FORD FAIRLANE
Screenplay by Dan Waters
Story by Jay Cappe
&
Dave Arnott
Based on a character
Created by Rex Weiner
A Silver Pictures Production May 1,1989
[NOTE: THE HARD COPY OF THIS SCRIPT CONTAINED SCENE
NUMBERS. THESE HAVE NOT BEEN RETAINED FOR THIS SOFT
(TEXT) COPY.]
EXT. ENIGMATIC BODY OF WATER - SUNSET
The VIEWER'S VIEWPOINT breathlessly GLIDES OVER a body
of water.
INT. HELICOPTER DRESSING ROOM
BOBBY VOMIT charges through what seems to be a typically-
deliciously-trashed dressing room, barking into a phone
headgear apparatus. His wire rim glasses amusingly con-
trast with his traditional rock star look of shoulder-
length blond hair and red-tank-top-over-black-spandex.
His pacing reveals a helicopter pilot in the b.g.,
flying the dressing room.
VOMIT
Wha-at!... No, no, I can't do it
tomorrow. I'm taping a Rock Against
Drugs spot. It's important to me...
Vomit savagely snorts into a vial of crystal methe.
Behind him, a big blanket on a couch rises up, becoming
a giggling lump.
PILOT (O.S.)
Five minutes, Mister Vomit.
VOMIT
Thanks, man... Don't worry, Johnny,
I have it with me now. I'll just put
it in a little protection program.
He can't stop us, man, no way.
Vomit rips off his headgear and looks to a purse on the
couch just as the purse's owner, a cancer-curing beauty
wearing nothing but an oversize I (picture of a heart)
Black Vomit T-shirt, bursts out from under the blanket,
sipping from a pink bottle of wine cooler. Her name is
ZUZU PETALS.
ZUZU
Peek-a-boo!
VOMIT
Now, Zuzu, didn't I tell you to
lay off the coolers?
Zuzu giggles away as Vomit slithers down to kiss her.
While maneuvering his lips, he reaches out to Zuzu's
purse.
EXT. WATER - SUNSET
The VIEWER'S VIEWPOINT finally GLIDES PAST the water
OUT OVER a dam, where, at the base, are thousands of
screaming fans. A stage has been built atop the dam amid
spooky industrial art design.
EXT. DAM
The helicopter, equipped with a warped logo and the words
BLACK VOMIT, swooshes to a halt above the stage where a band
is rabidly pounding away. The chopper begins to descend
upon a makeshift "backstage area" to the side of the stage.
CROWD OF THOUSANDS
Vomit! Vomit! Vomit!
INT. DRESSING ROOM
Holding Zuzu's purse behind his back, Bobby Vomit bobs back
up. Zuzu takes a dainty sip from her wine cooler, babbling
softly in a losing battle with consciousness. Vomit opens
the purse and pulls a compact disc from his Spandex. The
cover reads Black Vomit's Greatest Hits and has a red
number one on it.
ZUZU
So I had this dream, right. You
guys were doing that song, 'I Love
You More Than My Own Death,' right,
when all of a sudden these penguins
come on stage and tell the audience
that I used to wet my bed. And
that I enjoyed it. It was so real
... How 'bout a kiss, Bobby?
VOMIT
(closing Zuzu's
purse)
Sure. Babe.
Zuzu drowsily raises her head, eyes closed, and adorably
puckers up. Vomit tosses her purse smack dab into her
face and lips with a bonk. Zuzu reacts with a dreamy
smile and curls into a sleeping fetal position.
Vomit turns to stare out at his screaming fans and then
down to the "backstage area," zeroing in on an
eccentrically, but stylishly, dressed man in sunglasses.
EXT. BACKSTAGE AREA - NIGHT (SUN HAS SET)
The man is JULIAN GRENDEL. The SOUNDTRACK suddenly ig-
nores the band to go into Grendel's mind where elegant
CLASSICAL MUSIC is PLAYING. He wryly murmurs to himself
as the reflection on his sunglasses go from the screaming
crowd to the landing chopper.
GRENDEL
Vomit. Vomit. Vomit.
The inner CLASSICAL MUSIC CUTS OFF as Bobby Vomit bounds
out from the 'copter, a skipping Zuzu in tow.
Vomit and Grendel exchange cold smiles. Julian Grendel
is deaf; the sound of his speech is perverse in an inter-
esting way.
GRENDEL
Nice of you to drop by, Mister Vomit.
VOMIT
Please don't spank me, Mister
Grendel.
Vomit pleasantly walks behind Grendel and then wields
around, screeching into the back of his boss's head.
VOMIT
Drown in hell, you deaf
motherfucker!
Grendel turns around with a smile.
GRENDEL
Sticks and stones...
VOMIT
But I thought you couldn't hear?
GRENDEL
Oh Robert (Row-bare), you're so
predictable, I don't have to.
Vomit seethes off to a nearby roadie holding a big drum
of goo, flinging off his wire rim glasses.
VOMIT
Let's do it, man.
The roadie begins pouring the goo over Bobby's head.
STAGE
The audience explodes in a flurry of cheers as...
ANNOUNCER (V.O.)
Welcome, sluts and perverts, I
give you, Black Vomit!
Bobby Vomit strolls onto the stage -- and he's on fire.
Covered from head to toe by licking flames -- a heavy
metal human torch.
Two Roadies with fire extinguishers fo-o-osh out the
inferno that is the rock star's body. Another roadie
tosses him a mike. Vomit smolders a bit -- transparent
goo oozing over his body.
VOMIT
(calmly)
Hello, L.A.
The crowd riots as the band breaks in with their question-
able but aggressively stated definition of music. Bobby
Vomit wails his way through a toxic first verse.
He stops singing to spasm to his guitarist's solo. He
relifts his microphone and uh, he chokes, making gurgl-
ing sounds as if something were trying to crawl out of
his body.
The crowd sounds like all ten thousand of them are in
labor -- they love this.
Julian Grendel takes off his sunglasses with a scared
expression.
Vomit's face turns red as he thrashes about the stage
bashing down amps and barbed wire set design. Vomit!
Vomit! Vomit!
The band starts missing notes, looking around. This
doesn't seem to be part of the act. Dribbling a crimson
tide, Bobby Vomit falls to his knees with a final scream
of earthly existence. A final stream of blood rolls
from his mouth down the white dam to the crowd who has
reached a new level of frenzy beyond the limits of human
comprehension.
EXT. HOTTEST CLUB IN LOS ANGELES - LATER IN NIGHT
The VIEWER'S VIEWPOINT TRACKS DOWN a line of men and
women standing outside the Rolls-Royce of nightclubs.
The desperate-to-get-in crowd are dressed-to-kill-be-
killed-and-kill again.
At the front of the line, the overly rich and gorgeous
thrust and screech over the velvet ropes as a stoic
DOORMAN, standing before glass doors, uses all the zen
he can to tune them out.
DOORMAN
You people are disgusting. Don't
you remember the Roman empire?
POV - RUCKUS AT DOOR
The Doorman and the frenzied would-be patrons turn TO
the VIEWER and go silent and motionless.
INT. THE CLUB - AT BAR
Precariously-situated atop barstools are two very short
club owners, JAIME and LARRY, dressed almost identically,
looking out into their club. A MAN IN A BLACK HAT,
sitting between them, turns to sneer...
MAN IN HAT
So who the hell is this Ford
Fairlane fuck?
JAIME
Guy's a rock star who don't play
a note of music. Carries a gun
instead of a guitar... Am I right,
Larry?
LARRY
Wasn't always a detective though,
Jaime. Started out doing every
shit job in the biz; chauffeur,
roadie, publicist, Phil Spector's
bodyguard...
MAN IN HAT
If I wanted a biography, I'd eat a
librarian. What does he look like?
JAIME AND LARRY
Like that...
GLASS ENTRANCE DOORS
Handsome and intimidating, the VIEWER gets their first
clear view of FORD FAIRLANE as the Doorman swings open
the glass door allowing a classical head-turning entrance
into the state-of-the-art club.
FORD
Hey, Spike, I was sorry to hear
about your cat. Those U.P.S.
trucks are pretty wicked.
DOORMAN
Thanks, man.
FORD
If you need somebody to talk to...
Ford moves deeper into the club and lights up his
seventieth cig of the day and takes in the la dolce vita
ambience. A band rocks out with an attractive,
bizarrely-dressed female lead singer. A mirthful CLUB
GAL gets a look at Ford and stops laughing. She pulls
away from her suitor to slap Ford with a growl.
CLUB GAL
You son-of-a-bitch!
FORD
Whoa. Another satisfied customer.
The Club Gal storms back into the arms of her suitor
while Ford wiggles life back into his head.
Ford scopes the tables around him. His viewpoint halts
at a man with red hair. A BOUNCER breaks his
concentration.
BOUNCER
Ford, I gotta ask you to put that
out, dude. Nobody smokes anymore.
Ford flings his hand down with a quick motion and rubs
at the carpet with his foot. The Bouncer smiles and
walks away. Ford lifts back up his hand, revealing that
the cigarette never left it. He takes a drag with a
grin until a hand slaps the cigarette into his face.
It's the TWIN SISTER of the Club Gal who slapped him two
minutes ago, in a different outfit.
TWIN SISTER
What goes for my sister, goes
double for me. Don't you remember
the Jacuzzi, Laurel Canyon, the
Guns and Roses video wrap party.
FORD
(smiling, coming
back to him)
Yeah, yeah... but you weren't
identical.
TWIN SISTER
You said you'd call us...
FORD
Let me give you my number, it's
555-6023.
TWIN SISTER
Thanks! Wait. 555's not a real
number. They only use it in the
movies...
Ford slyly walks off, holding up his arms to the
decadence around him.
FORD
What in the fuck do you think this
is? Real life?
AT BAR
Jaime, Larry and the angry, anxious Man in the Hat watch
on.
MAN IN HAT
That's Fairlane! He doesn't look
so tough.
LARRY
Yeah, well, just don't call him
Mr. Rock-N-Roll Detective...
FORD IN THOROUGHFARE
TWO DRUNKEN COLLEGE BOYS thwap an unhappy Ford on the
back.
DRUNKEN BOY #1
Ford Fairlane, Mr. Rock-N-Roll
Detective!
DRUNKEN BOY #2
Let us buy you a drink, dudeski.
FORD
(holding back a
physical response)
You two loony guys, what are your
names? Neal and Bob? Or is that
what you do? Tell me, are you
driving home tonight?
DRUNKEN BOY #1
Uh, yeah.
FORD
Go-o-o-d... Don!
Ford shifts away from the College Boys and into a seat
at the table of DON CLEVELAND, a suave and amiable black
record producer.
FORD
So many assholes, so few bullets.
DON
Damn, Ford, you're the most cynical
man in the industry and that's not
easy.
FORD
I'm not cynical. Can I help it
that life is a disease and
everyone's a victim.
So you're producing exclusively for
Grendel Records now. Hope you're
taking Julian for a bundle.
DON
Man, ever since old Jack Grendel
died, Julian has got me into one
yummy gig after the other. Not
only am I producing, he's got me
in some lovely-bullshit-money-money
executive position. What are you
looking at...
