#nunsthatkill

Lou’s meeting was already running late when he grabbed a quick glance at his phone and noticed seven frantic texts from his friend/producer Scott “Bouce” Menilo.

“I hate to be rude all, but I have another appointment and I we need to wrap this up,” Lou said, simultaneously texting to Bouce that he’d call momentarily.

Lou hustled the team out, shut the door, and punched some numbers into the speaker phone.

“Go for Bouce.”

“Jesus man, is everything okay? Sweet way to answer the phone, by the way.”

“Truth. And sure, everything is great, except for the fact that we are morons who are about to get laughed out of town.”

Lou started to get worried, “wait, what happened?”

Bouce spoke slowly, “tell me something.  How would you describe the following - a man who makes his living catching large fish in the ocean?”

“A fisherman?”

Bouce exhaled loud enough to be heard through the phone, “that’s what I thought.  I thought you were supposed to a writer, not a certified moron.”

“Bouce, I’m not following.”

“Two words: Saltwater Cowboy.”

Lou’s stomach dropped to the floor, it took several swallows to clear his throat enough to speak.

“What the hell have have been doing this whole time? That’s the awesomest thing I’ve ever heard, and we’ve just been walking around saying‘fisherman’ like goddamn idiots.”

“This might be the end. Do you think we can get past this?”

“There’s no way to know for sure, but for now…”

The two men spoke at the same time, “…we pray.”

Lou paused long enough to let it sink in, “okay, well, now that we have this out of the way, where are you at on the ‘Nuns that Kill’ re-write?”

“Finishing tweaks this afternoon, I’ll have my guy send it over later.”

“Your fiance must love to know you call her that.”

“More than you’d think. But also, much less.”

“Good. Lucy said she’s meeting Eleanor -, I mean, you and your guy, for a drink later.”

“Yeah, shit, do you want me to tell them about the Saltwater Cow-”

“Sure, if you want your wedding to be called off.”

The seventeen year old assassin drops to her knees, blood spurting from a busted cheekbone. Her twin brother Adam lays motionless, a fresh boot-print visible on his cheek, no breathing, no anything. Lou struggles to stand up, wiping the blood out of his eyes.  

Karissa struggles to pull the carbon tactical knife from its hidden ankle holster. One more tug gets it free, but she immediately drops it to the cement ground, the handle slick with bloody lubricant.

She reaches for the knife - CLOMP, a heavy boot pins her trembling wrist to the ground, another swipe sends the blade into oblivion.  Karissa’s gaze traces skyward, locking in with Lou’s left eye, the right swollen completely shut.

“Sorry sister...Looks like you ain’t nothing but an orphan now, you ninth-grade bastard” he growls as he whips out a zippo and re-lights the cigar screwed into the corner of his mouth.   

She remains silent, slowly reaching toward the pin of the last remaining grenade dangling from her chest.  

Lou laughs and swats away her trembling arm before yanking the grenade away, pulling the pin.

“Enjoy your lunch, I’ll be sure to tell Mrs. Dunnigan the cafeteria lady that this is better than what she can cook, “ he says, stuffing the grenade into her mouth.

“And by the way, I wouldn’t make a HABIT out of...”

“Ouch - wait, stop that’s pinching me.” Karissa sits up as Lou hops backward, and then crouches nervously.  “Oh crap, I’m so sorry.”

“Cut...” Marcus sighs, stepping down from his Director’s chair “Jesus guys, we can’t keep re-setting this, we are already three hours behind.”

Realizing she is fine, Lou pops up, and helps Adam to his feet, “We’ll get it next time.”

Marcus hesitates, “Lou, there’s no easy way to say this.  The fighting is not believable.”

Lou replies, “Give her a break, she’s fine-”

“No, I mean it looks like you are getting the shit kicked out of you by Karissa.  You are literally getting your ass kicked by a seventeen year old girl.”

“Well, technically she is twenty-four...” Lou begins, realizing how pathetic this sounds.  

“Dude, this is your movie, I mean the casting alone...” Marcus caught himself. Shit, not a good thing to say to the producer/writer/trust-fund-contributing main financier.  Fuck it.

“This movie makes no sense.”  

Lou is aghast.  What the hell is wrong with ‘Nuns that Kill’?

“Why would a seventeen year old assassin be a nun, and also in ninth grade? And why would she team up with Lou after he kills her twin brother?”

“Um, well for vengeance. Whatever, it will be a twist.”

“It’s fucked up that you are fighting teenagers.”

“My character is nineteen...and she’s a trained assassin - it’s not that weird.”

“Under what possible circumstance is anyone going to believe you are nineteen?”

Hmm.

“Well maybe I need a director that isn’t afraid of a challenge then?”