291163d04045b7a50f6cfcb36f1541582d264208
movie
http://www.dailyscript.com/scripts/ford-fairlane_early.html
FORD FAIRLANE Screenplay
did you ?
 Ford Fairlane (Andrew Dice Clay) is seen sitting on a beach smoking as the film opens. A flashback initiates, showing a roaring crowd at a concert given by fictional popular heavy metal band The Black Plague. Lead singer Bobby Black (Vince Neil) makes an eccentric entrance down a zip-line onto the stage and begins performing. Shortly into one of the band's songs, Bobby Black collapses on stage and dies.
After the lead singer of The Black Plague is murdered onstage, shock-jock Johnny Crunch (Gilbert Gottfried), an old friend who came west with Fairlane, hires Ford to track down a mysterious teenage groupie named Zuzu Petals, who may have a connection to Black's death.
Soon after hiring Fairlane, Crunch is electrocuted on the air. The world's hippest detective soon finds himself trading insults with ruthless record executive Julian Grendel (Wayne Newton), a clueless cop and former disco star (Ed O'Neill), a merciless hit man (Robert Englund) and countless ex-girlfriends out for his blood. Aiding and abetting Fairlane is loyal assistant Jazz (Lauren Holly) and a hip record producer (Morris Day) at the head of a bizarre lineup of suspects, victims, beautiful women and a koala as he finds himself hip-deep in the case of his life.
The Macguffin of the film is three data CDs which, when read simultaneously, detail the illegal dealings of Julian Grendel, who was getting rich bootlegging his record company's music and murdered Bobby Black when he found out Black had acquired the CDs with the incriminating evidence.
The first disc was with Colleen Sutton, the second with Zuzu Petals, and the third disc was hidden under the star for Art Mooney on the Hollywood Walk of Fame.
Ford Fairlane ( Andrew Dice Clay ) is seen sitting on a beach smoking as the film opens . A flashback initiates , showing a roaring crowd at a concert given by fictional popular heavy metal band The Black Plague . Lead singer Bobby Black ( Vince Neil ) makes an eccentric entrance down a zip-line onto the stage and begins performing . Shortly into one of the band s songs , Bobby Black collapses on stage and dies . After the lead singer of The Black Plague is murdered onstage , shock-jock Johnny Crunch ( Gilbert Gottfried ) , an old friend who came west with Fairlane , hires Ford to track down a mysterious teenage groupie named Zuzu Petals , who may have a connection to Black s death . Soon after hiring Fairlane , Crunch is electrocuted on the air . The world s hippest detective soon finds himself trading insults with ruthless record executive Julian Grendel ( Wayne Newton ) , a clueless cop and former disco star ( Ed O'Neill ) , a merciless hit man ( Robert Englund ) and countless ex-girlfriends out for his blood . Aiding and abetting Fairlane is loyal assistant Jazz ( Lauren Holly ) and a hip record producer ( Morris Day ) at the head of a bizarre lineup of suspects , victims , beautiful women and a koala as he finds himself hip-deep in the case of his life . The Macguffin of the film is three data CDs which , when read simultaneously , detail the illegal dealings of Julian Grendel , who was getting rich bootlegging his record company s music and murdered Bobby Black when he found out Black had acquired the CDs with the incriminating evidence . The first disc was with Colleen Sutton , the second with Zuzu Petals , and the third disc was hidden under the star for Art Mooney on the Hollywood Walk of Fame .
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Adventures_of_Ford_Fairlane
The Adventures of Ford Fairlane
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   <title>"The Adventures of Ford Fairlane," early draft, by Daniel Waters</title>
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                          <u> FORD FAIRLANE  </u>


                         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-<u>at</u>!... 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. <u>THE</u> CLUB - AT BAR

        Precariously-situated atop barstools are two <u>very</u> 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 <u>Taxi-Driver</u>-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... <u>hey</u>!  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
                  <u>Crocodile Dundee</u> 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 <u>before</u> 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-
                  <u>dying</u>!

                                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 <u>Cocoon II</u> 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.  <u>You're</u>
                  <u>tearing me apart</u>!  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 <u>MIGHTY PENIS</u> - NIGHT

        Ford comes onto the deck of <u>Mighty Penis</u>.  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 <u>order</u>!

        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 --

        <u>Crunch</u>!  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 <u>crack</u>!  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 <u>Playboy</u> 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. <u>MIGHTY PENIS</u>

        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
                  <u>I.  Am.  The.  Biggest.  Sissy.</u>
                  <u>In.  The.  Whole.  Fucking.  World</u>.

        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 <u>nice</u>.  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 <u>quiet</u>.

                                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 <u>Yellow Pages</u>, now I
                  think it's your turn...

                                JAZZ
                         (with Linda Blair's
                          <u>Exorcist</u> 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 <u>not</u> 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... <u>Omigod</u>!

                                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
                  <u>Out</u>!

        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, lighting up a cigarette, and Zuzu achingly move
        into standing positions to watch the gently BELLOWING
        RUBBLE.  Neighbors come out of their places to take
        part in the fun.

        The Kid slowly approaches from behind the transfixed Ford
        and Zuzu.  His eye is black, his lip bleeding, and his
        shirt is torn.

                                THE KID
                  I tried to stop them, man.

        Ford spins around and The Kid collapses in his hands.

                                THE KID
                  I'm sorry...

                                FORD
                  Shut up, you dummy.  Who did this
                  to you?

                                THE KID
                  These two guys in long cowboy
                  coats and real nice suits.  I
                  think Armani.  They were going
                  through your stuff with
                  screwdrivers and shit... I did
                  what you would have done.

                                FORD
                  Run to the nearest phone and call
                  the police.

                                THE KID
                  Fuck that, I mean, the heck with
                  that.  I kicked their ass!
                         (coughing)
                  Well, I tried.  There were two
                  of them you know...

                                FORD
                  Jesus, how could you be so
                  stupid?  Come on, we're going to
                  a hospital.

        The Kid stands up and wiggles away from Ford.  He starts
        marching away toward the beach.  Ford follows...

                                THE KID
                  I tried to help you...!

                                FORD
                  And hey, I appreciate it...

                                THE KID
                         (turning back)
                  Where's my father?  Have you even
                  looked?

                                FORD
                  Yeah, uh, I got some pretty good
                  leads...

                                THE KID
                  Liar!  You don't care!  About
                  anything.

        The Kid runs off.  Ford gruffly exhales and turns to an
        arms-crossed Zuzu, who is not pleased about what she has
        seen.

        Ford and Zuzu straggle over to Ford's Fairlane with nice,
        new tires.  Ford pulls out his alarm beeper and raises it.

                                FORD
                  Well, at least the guys at the
                  garage brought my baby back.

        Ford presses the ALARM beeper button... BAH-OOM!

        EXT. OPEN ROAD - LATE AFTERNOON

        Battered and burned like <u>Road Warrior</u> extras, Ford and
        Zuzu drift down the side of the road.  They wearily extend
        their thumbs at a passing car.

                                FORD
                  Why the music industry?  Ford
                  Fairlane, detective of the fishermen.

        A weensy sports car containing two rich FRAT BOYS swerves
        to the side of the road.  As Ford and Zuzu rush to the
        car, the Frat Boys laugh and ride off.

        The license plate reads UNPOOR.

                                FORD
                  Ah!  Mo-ther-fu --

        Ford is about to lose it when suddenly Melodi, the killer
        cute nymph from the club daintily pulls up in a Cabriolet.

                                MELODI
                  Hi, private eye guy!

                                FORD
                  Hey, the poet...

        EXT. OUTSIDE SORORITY HOUSE - NIGHT

        Melodi buoyantly grabs a doorknob beneath some incom-
        prehensible Greek letters.  Ford and Zuzu try to brush
        themselves off.

                                MELODI
                  Oh wow, hiding out from cold
                  blooded killers.  The sisters
                  are going to die...