Ford is looking off to another man with red hair.
FORD
Some redhead's been harassing that
all-girl group, the Ovaries.
Hanging out at their concerts
saying he wants to rape and kill
them and not in that order. Cops
won't do anything until he actually
does something.
A killer-cute nymph, MELODI, in a tight-tight dress
bubbles up.
MELODI
You're that guy, the private eye.
FORD
You're a poet and didn't know it.
MELODI
Do you really know everybody in
the industry?
FORD
Only on a first name basis.
MELODI
That's cute. You're funny.
FORD
That's funny, you're cute.
MELODI
You heard that Bobby Vomit O.D.'d,
right? Do you suspect foul play
and stuff?
FORD
I'll tell you when somebody pays
me to give a shit and stuff.
Melodi sweetly hands Ford a napkin with her phone number
on it.
MELODI
My name's Melodi, as in 'a pretty
girl is like a.' Whatever you're
doing tomorrow... cancel.
Melodi winks and walks off. Don stares in awe. Ford
blows his nose in the napkin.
DON
You gotta shave before you leave
the house in a dress like that
and I don't mean your legs. Why
didn't you jump on her? What's
happening to you?
FORD
I guess I'm not interested in any
club who'll have my member as a
member. Later, Don...
Ford scans to Jaime, Larry and the Man in the Hat at the
bar.
Ford stands and begins weaving between tables. He looks
to the attractive singer onstage. Seeing Ford, she loses
her place in the song. She gives off a scowl to Ford and
then continues singing.
BAR
Jaime and Larry see Ford approach. Larry turns to the
bartender.
LARRY
You better have that vodka
milkshake done. Here comes Mr.
Rock-N-Roll Detec -- Hi, Ford.
The Bartender nervously pours a blenderful of vanilla
milkshake into an ornate fountain glass and then adds a
huge dose of Absolut, along with a maraschino. He then
lights the vodka shake afire as Ford reaches the bar,
blows it out, and slurps.
FORD
Not thick enough, but better. You're
definitely getting better, Harry.
(turning to Jaime
and Larry)
Hey, if it isn't Mutt... and Mutt.
Who's your friend?
JAIME
Just some guy named Sam...
MAN WITH HAT
Yeah, I'm just some guy named Sam,
asswipe.
FORD
Reminds me of that song by the all-
girl group, the Ovaries, 'Some
Guys Eat Reindeer.' What. A.
Tune! But what's that lead
singer's name. I'm drawing a
fucking blank here...
MAN WITH HAT
(suddenly very
frenetic)
It's Stuh -- Sta -- Sta -- Stac --
As the Man with Hat stutters like the fanatic he is,
Ford casually knocks off his hat revealing weird streaks
of red hair. Ford smiles, turns to the bar, and takes a
last sip from his shake before smashing the fountain
glass into the face of the stuttering Sam, sending him
off his barstool.
The sleazebag leaps up like a wild animal and swings his
fist at Ford. Ford grabs onto the flying fist, stopping
it dead. Sam sharply swings his other fist around, but
Ford grabs this one, too, locking them into an Arthur
Murray lesson position.
FORD
Shall we da-ance?
Ford heaves the fanatic into a nearby table. The fanatic
drops on all fours and crawls under the table. A
chuckling Ford strolls between the tables.
Sam crawls out from under one table and makes under the
long tablecloth of another. The crowd has taken an active
interest, but the band continues to play.
FORD
So finally got a tip that paid
off. Why can't you sleazebags who
harass women take 'no' for an
answer? I mean, hey, it's never
happened to me personally...
Ford lifts up the tablecloth. The sleazebag fanatic is
not there. Ford bobs back up with a puzzled expression
and puts a cigarette in his mouth.
Ford brings out a lighter as the fanatic suddenly
materializes behind him. Sam grabs a huge glass candle
holder from one of the tables and smashes off the end of
it, causing a jagged edge. The band stops playing as the
CANDLE SIZZLES in Sam's hand.
SAM THE SLEAZEBAG (MAN WITH HAT)
Last... Dance... Mr. Rock-N-Roll
Detective.
FORD
(cigarette falling
from mouth)
Great.
Sam the Sleazebag flails the jagged candleholder at Ford,
who swerves away and connects with a savage kick to the
groin, which Sam enjoys.
SAM THE SLEAZEBAG
Thank you.
Sam swings out again, but this time connects with a
slash to Ford's chin. Ford is more annoyed than hurt.
His solemn anger stops Sam the Sleazebag in his tracks.
FORD
You're ten seconds away from the most
embarrassing moment in your life.
Ford launches a powerful uppercut that knocks the
fanatic's candleholder-holding hand up into the psycho's
own arm. Screaming in pain, the fanatic flees toward
the dance floor trying to pull out the shards. Don pipes
up from a nearby table.
DON
Come on Ford, this shit's getting old.
Ford smiles, super-swiftly raising his arm. A gun slides
out of his sleeve through a sliding Taxi-Driver-style
apparatus, into his hand.
Ford FIRES up at a discotheque ball rotating above the
dance floor. The gunshot breaks the ball out of its
ceiling home and sends it swooshing down right upon the
Sleazebag fanatic's head, knocking him out cold.
Ford turns to the approaching, awed twin sisters.
FORD
Clint Eastwood... I fucked him.
The band cranks back up, echoing into...
INT. FORD'S LIVING ROOM - DAY
The swank nightclub a memory, the VIEWER is now given a
jarring tour of Ford's lovable ratty beach house.
The VIEWER'S VIEWPOINT MOVES UP TO a wall where a set of
curtains mysteriously cover a compartment. ACROSS the
wall, the VIEWER sees hundreds of autographed photos of
various rock stars pinned to the wall in a
surrealistically haphazard fashion.
PULLING OUT A BIT, it can be seen that the hellhole is
packed solid with unwrapped VCRs, discarded gold records,
answering machines, remote controls, Walkmans, Watchmans,
cellular phones, and all sorts of other basically useless
goodies. Each one has a smarmy "Thanks Ford"-type note
tagged to it.
A tremendous music system adorns another wall with a pair
of five-foot tall speakers standing like silent sentinels.
Embedded in one of the amplifiers is a wall socket timer
clock -- two needles about to touch. The TIMER, reading
3:59 p.m., WHIRS a bit and then there is a CLICK.
WIDE ON MUSIC SYSTEM
The LOUDEST MUSIC in the history of Dolby stereo BALSTS
out of the speakers. Dust is literally kicked up as a
rollicking ROCK SONG careens through the room.
FORD'S BEDROOM
The twin sisters pop up in the bed in various states of
undress, their squeals of pain inaudible in the face of
the music. The lump in the bed between the twins jerks
spasmodically for a second, then calmly rises, revealing
itself to be Ford Fairlane, still wearing the sliding gun
system on his arm.
LIVING ROOM
A ruffled Ford plods in and grabs a pack of cigarettes off
a vibrating speaker. He ritualistically lights up and
inhales.
Ford pulls back the curtains on the wall revealing a
carved-out compartment in the wall. Inside the space is
an obviously old, but still in mint condition electric
guitar with a picture of Jimi Hendrix propped next to it.
Ford closes his eyes and touches the guitar with a
religious solemnity.
Ford pulls the curtains and then bends down to a red
"Hotline"-looking phone with a quizzical expression on
his face. Ford picks up a remote control and zaps OFF the
STEREO, revealing that the PHONE is RINGING. Ford picks up.
FORD
Jesus, Jazz, I'm coming. So I'm
late. I go to work when you go
to bed.
Ford hangs up and wearily rises. A man who hates his
life.
EXT. FORD'S VENICE HOME
Decked out wrinkled-hip, Ford closes the front door of
his charmingly dilapidated home.
THE KID, a spiky-haired surf punk ragamuffin in a multi-
colored shirt over a Corona T, swerves up to Ford on a
skateboard.
THE KID
Fairlane, you gonna find out who
killed the lead singer of Black
Vomit?
FORD
Tell me, Dr. Watson, what makes you
think he's not just another piece
of shit overdose.
Ford and The Kid, in an obliviously synchronized moment,
flick out a pair of sunglasses from their breast pockets
and put them on. They then each pull out a cigarette and
with a similar twist of the wrist, light it up.
THE KID
Gut feeling.
FORD
I'll give you a gut feeling, you
little... Hey... hey! Get that
stick out of your mouth. These
things are killers, man. Don't
you go to school, listen to Smokey
the Bear and all that...
Ford tears the cigarette from the Kid's mother and starts
to throw it away, but instead pockets it. They approach
Ford's dazzling blue namesake.
Ford SQUEAKS off the CAR ALARM with a beeper and then
opens up his unusually modulated trunk. Sam the
Sleazebag is seen huddled in a heap within. Ford tosses
a smashed-up Twinkie to him and recloses the trunk to
frenzied screams.
SAM THE SLEAZEBAG
You sick fuck!
FORD
Bone appetit.
THE KID
When you going to let me work with
you? Why you always fucking with me?
FORD
Why am I what? Excuse me?
(thwacking The Kid)
I catch you saying the F-word
again. I'll kill you. That's a
fucking promise. Now get the fuck
out of here.
Ford gets in his car. The Kid boards around to the window.
THE KID
I got something serious to dis-cuss.
FORD
Well what is it? I'm not Kreskin.
THE KID
Forget it.
The Kid rockets off. Ford watches with slight concern
then tears off, MUSIC BLARING.
EXT. MINI-MALL DAY
A two-tiered mini-mall nightmare looms ahead. The
exquisite eateries of SUZIE'S SUSHI DONUTS and MUY BURRITO
are sandwiched in on the first level with a tanning salon
and an adult book store.
The top tier is not as popular. Empty For-Rent spaces
surround a place that has a big plate glass window that
reads FORD FAIRLANE PRIVATE INVESTIGATOR.
INT. FORD'S OUTER OFFICE - DAY
Ford pushes sleazo through a door into his office.
JAZZ, Ford's secre-uh-assistant, sits sharp and stern in
a masculine business outfit and glasses behind a desk.
Upon the desks rests a very respectable computer.
SAM THE SLEAZEBAG
You can't prove shit...
JAZZ
Good morning she said as the clock
struck five. I sent the Ovaries
down for food. They've been
waiting for hours...
FORD
Your tip paid off. Jazz, this is
Sam the Sleazebag. Sam the
Sleazebag, this is Jazz, my
secretary.
JAZZ
Assistant. And don't call me Jazz.
FORD
All your friends call you Jazz.
JAZZ
Exactly.
Ford chuckles and a romantic whether-they-like-it-or-not
moment passes between them. Jazz breaks it to look under
her desk.
JZAA
Hey, IN X S paid today. Their
'payment' is around here somewhere.
FORD
They paid? I love Australia!
What a band! Let's throw a
Foster's on the barbie and call
up me mates... Cash or check?
JAZZ
(laughing)
You wish.
FORD
Cash or check, Jazz? Don't do
this to me.
The OVARIES, four young women dressed in stylishly-
shredded pink leather jackets, enter the office holding
burritos.
OVARY ONE
Hey, Ford, little late.
OVARY TWO
That's him! That's the bastard.
