Carole A. Parker

INT. CLUB FUCK - NIGHT SLEAZY CLUB KIDS shake it with abandon. Strobes FLASH mirror balls in a kaleidoscope of color. Lasers CRACKLE go-go dancers on pillars. Hot STUD. Hotter BABE. Hottest T-GIRL. Welcome to CLIT CLUB. Home of the free. Land of the dazed. Two HOT CHICKS destroy the dance floor. The BRUNETTE (30’s) whirls her hair like a headbanger on meth. Runway model bod in a neon red rubber minidress. Dances like she’s in ecstacy. Or crazy. Maybe a little of both. BRUNETTE (V.O.) That’s me on the left. The one dressed like a cherry popsicle. What can I say. It’s a real turn-on. Life’s too short, and you gotta grab all the cheap, pervy thrills you can get. The REDHEAD (20’s) writhes in synch with Brunette. Slides her hands down her partner’s hips. Eyes flashing. Shiny, perfect, heart-shaped face beams with carnal desire. BRUNETTE (V.O.) (CONT'D) That’s my girlfriend. Felina Bella Donna. Met her on my last case. Part-time dominatrix, full-time agent for Her Majesty’s Secret Service. A lethal cocktail of brains, beauty and bullets. Shaken, not slurred. Brunette pulls back. Wicked grin. Grabs Felina’s hand, pulls her toward the bar. They sit. Grab their drinks. BRUNETTE (V.O.) (CONT'D) The name’s Carrie. Carrie Love. I’m a private dick. A chick for hire. You got the crime, I’ll do the time. GUNSHOTS ring out. BANG. BANG. BANG. Carrie WHIRLS around. WHIPS OUT her gunmetal-blue 357 MAGNUM. CARRIE (V.O.) Oh, almost forgot. (beat) I carry a gun. The music stops. PANDEMONIUM. SCENESTERS race for the exit. AT THE BACK BAR A LARGE HISPANIC MAN has a GORGEOUS BLACK GIRL by the throat. SHOVES his gun in her crotch. LARGE HISPANIC MAN Fuckin’ BITCH. You fuckin’ TRICKED ME. CARRIE Appears next to him. Levels her piece against his head. (CONTINUED) 2. CONTINUED: CARRIE Put down the gun, Gazpacho. Nice and slow. Or I splatter your refried brains all over your Saturday night fever-dream. The fat man looks at Carrie. Lip quivering. About to cry. CARRIE (CONT’D) I said PUT -- THE GUN -- DOWN. LARGE HISPANIC MAN But, but -CARRIE But WHAT? LARGE HISPANIC MAN She, she -- tricked me. CARRIE Didn’t you know? Half the cooze in this joint is for hire. LARGE HISPANIC MAN I, I -- thought she had a -- a dick. CARRIE (CLICKS the safety) Aha, tranny chaser. Hey. No big deal. Wait. Let me guess. But YOU’RE STRAIGHT? The hulk deftly JAMS his piece into Carrie’s side. LARGE HISPANIC MAN Thas’ right, CUNT. Whattaya gonna do about it? His head EXPLODES like something out of Cronenberg. Carrie leaps back, covered in blood, brains. DROPS her gun. CARRIE Fuck! FELINA Stands across the now empty room. Lowers her 357 Magnum. FELINA You okay, baby? CARRIE Yeah. You? FELINA (nods) When it’s time to say goodbye -- say it with bullets. EXT. SANTA MONICA FREEWAY - NIGHT Carrie drives her monster 68 Olds, top down. Hair slicked back. Leather jacket covers the remnants of the evening’s excitement. Felina lays back, feet up on the dashboard. (CONTINUED) 3. CONTINUED: CARRIE (looks at Felina, pensive) I had fun tonight. Despite the bloodshed. FELINA C’mon love, cheer up. I’ll be back. For Christmas break. I’ve got spies to catch. Terrorists to seduce. Double agents to lick -She leans over. Sucks Carrie on the neck. The car SWERVES. CARRIE Whoah, easy on the vampire bite. We’re almost there. FELINA I want to suck your -(beat) Hey, I could give you head -CARRIE (shakes her head) Slippery when wet, doll -- your tongue could cause a five-car pileup. Why don’t you open the champagne? Keep your hands busy. FELINA More booze! She reaches into the back seat, pulls out a bottle of Moet. Starts SHAKING it maniacally. CARRIE What are you doing? Your gonna -FELINA I’m gonna christen the love boat. Felina unties, pulls off the wire around the cork. CARRIE Wait, don’t. You’ll -But it’s too late. Felina POPS the cork, and a geyser of champagne WHOOSHES out, SPRAYING both of them. Felina takes a big chug. Passes it to Carrie. FELINA Relax. You’re in rubber. No stains. CARRIE (takes the bottle) Bitch. Now I’m soaked. (laughs, takes a chug) You are one crazy frill. FELINA And you love it. (raises the bottle) Drive on, MacDuff. Take me to your sand castle. 4. EXT. VENICE BEACH - NIGHT The women sit before a campfire. Huddled together under a blanket. Toasting marshmallows. The remnants of a picnic dinner lay strewn about. Bottle of wine chilling. CARRIE I have this awful feeling -- you’re not coming back. FELINA Don’t be daft. I’ve never met anyone like you. CARRIE That’s what I’m afraid of -(looks) Careful, it’s gonna burn. FELINA I LIKE it burned -- to a crisp. Black and crunchy. CARRIE I’m a golden-brown kinda gal myself -(beat) Soft and -FELINA (looks) Hey. You’re crying. Baby -CARRIE I’m NOT crying. I’m -MALE VOICE (O.S.) Gonna give us your fucking wallets. A NASTY SURF PUNK stands across the campfire. Wielding a switchblade. A sickly, FILTHY BEACH JUNKIE, next to him, waves a broken beer bottle. NASTY SURF PUNK Toss ‘em over, NOW. FILTHY BEACH JUNKIE And your boom box, bitch. Gimmee, gimmee. NASTY SURF PUNK Maybe we should fuck ‘em first. The girls WHIP OUT their guns. The assholes FREEZE. CARRIE I’ve got stinky. You get ugly. FELINA Which is which? CARRIE Flip a coin. (at them, smooth) (MORE) (CONTINUED) 5. CONTINUED: CARRIE (CONT'D) Get your white trash crust-infected asses THE FUCK outta here. FELINA Before we BLOW OFF your bloody DINGLEBERRIES. SURF PUNK Shit. BEACH JUNKIE Fuck. They scuttle away. The girls smile. Lower their guns. Kiss. CARRIE Let’s blow this sand dune. The bungalow awaits. FELINA Did that -- ruin the mood? PUSH IN ON Carrie. Eyes burning with mischief. CARRIE Actually, it kinda started one. EXT. SANTA MONICA HILLS - AT THAT MOMENT It’s dark. Misty. A STRANGE-LOOKING pin-shaped, walks path. He giggles. With only the light of a half-moon. MAN (40’s), Ceasar ‘do’, bug-eyed, bowlinga pair of GOLDEN RETRIEVERS on a leafy foot Swipes a finger across his smart phone. STRANGE-LOOKING Ooh. Overnights are in -The dogs STOP. Tense. GROWL. STRANGE-LOOKING (CONT'D) Summer, Autumn -- what’s wrong? Just then a FIGURE in black GRABS Strange-Looking from behind. YANKS the dog’s leashes free. SHOOTS into the sky. The dogs RUN OFF. Strange is pulled into the dense foliage. EXT. HOLLYWOOD HILLS - DAWN Mulholland Drive. A white super-stretch limo FLIES by in a CRUNCH of gravel. A FLESHY STARLET pops out the moon roof. FLINGS her martini glass at a rambling, black ranch manse hidden in the foliage. It hits the front door, SMASH. INT. BLACK RANCH MANSE - STUDIO - AT THAT MOMENT A cozy, dim, wood-panelled basement rec room. Posters of Bunuel. Goddard. Russ Meyer. Hershel Gordon Lewis. A HULKING FIGURE (40’s) leans over a computer monitor. Tiny, piggy eyes. Hooked nose. Kinky black hair in a mullet with bangs trying to cover a receding hairline. Meet PHILLIE PFUGG. Right now rockin’ the Avid. Cutting his masterpiece. He grins. HONKS a large glob of phlegm into his hand. Rubs it on his jeans. Smiles at his work, pleased. (CONTINUED) 6. CONTINUED: PHILLIE This’ll make SAW look like Pee-Wee’s Playhouse. He rubs his crotch, gingerly. Looks down. Winces. PHILLIE (CONT’D) Say hello to my big ‘fren -IN THE KITCHEN is CHINETTE PFUGG, Phillie’s better half. Cute face, but on the body of a dude. Tiny steriod-breasts. And hey, is that a five-o’clock shadow? Right now she’s chatting on her cell. CHINETTE Torture porn? Are you fucking kidding me? Phillie’s the next Scorcese. ‘Head Shot’ is gonna clean up at the box office. EXT. MULHOLLAND DRIVE - AT THAT MOMENT A hundred yards down the road, a large group of CYCLISTS form a human chain. Dressed like the Tour de France. Shouting excitedly to each other. Laughing. FLYING by -IN PHILLIE’S STUDIO He looks at his watch. Smiles. Goes to the window. Opens it. Leans out. Grabs the end of a shiny steel cable. FLICKS a switch on a small wooden box mounted on the outside wall. THE CYCLISTS Get nearer. Nearer. Start to pass the house, as -PHILLIE YANKS on the wire, pulling it up across the road, up about three feet. He hooks it around a big spike, and -THE CYCLISTS HIT THE WIRE. They JERK, JOLT in mid-air, skid, fall and SKITTER across the road, causing the row behind, and the next, and the next to WIPE OUT, falling like dominos. PHILLIE Giggles. Unhooks the wire. ACROSS THE STREET A spinning wheel WHIRLS, pulls the cable back with a SNAP. PHILLIE Grabs the box. Closes the window, and the blinds. Sits down with his prize. Opens the box. Takes out a small camcorder. PHILLIE Won’t need any lube with THIS one. 7. EXT. WEST HOLLYWOOD - SANTA MONICA BOULEVARD - AT THAT MOMENT A small strip mall. Dry cleaners. Burger joint. Check cashing. And, at the end, a small concrete bunker. Small sign in the window reads ‘Heavenly Pictures. By Appointment Only.’ INT. HEAVENLY PICTURES - CONTINUOUS A pink-faced MAN (40’s) sits at a desk. Boyish blonde haircut, parted. Body, slug-like. Mouth a tight little smear. Meet KEN RICE, bottom-feeder extraordinaire. Right now he’s reading the Bible, mouth slowly forming the words. He hears something. Looks. Eyes LIGHT UP. He PUNCHES a remote. HIS COMPUTER MONITOR Shows a CNN news feed. A smiling but grim ANCHORMAN leans in. ANCHOR -- where Hollywood producer Harvey Flender disappeared while walking his dogs -KEN Smiles. His phone RINGS. He picks up -KEN David, hi. Yes, I’m watching right now -(listens) I know. Tragic. (listens) Probably someone else whose calls he didn’t return -(giggles) You are AWFUL. (listens) Of course. We should meet. (listens) How about Scandals? Say around six? PUSH IN ON Ken. Eyes dancing with a mischievous gleam. EXT. CRAFTSMAN BUNGALOW - DAY A gorgeous hundred-year-old house on a Venice walkway street. INT. CRAFTSMAN BUNGALOW - BEDROOM - CONTINUOUS Walls and ceiling a deep, vibrant red. A queen-sized bed, seductive in black satin sheets and a lux leopard bed spread. Twin gilt sconces curled into flowers of light on the wall. Carrie lies on the bed, mouth open. Thrashed covers and pillow and sheets. Mess of black, leopard and bare skin. She turns onto her back. Reaches up to itch her nose. We see a CHROME HANDCUFF on her wrist. She COUGHS. The cuff WHACKS the side of her head. Carrie BOLTS UPRIGHT. CARRIE OW, what the --? (CONTINUED) 8. CONTINUED: She looks around. No one. CARRIE (CONT’D) Felina? WHIPS OFF the covers. Throws on her robe. Pads into -THE BATHROOM Empty. CARRIE (CONT’D) Felina?! She WHIRLS AROUND, dashes into -THE KITCHEN Empty. A small handwritten note on the bar. Carrie GRABS IT. THE NOTE Reads ‘You know how much I hate good-byes. Be strong. Stay sexy. I’ll be home for Christmas. Love, F.’ CARRIE Stares at the piece of paper. In shock. CARRIE (V.O.) (CONT'D) My heart was breaking. My love story never makes it to the third act. I don’t even get the big Casablanca goodbye. Carrie pulls up a bar stool. Sits. Surveys the libations. CARRIE (V.O.) (CONT'D) I was a ship cut adrift in an ocean of sorrow. My whole fucking life is a pulp noir written by some drunken Philip Marlowe wannabe on a one-way ticket to loser-ville. Raymond Chandler knew the deal. Phillip Marlowe drank like a fish. Helped him think. Gave him strength. Clarity. She reaches over, grabs a bottle of Kessler’s. CARRIE (V.O.) (CONT'D) Forget those martini-swilling lightweights Nick and Nora Charles. Kid stuff. William Powell, my ass. Carrie pours two fingers into a cut-glass tumbler. CARRIE (V.O.) (CONT'D) Philip Marlowe didn’t drink for fun. He drank to forget. (takes a sip) And then remember. She downs it. Phone RINGS. Wipes her mouth. Pours another. (CONTINUED) 9. CONTINUED: (2) RING-RING. CARRIE (CONT’D) Leave me the fuck ALONE. RING-RING. She turns her head. Realizes. GRABS the receiver. Listens. CARRIE (CONT’D) Felina? INTERCUT WITH: A GLOSSY, DARK-HAIRED FEMME FATALE In an armchair. On the phone. GLOSSY FEMME FATALE Carrie? CARRIE You’re not Felina -GLOSSY FEMME FATALE Who’s Felina? Carrie, it’s me -- Gay. Gay Flender. CARRIE Isn’t it a bit early in the day for -stalking? GAY I’m not stalking you. I need your help. CARRIE What’s the matter, the batteries in your vibrator went dead? GAY I need a -- a private detective. You did that job for my husband’s business partner -CARRIE Ah, yes -- the missing gay son. That was a weird case. Kinky little bastard. GAY He’s not gay. He was just -experimenting. CARRIE Right. On a drag queen porn shoot in Tijuana. ‘Shemale Trouble,’ I believe?’ GAY It’s my husband. He’s -- missing. Carrie pours a shot. Holds it up to the light. Downs it. (CONTINUED) 10. CONTINUED: GAY (CONT’D) Hello? Are you still there? Closes her eyes. Thinks. CARRIE When did you last see him? GAY Last night. He, he -- went out to walk the dogs, and he -- never came back. CARRIE (to herself) Guess there’s a lot of that going around. GAY What? So are you available? Can you help me? Can you find him for me? CARRIE I’ll have to check my calendar. She pours another. Takes a sip. GAY I’m at my wit’s end. I didn’t get any sleep last night -Gay breaks down, starts sobbing. CARRIE (winces, takes a hit) Alright, alright -- keep your knickers on. I’ll do it. But it’s just business. GAY You will? Oh, yes -- thank you, thank you, I don’t know what to -CARRIE My fee is five hundred bucks a day. Plus expenses. GAY Oh, don’t worry about that. We’re loaded. How soon can you come over? Carrie pours another shot. Downs it. Shivers. GAY (CONT’D) Carrie? You still there? CARRIE I’ll be right over. GAY I’m at one-thirty-four twenty-fourth Street, one block north of Montana. (beat) Can I ask you something? (CONTINUED) 11. CONTINUED: (2) CARRIE Sure. Why not. GAY Why does your card say --‘Fast, Cheap and Out of Control?’ CARRIE Oh, that. (pours another) I believe in truth in advertising.