        Melodi swings open the door leading the VIEWER INTO:

        SORORITY HOUSE

        With a burst of LOUD MUSIC, the most ludicrous manifes-
        tation of the classic college-girls-behind-closed-doors
        fantasy unfolds in eye-popping fashion.  Girls in short-
        shorts are aerobicizing to the music, girls in Calvin
        Klein underwear with shredded tank tops are engaged in
        an intense game of Twister.

        A gorgeous girl precariously holds a towel against her
        body as she tries to iron her Garfield panties, two
        girls in negligees bite into their corn dogs.  A girl
        wearing only a strategic length T-shirt is tipping her
        bare toes, trying to change a bulb.

                                MELODI
                  Hey, troops, here's that rock 'n'
                  roll detective I told you about.

                                FORD
                         (in a trance)
                  Hebedeebuh.  Hebedeebuh.  Maybe
                  I did die in the explosion.

                                ZUZU
                  I know the feeling.  This must be
                  hell.  Can you believe, a flucking
                  sorority... I'm gonna vomit Day-Glo.

                                FORD
                  Ye-ah.  Sure.

        Zuzu turns to the stunned Ford and laughingly spanks him
        as the sorority sisters scamper over.

                                ZUZU
                  Don't forget, Jazz, bonewad.

        INT. FORD'S OFFICE - NIGHT

        Jazz sits at her desk in the dimly, eerily lit office.
        The PHONE RINGS.  Jazz hits the speaker button, speaking
        somberly.

                                JAZZ
                  Hello, Ford...

                                FORD (V.O.)
                  What are you doing at the office?
                  You wouldn't believe what I've
                  gone through tonight... I'm calling
                  from the Mega Beta Pogo Sorority.

        INT. SORORITY KITCHENETTE

        Ford speaks on a wall phone while achingly watching a
        girl in a teddy slowly fill up a balloon in a faucet.

                                FORD
                  Mmmh!  My house was blown up, my
                  car was blown up, and my koala bear
                  isn't in too great a shape, either.
                         (pausing)
                  'That's too bad.'  All you can
                  say is 'That's too bad.'

        INT. OFFICE

        The VIEWER'S VIEWPOINT PULLS OUT ON Jazz in the eerily-
        lit office.  The Punk Gunslinger stands behind her,
        pointing a gun.  The HEAVY METAL GUNSLINGER sits across
        from her, doing the same.

                                JAZZ
                  Yes, Ford, that's all I can say.

        INT. SORORITY HOUSE

        The GIRLS have formed a giggling circle around Ford.
        Each sip a silly-colored wine cooler.  Zuzu is grudgingly
        having fun, too.

                                FORD
                  So, then Springsteen says to Madonna,
                  'Hey, I only eat lime Jell-O...'

        Ford gloats as the Girls laugh and applaud.

                                SORORITY SISTER ONE
                  Does Van Halen sleep in the nude?

                                SORORITY SISTER TWO
                  Does Debbie Gibson sleep with
                  Van Halen?

                                SORORITY SISTER THREE
                  Is Sting really an asshole?

                                WEIRD SORORITY SISTER
                  If Axl Rose was reincarnated as a
                  black woman would he be Jodie
                  Whatley or Aretha...

                                MELODI
                  Sisters, sisters, give Ford a
                  break.  What do you say we induct
                  him as an honorary member...

                                SISTERS
                  Yeah!

        Ford wolfishly grins.  Zuzu rolls her eyes.

        INT. FORD'S OFFICE - NIGHT

        The Heavy Metal Gunslinger bobs up from a phone book.

                                HEAVY METAL GUNSLINGER
                  I got an address for the sorority.

                                PUNK GUNSLINGER
                         (turning to Jazz)
                  It's a tough business...

                                HEAVY METAL GUNSLINGER
                  If you ever have a son, I hope
                  his dog dies...

        The Punk Gunslinger pushes Jazz back against the Heavy
        Metal Gunslinger.  The Metal Gunslinger grabs her arms
        while the Punk grabs her legs.  They swing Jazz back and
        forth three times before heaving her SMASH! through the
        plate GLASS WINDOW of the office.

        INT. SORORITY HOUSE - NIGHT

        The Sisters stand in semi-darkness around Ford, each
        holding a lit candle, and each wearing only a special
        robe.  Ford is also wearing a robe over boxer shorts.

                                SISTERS
                  <u>Quantas -- Jujubees -- Salcido --</u>
                  <u>Ford Fairlane -- Quantas -- Jujubees</u>...

        Ford looks over to Zuzu who stands by the window doing
        a "jerking off" motion.  Ford smiles, until he looks...

        POV - THROUGH WINDOW

        The Two Gunslingers ride up in a Jeep without their
        lights on.

        SORORITY HOUSE

        Ford spins to the Sisters.

                                FORD
                  Everybody, blow!

        The Sisters blow out their candles.

        EXT. SORORITY LAWNS

        Still in his robe, Ford bounds across the lawns of various
        sorority lawns until he is far from the malevolent Jeep.

        Ford stands at the top of an inclined street.  He looks
        to the Jeep at the foot of the hill before turning next
        to him.  Next to him is the sports car with the UNPOOR
        license plate.

        Ford reaches down to the emergency brake.

        INT. JEEP

        The two Gunslingers intensely load their guns.  The Punk
        Gunslinger looks up, then back down, and suddenly back up
        again with a squeal.  The sports car is coming right at them.

        Too late to run.  The sports car sails right into the
        JEEP, wounding it with a loud CRUNCH.

        FRAT BOYS pile out of the across-the-street-parties with
        howls.

                                UNPOOR FRAT BOY DRIVER
                  Du-udes, they executed my Midget!

        The Frat Boys thunder towards the Jeep.  The Punk
        Gunslinger exhales a "This ain't my night" breath before
        pulling out an UZI.  He SPRAYS a line of cars parked
        before the fraternity, SHATTERING WINDOWS, setting off
        CAR ALARMS, and sending scared Frat Boys running away
        squealing.

        POLICE SIRENS can be heard in the distance.

                                PUNK GUNSLINGER
                  It's cut-our-losses time, dude.

        The JEEP starts to SCREECH off, but then stops and backs
        up so the Heavy Metal Gunslinger can lob a GRENADE into
        the sports car.

        The Unpoor Frat Boy Driver watches in agony as his CAR
        EXPLODES.  Ford comes up from behind him, takes the Boy's
        hand and extends the thumb.  Ford grins.

        SORORITY

        A victorious Ford struts into the sorority to much
        applause.  Ford looks down to a box of water balloons and
        pulls out one with each hand.  High-energy MUSIC is
        playing on the STEREO.

                                FORD
                  All work and no play makes Ford
                  a dull boy.

                                SORORITY SISTER ONE
                  Water balloon fight!

                                MELODI
                  Sisters, don't get your robes wet.

        The Sorority Sisters all start to yank off their robes when
        suddenly a crumpled and bloodied Jazz enters the house.

                                JAZZ
                  Why do we have to have an office
                  on the second floor?

        Jazz begins to collapse.  Ford drops his water balloons
        and catches her.

                                JAZZ
                  I came to warn you...

                                FORD
                  Oh, Jazz, those bastards... call
                  an ambulance!  Get that music off!

                                ZUZU
                  Sure, I have a much more appropriate
                  C.D.  Bobby sneaked it into my purse
                  the day he died.  It was so romantic...

        Zuzu pulls out the red number one Black Vomit C.D. from
        her purse.  She goes to the compact disc player and
        slides it in.

        The painful COMPUTER SCREECHES:  SCRE-E-E-E!  BUZZ!
        SHSHSHSHSHSH! come croaking out the SPEAKERS.  The
        Sorority Sisters hold their ears, whimpering in pain,
        while Zuzu obliviously tries to dance to it.  Ford and
        Jazz smile at each other.

                                MELODI
                  This isn't music!

                                FORD
                  It is to us!  It's computerised.

        Jazz takes the Black Vomit compact disc case (with a red
        number on it) from Jazz and holds it up.

                                JAZZ
                  I believe the last time we came
                  across one of these, was at the
                  ballet.  What were your words...
                         (in Ford's gruff,
                          facetious tone)
                  'A fucking C.D.  This case is
                  closed.'