He flashed us at the Ampitheatre.
SAM THE SLEAZEBAG
I love you.
(as Mr. Hyde)
You sluts have no proof!
OVARY THREE
I think I could identify it. It
looked like a dick. Only smaller.
With an authoritative, silencing cough, Ford pulls a huge
pair of hedge clippers from a drawer.
FORD
We could gab about evidence and
restraining orders all day, but I
think castration is really the way
to go. May get a wee messy...
OVARIES & SAM THE SLEAZEBAG
What? (!)
Ford snaps his shears together with a giddy smile as the
Ovaries move toward Sam, fiercely clutching their
burritos.
FORD
It's a new by-law for pathetic
jerks who harass women.
OVARY FOUR
Do we get to keep it?
FORD
Of course. Every girl should
have one.
Ovary One reaches down O.S. and pulls down Sam's zipper.
Ford whooshes down with the clippers and slices. Ovary
One pulls up a half of a burrito.
FORD
Next time, it'll be your burrito.
A pure white Sam turns and runs into a wall, knocking
himself out.
FORD
I doubt he'll be hassling you
anymore, but hey, I'll save the
hedgeclippers anyway.
Ovary One takes a Rolex off her hand and gives it to Ford.
OVARY ONE
Great job, Ford. Take this. As
payment. It's solid gold and
it'll make sure you're not late
for your other clients.
FORD
No really. Money is fine.
OVARY TWO
Great gift idea, Stace.
FORD
But...
OVARIES
'Bye, Ford...
The Ovaries exit, stepping over Sam. Ford holds the
Rolex like it were a cancerous worm. Jazz laughs.
FORD
I do it for love.
JAZZ
'Bye Ford...' Hey, let me cheer
you up. I found the IN X S
payment.
Jazz pulls a live koala bear out from under her desk.
JAZZ
G'day, they say it's worth three
grand...
FORD
Fucking Australians! I hate that
country, continent, what is it?
Don't we do nuclear testing there?
JAZZ
Let's just declare war on the
hellhole. Before they make
Crocodile Dundee three.
FORD
Rock stars! I'm going out of my
mind. All I get are perks. I
don't make money, I make gifts.
How am I supposed to pay taxes
with bathtub compact disc players
and autographed drumsticks. I
want cash. Moulah. Wampum. Dead
Presidents. Andrew Jackson.
Gerald Ford.
JAZZ
You're saying you need money.
FORD
Car insurance costs money.
Cavities cost money. Doritos cost
money. I'm gonna eat that damn
bear... come here!
JAZZ
Quit crying. I think we've got a
case if we can make it through the
cavalcade of bimbos, here...
Jazz, using a remote, operates an answering machine on
her desk.
SQUEAKY BIMBO (V.O.)
(machine)
Hi, this is Vikki, you know, Vikki.
I figured you probably washed off
my phone number before you had a...
JAZZ
(sneezing)
Bim-bo.
FORD
Cut the play by play.
OBNOXIOUS D.J. (V.O.)
This Chevy Nova? Chevy Nova,
there? Huh? Huh? Johnny Crunch,
K.O.D.S. (K-odious), you schmuck?
You know the guy who had sex with
your prom date before the prom and
needless to say before he became
the hottest D.J. in the West. I
gotta case for you, man. Come
down to the station about six.
FORD
Johnny Pinzolo calling himself
Johnny Crunch. Knock me out. We
grew up together in Brooklyn.
Came out here to be rock stars...
Of course, he's lying about the
prom date thing, at least I hope
he is, I took his sister.
JAZZ
(typically deadpan)
You're friends with the most
obnoxious asshole on the airwaves.
The King of the Shock Jocks. I'm,
I'm shocked.
FORD
I love you, too, baby. He wants to
meet at six. What time is it now?
Jazz dangles the Rolex.
JAZZ
Six. Take it, you need it.
A PHONE on Jazz's desk RINGS and Ford instantly picks it up.
FORD
K-O-D-S is going to make me rich!
He suddenly pulls the receiver away from his ear as PAINFUL
NOISES blurt out of it: SCRE-E-E-E! BUZZ! SHSHSHSHSH!
JAZZ
That's for me... Radio contests,
really Ford, how tacky...
FORD
(brain-fried,
holding ear)
Ah -- ha... You know, you should
think about dating Earthmen again.
Jazz takes the phone and puts it in a modem cradle --
two cups that fit over each end of the phone, all hooked
up to her computer. The horrible COMPUTER NOISES
become nicely inaudible.
JAZZ
So what about this watch?
FORD
Keep it. It's your paycheck this
month.
EXT. KODS RADIO STATION - NIGHT
Ford's Fairlane SCREECHES up outside a sleek building to
the TUNE of a nasty teenybopper ballad a la Tiffany/Debbie
Gibson.
Ford bounds out of his car.
INT. RADIO BOOTH - NIGHT
A needle is SCREECHED painfully across the tracks, giving
the teenybopper ballad a painful death...
JOHNY (O.S.)
Ye-e-e-a-a-ah!
INT. RADIO STATION LOBBY
A RECEPTIONIST and a guard hold their hands over their ears
until the sadistic SCREECHING ENDS. Ford approaches as
Johnny's anything-but-dulcet TONES croak out form a SPEAKER.
JOHNNY (V.O.)
Nothing like a tender ballad sung
by a girl pretending to be a virgin.
I'm sorry, young girls should not be
out making records; they should be
in, setting records making out.
Naked. On my coffee table. Are
you offended? Well, slurp this...
A ROCK SONG spews from the SPEAKER...
FORD
I'm here to see Johnny.
RECEPTIONIST
Lucky you. Arnie... Mr. Crunch
has a lot of fans who hate his
guts.
Arnie, the guard, slams Ford to the desk and begins
frisking.
FORD
Oh, Arnie, sometimes when we
touch, the honesty's too much.
INT. RADIO BOOTH
Ford moves into the station booth and takes a seated
position behind his ranting friend, JOHNNY CRUNCH, re-
vealed to be a sweating, scraggly monster.
JOHNNY
And don't forget, if we call and
you answer the phone 'K-O-D-S is
going to make me rich,' you could
win a cool million. Sexually
transmittable disease jokes are
coming up next hour so go get your
mom. Better yet, I'll get her...
Johnny punches some buttons and wields around to Ford,
TURNING DOWN his MONITORS.
FORD
I don't believe it. Getting paid
to be the asshole you always were.
JOHNNY
Fucking amazing, huh? Chevy Nova,
you Bensonhurst shit! Still in
La-la land. Look at us, two
rock 'n' roll dicks. Unfortunately,
only one of us is a detective.
FORD
Nice getting all those phone calls
from you after you hit it big,
you Redhook bastard.
JOHNNY
I don't remember any Arbor Day
cards from Mr. Rock 'n' Roll
Detective.
FORD
Friendship's a lot different
out here. A wrong number is a
relationship. But then this
isn't a social call.
Johnny pulls out a snapshot and gives it to Ford. It's
a picture of Zuzu from the opening scene, blowing Ford
and the viewer a kiss. Ford fondles it as Johnny gets
up to pour two cups of Styrofoam.
FORD
How nice.
JOHNNY
It's my daughter, man. I know I
never told you about her, but God,
I love that girl. She calls herself
Zuzu Petals and she's been swallowed
up by the gorgeous hell that is L.A.
A fucking groupie partying with the
pros. You have to get my baby back,
she's my pride and --
FORD
'Bye, Johnny...
JOHNNY
What?
ENGINEER (V.O.)
Dead air, Johnny...
Johnny grabs the microphone and squeals into it...
JOHNNY
Will you people leave me alone!
I'm contemplating my life and you
just won't stop listening! Here's
five in a row played at the wrong
speed.
Johnny punches some buttons and spins angrily to Ford.
JOHNNY
So...
FORD
I don't take cases with foundations
in bullshit. They are very hard to
walk around in.
JOHNNY
Just find her, man. She's my
daughter, she's my sister, she's
my mother, she's some little brat
I stood in line with at Taco Bell
last week. Do whatever you want
with my words. And my money.
Johnny pulls out an envelope and opens it up to the soft
sound of a CHOIR OF ANGELS.
JOHNNY
I am told it is difficult to pay
the phone bill with gold chains
and V.C.R.s. There's four
thousand here.
FORD
Zuzu Petals. Sounds like a drug.
A lethal one.
JOHNNY
I hope you solve the case and
I know you will, because you're
the best. Ford, guys like you
don't grow on trees.
Johnny and Ford raise their Styrofoam cups. This is
an old joke between them.
JOHNNY
Here's to you...
FORD AND JOHNNY
... sucking my dick.
Laughing away, Ford reaches for the envelope. An unsmil-
ing Johnny pulls it back and takes out a couple of bills.
JOHNNY
No dessert until you've finished
dinner.
INT. FORD'S FAIRLANE - NIGHT
Packed with all the perks of his job, such as a car
phone and a compact disc player, the interior of Ford's
Fairlane is pretty jawdropping. A FEEBLE WOMAN'S VOICE
comes through the RADIO.
FEEBLE WOMAN (V.O.)
Johnny, why can't you play
different kinds of music?
JOHNNY (V.O.)
I think the real question here,
ma'am, is 'Are you wearing
panties?' A-a-a-h!
The grisly SOUND EFFECT of a woman being sawed in half
by a CHAINSAW comes over the RADIO. An exasperated Ford
turns it OFF with a remote control. He grumbles, toward
the passenger seat.
FORD
Why did I take it? Because he's
my friend. But I never liked the
bastard. Why did I say yes? Four
thousand reasons. Right, buddy?
The koala bear is revealed to be in the passenger seat,
snugly behind a seat belt, patiently taking in Ford's
complaints.
EXT. VARIOUS SIZZLING L.A. SIGHTS
To the chords of a corrosive ROCK-RAP TUNE, the VIEWER
and Ford's Fairlane GLIDES BY various hot spots such as
the Frolic Room, City Restaurant, and the Hard Rock Cafe
with its embedded Cadillac.
EXT. CROWD OUTSIDE ROXY
Ford weaves through the high-hair-headed crowd in front
of the Roxy. He shows Zuzu's picture to various shaking
heads.
INT. CONCERT STAGE
The corrosive song is now seen being belted out live by
an all-black hard rock-rap outfit. Ford can be seen
offstage showing a roadie Zuzu's picture.
INT. BACKSTAGE AREA - NIGHT
Ford breaks up a game of Lacrosse between some debauched
British rockers and some nubile girls. All are wearing
Lacrosse helmets and holding Lacrosse equipment.
The nubile girls take off their helmets. The girls all
seem to resemble Zuzu, but the real thing is not to be
found.
INT. FORD'S FAIRLANE
Ford crosses a name from a list of bars, clubs, and
concert halls rubber-banded to his visor, mumbling to his
koala bear.
FORD
There are 5,000 private
investigators in L.A. It made
sense to specialize. Why did I
pick the music industry? Why not
fishermen? Fishermen get up,
fish, sell the fish, then go to
bed so they can get up and fish.
How hard can the cases be: 'Ford,
somebody switched the lures in
my fucking tackle box.' 'Ford,
my bait's been sabotaged.'
