I want a news crew in here, NOW.
The revolution WILL be televised.

DON
And what are you gonna tell them --
that we’re being held hostage
by a SCREENWRITER?

FRIDAY
You bet your fucking ASS.

Friday raises her MAGNUM.
Points it at Don.

Everybody GASPS.
She turns.
Takes aim at --

AN ACADEMY AWARD
sitting on a shelf
at the far end of the room.

FRIDAY
CLICKS the safety.

FRIDAY
I’d like to thank God,
my mom, my agent --

And SHOOTS -- BANG.
The Oscar SHATTERS.

FRIDAY
And all the LITTLE PEOPLE
that FUCKED ME.

DON
You, you shot --

GARY
Our best picture OSCAR.

FRIDAY
I never watch the Academy Awards.
(beat)
I’m more of an
Independent Spirit kinda gal.

INT. ELEVATOR - AT THAT MOMENT
Bland stands in a corner.
Jumps up on the handrails.

Feet at forty-five degree angles.
Ass up against the wall.

He PUNCHES the trap door in the ceiling.
Nothing happens.

BLAND
Ow.
(rubs his hand)
I will not ABORT.

Bland inspects it. Reaches up.
Clicks the latch. Opens it.

BLAND
Good job, soldier.

INT. STAIRWELL - AT THAT MOMENT
Rebecca and Lighting Guy
charge up the stairs.

Bald Cameraman follows,
half a flight down.
Huffing and puffing.

BALD CAMERAMAN
I’m gonna burst a blood vessel!

REBECCA
(over her shoulder)
Good! Great B-roll footage!
Make sure you leave the camera on!

Her phone RINGS.
She stops. Answers it.

REBECCA
This better be good --
(listens)
What? The cops JUST GOT HERE?
(to the crew)
We beat the fucking cops AGAIN.
(into the phone)
No -- I’m almost inside.
Get another crew down here,
they can shoot the
piggies coming to market.
(hangs up, to the crew)
Alright, let’s get moving --
we’re going into
the belly of the beast.

Bald Camerman’s stomach GROWLS.

EXT. ROBERTSON BOULEVARD - DAY
A squad car SCREECHES
to a stop at the curb.
Then two more.

COPS pour out.
RUN toward the building.

EXT. WHITE LINE PICTURES - FRONT ENTRANCE - CONTINUOUS
Barricades have been set up.
A line of cops in riot gear,
shields, assault rifles,
stand in formation.

INT. ELEVATOR SHAFT - AT THAT MOMENT
Bland climbs up the cable.
Sees the other car coming down from above.

Just as it passes by,
he SWINGS toward it,
LETS GO of the cable,
and LANDS on top of it with a THUD.

BLAND
We’re going in, CAPTAIN --

Grand Theft Gnarly

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 30 of HIT & RUN HOLIDAY, the situation is rapidly becoming a clusterfuck. Not only has fugitive screenwriter Friday Foster taken the executives at White Line Pictures hostage with a semi-automatic weapon, mercenary Bland Loosner and homicide dick Carrie Love are now also in the building trying to get her ... and to make matters worse, the media is now onto the story, and is also descending on the building ...


INT. WHITE LINE PICTURES - ELEVATOR - DAY
Bland rides up slowly.
He PUNCHES the ‘up’ button repeatedly.

BLAND
Reporting for duty, SIR --

Gears GRIND.
A loud POP.
The car stops.

BLAND
Mechanical failure, Sergeant!

He GRABS the phone.
Starts pressing buttons.

BLAND
Command to base!
Command to base!

EXT. WHITE LINE PICTURES - FRONT ENTRANCE - DAY
A NEWS CREW comes barrelling
through the doors.

REBECCA DIAZ,
delicious in mini-skirt and boots,
portly BALD CAMERAMAN and
a great-looking BLACK LIGHTING GUY.

Rebecca dashes over to Mr. George.
FLASHES her credentials.

REBECCA
Rebecca Diaz, Crime TV.

MR. GEORGE
Crime TV?

REBECCA
Yes. We’re here for The Siege.

MR. GEORGE
‘The Siege?’
What is -- The Siege?

REBECCA
Don’t you watch television?
Friday Foster has taken
a dozen hostages
in your conference room
with a semi-automatic weapon.