                                FORD
                         (smiling)
                  I've always said the one reason
                  I'm the best detective in the
                  industry is that I'm the only
                  one... but hey, I never throw away
                  a clue...

        Ford triumphantly pulls the small toy duck from his
        pocket.  He frowns and throws it away, then pulls out
        Colleen's C.D.

                                FORD
                  Sisters, the sorority computer...

        ANOTHER CORNER OF SORORITY HOUSE - LATER

        The entire sorority and Zuzu are huddled around a seated
        Ford and slightly-cleaned-up Jazz, who is banging away at
        a computer.

                                FORD
                  Aha, just what I suspected!

                                JAZZ
                  You're not funny.

        The computer screen is filled with incomprehensible,
        scrambled nonsense.

                                ZUZU
                  This is boring, guys.

                                FORD
                  Zuzu, be quiet.  Put in Colleen's
                  disc.  Number two.

        Jazz slides Colleen's disc in the C.D. modem.  More
        scrambled nonsense of a different kind appears on the
        screen.

                                ALL GIRLS
                  Bor-ring.

                                FORD
                  Hey!

                                JAZZ
                  Hmmm, the first disc was putting
                  out an incomprehensible stream of
                  high bits.  This one is putting out
                  low bits.  The data is in some fucked
                  binary system.  The two discs need
                  to interface simultaneously with a
                  third decryptor disc.  Comprendo?

                                FORD
                  Su-ure.  Two people hired me to
                  find Zuzu in order to get hold of
                  one of those discs and Colleen threw
                  a tizz when we took hers.  Obviously,
                  all this binary disc shit is pretty
                  mighty.
                         (standing up)
                  But it's not necessary.  People
                  are dead.  One was a friend.  The
                  same people were involved in a
                  scam to rip off Grendel Records.
                  Bottom line's Julian Grendel is
                  doing a little revenge number...

                                SORORITY SISTER #1
                  You're making quite a jump...

                                SORORITY SISTER #2
                  Do you have any proof?

                                SORORITY SISTER #3
                  You can't just go up to Julian
                  Grendel and say...

        Ford cuts them off with a deadpan blink.

                                FORD
                  Jazz, get to a hospital.  Zuzu and
                  I are going to feel things out with
                  Mr. Grendel.  If I don't call in
                  an hour... hell, I don't know.

        INT. JULIAN GRENDEL'S OFFICE - NIGHT

        Bizarrely-over-the-top-high-tech.  Strange furniture --
        gold records -- the spooky portrait of Julian and his
        father.  A nighttime cityscape sparkles through the
        windows.  Awnings meant for sunlight jut out and block
        moonlight.

        Bathed by high-tech lighting, wearing a tuxedo, Julian
        Grendel is pounding a feverishly-modulated CLASSICAL
        TUNE on a piano.

        When the VIEWER TAKES IN the sight of a confused Ford
        and Zuzu standing off to the side, the latter blowing
        gum bubbles, it is REVEALED that Julian's piano is
        literally soundless.  The piano has had all its chords
        ripped out.  The classical piece existed only in Julian's
        brain and on the soundtrack.  Julian's actual playing
        produces only a dull clicking sound.

                                FORD
                  Uh, nice piano.  Probably get a
                  lot of complaints from the
                  neighbors -- heh...  It's another
                  time, Julian, another place.  If I
                  told you Bobby Vomit, Johnny Crunch,
                  and Colleen Sutton were the ones
                  you were complaining about, the ones
                  who tried to rip you off, what
                  would your reaction be?

                                GRENDEL
                         (wry)
                  Shock.

                                FORD
                  And if I told you that you already
                  knew all that shit, and that you
                  had them killed, what would you do
                  then?

                                GRENDEL
                  Golly, I'd probably faint.

        Suddenly, Smiley, smiling in another tie-dye shirt, non-
        chalantly walks into the room carrying a couple shirts
        in cleaners bags in his black-gloved hands.

                                ZUZU
                  Uh-oh.

                                SMILEY
                  Bro, they still can't get that
                  spot out.

        Grendel downs Ford with a punch to the gut and tears the
        CDs from Ford's pocket.  Smiley laughs and whimsically
        shakes his head.

                                ZUZU
                  Ford, you were right!

                                FORD
                  Ye-ah.

        Julian picks up a remote control and zaps a STEREO.  A
        dramatic CLASSICAL PIECE floats on.  He then coolly pops
        open the drawers of three CD modems beneath a large
        computer screen.  He plunks a disc in each...

                                GRENDEL
                  Actually you're a bit off in the
                  motivation department... I mean,
                  revenge is so... Bronson.
                         (furious, coming
                          to the third modem)
                  Wait, where's the third C.D.?  How
                  could you come here without proof?
                  It's a three piece set here!  A
                  computer disc from Colleen, Bobby's
                  computer disc, and Johnny's computer
                  disc.  Together they make, oh
                  fucking forget it!

                                FORD
                  Yeah, yeah, I know the third one
                  unscrambles the high bits and the
                  low bits.  Shit, just start torturing
                  me, man.  I didn't even know Johnny
                  had a disc and I can't deal with
                  any 'Don't play games with me, Mr.
                  Fairlane' bullshit.

                                GRENDEL
                  Don't play games... ugh.  Did you
                  say you don't have the third... ugh.
                         (a beat of
                          contemplation)
                  I'm not going to torture <u>you</u>, Ford.

        The two Gunslingers enter and along with everyone else in
        the room, look to Zuzu who obliviously pops a bubblegum
        bubble.

                                GRENDEL
                  Not her, Ford.  I'm afraid
                  sometimes a pussy is just a pussy,
                  but a 1962 Fender Stratocaster
                  with an original Humbucking
                  Pick-ups, maple neck, strung
                  upside down for a left-handed
                  genius -- Jimi Hendrix, is
                  something else entirely.

        The Punk Gunslinger lifts up Ford's beloved guitar out
        from under a couch in the office as Smiley bolts behind
        Ford and holds his arms behind his back.

                                FORD
                  <u>No</u>!  U-gh!

                                PUNK GUNSLINGER
                  Hey, that's the sound your koala
                  bear made when we hung it.

        Grendel throws down the 2/3 and takes the guitar from the
        Punk.  He gently places the guitar on the table and takes
        a comfy seated position on the couch.  He flicks a
        switchblade and lowers it toward the guitar.

                                GRENDEL
                  It doesn't have to be like this?

                                FORD
                  Oh God, please, <u>don't</u>!

        Grendel fiendishly plucks a guitar string with the knife.
        Ford acts as if it was cutting off his tongue instead.

                                GRENDEL
                  Don't you think this guitar would
                  look a lot neater with Ford's name
                  on it?

                                GUNSLINGERS
                  Ooooooh, yeah.

        The Punk begins carving the letter F on the front of the
        guitar.  Ford gets dizzy.  Smiley has to slap him awake.

                                FORD
                  <u>Rape</u>!

        The Punk Gunslinger removes a power drill from his coat
        pocket and hands the cord to the Heavy Metal Gunslinger
        who scampers to an outlet to plug it in.  Julian takes the
        DRILL and turns it ON, GUNNING the power with wicked bliss.

                                FORD
                  <u>Okay</u>!  Okay.  You got me.  Boy,
                  you guys are tough.  I have the
                  third disc.  Indeed.  I.  Do.
                  Yes, sir.
                         (smiling, a light
                          bulb dimly lighting)
                  Yeah you assholes, it's in a very
                  safe place with instructions to
                  have it sent directly to the police
                  if I don't make a phone call by seven
                  o'clock.  So if you'll excuse us...

                                GRENDEL
                  It's 7:30.  You really should get
                  a watch.

                                FORD
                  Ah, I didn't say seven <u>P</u>.M., now
                  did I?

        Grendel laughs and lights up a cigarette.  He motions for
        Smiley to let go of Ford.  Ford proceeds to light up a
        cigarette also.