Ford turns back ON his RADIO in disgruntlement.
JOHNNY (V.O.)
(on radio)
Well, it's time to sign off. I
know I get on the radio and say
a lot of harsh things but I want
you to know, deep down, I hate
you, each and every one of you,
so until tomorrow, burn in...
A GUNSHOT is heard.
JOHNNY (V.O.)
Oh, my god, somebody just shot
my engineer! Oh, hey, they're
doing something with my mike!
Hey, I'm being electrocuted!
And it hurts!
Ford pulls up to the radio station, chuckling at Johnny's
histrionics. He turns OFF the RADIO and gets out of
the car.
INT. RADIO STATION LOBBY
Ford walks into the radio station still smiling at
Johnny's screaming. The lights in the radio station
lobby are frantically blinking on and off. Putting two
and two together, Ford stops smiling. He rushes to the
reception desk.
FORD
Call the police! Johnny's being
electrocuted!
RECEPTIONIST
Oh, please. He's just doing one
of his little jokes...
FORD
Look at the lights...
JOHNNY (V.O.)
(on speaker)
Oh-fucking-shit-my-Christ-I'm-
dying!
RECEPTIONIST
Hey, he can't say 'oh-fucking-
shit-my-Christ-I'm-dying' over
the air!
Ford pushes past the guard.
INT. RADIO BOOTH
Ford bursts into the radio booth. On the ground, with a
bullet in his head, is the Engineer. Ford crashes through
another set of doors and there, SPARKS EXPLODING out of his
face and arms, is a sizzling, screaming Johnny Crunch.
INT. RADIO BOOTH - LATER
Cops, DETECTIVES and coroner flunkies zip back and forth
with a dazed Ford acting as the eye of the hurricane,
gravely contemplating the charred statue that was once
his Brooklyn buddy.
DETECTIVE
Well, I hope this guy signed your
yearbook because it looks like your
friendship, and your case, is closed.
An assistant pulls a burnt envelope from Johnny's body,
filled with charred cash. Ford watches in pain.
FORD
I think I'm going to cry.
DETECTIVE
(patting Ford)
Crying's good, Ford. Crying's good.
Commotion outside the booth becomes audible as the flashy,
obnoxious LT. AMOS makes an entrance. He has made a
horrible attempt at dressing stylish. His tie is notably
nasty.
DETECTIVE AND FORD
Hoh shit.
Ford looks away to the side of a console. He sees a 45
rpm sleeve. It is blank except for some handwriting; the
name ART MOONEY, followed by a drawn star. Ford quickly
nabs it...
LT. AMOS
How'd Mr. Rock 'n' Roll Detective
boogie his way in here? Anybody...
DETECTIVE
He discovered the body, Lt. Amos,
sir.
FORD
Nice tie, Lt. Anus, sir.
LT. AMOS
You think you're so hot just
because you can get into any club.
You think you're so hot, just
because you have sex with great-
looking women. You think you're
so hot just because you broke the
Ensenada tape piracy ring...
FORD
You gotta admit those are all
pretty great reasons...
LT. AMOS
Get the fuck out of here, honey...
What do we got?
DETECTIVE
This guy was hated by everyone.
He offended every race, religion,
and sexual preference imaginable.
He even said the Lakers suck.
So basically we're looking at
everyone from the Glendale
Skinheads to Magic Johnson.
Ford tries to ease out of the booth.
LT. AMOS
What are you running from?
FORD
Why shucks, Lt. Anus, you told
me to get the fuck out of here...
LT. AMOS
If you're hiding something... oh,
oh, I'll have so much fun.
FORD
Why do you hate me? It's gotta be
more than Me Private You, You Cop.
LT. AMOS
(a beat)
Two words. Disco Express.
FORD
Disco Ex -- man, that group sucked
like a squid, they had some shitty
single they wanted me to plug,
back in my publicist days...
LT. AMOS
'Booty Time.'
FORD
Yeah, and that lead singer, Jesus,
that white Van McCoy wanna-be
with the six-inch platform shoes.
He looked...
LT. AMOS
Like me.
FORD
I was about to say he looked like
shit, but hey, sure, he looked
like you.
LT. AMOS
'It's booty time, it's booty time,
across the U.S.A. It's booty time...'
FORD
You were the lead sing --
Lieutenant, I didn't think anyone
could cheer me up tonight...
Thanks. Really.
A laughing Ford squeezes Lt. Amos's shoulder and walks
away...
EXT. BEACH BEHIND FORD'S HOUSE - NIGHT
A smoking Ford stands starkly, wailing with his guitar in
cathartic quasi-Hendrixian blasts, ruining a perfectly
nice MUSICAL SEGUE ON the SOUNDTRACK.
He looks down to picture, nailed to the fence before him,
of a young Ford and Johnny doing silly rock star poses.
Young Ford holds a cheap guitar while Johnny clutches a
pair of drumsticks.
Ford presses the cigarette against the photo, setting it a-
fire and then resumes his "playing." The Kid rolls up on
his skateboard, holding his ears, breaking into Ford's solo.
THE KID
Ouch.
FORD
Hey, you, get off my cloud. I'm
talking to my friend. 1962 Fender
Stratocaster with original
humbucking pick-ups, maple neck,
strung upside down for a left-
handed motherfucking genius...
Jimi Hendrix.
THE KID
Who cares? I got a case.
FORD
Twelve pack?
The Kid holds up a bunch of wadded-up money.
THE KID
This ain't no social call. One
hundred bucks. To find my father.
FORD
(looking up to God)
Did he just say what I think he
said?
THE KID
I've got a clue. Look at my ring.
Before my old lady ran off to
Baja, she told me my dad had this
same ring.
The Kid holds out his hand. A ring of Snoopy in his
fighter pilot outfit is attached to his hand. A couple
of notes of "Snoopy and the Red Baron" play on the
soundtrack.
FORD
Holy Colonel Mustard. Gosh, you
didn't mention the big clue...
Kid, I can't take your money.
THE KID
You need it.
FORD
I don't need it that bad.
INT. FORD'S PLACE - NEXT DAY
Ford snores away on his couch, holding his guitar. The
koala bear sleeps beside him. The DOORBELL RINGS. And
AGAIN. Ford's eyes pop open to a pile of wadded up
money on his coffee table.
FORD
I don't believe it. I took the
money.
He meanders to the door like a Cocoon II cast member and
opens the door. COLLEEN SUTTON stands in a striking pose
at the door. Behind her in the street is a blue limousine
and a driver.
The very attractive Colleen belongs to the genre of rich
people that has seen it all, every piece of decadence
perpetuated. Nothing fazes her, even the chilling sight
of a just-woke-up Ford.
COLLEEN
Ford Fairlane, I'm Colleen Sutton
and I need your help. I have a
problem and it pertains to the
music industry. What is it they
call you? Mr. Rock and...
FORD
Don't say it. Orange juice?
COLLEEN
Please.
Ford takes a carton of orange juice from the coffee table.
He shakes it and then pours into a pretty used-looking
glass also from the coffee table. He hands it to the
deadpan Colleen.
FORD
Sorry about the glass. And the
house. And the breath.
COLLEEN
Mr. Fairlane, I'm very rich. The
kind of rich that warps minds.
Nothing offends me. When I was
eleven, I walked in on my father
and the Shetland pony he had
given me for my tenth birthday.
Does that excite you?
FORD
I don't know, I never met your
father.
Colleen looks down to Ford's crotch. Ford does the
same and then raises his head with a laugh.
FORD
Oh, that! Don't take it personally.
He always wakes up before I do.
Down boy! Roseanne Barr naked!
COLLEEN
Who's your decorator?
FORD
Some fag. Charged me up the ass.
COLLEEN
Fag? Ass? I'm sorry, is that a
joke?
FORD
Poor taste. I know. Listen, I
respect homosexuals. When I was
young, my maid was a homosexual.
(after the silence)
My maid was a homosexual.
COLLEEN
I don't have a sense of humor,
either. Sorry.
Incredibly LOUD MUSIC BLASTS through the room. Colleen
splashes orange juice all over herself, undulating in a
wacky, Martin Shortesque double take. Ford remotes off
his alarm. Colleen regains her composure with a big
orange juice stain.
They sit upon the couch, the dozing koala between them.
FORD
Now that we've broken the ice...
COLLEEN
I need you to find my little sister.
She goes by the name Zuzu...
FORD
Zuzu Petals. You want me to
rescue her from the gorgeous hell
that is L.A.
COLLEEN
But how did you know? Here,
take this picture...
Colleen holds out the picture of Zuzu blowing a kiss.
FORD
No thanks. I carry my own.
COLLEEN
Excuse me?
FORD
Let's see, you're her worried
sister. Yesterday I met her
worried father who incidentally was
about five years younger than you.
In fact, I capped off the evening
by watching him get electrocuted.
They talk about cases like this in
the private eye handbook...
something about a ten-foot pole.
Speechless, Colleen pulls out a thick envelope.
COLLEEN
Five thousand should be enough
to assuage any qualms you have
about my family tree.
FORD
Yeah, but of course for now,
I only get a twenty.
COLLEEN
Actually, you may take it all now.
FORD
Oh... I have some questions.
COLLEEN
I have no answers. Thanks for the
stain. Find the girl. In the
envelope are tickets to the Dorothy
Chandler. We'll chat again, then.
Ford gives a glance to the table and the 45 sleeve with
Art Mooney's name and the star on it.
FORD
Ah, the Dorothy Chandler. I was
just there with my good friend Art
Mooney the other night...
COLLEEN
Who?
FORD
Nuthin'.
Colleen makes a graceful exit. Ford pauses to get his
bearings then picks up his red hotline phone.
INT. FORD'S OFFICE
Again decked out in an aggressively conservative business
outfit, Jazz picks up the phone and breaks character.
JAZZ
K-O-D-S is going to make me rich...
Uh, Ford, aren't we frisky this
morning. It's only four o'clock.
I guess the early bird gets wormed...
INT. FORD'S HOUSE
Ford cuts her off.
FORD
Quiet. Tell me you tapped in the
police computer and found out lots
of good stuff about Art Mooney...
INT. FORD'S OFFICE
JAZZ
I found a lot of Art Mooneys.
None with a police record, though.
Not even Synchronicity. Have you
checked out Johnny Pinzolo/Crunch's
houseboat yet?
INT. FORD'S HOUSE
Ford pours milk on a bowl of Fruit Loops for the now-
awake koala bear, who fumbles a spoon.
FORD
Tonight after I see Don.
Some Beverly Hillbilly just hired
me to find you-know-fucking-who.
Name's Colleen Sutton.
JAZZ (V.O.)
Spooky. I'll process her.
FORD
(pulling tickets
from envelope)
Cool. Jazz, meet me at the
Dorothy Chandler Pavilion tonight.
I'll have a ticket for you at the
door. Some concert. Could be
interesting. Dress nice.
INT. MIXING BOOTH - LATE AFTERNOON
Don Cleveland, the suave black producer from the club, sits
behind a large mixing board along with engineers and mixers.
A passable tune with ghoulish VOCALS is FILTERED into the
booth. As Don speaks, Ford stands behind him, staring
through the glass at the source of the wretched music.