MR. GEORGE
I don’t watch televisions.
They are berry, berry bad --
(realizes)
Friday Foster?
Has taken hostages?

REBECCA
Yes.
And it’s MY STORY, understand?
Now what fucking floor
is the conference room on?

MR. GEORGE
I’m not going to tell you.
You are a berry rude lady.

BALD CAMERAMAN
(looks off camera)
The light stopped on six.
They must be on six.

MR. GEORGE
Alright, okay --
they’re on six.
But you must sign the book
before I let you in.

REBECCA
‘Let me in?’
LET ME IN?
Do you realize
who the FUCK I am?
(to the crew)
C’mon boys, let’s leave
Idi Amin to his
precious little book.

They dash over to the elevator.

MR. GEORGE
Hey!
Idi Amin was from GHANA.
I am from JAMAICA,
you racist stoopid-woman!

The crew watches
the elevator lights.
Not moving.

One is stopped on three.
The other on six.

REBECCA
Goddamit.
They’re not moving.

LIGHTING GUY
Let’s take the stairs.
Great cardio.

BALD CAMERAMAN
Fuck that.
You want me to
have a heart attack?

REBECCA
Actually, yes -- I’d love it.
Then maybe I could get a crew
that cared about
GETTING THE FUCKING STORY.
Now, move it, ton of fun.
MARCH.

EXT. SIXTH FLOOR - AT THAT MOMENT
Carrie closes the phone box
in the elevator.

KELLY
You are a genius.
How long will they
hold the elevator?

CARRIE
Until they figure
out it’s a fake,
we probably have
about fifteen minutes.

EXT. ACROSS THE STREET - AT THAT MOMENT
A gorgeous, mini-suited FEMALE REPORTER
is doing man-on-the street interviews.

Next to her is a
SPICOLI-LIKE STONER DUDE (18),
wearing a FREE FRIDAY T-shirt.
Sips from a longneck.

FEMALE REPORTER
This is Holly Hand,
News Five On Your Side,
and we’re here in front of
White Line Pictures,
where a crowd has assembled
for 'The Siege.'
(points the mike at Stoner)
Your T-shirt --
is Friday Foster a hero to you?

SPICOLI-LIKE STONER DUDE
Friday is the MAN.
With tits.
Grand Theft Gnarly.
What’s your damage, Heather?
You have a brain tumor
for breakfast?

An ALTERNA-CHICK (17)
with dayglo hair in a
BONUS POINTS T-shirt
GRABS the mike.

Holds a large super-soaker
SQUIRT GUN.

ALTERNA-CHICK
A big, bright PAGEANT SMILE!?

And SOAKS her.
Stoner fires up a joint.
ROARS with laughter --

Like A Carrot On A Dick

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.

In Chapter 29 of HIT & RUN HOLIDAY, mercenary-for-hire Bland Loosener arrives at White Line Pictures to grab fugitive screenwriter Friday Foster, with Friday's ex Carrie Love right behind him. Meanwhile, Friday gets down and dirty with the film studio executives she's holding hostage at gunpoint ...


EXT. WHITE LINE PICTURES - FRONT ENTRANCE - DAY
Bland BURSTS through the front door.
Dashes over to the front desk.
Gets in Mr. George’s face.

BLAND
Did a female just come in here?
Tall, big boobs -- brown hair?

MR. GEORGE
Friday Foster?
(off his nod)
Yes, she did.
Moments ago, in fact.

BLAND
I’m supposed to be
in the meeting with her.
What floor did she go to?

MR. GEORGE
Six. But you have to sign the book first.
(beat)
Why are you dressed to go to war?

BLAND
Thanks.
(grabs the pen, signs)
Because the film biz IS war.

He goes to the elevators. Enters one.

MR. GEORGE
(reads the book)
Your name is 'Donald Duck?'

BLAND
(as the elevator opens)
It’s a family name.
(loud)
DIS-MISSED.

The doors close.

CARRIE AND KELLY
race in. Out of breath.
Trot over the desk.

CARRIE
Did a woman come in here?
Her name is --

MR. GEORGE
Friday Foster? Yes.
She is quite popular.
You here for the meeting, too?