                                GRENDEL
                  Ford.  Ford.  Ford.  It's too bad
                  it had to end like this.  We could
                  have been friends.  We're so much
                  alike.  We both know 'Rock-N-Roll'
                  is all bullshit.  That life is a
                  disease and everyone's a victim.
                  Hell, we even smoke the same brand
                  of cigarettes.

        Ford is spooked.  He tosses his cigarette away.

                                FORD
                  I just gave up smoking.  A last
                  drink?

                                GRENDEL
                  I'm running a little late.  You
                  see, I'm having a party at <u>THE</u>
                  Club to introduce the new lead
                  singer for Black Vomit.  Everyone
                  in the industry will be there,
                  including our friend, Don Cleveland.

                                FORD
                  What about Don?

                                GRENDEL
                  Before Black Vomit starts its set,
                  Don will have his head blown off.
                  The papers next week will reveal
                  that he was partners with Bobby,
                  Johnny, and Collie in 'the Grendel
                  Records scam.'  He killed them
                  to pay off a debt to 'the mob' or
                  something lame like that.  And
                  then the mob iced him.  It's all
                  more tasteful than it sounds.

                                ZUZU (O.S.)
                  I can't believe you guys hung a
                  koala bear...

        Everyone turns in dismay to the batty girl.  The Heavy
        Metal Gunslinger is working the bar.

                                ZUZU
                  That is.  So.  Graphic.  I mean
                  I'm still in shock here.  You know
                  I had a dream about a priest
                  hanging a koala bear during my
                  first communion...

                                GRENDEL
                         (reading lips)
                  Is she saying what I think she's...

                                FORD
                  I'm afraid so, you want her?

                                ZUZU
                  But you know, that was just a
                  dream.  Doesn't really count.

                                FORD & GRENDEL
                  Shut up!

        The Metal Gunslinger brings Julian and Ford each a glass
        of vodka.

                                FORD
                         (raising his glass)
                  Julian, you're evil incarnate.
                  And you know, while I'm a little
                  angry that you're going to kill me
                  and all, I gotta salute your
                  toughness.  Life threw you lemons,
                  and gall darnit, you made lemonade.
                  Julian Grendel, guys like you don't
                  grow on trees.  Here's to you...
                          (smashing the glass
                           into Julian's head)
                  sucking my dick.

        Grendel spins off, howling in pain.  The Punk and Heavy
        Metal Gunslingers rush toward Ford but he dispatches both
        of them with swift punches.  Smiley though grabs him from
        behind and holds his arms.

                                SMILEY
                  Take a free hit, bro.  Come on...

                                GRENDEL
                  Sure...

        Grendel wipes off his face and steps toward Ford.  He
        then stops and with all his might, backhands Zuzu across
        the face, sending her tumbling to the floor.  He smiles
        and then gives her a kick in the ribs for good measure.
        Ford breaks from Smiley and rushes down to Zuzu.

                                GRENDEL
                  Kill them.  Not quickly.

                                FORD
                  Are you okay?

                                ZUZU
                  If you ask me that question one more...

        As Zuzu speaks, Ford reaches in her mouth and pulls out
        her gum with one hand.  With the other hand, he removes
        one of her earrings.

                                FORD
                  When I say 'no,' run for the door.

                                GRENDEL
                          (pausing at doorway)
                  Oh, wait.  One sec.  Open the window.

        The Heavy Metal Gunslinger pries open the window.  Julian
        picks up Ford's guitar with two hands and heaves it over
        Ford and Zuzu's head and out the window.

                                FORD
                  Shit.

                                GRENDEL
                  Ciao.

        Grendel and the Punk Gunslinger make a brisk exit.  The
        Heavy Metal Gunslinger draws his gun while Smiley smiles
        and cracks his knuckles.

        For stands up and speaks whimsically...

                                FORD
                  Don't hurt me?

        Smiley punches Ford across the jaw -- snapping his head
        back.  He then grabs him by the collar and thrusts him
        across the wall -- smack -- over the desk -- into the
        wall.  Right next to a wall socket.

        Zuzu felinely kneels before the Heavy Metal Gunslinger,
        sneakily picking up the 2/3 C.D. from the floor.

                                HEAVY METAL GUNSLINGER
                  Now we're talking...

        Ford jams the earrings from his right hand into the
        chewed gum from his left hand and then shoves them into
        a wall socket.

                                FORD
                  Now!

        Zuzu punches the Gunslinger in the groin -- the EARRINGS
        SPARK -- and the lights go out.  The CLASSICAL MUSIC
        GRINDS TO A HALT and gives way to the sound of GRUNTS
        and PUNCHES.

        INT. HALLWAY

        Ford rounds a corner, holding a hand.

                                FORD
                  Move it!

        Ford pulls the hand around the corner.  It belongs to the
        dazed Heavy Metal Gunslinger.  Ford with a brutal yank,
        pulls him into his knee, doubling him up.  Ford watches
        him drop to the floor as Zuzu rounds the corner holding
        her eye.

                                ZUZU
                  Nice left you got there, jerk.

                                FORD
                  Sorry, it was dark, now come on.

        ANOTHER CORRIDOR

        Ford and Zuzu race around another corridor.  Zuzu sees a
        door -- "Roof Access" -- she opens it.

                                ZUZU
                  This way...

                                FORD
                  No, wait...

        Smiley and the Heavy Metal Gunslinger chug around the
        corner.  Ford follows Zuzu...

        EXT. ROOF - NIGHT

        Ford and Zuzu stumble out of a door, smack into a giant
        10-foot needle jutting into the night sky.  Ford
        immediately wields back around and grabs for the roof
        access door, but it has closed.  He tries to open it,
        but it has locked.  A BULLET EXPLODES the lock.

                                ZUZU
                  Suck a dick, I left my purse...

                                FORD
                  As Clark Gable said to Ava Gardner
                  in Mogambo:  'Fuck the purse,
                  we're gonna die-e-e.'

                                ZUZU
                  Reality-reality-reality --
                  Outrageous building, huh?

                                FORD
                  Ye-ah.

        VERY WIDE - CAPITAL RECORDS BUILDING

        A 14-story stack of records on Hollywood and Vine.
        Circular awnings ring each floor creating the illusion of
        a tower of discs.

        EXT. CAPITOL ROOF

        Smiley and the Metal Gunslinger plow onto the roof.  <u>Alone</u>!

        EXT. 14TH FLOOR LEDGE

        Ford and Zuzu are climbing down and around the side of the
        building.

        The ledge is about a foot wide -- the sheet metal awning
        juts down and out at a forty-five degree angle just under
        and out from the ledge.

                                FORD
                  And you say I never take you
                  anywhere.

        The two of them shimmy and sway along the edge until they
        reach a space in the awning.  Ford starts to lower himself
        through the space to the next level, nine feet below.

        EXT. CAPITAL ROOF

        Smiley looks over the edge -- straight down.  Between the
        cracks we can see Ford and Zuzu on their precarious journey.

                                SMILEY
                  Let's rock.

        The Gunslinger gives him a "You've <u>got</u> to be kidding"
        look.  Smiley keeps smiling.  Nope.  The Metal Gunslinger
        takes off his gunslinger coat and his Armani jacket.

        EXT. 12TH FLOOR AWNING

        Zuzu's feet dangle -- she hits the tiny ledge.  Ford
        steadies her.

        Ford tries to open a window, but it's locked.  He tries
        the next one -- they're all locked.  Ford kicks the
        window.  Bonk! -- the glass bounces, unaffected -- Whoa!
        -- Ford teeters from the hit -- falling -- Zuzu grabs him
        and pulls him back up.

                                FORD
                  Pretty smooth, huh?

                                ZUZU
                  Smooth.  I know this is dangerous
                  and everything but it's kind of fun.
                  Ever see "Batman," you know when
                  Batman and Robin are climbing up the
                  side of the building and somebody
                  sticks their head outside the window
                  and says... I forget what they said
                  but it's pretty funny.

                                FORD
                  Why have you come to my planet?

        A BULLET ZINGS by!  Zuzu shrieks -- they look up.

        Between the spaces, the Metal Gunslinger points the
        business end of a gun between the awnings from the 14th
        floor ledge.