DON
I haven't seen her around, and as
for who would want to kill Johnny
Crunch, line forms to the left.
You'd find less people on our
planet who wanted him alive.
FORD
(in a trance;
to the glass)
Great pipes.
INT. RECORDING STUDIO
Don laughs as the viewer gets a look at KYLE TROY, a
very young pretty-boy whose non-singing is matched by
his non-guitar-playing ability.
A number of studio musicians valiantly try to make some-
thing out of the song they're playing.
INT. MIXING BOOTH
FORD
I've heard cars fuck with more
harmony.
DON
Tell me about it.
Name's Kyle Troy. Can't we bring
up the bass.
MIXER
It's up as far as it can go. Any
more tricks and we're not going to
be able to hear his voice at all.
DON
Don't tempt me.
FORD
How could Grendel Records sign such
a wick-prick? I guess Julian
Grendel really is deaf as a
fucking doorknob. I hear Ray
Charles is going to head up the
video division.
GRENDEL
Actually that's rather an
intriguing idea...
Everyone' face drops. Behind Ford stands the charis-
matic JULIAN GRENDEL. Julian laughs, allowing the others
to do so. He shakes Ford's hand, motioning to the
mixing booth window.
GRENDEL
Good to meet you, Mr. Fairlane.
Your mouth makes quite a
reflection. I'm Julian Grendel.
FORD
Boing. You're one hell of a lip
reader.
GRENDEL
(comically motioning
down to his tie)
Why thank you. It's a Christmas
present.
(a beat)
That was my sense of humor,
everyone. I wish you would fake
a laugh. It's easy with a deaf
person.
Grendel mimics a vivid but silent belly-laugh. Ford
chuckles.
FORD
I knew your father. He was quite...
GRENDEL
An asshole? A swine? A ballistic
turd? Pick one.
(with a laugh)
I never knew what a blessing my
accident was until he died and I
had to take over the company. You
see the music is irrelevant in this
industry. I'm going to have to ship
this 'wick-prick' platinum just so
teenage girls can have a compact
disc cover to get wet with.
DON
Julian's happy as long as he
doesn't see glass shatter.
FORD
(motioning to the
yelping Kyle)
I never thought I'd be jealous of
your handicap... Sorry to hear
about Bobby Vomit.
GRENDEL
Terrible thing, but good career
move. His record sales have gone
way up. I'll just have to create
a new Black Vomit.
FORD
I was just discussing this whole
Vomit thing with my friend Art
Mooney. Do you know him?
EVERYONE
Nope.
Kyle finally finishes off his classic tune and gives the
booth a thumbs-up sign and a smile.
DON
What's that asshole smiling about?
(into a microphone)
That was fantastic, man. Let's
just try it one more time.
(clicking off
microphone)
Well, sorry, Ford, I couldn't help
you. Uh, Ford.
INT. RECORDING STUDIO
Ford bursts through the door. Everybody stops playing.
FORD
Guys, guys, please.
KYLE
Yo, what's the hassle?
FORD
You're killing rock and raping
roll. Keith Richard's rolling in
his grave and the poor bastard
ain't even dead yet. You're
tearing me apart! Rock 'n' roll
is, is...
Ford starts snapping his fingers -- looking around --
snap snap -- Kyle Troy frowns -- snap snap -- a couple
of the band members nod.
FORD
I got a '65 Cadillac.
(snap, snap)
Spare time on the back...
The bass player jumps in -- BUM BUM.
FORD
Charge cord to Goldblatts.
(snap, snap)
But I ain't got you.
Kyle pouts -- the drummer kicks in.
FORD
I got women to the right of me...
I got women to the left of me...
I got chicks all around me...
But I ain't got you.
The rhythm guitarist and keyboardist join the jam. The
band is heating up -- playing louder -- Don and the
boys in the booth are bopping their heads to the beat.
FORD
I gotta a pocket full of crumpled
bills,
I gotta stomach full of different
pills,
I got Fanny Fox and Wilba Mills,
But I ain't got you.
The band suddenly kicks into a rousing instrumental
break of Calvin Carter's "I Ain't Got You." Ford gets
wicked with the mike stand.
FORD
But I ain't got you...
BAND
But I ain't got you...
FORD
No, I ain't got you...
BAND
No, I ain't got you...
FORD
I said, I ain't got you...
BAND
I said, I ain't got you...
FORD
I ain't -- got -- you.
-- And with a quick wave, everyone cuts off. Ford turns
to a very put-off Kyle Troy and grins.
FORD
Now, that's entertainment.
INT. MIXING BOOTH
Ford whisks through -- nods to Don:
FORD
Have a copy of that sent to me,
will ya?
DON
Right away!
Don cracks up as Ford makes his exit.
INT. HALLWAYS OUTSIDE STUDIO
A pleased-with-himself Ford bounds from his studio. He
comes across an eerie sight in the hallway -- Two men in
GUNSLINGER coats over Armani suits. One is a black mohawked
PUNK and the other is a highhairheaded HEAVY METALER.
FORD
You guys part of a band?
PUNK GUNSLINGER
(contemptuously amused)
... Sure. Our name is Pain.
Ford fakes a smile. The duo snort and sneer as he walks
off.
EXT. GLOOMY MARINA - NIGHT
Ford's Fairlane pulls up before a pretty ominous marina.
Boars are eerily moored with no sign of human beings.
EXT. PIER - NIGHT
Ford creeps across the pier. He puts the finishing
touches on his arm-to-hand sliding gun apparatus before
looking to a nice-sized but inherently tacky boat from
which an eerie ROCK SONG spookily emits. The bow reads:
THE MIGHTY PENIS.
FORD
I wonder which boat's Johnny's?
EXT. DECK OF MIGHTY PENIS - NIGHT
Ford comes onto the deck of Mighty Penis. He glances
around before descending below to follow the siren call
of the eerie MUSIC.
INT. CABIN
Ford comes down and turns on some bizarrely hued lights
revealing a literally rocking bachelor pad from hell com-
plete with a scary rack of dildos and an inflatable doll
that floats above a neon ME sign. Ford goes past a wall
that has cut out quasi-nude shots of breasts and buttocks.
FORD
The love boat is making another
run...
He then makes a glance to another picture on the wall.
It is the same young-and-wanna-be-rock-stars picture
of Johnny and Ford that Ford viewed earlier.
Ford sadly blinks before looking to a gun rack on the
wall that holds three shotguns. Ford wobbles over to
an entertainment system set up next to the rack. He
turns OFF the eerie rocker on the STEREO. A video
cassette marked "Collie and Me" lies on an adjoining
VCR. Ford puts the tape in.
TAPE
The TAPE WHIRS on to show Johnny kneeling on his heart-
shaped bed in a comical schoolboy outfit and a dunce cap.
JOHNNY (V.O.)
(on video)
Where's my Queen Collie? I need
some order!
Colleen Sutton comes on the screen in killer black lin-
gerie and wearing a paper Burger King crown. She steps
threateningly toward the bed, carrying a scepter.
COLLEEN (V.O.)
(on video)
Queen Collie is here.
INT. CABIN
Ford snaps OFF the TV.
FORD
This is why I have cable.
Ford steps over to a closet and opens the door. And
there's a smiling guy in a psychedelic tie-dye shirt
standing inside. Ford quickly closes the door -- and
BAM -- a hand crashes through the door and latches on to
Ford's neck. Ford beats off the arm.
Ka-blam! The smiling guy kicks the door off its hinges.
Meet SMILEY: He's muscular, and seems mean, despite the
fact he has a ponytail, wears sandals, nice black gloves,
and has a damn smile that never ever leaves his face.
SMILEY
How's it going?
Smiley's fist swooshes at Ford's head. Ford's hand whips
out of nowhere and grabs the fist in midair.
FORD
You're ten seconds away from the
most embarrass --
Crunch! Smiley punches Ford across the jaw with his left jaw!
Ford's body careens into a dresser. He bolts up and as
he did so wow-ly in his opening scene, super-swiftly raises
his arm. Only this time the gun doesn't slide out.
Ford feebly tries to reach in his sleeve to retrieve the
gun but crack! Smiley strikes again. Ford runs to the
gun rack and tries to pull out a shotgun, but it is locked.
Panicked, Ford yanks the entire gun rack off the wall as
Smiley latches on with a nasty bear hug. Ford FIRES off a
wild BLAST from one of the still-in-the-rack GUNS.
The shotgun blast demolishes a Playboy centerfold and
causes a BLAST of WATER to whoosh out from her remains.
Smiley moves into a strangling mode while Ford's hands
move down to the next gun on the rack. Another BLAST
BURSTS a hole in the other WALL.
Ford FIRES OFF yet another one into the floor below him
causing a devastating geyser that allows him to break
away from Smiley.
Water is amusingly blasting out from every angle. Ford
and Smiley battle semi-obliviously to this new added
element of nature. The water rises above their knees.
Ford spins around and grabs the TV off the still-standing
home entertainment center. He SMASHES it upon Smiley's
head, submerging him into the water which is now at
Ford's waist. Ford frantically scans the water like a
shark attack victim, but Smiley does not emerge.
FORD
Marco...
Ford quickly wades to the stairs...
EXT. MIGHTY PENIS
is sinking pretty fast.
EXT. DECK
Ford collapses onto the damp deck with a gasp. The
entire lower level of the boat is underwater. Ford works
himself into a standing position as Smiley ferociously
resurrects from out of decktop windowcase.
SMILEY
Polo.
FORD
Whatever you're getting paid, I
can give you twenty, maybe thirty
bucks more.
Smiley does a savage medley of punches across Ford's
gut before slapping him into the deck rail. WATER
SPLASHES onto the deck as the boat goes into death
throes. Ford ungracefully makes a clinging jump onto...
FLY BRIDGE
Ford beaches himself on the tippy top of the boat.
Smiley effortlessly pops up and moves around behind
Ford's head.
FORD
Had enough?
Smiley laughs as he places his thumb behind Ford's earlobe
at Ford's jawline. This hurts... The fly bridge is the
only part of the boat above water.
SMILEY
Feel my thumb? I keep it there
forty seconds more and a welt
develops cutting off the oxygen
to your brain. I leave. Twenty-
one minutes later, you're dead.
The slowest, most painful minutes
a person can experience.
FORD
I guess you never saw 'A Very
Brady Christmas.'
SMILEY
(squeezing tighter)
Case closed, okay? Thirty seconds.
FORD
Fine!
SMILEY
What's fine?
FORD
I'm off it!
SMILEY
Off what? Twenty seconds...
FORD
The case!
SMILEY
Oh. One more thing. This is
personal. I want you to tell me
you're a big sissy.
FORD
I. Am. The. Biggest. Sissy.
In. The. Whole. Fucking. World.
Smiley removes his thumb, pats Ford on the head, and then
proceeds to exuberantly backstroke away. A job well done.
Ford's torso is the only thing above water. His sliding
gun apparatus pings to life. The gun finally slides into
his hand. Ford snorts and shakes his head as he dis-
appears below the water.
INT. DOROTHY CHANDLER PAVILION LOBBY - NIGHT
The elite of Los Angeles, with impeccable tuxedoes and
gowns to prove it, grandly stream into a large
auditorium.