CARRIE
What floor is ‘the meeting’ on?

KELLY
Who else came here for the meeting?

MR. GEORGE
(to Kelly)
Tall, military gentleman in camouflage.
A Mr. Duck.
(to Carrie)
On six. Executive floor.

CARRIE
'Duck?'
What the fuck kinda name is that?

MR. GEORGE
It’s a family name.
I find it rather charming, myself.
And I’m a big supporter of fowl.
Sign in, please. Security reasons --
we have top security.

CARRIE
(signs, sarcastic)
Well, that’s obvious.

Kelly signs.
Carrie dashes over to the elevator.
Then, Kelly.

MR. GEORGE
Your names are Mr. and Mrs. Pig?

CARRIE
Yeah. He’s Porky, and I’m Oprah.
Kinda ironic. I’m the cop --

KELLY
A-bee-a-da-bee-a-da-bee-a-da-bee --
Th-th-tha-at’s all, folks.

The doors close.

MR. GEORGE
(shakes his head slowly)
That must be some kinda meeting.

INT. CONFERENCE ROOM - AT THAT MOMENT
Friday gets in Don’s face.

FRIDAY
I want a news crew, NOW.

DON
Get that fucking gun out of my face.

GARY
We’ll release a statement to Variety.

FRIDAY
No. FUCK Variety.
They report SHIT. LIES.
I’m talking REAL MEDIA.
This is MY LIFE, my ART, my CRAFT --
not some bullshit PR high-concept SPIN.
(quiet, deadly)
This is the story of a writer
whose passion project was
dangled in front of her
like a carrot on a DICK,
and then wiped on her ass
and flushed down the FUCKING TOILET.

DON
Listen to me, you smug little wannabe.
I’m the head of this fucking studio,
I DANCE WITH THE DEVIL,
and not EVEN I have green light power!
We vote by COMMITTEE.
And marketing didn’t know how to sell it,
they said it was too --

FRIDAY
What? Edgy? Controversial?
But that’s what you LIKED about it,
you fucking phony, hypocritical DUMB-SHIT.
(beat)
And you had the NERVE so say that
‘Brave New Girl’ was
‘the best script you ever read.’

JIMMY JOE
Brave New Girl? You wrote that?
I LOVED that script.
They were gonna offer me the part of -- uh, w
hat’s his name -- Serge.

FRIDAY
Serge? You’re not right for Serge.
What part of ‘tall, dark, and
Euro-suave’ didn’t you get?

JIMMY JOE
Hey, my agent sent it to me.
Can’t blame a guy for tryin’ to stretch.
Besides, I’ve always been curious about --
your kinda gurl.

FRIDAY
You have?

JIMMY JOE
Well, after you’ve exchanged vows
written in blood with the
hottest woman on the planet,
all the rest are just vanilla.

FRIDAY
You know, you’re
much better looking in person.

JIMMY JOE
(shy)
Uh -- thanks.
(beat)
You’re not so bad yourself --

Take Me To Your D-Girl

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 28 of HIT & RUN HOLIDAY, fugitive screenwriter Friday Foster ambushes the executives at White Line Pictures with an Uzi, marches them into the conference room, and makes a most unusual demand ...

INT. WHITE LINE PICTURES - FOYER - EARLY MORNING
Friday pushes open the metal double doors, enters --

THE WAITING AREA
Surprisingly small.

But then, this IS a mini-major.
Behind the front desk sits DEVRA,
rotund, bespectacled receptionist.

Dickensian features light up
when she spies Friday.

DEVRA
Friday. I can’t believe you’re here.
You’re all over the news.
(beat)
You, uh -- have an appointment?

FRIDAY
(whips out her Uzi)
THIS is my appointment.
I’ve got a date with destiny, baby.
Take me to your D-girl.
(off her shock)
Hey. Got a joke for ya.
How do you make love
to four-hundred pound woman?
(beat)
Roll ‘er in flour,
and look for the wet spot.

But Devra is frozen. In shock.
A MALE VOICE laughs.

MALE VOICE (O.C.)
Thas’ fuckin’ funny!
Ha ha ha ha ha ha --

Friday WHIPS AROUND to see --

JIMMY JOE JACK
(40’s) sitting on the couch.
Indie Movie Star.
Hollywood outlaw.