                                FORD
                  Around!

        They move along the side of the building -- making for the
        next space in the awning.

        DIFFERENT LEDGE - WITH SMILEY

        Smiley hits the ledge and teeters.  He steadies and moves on.

        11TH FLOOR - FORD AND ZUZU

        drop down -- start working their way through the next gap.

        WIDE AND HIGH ON ALL THIS

        The SHOT SPINS AROUND the Capitol Building.  Ford and Zuzu
        are zigging and zagging and dropping down.  The Metal
        Gunslinger follows them from a few floors above -- going
        left and right.  Smiley is concentrating on going straight
        down.

        HEAVY METAL GUNSLINGER

        prepares to go down.  Sticking his gun in his mouth, he
        slaps down on the rim of the next ledge...

        NINTH FLOOR - RIGHT BETWEEN FORD AND ZUZU

                                FORD/ZUZU
                  Wow.

        His gun still in his mouth, the Gunslinger swings and flaps
        his arms trying to get his equilibrium.  Falling backward,
        he yelps out of the corner of his gun-clenching mouth.

                                HEAVY METAL GUNSLINGER
                  He-lp.

        Zuzu instinctively reaches out for him.  And grabs the
        GUN.  And the trigger.

        She innocently BLOWS the back of his head off.  The
        corpse bounces off the awning...

                                ZUZU
                  Oops.

        EXT. VINE - ATOP WONDER BREAD TOUR BUS - NIGHT

        On the roof of the Wonder Bread tour bus, a TOUR GUIDE is
        blabbing through a bullhorn to a bunch of seated tourists.

                                TOUR GUIDE
                  The building is a symbol for the
                  music industry, a business where
                  anything can happen and usually...

        The corpse of the Heavy Metal Gunslinger slams down before
        him with a crash that turns into a gaping hole on the bus.

                                TOUR GUIDE
                  ... does.

        BACK TO NINTH FLOOR

        Zuzu flings the gun away from herself.

                                ZUZU
                  Ick.

                                FORD
                  I won't ask why you would want to
                  help someone trying to kill you,
                  but hey, good job.  Shall we?

        Ford helps Zuzu drop her feet into the hap... and Smiley's
        hand juts up and grabs Zuzu's legs.  Smiley is in midair
        pulling down on Zuzu.  He must have jumped up to snatch them.

                                SMILEY
                  How's it going?

        EIGHTH FLOOR

        Smiley and Zuzu fall down as one.  Slap! -- Smiley hits
        the ledge -- let's go of Zuzu -- and she falls outward.

        Clang! -- Zuzu slams into the slanted metal awning -- her
        feet slide out from underneath her like a bad ice skater
        -- she reaches for the ledge -- misses -- but slap!  She
        grabs onto the top edge of the awning.

        She lays there, at a forty-five degree angle, her feet
        sticking out into the atmosphere.

        And Smiley stands right above her grinning.  Smiley rests
        a steadying hand on the wall -- sticks his foot out
        towards the top of the awning -- towards Zuzu's fingers.

                                ZUZU
                  Oh, <u>Fo-ord</u>!

        THUNK -- Ford drops from above and lands on the ledge
        behind Smiley.  Smiley's gloved hands lunge out at Ford
        and grab his throat.  Ford shoots his hands out and
        locks them on Smiley's neck.

        Zuzu hangs on for dear life as Ford and Smiley squeeze-
        push-twist -- both almost dependant on the other to keep
        balance.  Bored, Smiley decides to finish off Ford.  He
        swings Ford's head out a bit, then in, smashing Ford's
        skull against the building.

        The force of the smash knocks them both off balance.
        They twist -- tip -- let go of each other -- and both
        fall -- CLANG! -- CLANG! -- onto the METAL awning right
        next to Zuzu -- Smiley in the middle.  Each holding on
        with one hand to the CREAKING AWNING, they both start
        to wail punches on each other.  Then kicking.

                                ZUZU
                  Fluck this.

        Zuzu gets into the act.  With her nails.  And Smiley's
        eyes.  She rips away blindly at his face.

        Smiley yells.  He loses his grip and starts to slide down
        -- until he grabs Ford's belt.

        Ford gleefully unloosens his belt and lets a desperate
        and descending Smiley yank it all the way out.  Ford
        reaches out to the belt at the last second.  He savors
        the sight of Smiley hanging on for dear life.

                                FORD
                  I want you to say that you're the
                  biggest sissy in the whole wide world.

                                SMILEY
                  <u>I'm.  The.  Biggest.  Sissy.  In</u>.
                  <u>The.  Wide.  World</u>.

                                FORD
                  Okay.  'B-y-e!

        Before Ford can let go of the belt, he catches sight of
        Smiley's glove ripping open revealing a Snoopy-in-a
        fighter-pilot-suit ring, just like his son's, The Kid.
        The "Snoopy and the Red Baron" SONG PLAYS a couple of
        beats.  Ford looks to God.

                                FORD
                  Hey.  God.  You're an asshole.

                                ZUZU
                  Let go of the belt!  What are you
                  doing?  You got mad at me for
                  trying to save the other guy.

        Smiley starts to pull himself back up as Ford contemplates.

                                FORD
                  I can't kill this kid's father...

                                ZUZU
                  Who do you think you are, Ford?
                  The tooth fairy.  Kill!  Kill!  Kill!

                                FORD
                  This is fucking unbelievable.  Zuzu,
                  it's a long story, you see...

        Smiley suddenly lurches up to Ford's neck and starts
        strangling away.  And that's when the awning bends -- it
        wasn't built for this.  The angle changes from forty-five
        to twenty-five as all three people slam down and bounce.

        The Snoopy comes off in Ford's hand.

        They all lose their grip.  And free fall.

        In midair, Zuzu latches onto Ford's legs and Smiley
        latches onto Zuzu's legs.  Ford's elbow crunches through
        the edge of the next metal awning.  His encrusted elbow
        is the only thing that is keeping the dangling three-way
        chain of himself, Zuzu and Smiley from death.  All three
        howl and scream in amusing syncopation.

        Ford looks to his left and stops screaming.  Hanging from
        two good guitar strings, off a building thermometer, is
        <u>the guitar</u>.  Ford loudly cheers and breaks into a
        rendition of "Purple Haze."

                                FORD
                  'Excuse me, while I kiss the sky.'
                          (loudly hums a
                           'Haze' riff)
                  Whoooo!  Oh, God, buddy, I'm sorry
                  for calling you an asshole.
                  You're number one, man!  Hey,
                  Zuzu, look I found my guitar.

        Ford looks down to Zuzu who is rightfully wailing her
        head off.  Ford is slapped back into reality.  Ford looks
        over to his guitar, back down to Zuzu, then up to God.
        He whines.

                                FORD
                  <u>You're tearing me apart, here</u>!

        Ford reaches over to his guitar and unhooks it from the
        thermometer with his free hand.

                                FORD
                  Sorry, Jimi.

        Ford fiercely flings down his guitar.  It blazes down into
        Smiley's face.  Smiley lets go of Zuzu with a final howl.

        Ford and the viewer watch the guitar swirl and spin in
        the air before crunching to the ground.

        Zuzu climbs up Ford's back and INTO the FRAME.

                                ZUZU
                  Thanks.  I know how much that
                  thang meant to you.

        They semi-romantically kiss.  Zuzu squeals in mock
        indignation.

                                ZUZU
                  Hello, Mr. Tongue!  What a perv.

                                FORD
                          (smiling)
                  You wish.  Come on, let's get
                  outta here.

        ENTRANCE TO CAPITAL RECORDS BUILDING - LATER

        placidly sits before the viewer.  Suddenly, Ford and
        Zuzu, drop down from the TOP of the FRAME and land on
        their feet, their BACKS turned TO the CAMERA.  They stand
        shellshocked and motionless for a moment, until Ford
        turns around and tries to catch his breath.  Zuzu's body
        language says that she still thinks she's on a ledge.

        An AMIABLE TOURIST COUPLE approach the devastated duo.