Ford, holding a plastic bag of party ice over his face,
stumbles through the pavilion doors in a wrinkled tuxedo.
The ice bag breaks, sending ice and water down Ford's
shirt. Various snooty patrons turn to harrumph, includ-
ing Colleen, who does a double take when she realizes who
she is harrumphing at.
COLLEEN
My God, Mr. Fairlane, you look
like the Fall of Saigon.
FORD
Colleen and Johnny, sitting in a
tree, k-i-s-s-i-n-g...
COLLEEN
Uh, let's go sit down.
A couple of gasps rise up out of the patrons around them.
Ford and Colleen feel the breeze of heads turning all
around them. They turn to see what everybody is looking
at.
What they are looking at is Jazz! Gone are her glasses
and businesslike dress. She stands at the inside
entrance of the pavilion in a tight, low-at-the-top-
high-at-the-bottom black leather mini-dress.
FORD
(catching his
breath)
Excuse me...
Jazz squints at the crowd trying to find Ford, who is
quickly coming right towards her.
FORD
Hey, Jazz, I told you to dress
'nice' not nice. What, did you
think this was a date?
Ford looks to Jazz's grim face. Yes, that's what she
thought.
FORD
Sorry, Jazz. After this, I'll throw
a burger down your throat, okay?
JAZZ
You're a fucking gentleman. What
do you want from me?
FORD
This Colleen Sutton woman I'm with.
If she flees me to go powder her
whatever, I need you to keep tabs...
COLLEEN
Ford, they're starting.
Colleen strolls back from where she came. Ford back-
pedals to catch up with her.
FORD
You going to be okay?
JAZZ
Go on, 'they're stahting.'
INT. BALLET AUDITORIUM
Male dancers wearing incredibly tight outfits that leave
nothing to the imagination prance and move across the
stage.
Ford and Colleen take in the spectacle before them. They
speak in whispers.
COLLEEN
So you know about Johnny Crunch
and myself.
FORD
(looking to the
dancers)
I'm sorry, that's gotta be a pair
of tube socks he has down there.
BALLET PATRON
(in back)
Shh.
COLLEEN
You want off the case, don't you?
BALLERINA
with absurdly graphic nipples pirouettes.
Ford mimes his eye being poked out.
FORD
Ouch... Of course I want off the
case. Some monster from Woodstock
tried and succeeded in killing me
tonight. The fact I'm alive's
a technicality.
COLLEEN
So you...
FORD
Listen, Queen Collie, I have a code.
I never, ever, drop a case. Besides,
I, uh, used all your money to pay
my bills, so I kinda owe you.
COLLEEN
Nonsense. After what you've been
through, it sounds like I owe you.
FORD
(to stage)
They did one of these about my ex-
wife. It's called 'The Nutcracker.'
(after the silence;
enunciating)
'The Nut-crack-er'... I don't need
money. I need some questions
answered.
COLLEEN
I'll do my best.
FORD
Question one: Can I have some
money? Kidding. Why didn't you
tell me about you and Johnny? You
two were into something even more
dangerous than sex, weren't you?
Who? What? Where? How? Now.
Colleen looks out to the two Armani Gunslingers, Punk and
Metal, looming by the exit.
COLLEEN
Jonathan was such a beautiful man.
No one knew him like I did...
Excuse me. I can't do this now.
I'll call you tomorrow.
FORD
Thanks for the information.
Appreciate it.
Colleen mock-whimpers into the aisle. Ford turns to a dig-
nified woman seated next to him and motions to the stage.
FORD
That guy gets an erection, he
gives himself a black eye. I
mean, you can see him coming
around a corner and still have
time to comb your hair.
BALLET PATRON
Will you please be quiet.
FORD
He'll be telling that joke tomorrow.
The dignified woman laughs and Ford smiles at her laugh.
INT. FOYER
Colleen strides out of the auditorium and purposefully
veers down the hall, into the ladies' room.
From a seated position at the other end of the hall, Jazz
frenetically pops up and pushes on her glasses. She clacks
after Colleen, into the ladies' room as well.
INT. DOROTHY CHANDLER PAVILION LOBBY
Balletgoers stream into the lobby for the post-ballet re-
ception. Ford meanders out with the buzzing crowd, a
couple patrons taking notice of his wrinkled attire. Ford
blazes a Marlboro Gold as a SNOOTY NON-SMOKER who got a
snide closeup earlier in the segment, points to a "Yes, I
mind if you smoke" button on his lapel.
SNOOTY NON-SMOKER
Can you read... 'smoker'?
FORD
Can you whistle 'Man in the Mirror'
out your ass... 'snapperhead'?
SNOOTY NON-SMOKER
Hey, don't be a pottymouth. I
just don't want cancer.
As Ford speaks, he takes a rubberband and attaches it to
a lighter in a way that keeps the flame lit. He then
places it in the Non-Smoker's tuxedo pocket.
FORD
You know, you're right, sir, and
I'm sorry. I thought I lived in a
country where you were free to do
any stupid thing you wanted; drive
to work naked, make love to a
V.C.R., but hey, you reminded me I
live in a hell where any sperm like
you can stab me in the heart with
these things called opinions, just
because you have them.
The Non-Smoker weakly smiles, his jacket starting to smoke.
SNOOTY NON-SMOKER
It's okay. It's okay, guy. Smoke all
you want. Here, have one of mine...
The Non-Smoker fumbles out a pack of cigarettes from his
literally smoking jacket and then bolts away.
An hors d'oeuvres tray cruises by. Ford grabs something
on a toothpick and casually shoves possibly the worst
thing he's ever tasted in his life into his mouth. Ford
doesn't chew -- he just looks around for someplace to
spit it out just as Julian Grendel approaches.
GRENDEL
Well, hello, Ford.
FORD
Mmmmmmm. Mmmm, mmm.
GRENDEL
I must say you're an island of
reality in an ocean of diarrhea.
Jazz excitedly approaches Ford and Grendel. Ford grabs
her and deeply kisses her. Ford pulls back and addresses
Jack in his normal voice. Meanwhile, Jazz's face turns
color, her mouth trying to deal with the most disgusting
transferal of an hors d'oeuvre in film history.
FORD
And it's good to see you, Julian.
This is my assistant, Jazz.
JAZZ
Mmmmmmm. Mmmm, mmm.
GRENDEL
So what did you think of the ballet?
Was it like a warm Ice Capades?
FORD
(laughing)
Yeah, I did, you condescending fuck,
but I miss Snoopy coming out at the
end. Isn't your enjoyment impaired?
GRENDEL
Don't worry I can run every ballet
note for note in my brain...
Jazz swallows, her eyes bulging with delicate agony.
FORD
What, were you one of those brilliant
child prahdigies who was writing
baroque operas while the other kids
were fingerpainting Mr. Greenjeans...
Julian winces in pain, and then smiles...
GRENDEL
Something like that... Let's talk
business. I think someone is
trying to rip my company off.
I've tried the Yellow Pages, now I
think it's your turn...
JAZZ
(with Linda Blair's
Exorcist voice)
If you'll excuse us.
FORD
Jazz, we're talking here.
GRENDEL
Go on, another time, another place.
Grendel watches the couple walk off and the viewer hears
the CLASSICAL MUSIC in his head.
EXT. OUTSIDE DOROTHY CHANDLER - NIGHT
Jazz pulls Ford into the cool of the night.
FORD
Why did you interrupt? Maxwell
seemed like he wanted to hire me.
JAZZ
Shut up, goodies from the ice queen.
Jazz pulls from her pockets a small toy duck, a Baby Ruth
bar, and a compact disc reading "Black Vomit's Greatest
Spits." It has a red number two on the cover. Ford takes
the stuff from her.
FORD
How'd you get this from her?
JAZZ
You don't want to know, believe me.
But don't worry, I washed my hands...
FORD
A fucking C.D. Wow, this case is
closed. So, she's got bad taste
in music and in men... Did I tell
you she and Johnny were lovers and
that they were into something and
he got killed for it?
JAZZ
(laughing at his
bald exposition)
No, as a matter of fact you didn't.
What about the girl, Zuzu Petals,
how does she fit in? I mean, she
is what this case is about.
FORD
I wish I knew. You did good work...
JAZZ
Make eye contact when you say that.
FORD
I'm sorry, that dress. What do
you say we...
JAZZ
Celebrate? Like we celebrated
after solving the White Bluesman
murders? Forget it, man.
Ford and Jazz stroll to their respective cars parked
side-by-side. Jazz drives a black Volkswagen bug.
FORD
Oh... Hey, how about that hors
d'oeuvre, tonight?
Jazz cackles and gets in her car. Ford watches her go...
INT. FORD'S HOUSE - LATE THAT NIGHT
In his underwear, Ford vegges on his couch with a koala
bear at his feet and with a BLENDER WHIRRING beside.
FORD
Why didn't I pick fishermen?
Ford STOPS the BLENDER, flips off the lid, and begins
drinking his homemade vodka milkshake straight out of
the blender, but only after setting it on fire and
blowing it out.
Ford then lazily remotes ON the TELEVISION. "MTV News"
with KURT LODER finishes up. Ford unslumps up with
Kurt's revelations.
KURT LODER (V.O.)
(on TV)
Police are now saying Bobby Vomit was
not the victim of an overdose as first
suspected, but was actually poisoned.
Police have no suspects yet and have
asked all Black Vomit fans not to show
up at the funeral which, by the way,
will be held at the Hollywood Cemetery
at midnight. In homage, here's the
last video of Bobby Vomit.
Ford mouths "wow" to himself as the rock video begins.
VIDEO
A lacerating TUNE BLASTS forth with Bobby Vomit writhing
around a cage. Inside the cafe is a beautifully modulated
babe with monster makeup all over her face. The rest of
Black Vomit dutifully play their instruments at the back
of the set, all wearing doctor uniforms.
Vomit pulls the babe's monster-faced head out from between
the bars of the cage. He savagely kisses her and then
runs to the door of the cage. He flings it open. The
babe no longer has the face of a monster. She has the
face of Zuzu Petals for that is who the babe is.
INT. FORD'S ROOM
Ford does a vodka milkshake spit-take.
VIDEO
In closeup, Zuzu blows the VIEWER a kiss.
EXT. HOLLYWOOD CEMETERY GATE - NIGHT
WITH Spotlights, with T-shirt hawkers and with a couple
hundred mournful rock and roll fans pushing and shoving
at the gate, the viewer believes they are at a concert
not a funeral.
A hurriedly dressed Ford, tucking his shirt in, approaches
the gate. He focuses upon a SLEAZY GUY doing something
with two girls.
SLEAZY GUY
That's one hundred. Each.
The two girls nod -- Sleazy Guy hands them something --
the girls leave.
Ford approaches as the Sleazy Guy carefully calls out.
SLEAZY GUY
Got those Vomit invites here...
FORD
Scalping to a funeral, you're a
pretty sleazy guy.
SLEAZY GUY
Thanks. You interested. It's
festival seating, so...
FORD
How much?
SLEAZY GUY
Three hundred.
FORD
You gave it to the girls for one.