Big ol’ grin on his face.
Still a shit-kicker.

Western wear a’la Rodeo Drive.
He chews tobacco. SPITS.

JIMMY JOE
And she’s gotta gun.
Whoah, Nelly.
You a method actress --
or did the studio
fuck you in the ass too?

FRIDAY
Hershey Highway. No lube.
(offers her hand)
Big fan, Jimmy Joe.
‘Fucking Christmas,’
best film of the year.

JIMMY JOE
(shakes)
Thanks. So, what’s with the firepower --
you plan on shootin’ up the place?
(sly)
Need any help?

GARY GILL (35) head of production ambles in.
Redheaded, pale, freckled.

A bloated barrel of lumbering, dull, pomposity.
Walks over to the desk. Squints at Devra.

GARY
Any messages?

Devra just blinks.
Terrified. Nods at --

FRIDAY
pointing the Uzi at Gary.

FRIDAY
Hey, Gare. Remember me?
I did four years in this slime hole --
The SCREENWRITER that got
‘THE BEST COVERAGE YOU EVER READ?’

GARY
Sunday.
What the fuck are YOU doing here?
(beat)
Is that a real gun?

FRIDAY
You bet your back end it is.
And it’s FRIDAY,
you fucking tub of Mick.
(to him, Devra and Jimmy)
Okay. NOW. Into the conference room.
We’re taking a meeting.

Everyone stares.
Friday pumps the magazine, KA-CHINK.

FRIDAY
Move it.
Or else I’m gonna fucking
Abu Ghraib the lot of you.

JIMMY JOE
Y’all better move it.
I think the lady’s serious.

Gary, Jimmy Joe and Devra start moving.
They pass a row of ASSISTANTS,
watching in horror.

FRIDAY
You, too -- Hollywood Gatekeepers.
Put down your coverage,
I’ve got you surrounded.
IN THE CONFERENCE ROOM. NOW.

INT. CONFERENCE ROOM - DAY
Friday’s hostages sit around the large lux table.
Bright morning sunlight streams in
through wall-sized windows.

FRIDAY
Gary. Close the blinds.
Don’t want the paparazzi to get
any shots of your imminent demise.

GARY
(puts his hands on the table)
Go fuck yourself.

Incensed, Friday BANGS
the gun down on his hand. SMASHING it.

GARY (CONT’D)
Ow!

FRIDAY
You think I’m fucking around? DO IT. Now.
Before I shoot your TENT-POLE.

He gets up. Goes to the blinds.
Closes them.

HANS WOLFE, (50’s) head of marketing,
stern-looking, designer specs, puffy,
pokes his head in. Grumpy. Quizzical.

HANS
Vat is zis?
Some kinda in-house focus group?

DON GREY (60’s), grey-haired,
grey-skinned, shuffles in.
Shoeless. Mismatched socks.

You’d never know from looking,
but he’s the head of the studio.

Indie maverick deluxe.
As usual, right now
he’s nursing a nasty hangover.

DON
What THE FUCK is going on in here?
(sees Friday)
Friday, you’re back.
(evil smile)
Go get me a latte, NOW.

FRIDAY
(whips guns at them)
Hello, boss, or should I say Satan?
It’s me, your worst nightmare,
back from the dead, and pissed as hell.
So why don’t you and HITLER
get your bony white asses in here?
You’re just in time for
the climax of the story arc.

HANS
You -- have a gun.

FRIDAY
Brilliant observation, Hansie-boy.
Now get your NAZI-ASS IN HERE.

They come in.

DON
What the fuck do you want, money?

FRIDAY
No. I have money.

DON
Then, WHAT?

HANS
She vants her deal back, Don.
Goddammit, are yoo fuckin’ stupid.

GARY
Shut up, Hans.

DON
Shut up, Gary.
I’m in charge here.

FRIDAY
Shut THE FUCK UP, all of you --
I’M in charge.

DON
So what do you want, a new deal?

FRIDAY
Who do I look like, Diablo Cody?
No, it’s too late for that.

DON
Then what THE FUCK do you WANT?

FRIDAY
An apology.
(beat)
Live. On TV --