                                AMIABLE MALE TOURIST
                  Excuse me, could you give us directions
                  to the Mann Chinese Theatre?

                                FORD
                  Go back to Michigan, asswipe.

                                AMIABLE MALE TOURIST
                  But we're from Wisconsin...

                                FORD
                  What's the fucking difference?

        The Tourists flee, flabbergasted.  Ford goes to comfort Zuzu.

                                FORD
                  Are you okay?

                                ZUZU
                          (glaring)
                  There's that question...

        Jazz rushes up to the surly pair, wearing an eyepatch
        and a forearm cast.

                                JAZZ
                  How'd it go?

        Ford and Zuzu give Jazz the look of death before contin-
        uing down the sidewalk, their heads drearily looking
        down.

                                FORD
                  Your timing swallows the massive
                  one.
                  Grendel just tried to kill
                  us, he's about to frame and kiss
                  Don, and we can't do shit.  Don't
                  even ask about those discs.
                  Goddamn that Art Mooney with a
                  star by his name!  It's tied to
                  Johnny's C.D., I know.

                                JAZZ
                  Johnny's C.D.?

                                ZUZU
                  Maybe Art Mooney's the name of
                  like a constellation...

                                JAZZ
                  And maybe the stars correlate with
                  a map in the Thomas Guide... sounds
                  pretty decaf, doesn't it?

        Jazz and Zuzu futiley look in the air as Ford moves for-
        ward with his head still down.  Ford suddenly stops and
        speaks with an increasingly beatific smile.

                                FORD
                  Ladies, life's not that complicated.

        The women race back to Ford as he falls to his knees and
        howls...

                                FORD
                  <u>Art, baby</u>!

        The VIEWER'S VIEWPOINT WILDLY SWINGS AROUND and DOWN to
        see a star, a Hollywood Walk of Fame star.  "Art Mooney"
        is printed just above a five inch record symbol.

        The ladies kneel down to the brain-racing Ford.

                                ZUZU
                  Oh how sweet, your friend's got
                  his own star.

                                FORD
                  ArtArtArtArtMooneyMooneyMooney
                  Mooney.

        Ford frantically massages the star.  He digs his nails
        into the little record symbol and POP!  It flips off the
        star, revealing a five inch hole.  A silvery rainbow
        sparkle comes from that inch.  Ford sticks his finger
        in --

        And pulls out a compact disc (a red number three right
        on the disc).  A Black Vomit one.  The third CD.
        Exciting THEME MUSIC CRANKS on the SOUNDTRACK until...

        INT. <u>THE</u> CLUB - NIGHT

        A dazzling assortment of music industry-types bark and
        laugh with each other in a decidedly unfrivolous manner.
        This isn't a typical club scene.  Everyone here oozes
        importance.

        Julian Grendel works the crowd like Zeus, the CLASSICAL
        PIECE playing in his head and ON the SOUNDTRACK.

        INT. JULIAN'S OFFICE - NIGHT

        The more MODERN THEME MUSIC TAKES OVER as Ford, Jazz, and
        Zuzu barge into the room and head to Grendel's computer.

        INT. <u>THE</u> CLUB

        The CLASSICAL MUSIC of Julian's brain RETURNS as he
        kisses each one of the Ovaries.

        INT. JULIAN'S OFFICE - NIGHT

        The MODERN MUSIC USURPS.  Ford, Jazz, and Zuzu each raise
        up a remote control and fire.  The three, filled, CD modem
        doors slides shut.

        INT. <u>THE</u> CLUB

        The short club owners, Jaime and Larry, converge on Julian.

                                JAIME
                  This is the best party ever
                  thrown here...

                                GRENDEL
                  It's going to be a night to
                  remember...

        INT. GRENDEL'S OFFICE

        The trio deals with a barrage of facts and figures on the
        computer screen.

                                FORD
                  What an interface!

                                JAZZ
                  Seems to be information about a
                  factory in Vancouver.

                                FORD
                  Yeah, Colleen mentioned it.  What
                  do they make?

                                JAZZ
                  C.D.s.  The music kind.  From the
                  Grendel label.

                                FORD
                  Without Grendel knowing about it.
                  B-I-N-G-O and Bingo was his name-O.
                  Counterfeit C.D.s.  Tape piracy
                  has graduated to disc piracy, the
                  sound quality's better, and so's
                  the money.

                                JAZZ
                  But the funny thing is, take a look
                  at these Swiss bank account numbers.
                  We got Bobby, Johnny, Colleen...
                  and Julian Grendel.

        INT. <u>THE</u> CLUB

        Grendel keeps moving to genially thwap Don Cleveland on
        the back.

                                DON
                  I wish you could hear the buzz
                  this party is making...

                                GRENDEL
                  I can feel it, man... Can I talk
                  to you in private...

        Grendel ominously grabs Don's elbow with a chilling grin.

        INT. GRENDEL'S OFFICE

        The gang takes it all in.

                                ZUZU
                  Grendel was in charge of the
                  ripping off of the company.

                                JAZZ
                  It started after Old Jack Grendel
                  died, the others were just
                  investors.

                                FORD
                  After their initial investment in
                  the factory, Grendel didn't need
                  them.  Told them to fuck off.
                  They tried to get these C.D.s
                  together in order to have proof of
                  Grendel's involvement, so they could
                  keep him in line.  Now's the fun part...

                                JAZZ
                  I can't believe I lost an eye for
                  a bunch of phony C.D.s

        They race to the door.  Zuzu gets there first.

                                ZUZU
                  Oh God, the door's locked.  We're
                  going to have to crawl down!

                                FORD AND ZUZU
                  <u>No</u>!

                                ZUZU
                         (gleefully opening
                          the door)
                  Psyche.

        EXT. ALLEY BEHIND CLUB - NIGHT

        Grendel, Don, and the Punk Gunslinger stand tensely
        together.

                                GRENDEL
                  What can I say, Don, it's
                  business.
                         (to Punk Gunslinger)
                  Dump the body in, let's say,
                  Chinatown.

        Julian oozes back into the club.  The Punk Gunslinger
        raises his silencer-gun to Don's chest... just as Jazz's
        Volkswagen storms into the alley.  The big bashes the
        Punk sending him flying over the car and crashing on the
        ground.

        Ford, Jazz, and Zuzu giddily bop out of the car.

                                FORD
                  Hey, Don, how's the high blood
                  pressure.

                                DON
                  Could somebody tell me what's
                  going on?  <u>Like slo-owly</u>...

                                ZUZU
                  You-see-it-all-starts-with-this-
                  factory-in-Vancouver-and there's
                  these-C.D.s...

                                FORD
                  I'll mail you a letter, come on!

        Ford, Zuzu, and Don go into the club.  A grinningly cock-
        sure Jazz walks around to the crumpled Punk Gunslinger,
        who achingly tries to crawl toward his gun.

                                JAZZ
                  Let's see, you threw me through a
                  plate glass window and I hit you
                  with my Volkswagen.  I think we're
                  in for a fair fight.

        The Gunslinger springs up and punches Jazz in the gut.
        She gasps.

                                JAZZ
                  Maybe not...

        INT. CLUB - STAGE

        Holding a radio mike, Grendel is in the throes of
        grandiosity.

                                GRENDEL
                  They make jokes about the music
                  industry.  They say it's cutthroat,
                  they say it's cynical, well we know
                  the truth!  There's a lot of love
                  in this room tonight, but, but...

        A flash of reflected light hits Grendel's face causing
        him to wince.  He wiggles his head and continues...

                                GRENDEL
                  But I've talked long enough.  Now,
                  the moment you've been waiting for.
                  I'd like you to meet the new singer
                  for Black Vomit... Kyle Troy!

        Kyle Troy, the untalented prettyboy from the studio comes
        out, wearing a heavy metal-style wig, to the bullshit
        applause of the crowd.  He is accompanied by a security
        guard.

        Grendel puts down the radio mike to applaud Kyle.  The
        flashing of reflected light hits Grendel a little more
        fiercely.  Annoyed, he looks offstage to its source.