SLEAZY GUY
Hey, they blew me.
FORD
Oh. Three hundred coming right up.
Ford very quickly hands over three hundred dollars.
EXT. FUNERAL GROUNDS
Ford mounts a small hill to blend into the already-in-
progress funeral. Many people stand in various not
necessarily tasteful black clothes. A row of nubile
mournettes kneel praying, the lipstick on their face is
noticeably and obscenely askew.
FORD
Geez, am I the only one who paid
full price here?
A priest stands next to a big empty hole. The band
members of Black Vomit are situated behind it, with
their instruments. They begin a mournful metal jam.
The sound of a HELICOPTER is heard. Everyone seems to
be ignoring this fact but Ford. A chopper is cruising
toward the funeral.
The CHOPPER sounds get LOUDER as the helicopter positions
itself over the open grave. The band increases its
intensify as the crowd chants "Vomit! Vomit! Vomit!" A
large transparent tube is pushed out of the helicopter
with an attached black parachute. The tube is lit up
by round dressing room-style bulbs.
The tube floats down toward the grave. Ford and the
VIEWER get to see that in the lit tube is Bobby Vomit.
It swooshes perfectly into the grave.
Ford shakes his head in amazement. Getting serious, he
pulls the picture of Zuzu Petals from his pocket and
scans the crowd. More young, pretty girls in sexy black
pass before the grave, but no Zuzu.
A GIRL IN A BLACK VEIL (three guesses who) quietly sobs
beside Ford, holding the black purse from the opening
scene (okay, one guess who). With a whimper, she puts
her head against Ford's stomach. By reflex, Ford puts
his arm around to comfort, but his eyes never leave the
crowd.
GIRL IN VEIL
He was so good...
FORD
Yeah, he was one of the greats.
(holding out the
photo)
Hey, you haven't seen this girl,
have you?
GIRL IN VEIL
Is this a trick question?
The Girl In her Veil lifts her veil. It is Zuzu Petals.
Ford goes insane with victory.
FORD
Zuzu Petals! Zuzu Petals! Yes!
Who killed Bobby Vomit? Who
killed Johnny Crunch? Why do
people want you so goddamn bad?
ZUZU
I don't know. I'm so scared.
Help me.
Zuzu drops to her knees before Ford.
FORD
A simple 'please' would suffice...
ZUZU
Fluck you!
Zuzu fiercely balls her fist and punches Ford in the
groin. She then bolts up and starts sprinting away.
Ford gasps after her.
FORD
Fluck me?
Zuzu keeps running. She gives a glance back toward Ford
as a black gloved hand thrusts out and grabs her by the
neck. The arm leads to the maliciously chipper face of
Smiley.
Smiley lifts Zuzu up and heaves her into a sidecar
connected to a state of the art motorcycle. With a
painful crash, Zuzu lands upside-down in the sidecar.
Smiley straddles the BIKE and ROCKETS off, recklessly
weaving through tombstones.
Panting, Ford stops running toward the motorcycle. He
changes direction and begins running...
until he reaches his Fairlane. Ford wails in anger for
his tires have been punctured. The PHONE in his car
suddenly RINGS. Ford reaches in and pulls out the
portable phone.
FORD
K-O-D-S is going to make me rich!
MOTORCYCLE
Smiley is revealed to be barking on a cellular phone,
attached to his motorcycle while burrowing through the
tombstones. Zuzu's legs flail from out of the sidecar.
SMILEY
How's it going? Radio station
contest. Ford, I mean really...
The super-bike sends frightened mourners into empty burial
holes.
ANOTHER PART OF CEMETERY GROUNDS
Portable phone pushed up under his armpit, receiver be-
tween his head and his shoulder, Ford barrels up a hill...
FORD
If you hurt her, I'll kill you!
Maybe not personally, but I'll
think of something...
At the top of the hill is a parked hearse.
HEARSE
Two slimy MORTICIANS come out from the back of the
hearse. They are each smoking a cigarette and zipping
up their pants.
MORTICIAN ONE
Some days it's great to be alive.
Ford charges into the front seat of the hearse. He
turns the ignition key and tears off.
MORTICIAN TWO
Hey, he took Lydia!
MORTICIAN ONE
(giving his zipper
a final yank)
So what, we've had our fun.
INT. HEARSE
The body of a VOLUPTUOUS WOMAN rests naked on a gurney
in the back of the hearse. The gurney wobbles back and
forth toward Ford in the driver's seat. A tag on her
hand reads LYDIA.
FORD
Now it's getting interesting,
Smileyhead.
MOTORCYCLE
Smiley blazes across the gravesite green towards the
entrance. A discombobulated Zuzu twists into a sitting
position.
SMILEY
Normally, I'd be up for a bullshit
car chase, but I got to get up early
tomorrow.
Smiley looks down to his phone with a quizzical ex-
pression. In the b.g. the hearse can be seen barrelling
over a hill.
SMILEY
Ford, where did you go? Don't be
such a baby...
HEARSE
Ford intensely weaves through burial paths. His point of
view has the motorcycle getting closer.
MOTORCYCLE AT CEMETERY ENTRANCE
Smiley hangs up the phone, and ROARS into the street out-
side the cemetery. Zuzu scowls, until Ford pulls up
beside them, shouting out his window.
FORD
You were saying, snapperhead? I'll
bet you're not smiling now!
SMILEY
Oh, but I am. Dianetics, Ford. You
should try it.
FORD
Say cheese...
Ford super-swiftly raises his arm activating the sliding
gun apparatus. The gun sails out of his sleeve, past his
hand, out of his car, and over Smiley who rightfully laughs.
SMILEY
Thanks, but I have my own.
Smiley pulls a serious GUN from his coat and BLASTS away.
Ford steers off as the BULLETS shower into his hood.
ZUZU
(regarding Ford, amused)
My hero...
The HEARSE convulses in a mind-roasting SKID causing the
other poor cars in the vicinity to insanely slam into
lampposts, mini-malls, and themselves.
HEARSE
All this motion commotion causes the body of the Vol-
uptuous Woman to burst out from the back and to crash
into the front seat. Ford shrieks at the inert, well-
endowed flesh. Suddenly, the PHONE RINGS. Ford fren-
etically picks up...
FORD
Fuck you, man! I can't talk...
Mom! What are you calling for?
No, no, I don't always answer the
phone like that. It's business!
The naked body bounces and bashes against Ford as he
speaks. The voluptuous head slams down onto Ford's lap.
FORD
Have I met any nice girls? Ma,
Ma, get some sleep. I gotta
another call...
(pressing call
waiting)
Sorry, it was my mom...
MOTORCYCLE GOING UP INCREDIBLY INCLINED STREET
Riding up a steep hill, Smiley deliriously chats...
SMILEY
Your mom is special. I look
forward to raping her at your
funeral.
HEARSE
Ford is comically maneuvering the body into a sitting
position and pulling over a seat belt... He shouts in
the phone.
FORD
You are one sick...
Ford hangs up, letting go of the seat belt. Ford watches
the body's ludicrously bouncing breasts.
FORD
Damn baby, I hope you filled out
some organ donor cards...
Ford looks out the windshield and howls.
INCREDIBLY INCLINED STREET
The hearse slams into the base of the very steep hill,
it rockets upward.
The dead body flips and flops over into the back seat.
The hearse flies over the hill and whizzes forward,
approaching Smiley's motorcycle. Ford pulls up beside
Zuzu in the sidecar.
FORD
Zuzu Petals, I'm Ford Fairlane!
I'm the good guy, he's the bad guy!
Entertained, Smiley FIRES his GUN at the hearse. Ford
swerves around behind the motorcycle to Smiley's side.
Zuzu loops her purse around her neck and then, with a
devilish grin, she stands up in the sidecar. Smiley
watches incredulously as Zuzu jumps from the sidecar onto
the motorcycle between his legs and then, after blowing a
kiss, into the open passenger window of the hearse.
A disoriented Smiley swerves off onto a sidewalk, zipping
past freaked out pedestrians.
HEARSE
Zuzu lands onto the passenger seat with a giggle.
ZUZU
This is so amazing! A car chase!
Let's get on some car chase music!
Ra-a-w-wk!
Zuzu turns ON the RADIO and turns it UP LOUD. Ford can
only stare at this perverse girl in amazement. Zuzu
looks over to him, popping a bubblegum bubble.
ZUZU
It's red, Ford.
FORD
What?
STREET
The hearse charges through a red light causing another
collision.
HEARSE
Ford looks into the rearview mirror. Smiley is back on
the street and gaining... Ford reaches into a confused
Zuzu's mouth.
ZUZU
Hello?
FORD
Give me your gum and grab the wheel.
STREET
The MOTORCYCLE WAILS up the back of the hearse. Smiley
reaches out to the door and flings it open. He leaps...
INTO HEARSE
A BATTERED but still giddy Smiley crawls and crashes into
the front seat, pulling a gun on the driver: The voluptu-
ous body!
Smiley looks to the floor pedal. Pink gum holds it to
the floor.
STREET BEHIND HEARSE
Crunched in a heap on the street, Ford and Zuzu move into
painful standing positions.
FORD
You okay?
ZUZU
(are you kidding?)
Peachy.
INT. HEARSE
A weirded-out Smiley turns from his bizarre driver to
look before him. His smile turns into a grimace.
STREET
A multi-transport truck is parked at the curb and its
ramp is down. The hearse hits the ramp -- flies in the
air towards --
EXT. HARD ROCK CAFE
With its famous Cadillac embedded halfway into the roof.
CRASH! -- it now has two cars embedded halfway into
the roof.
INT. HARD ROCK CAFE
The bodies of Smiley and the Voluptuous Woman fly
through the WINDSHIELD and sail into the GLASS roof
of the Cafe.
Smiley smashes into the floor while the voluptuous woman
crashes down onto a birthday cake atop a table surrounded
by aghast yuppies.
The Voluptuous Woman awakens with a purr...
VOLUPTUOUS WOMAN
Boy, you morticians really know
how to party...
Ford's portable PHONE rests peacefully next to Smiley's
crumpled body. It RINGS. Smiley achingly picks up.
ZUZU (V.O.)
Nyah, nyah, nyah-nyah, nyah.
EXT. NEARBY PAY PHONE
Zuzu finishes her squealing as a coolly smiling Ford
takes the phone from her and hangs up.
INT. RTD BUS - NIGHT
Tired and bruised, Ford and Zuzu sit side by side in a
sparsely populated bus. Zuzu is bobbing to a palm-size radio.
ZUZU
That was one of the ten most
provocative experiences of my life!
A disgruntled Ford takes the RADIO from her and turns it OFF.
FORD
Let's get serious...
ZUZU
Why are all these people after me?
FORD
Uh... wha? You're supposed to
answer those questions, not ask
'em. I take it a woman named
Colleen Sutton is not your big
sister and that the late D.J.
Johnny Crunch ain't your daddy?
ZUZU
I'm so sure! I'm an only child
and my parents are Bill and Shirley
Petals of South Bend, Indiana.
They run a hardware store and...
Ford reaches out and muzzles the sputtering girl with his
hand.
FORD
You hung out with Bobby Vomit.
Who would want him dead?