        GRENDEL'S POV - OFFSTAGE

        Ford Fairlane stands offstage waving <u>the</u> compact disc
        in the light and smiling.

        CLOSEUP - FORD

        exaggeratedly mouths...

                                FORD
                  Read.  My.  Lips.  You're.  Going.
                  Down.

        ANOTHER ANGLE

        Grendel's face drops and then switches back to a wide
        counterfeit grin, Grendel shuffles away from Kyle and the
        flashbulbs.  He steps over the radio mike he placed down
        on the stage.  A nubile hand reaches over the stage and
        grabs it.

        EXT. ALLEY

        Jazz and the Punk Gunslinger crash into the Volkswagen,
        shoving, grappling, and kicking.  They crunch down onto
        the ground.

        The Gunslinger dives toward his gun.  But a foot steps
        on it.  Jazz and the Punk look up to see a quite dapper
        Sam the Ex-Sleaze.

                                SAM
                  I used to be just like you, abusing
                  women to hide my emotional
                  insecurities.  I realize now that
                  a little insecurity is good for a
                  man.

                                JAZZ
                  Sam the Sleazebag to the rescue!

        A dazed Punk Gunslinger leaps up and swings his fist at
        Sam, who catches it with one hand.

                                SAM
                  You're ten seconds away from the
                  most embarrassing moment of your
                  life.

        Sam and the Punk engage in a violent howling, wrestling
        match.  The Punk nails Sam with a kidney punch and then
        bolts toward his gun.  Jazz stands before him holding it
        nervously.  She lifts up her eyepatch to get better aim.

                                JAZZ
                  Please say you won't move!  I
                  don't want to shoot you, actually
                  I wouldn't mind, but please, say
                  you won't move.

                                PUNK GUNSLINGER
                         (charging toward her)
                  Die, whore!

                                JAZZ
                  I guess that's a no...

        Jazz EMPTIES the GUN into his chest, sending him to the
        ground.  Sam wearily rises up.

                                JAZZ
                  Come on, Sam, vodka milkshakes are
                  on me.

        INT. BACKSTAGE

        Grendel hungrily bolts into the backstage area,
        mock-worried.

                                FORD
                  You'd said something about proof...

                                GRENDEL
                  Oh please, Ford, I'll do any --

        Grendel humbly approaches Ford but then levels a karate-
        style kick into Ford's ribs.  He snatches <u>the</u> CD from
        Ford and splits it apart in the three pieces.

        He savagely begins eating the CD pieces, bloodily cutting
        his lips.

        Ford pulls five more CD's from his pocket.

                                FORD
                  And may I suggest for dessert, the
                  five copies I made...

                                GRENDEL
                  Fuck me...

                                FORD
                  Maybe later, but first I want like
                  to know why you'd steal from your
                  own company...

                                GRENDEL
                  When I was young, I read <u>Billboard</u>
                  and I could not believe how much
                  Grendel Records and how little
                  of it my idiot father Old Jack
                  Grendel got.

                                FORD
                  Yeah, it's pretty amazing how much
                  cash you gotta give to the actual
                  artists who create the music.  Those
                  ingrates really take a bite.  But
                  seriously, when Pops died, you got
                  Vomit, Crunch, and Sutton to help
                  finance a C.D. Cleans operation.
                  You got greedy and they tried to
                  get the three discs together to
                  threaten you, but...

                                GRENDEL
                  What is this, are you holding a
                  microphone behind my head?

        Holding the radio mike, Zuzu scampers up behind Grendel
        with giddy self-consciousness at the adventure at hand.
        As Grendel launches into a tirade, Zuzu holds up the
        mike just behind him. She reacts to his words with over-
        the-top facial expressions.

                                GRENDEL
                  I should kill more music people!
                  When I was sixteen, I wrote an
                  opera, the greatest piece of music
                  ever created in the 20th Century
                  outside the <u>Dirty Dancing</u>
                  soundtrack.  It was called 'Paco
                  the Shoeshine Boy.'  When I showed
                  it to my father, he said it 'wasn't
                  happening.'  That 'no playlists
                  worth his while would touch it'!

        CLUB

        The crowd rumbles into silence to listen in shock to
        Grendel's words coming over the loudspeaker.

                                GRENDEL (V.O.)
                  Let's face it, making money is the
                  only art form open to innovation.
                  Whoever says they're in the
                  business because they like music
                  is a lying pathetic piece of shit
                  or total idiot like Kyle Troy...

        STAGE

        A tear streams down Kyle's face.

        OFFSTAGE

        Grendel continues to dig his own grave with Zuzu having a
        ball in the b.g., exploiting his deafness with commentary.

                                ZUZU
                  Is this guy flucked up or what?
                  I think he's going to blow!

                                GRENDEL
                  The day my father turned down
                  'Paco' I dedicated my life to
                  taking over this fucking industry
                  and making it so disgusting, so
                  sleazy, and so corrupt that it
                  would have to self-destruct!  I even
                  pissed in the punchbowl tonight...

        CLUB

        A line of industry types by the punch bowl, simultan-
        eously spit outward.

        An amused eyepatchless Jazz, Sam in tow, passes them on
        their way to the bar.  Seeing Jazz, the bartender pulls
        out a fountain glass in order to make a vodka milkshake.

        BACKSTAGE

        Ford is actually concerned about the frothing Grendel.

                                FORD
                  Man, Julian, that accident took
                  away more than your hearing.

                                GRENDEL
                  Accident?  Accident!  You naive
                  pussball, when I realized my life
                  of music could only be a life of
                  music industry.  I <u>cut my fucking</u>
                  <u>ears off</u> so I'd only hear <u>my</u> music.
                  Here, look.

        Grendel pulls off his plastic ears and holds them out to
        Ford.

                                ZUZU
                  Hoh graphic!  I'm going to dream of
                  ears for a year!  Ugh!

                                FORD
                  Just be thankful he wasn't
                  dissatisfied with his sex life.

        The Zuzu-directed comment causes Grendel to wield around.

                                GRENDEL
                  You little bitch...

                                ZUZU
                         (guilelessly into
                          the mike)
                  'Feelings, whoa oh, feelings...'

        Grendel loses it.  The inner CLASSICAL MUSIC in his head
        comes ON the SOUNDTRACK playing ten times faster than
        normal.

        Zuzu, with a squeal, runs off to the stage.  Grendel
        pursues...

        STAGE

        Zuzu and Grendel run out in view of everyone.  Grendel
        looks out at the dead silent tableau of people who were
        cheering him only moments before.

        The crowd starts to boo...

        Ford walks out onstage, having a hard time keeping down
        a grin.  Grendel suddenly yanks a gun from the security
        guard and points it at Ford, who stops smiling.  Kyle
        Troy faints.

        BAR

        The bartender puts a last blast of vodka atop the shake
        and is right about to light it on fire, but Sam grabs
        and throws...

                                SAM
                  Jazz!

        Jazz catches it and she throws the shake up to the stage.

                                JAZZ
                  Ford!

        Ford grabs the shake and flings the contents into Grendel,
        who gets off a SHOT with his GUN.  Ford dives behind an
        amp as Julian lets another SHOT FLY.  Ford pulls from his
        pockets matchbooks from a multitude of L.A. clubs.  He
        lights a handful of them on fire as Grendel moves in for
        the kill.

                                GRENDEL
                  I'm still the king!

                                FORD
                         (popping up)
                  Julian, you're fired.

        Ford flings his homemade fireball into Grendel's vodka
        doused tux.  He explodes in flames, staggering around
        the stage.

        CROWD

        Jaime and Larry watch in bemused detachment.

                                JAIME
                  Is this for real, Larry?

                                LARRY
                  No way, Jaime.  He's wearing this
                  gooey stuff on his body that the
                  flames can't affect.  Bobby Vomit
                  opened his act this way.

        STAGE

        The flaming Grendel stumbles to an electronic keyboard
        set and begins playing a warped piano solo.  The KEY-
        BOARDS spark and churn amid the flames before grandly
        EXPLODING along with Julian Grendel.  The sprinkler system
        blasts on.

        CROWD

        A deadpan Larry turns to a jaw-dropped Jaime.

                                LARRY
                  Now that... I have no idea...

        Ford bounds off the stage.  He is oblivious to the
        sprinkler system-induced rain.  Don greets him...

                                DON
                  Thanks for the promotion, man.

                                FORD
                  No prob...

        Jazz romantically moves through the makeshift rain.  Ford
        strides to her when Zuzu sprouts up holding hands with a
        beefy rock.

                                ZUZU
                  Look who I found.  It's Damion
                  Flemm!  He's taking me on tour to
                  Japan!

        Ford laughs, almost fatherly, then asks <u>the</u> question.

                                FORD
                  So, Zuzu.  Are you okay?

                                ZUZU
                  Yeah, Ford.  I'm okay.

        Zuzu tenderly kisses him.

        Seeing this, Jazz glumly droops her head and turns around
        heading back out the club entrance.  She passes an enter-
        ing Lt. Amos and detective.  Lt. Amos is wearing the
        infamous white John Travolta <u>Saturday Night Fever</u>
        ensemble, with gold chains.

        The sprinkler system has gone off.

                                LT. AMOS
                  You do realize that tonight is
                  disco appreciation night at the
                  Coconut Teazer...

                                DETECTIVE
                  I'm sorry, sir, but we got a report
                  that Fairlane and the psycho-
                  killer-groupie are here.

                                LT. AMOS
                  There they are!  Hey!

        Ford and Zuzu turn to Amos with "Oh brother" expressions.
        They walk toward him with smiling faces.

                                LT. AMOS
                  I should've known you two were in
                  this together...

        Zuzu drops to her knees.

                                LT. AMOS
                  Sorry, sexual favors won't help...

        Zuzu slams Amos in the groin, sending him to his knees.
        Ford shoves the CDs in his pocket.

                                FORD
                  Happy listening...

        Ford looks for Jazz all around him with a confused expres-
        sion.  The Ovaries approach, two of them have their arms
        wrapped around Sam the ex-sleazebag.

                                SAM
                  I've learned my lesson, Ford.
                  Thanks.

                                OVARY TWO
                  Isn't he the best?  Why don't you
                  come out with us?

                                FORD
                  Can't.  Have you seen my assistant,
                  Jazz?

                                OVARY ONE
                  She took off.  Said something about
                  you being a real asshole.

        Ford glumly droops his head and shuffles away...

        EXT. CORNER OF FORD'S STREET - LATER IN NIGHT

        An RTD BUS RUMBLES to the corner of Ford's street.  The
        sad Detective shuffles off the bus to the tune of the
        SADDEST SONG in film history.

        As Ford walks toward his house, he passes his debris,
        still splayed out on the street from the night before;
        mangled gold records, smoldered speakers, his red hotline
        now burntline phone, and then there's that funky sliding-
        arm-and-gun apparatus with a gun attached.  Ford picks it
        up, sliding the gun back and forth with a rueful smile.

        Ford's house is looking gloomy, dark, and missing a lot
        of pieces.  Ford walks through the intact, but dis-
        embodied, front door.

        INT. FORD'S HOUSE

        Head still drooping, Ford closes the door behind him.
        A CLICK causes him to look up.  Sitting atop a battered
        piece of couch, blood stains neatly blended into his tie-
        dye shirt, is Smiley holding a gun.  Cheerful as always.

                                SMILEY
                  How's it going?

                                FORD
                  You gotta be kidding!  This is
                  unfuckingbelievable!  I have to
                  start the evening crawling down
                  Capital Records, I shoulda chose
                  suicide then, but oh no, the night
                  was young!  Next up, my guitar!
                  The second most important thing
                  I own and now it's toothpicks for
                  the homeless on Hollywood
                  Boulevard!  Then, then, after I
                  burned up your brother, Jazz... I
                  should say as a fucking footnote
                  I've usually treated women like
                  shit -- used corsages, the wet
                  spot, you know giving out Domino's
                  Pizza's phone number and saying 
                  it's mine... Tonight was different.
                  I felt respect.  I felt love.  Then
                  Jazz left me... and <u>now</u> I get to die!

                                SMILEY
                  The point?

                                FORD
                  Let me go out like a man.

                                SMILEY
                         (tossing away
                          his gun)
                  Anyway you want it, asshole.

        Ford super-swiftly raises his arm and Ta-daah!  The gun
        slides smoothly down his arm into his hand.  Smiley, for
        the first time in our story, stops smiling.  Ford FIRES a
        cute hole in his forehead, sending him crashing into a wall
        that was barely standing to begin with.  It crumbles down...

                                FORD
                         (to his arm)
                  Thanks for working.
                         (to Smiley)
                  Thanks for being a hu-uge bonehead.
                  'Let me go out like a man' -- Ha!

        EXT. FORD'S HOUSE

        Ford emerges from the more disembodied than ever front
        door.  The Kid stands before him, on the front lawn.

                                THE KID
                  So, did you find my dad?

                                FORD
                  Well, I got some good news and
                  some bad news.

                                THE KID
                  Yeah, go on...

                                FORD
                  Good news is that yeah, I found
                  him.  The bad news is...

        Ford raises his hand.  He is wearing the Snoopy the
        Fighter Pilot ring.

                                FORD
                  It's me.

                                THE KID
                  What kind of sentimental bullshit
                  is this?

                                FORD
                  Hey, I love you, too, you little
                  jerk.  Jesus, guy tries to make a
                  commitment and he's gotta eat shit.

                                THE KID
                  Who's my real father, man?

                                FORD
                  He, he, lives in South America...
                  he's doing that anthropologist-
                  archeologist-dentist kind of thing
                  ... he's real busy.

        The Kid starts to sob.  Ford reaches out and grabs his
        hand.  Their Snoopy rings touch.

        The two tough guys walk down the street together, holding
        hands.  The viewer's VIEWPOINT HANGS BACK, allowing them
        some privacy.

                                FORD (V.O.)
                  I need someone to help me with my
                  case load, you interested?  This
                  whole father/son thing, if you're
                  not into it, I mean, it's okay.
                  You know what I'm saying?

                                THE KID (V.O.)
                  Shut the heck up... Pop.

        Suddenly Jazz's VOLKSWAGEN SCREECHES before the pair.
        The viewer's VIEWPOINT QUICKLY GOES TO the action as Jazz
        jettisons from her car, holding out some keys...

                                JAZZ
                  I just can't deal with all this
                  crap between us, I'm sorry.  I'm
                  quitting.

                                FORD
                  Let's get hitched.  I guess I,
                  you know, love you.  It's a
                  beautiful thing.

                                JAZZ
                  Wha --

        The moment is broken by a RINGING PHONE.  Ford shushes
        Jazz with his finger and then backtracks to his burnt-
        ridiculously-still-working, hotline phone.  He picks up.

                                FORD
                  K-O-D-S is going to make me rich.

        EXT. ISLAND - PERFECT DAY

        The viewer's VIEWPOINT is LULLED TO a friendly hut by a
        beautiful tropical cove.  A humble hand-drawn sign reads:
        FORD FAIRLANE, PRIVATE INVESTIGATOR - FISHERMEN ONLY.

        SWINGING AROUND the hut, the viewer DISCERNS Ford, Jazz,
        and The Kid kicking back on chaise lounges in silly
        tropical shirts with identical sunglasses.

                                FORD
                  I love the music industry,
                  especially the tacky radio
                  giveaway part...

        The viewer's VIEWPOINT PANS OVER a bit to reveal, sitting
        next to The Kid on a very small chaise lounge and in a
        very small leather jacket is the koala bear with a sweet
        little neck brace.

        CLOSE ON FORD

                                FORD
                  Wha-at.  You didn't really think
                  we'd kill the flucking koala bear,
                  did you?








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Who hires Ford Fairlane to track down Zuzu Petals?
Who hires Ford Fairlane to track down Zuzu Petals ?
Johnny Crunch
Johnny Crunch
Johny Crunch
Johny Crunch