ZUZU
(sadly)
I dunno. He was to sound what
Cezanne was to image or at least I
thought so. Ever since he died,
I've been chased... Omigod!
FORD
What? Jesus, tell me!
ZUZU
It's Spunk Lewis, the lead singer
for Dead Ribbit! Mr. Bus Driver,
stop!
POV ON ALLEY
Spunk Lewis, generic rock star, emerges from a backstage
door to sign autographs for a cluster of generic fans.
BUS
Ford shakes his head. Zuzu's head is twisted around,
trying to catch another glimpse of Spunk.
ZUZU
Spunk, come back...
FORD
How is it you can look at that
HairHead and see God, when all I
see is a lucky asshole from Reseda.
ZUZU
Because I know rock-n-roll.
FORD
You know rock-n-roll? Darlin',
I've been in the music industry
for as long as you've lived. I've
seen things you can't even have
nightmares about... but then I
guess I'm just not equipped to
know the industry the way you do...
ZUZU
Come again? B.FL.D., I have sex
with rock stars; it's not like I'm
doing something that I don't enjoy
with them, like shuffleboard.
Don't worry about me, I practice
safe sex and next summer, I'm
going to U.C.L.A.
Ford flicks back ON the RADIO with a deprecating smile and
flips it to Zuzu.
FORD
Zuzu Petals, you're not bad. In
fact, I was discussing this whole
rock-n-roll thing with my pal Art
Mooney the other day. You know him?
ZUZU
No. Who's Art Mooney?
FORD
He's the lamest clue I've ever had
in my life. Here's our stop...
Ford reaches up and pulls the cord.
INT. FORD'S OFFICE - NEXT MORNING
Not wearing glasses, Jazz makes her morning entrance into
the office with an attack of melancholy. She sees Zuzu
sleeping at her desk behind a melting cup of yogurt. Ford
is amusingly curled up on the floor. Jazz smiles.
JAZZ
Why don't I despise you?
Ford rumbles into a semi-conscious position.
FORD
What did you... Hey, where's your spex?
JAZZ
Contacts.
FORD
I like.
Zuzu pops to life and resumes eating her yogurt.
ZUZU
He saved my life! Isn't he the
coolest man in the world?
JAZZ
Says a lot about the world... Zuzu
Petals... Case closed?
FORD
I don't know, what was the case?
JAZZ
Ms. Sutton hired you to find the
girl. Period.
FORD
Then I guess her case is closed.
Mine isn't. I want to know why
everybody wants Zuzu. Why people
are killing and dying for her.
ZUZU
Yeah, it's weird. Bobby and
Johnny were such good friends...
FORD
Friends? You didn't tell me that.
ZUZU
You didn't ask. Have you ever
thought about mousse?
The PHONE RINGS. Zuzu fiercely picks up.
ZUZU
K-O-D-S is going to make me rich... Uh...
Jazz sweetly tears the phone away from her.
JAZZ
She's just a bundle of energy, a
real treasure...
FORD
Yeah, let's bury her.
JAZZ
Hello...
(hanging up)
It's Colleen. With answers. She wants
to meet. Down. Way down-town. Late.
INT. VERY GRUNGY, DISGUSTINGLY HIP DOWNTOWN CLUB - NIGHT
Too ultra-cool to be alive zombies, a mixture of play-
tough trendoids and actual psychopaths, dressed in very
black black, are packed together like burnt, sweating
sardines. A post-punk ACID CHILLER is throbbing from the
SPEAKERS.
An unamused Ford treads through the unsavory pack. The
crowd almost mystically parts to reveal Colleen, at a
table by a window, in a violent leather ensemble, her
hair slicked back.
Ford sits himself down and a waiter pours him a Cappucino.
COLLEEN
I ask you to find a girl and
instead you steal a C.D. from me.
Ford. You suck.
FORD
I'll buy you a new one. I found her.
COLLEEN
Zuzu Petals! Did she have it?
FORD
Have what?
COLLEEN
Did she tell you anything?
FORD
Lots of things. Her favorite
yogurt. The ten drummers she
would take to a desert island...
COLLEEN
Drink your cappucino, you're
giving me a headache...
THROUGH RIFLE'S TELESCOPIC LENS (THROUGH WINDOW)
Targeted for destruction, Colleen rubs her temples.
COLLEEN (V.O.)
If feels like it's going to explode.
CAFE
A hole pops in the window and a VASE with a black rose in
it EXPLODES on the table.
Ford and Colleen are oblivious to the flying petals and
the spurting water.
COLLEEN
Damnit... you were right last night.
Jonathan and I were into more than
sex. Along with Bobby Vomit, right
after old Jack Grendel died, we
took part in a scheme to rip off
Grendel records... I didn't want
you involved...
FORD
But I am...
Ford brings a coffee cup toward its lip. The CUP EXPLODES.
FORD
What cheap shit... hey, waiter!
COLLEEN
We invested in these factories.
In Vancouver.
FORD
Hold that thought. Are we being
shot at?
Ford laughs. Colleen laughs. They laugh louder.
FORD
I finally got you to laugh.
Suddenly serious, Ford and Colleen bound away from the
table into the seething masses.
EXT. NEARBY ROOFTOP - NIGHT
The Punk Gunslinger and the Heavy Metal Gunslinger throw
down their rifles (connected to huge silencers) in self-
disgust.
EXT. GRUNGY DOWNTOWN CLUB - NIGHT
Ford and Colleen exhale happily, moving through the crowd.
COLLEEN
That was close...
FORD
What did these Vancouver factories
do?
The clubhounds swell between them, separating them.
Colleen shouts above the zombies' heads...
COLLEEN
I haven't told you the important
part!
Smiley suddenly abracadabras behind Colleen. Her face
contorts in agony and she falls. Smiley bashes his way
outward as a futile Ford twists and pushes to Colleen.
A knife has been farmed in her spleen. She croaks up
her last words...
COLLEEN
Art Mo-o-o-ney!
FORD
Thanks, I needed that.
EXT. DOWNTOWN CLUB - NIGHT
Smiley emerges out of the club, grinning into a walkie-
talkie.
SMILEY
You assholes owe me a Big Gulp.
The sound of THUNDER is heard...
INT. DOWNTOWN CLUB - DAWN
A dark daylight beats against the club along with falling
RAIN. The music has stopped and the place has been
emptied of its ultra-cool swarm, replaced by the familiar
cacophony of policemen and coroner officers. A black
bodybag is carried through the tables past a melancholy
Ford, who sits, contemplating shot black rose petals
until...
LT. AMOS
Have a problem, call Ford
Fairlane. He won't solve your
case, but who cares, you'll be
dead in a couple days anyway.
Let's face it. After today, the
California Raisins aren't gonna
hire you.
FORD
That's okay. I'm quitting the
music detective business to become
a cop killer. Pay's the same, but
it'll be much more fun.
LT. AMOS
God, I wish I could prove you
killed everybody. Unfortunately,
I know who the real killer is.
FORD
Really?
Lt. Amos holds up a picture of Zuzu Petals blowing a kiss.
LT. AMOS
It's some psycho killer groupie.
I got an anonymous letter that says
she killed Bobby Vomit, Johnny
Crunch, and now, this society dame.
FORD
Once I got an anonymous letter
saying that the world would be
destroyed by a giant purple
raindrop.
I didn't even buy a fucking
umbrella... You were in too many
discos during the seventies. The
Village People rotted your brain.
LT. AMOS
That's the difference between a
great investigator like me and a
piece of Spam like you. You look
at this picture and all you see is
beauty. I see the beast.
EXT. OUTSIDE CLUB/JAZZ'S VOLKSWAGEN - DAWN
In counterpoint to Lt. Amos, Zuzu is seen babbling into a
car phone in Jazz's Volkswagen, parked outside the club.
ZUZU
Yeah, on a car phone! No, he's
not a guitarist... he's better...
He's a rock-n-roll detec --
EXT. CAR
Oblivious to the rain, Jazz leans against her Bug
with her arms folded meaningfully, watching Ford head
toward her.
JAZZ
You okay?
FORD
Lieutenant Anus has discovered the
cold-blooded killer behind everything.
JAZZ
Who?
Ford motions to inside the car. Zuzu chatters away.
When she sees she's being watched, she goofily waves...
JAZZ
Ah, an obvious choice.
FORD
Let's get her out of here, before
she starts a shoot-out. Drop us
at my place.
Jazz opens the passenger door for Ford. As he gets in,
compassionate looks are exchanged. Jazz closes the door.
INT. FORD'S HOUSE - NIGHT
A pretty tired Ford and a never tired Zuzu enter Chez
Fairlane, the latter swinging her purse.
ZUZU
Why are you depressed? You get in
all the clubs, you never pay cover...
FORD
Stop. We still got serious
detective stuff to do, but we've
been up all night so we should hit
the sack for...
ZUZU
(teasing)
What a perv...
Ford shakes his head and fumbles with the bedroom door as
Zuzu somersaults onto the couch and retrieves a remote
control.
ZUZU
Let's watch some 'M.T.V.'
FORD
People still watch that?
ZUZU
Who cares about people?
Zuzu slides up into a sitting position on the back of the
couch and raises the remote control...
FORD'S BEDROOM
Ford snaps on the light. His koala bear is hanging from
a noose!
FORD
Zuzu!
LIVING ROOM
Zuzu presses the remote control. Bah--oom! The TELEVI-
SION EXPLODES, blowing Zuzu off the couch against the
back wall.
Ford rushes into the smoky, raped, and abused living room
and bolts down to the dazed and blackened Zuzu. Ford
shakes her into some sort of consciousness.
FORD
Zuzu, wake up...
ZUZU
Hah fluck, great video, huh?
FORD
Are you okay?
ZUZU
Okay? I just blew up. I feel
orgasmic.
Ford glances up to see flames flickering at the curtains
of his Jimi Hendrix guitar shrine. With a mute howl of
pain, he lets go of his grip on Zuzu, letting her head
clunk to the floor.
FORD
Puh-leeze...
He speeds to the curtain and pulls. The guitar is gone.
Ford gasps for breath while Zuzu moves into a wobbly
standing position behind him. She walks OUT OF VIEW as
Ford's anger finds sound.
FORD
My axe!
ZUZU (O.S.)
Ford, do you got something cooking
in the microwave?
Ford stops gasping. He races into his...
KITCHENETTE
Where Zuzu stands before a microwave oven, calmly combing
ash out of her hair. The timer reads 00:09... 00:08...
FORD
Out!
Ford grabs Zuzu by the hand and yanks her toward the door.
ZUZU
Wait, my purse!
Zuzu breaks off from Ford to retrieve her purse on the
ground.
FORD
Wait, my purse?
Zuzu zooms back and grabs Ford's hand, pulling him out the
door.
EXT. OUTSIDE FORD'S HOUSE - NIGHT
Ford and Zuzu burst from the house and dive onto the grass,
heads down. A pause then a familiar BEEPING sound sig-
nalling the end of a MICROWAVE cycle. Zuzu lifts her head.
ZUZU
Maybe it was just a pot pie.
BAH-OOM! A corner of the HOUSE neatly EXPLODES.
Ford, lighti