Darrell Vickers – Mick Fire For Hire: Chapter One

 

Mick Fire is a flaming, insalubrious has-been rock photographer. When albums were king, he was the toast of the town. Then, he was just toast. With the coming of CD’s, his career sank quicker than a Pakistani ferryboat. His fairytale life consists of a long suffering daughter, a 23 year old girlfriend, an ex-wife, an agent who hates him, a room-temperature refrigerator and a dead ferret.  Then one day, as Mick is wallowing at the bottom of his self-made shit well, someone lowers him a bucket. A job! A job that could put him back on top. And that’s when his troubles begin.

EXT. ILL-DEFINED – DAY

Sebastian Bach

SEBASTIAN
Rock ‘n Roll is a fucked up world. The people in it lived fucked up lives. Usually short ones. But most people can only dream of living such a short, fucked up life.

We pull out. Sebastian is wearing a Tutu. He raises and wand and lightly flicks it. We hear a “Ding.”

As we pull out further, he’s standing on a huge rock ‘n roll stage. “Youth Gone Wild” bursts from the towering Speaker stacks.

As the opening credits roll, we pull back until the stadium becomes a dot.

ALBUM COVER: Ashton, Gardner, Dyke & Co. – What A Blood Long Day It’s Been

FANNY (OS)
Time to get up, Mr. Sunshine!

We match fade from the prostate gent on the cover to…

INT. CRAPPY BEDROOM – CONTINUOUS

There are crumpled clothes, many layers thick strewn about the floor and rock posters and gold records hanging crooked on the walls. But this is not a messy teen’s bedroom. Mick Fire, 59 (think Nick Nolte at 59) is lying in bed, on top of a heap of stained and wrinkled sheets. Mick is a Rock Photographer specializing in Album Cover Design. He has seen better days – and certainly better mornings. He is decidedly hungover. His 18-year-old daughter FANNY FIRE (it seemed funny at the time) is standing over him. Her comely countenance does not betray any signs of sympathy.

FANNY
You’ve got a meeting downtown in an hour.

MICK

Can’t. I have the plague. Get out while you still can!

FANNY

I’m not a practicing physician Mick, but I don’t think you can catch a hangover.

MICK

Not true. I caught this one off a bottle. Remember to wash your hands.

FANNY

As scintillating and informative as this conversation has been, you have an appointment with your agent.

Fanny begins jamming at him with her fingers.

MICK

Stop poking at me. Haven’t I suffered enough?

FANNY

The fridge is broken. We need a new one.

MICK

You need a new one. I shall most likely be dead by the time the milk goes sour.

FANNY

Sigh. I didn’t want to have to do this again.

Fanny picks up a bucket of iced water from the side of the bed and dumps it over him.

EXT. APARTMENT BUILDING – CONTINUOUS

Mick’s humble abode. You probably wouldn’t want to live there.

MICK (OS)
AHHHHH!!!! Motherfucking Shit Apes!!!

FANNY (OS)
And those are the last of our ice cubes!

INT. BUS – DAY

Mick slumps in his seat on the crowded bus, an unlit cigarette dangling from his pallid lips. He does not look at all well. A sexily dressed woman in her early 20’s sits next to him. FREDA cannot help but notice his sorrowful condition. She has a thick New Jersey accent.

FREDA

You on your way to the doctor?

MICK
Huh?

FREDA
The doctor. You look like you could drop dead any second.

MICK

Wouldn’t that be lovely. (beat) I have to go talk to my agent about a job.

FREDA

Huh. Are you an actor? You don’t look like anyone I’ve seen before. Are you on a game show or something? Cause I don’t watch those.

MICK

Is there anyway I could get you to stop talking?

FREDA

Hey, I’m just trying to take your mind of shit, asshole. If you throw up, they’ll toss your ass off the bus. That’s what they did to a street bum the other day.

MICK

Street bums don’t have agents. I’m a photographer.

FREDA

Small world! I do some modeling, sometimes. Mostly just tit stuff. Oh account of, you know, I got these tits? Occasionally, I’ll take off the whole pajama, if you get my drift. There was this one photo shoot, the camera guy wanted me to get down on all fours and sniff a dog’s ass. I told him “No fucking way.”

MICK

I’ll touch you inappropriately, if you promise to storm off in a huff.

FREDA

You lay a fucking hand my snatch and I’ll break your goddamn fingers off, grandpa.

(not to anyone in particular)

Ye Gods, the lowlifes and weirdos you gotta put up with on a bus, these days. They should pay us to ride these creep-mobiles.

A large man pops his head up over the seat in front of them.

LARGE MAN

Is this guy bothering you, lady?

An elderly lady also pops her head over.

OLD LADY

What’s all the hubub?

LARGE MAN

This degenerate tried to touch her snatch.

OLD LADY

Probably the same fucker that grabbed a hold of mine last week.

LARGE MAN

That’s it.

(points to the window)

You’re going out that fucking window, asshole.

MICK
But…

The large man punches him in the face.

MICK

AHHHHHH!

The bus slams on its brakes, catapulting Mick’s bludgeoned face into the back of the seat in front of him.

EXT. L.A. STREET – DAY

The bus pulls away from the curb, leaving a still dyspeptic Mick slumped on a bench. His cigarette is snapped in the middle and the lit half is hanging by a paper thread. A half-full Starbucks Venti latte cup flies out of a bus window and covers him in coffee. A young guy sits down next to him. He also cannot help but notice Mick’s slough of despond.

YOUNG GUY

You don’t look so good, Mister. You should go home.

MICK

I’d love to. You don’t have a fridge you can lend me, do you?

Adele – 21

SONDRA (OS)
Listen, I’ve got a ton of more talented clients than Mick fucking Fire.

We match fades Adele’s “21” with…

INT. SONDRA CRATER’S OFFICE – DAY

SONDRA CRATER is a battle-weary veteran of the rock ‘n’ roll wars. She is on the phone. We pull out to see David Lee Roth sitting across from her. He patiently waits for the conversation to end.

SONDRA
Ones that you don’t want to shiv five minutes after meeting them.

(beat)

Are you sure…

(beat)
Okay. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.

Sondra hangs up the phone.

DAVID LEE ROTH

Mick Fire? Is that fucking douchebag dinosaur still alive?

SONDRA

That’s funny. He asked me the same thing about you, last week.

INT. THE FIRE KITCHEN – DAY

Fanny shoves a tray of something into the oven. Both doors of the deceased fridge are swung open. Skychild saunters in carrying a stuffed ferret. Skychild (Sky to her friends) is 23, tattooed and Mick’s present girlfriend. Very attractive, she’s dressed like something out of a music video.

FANNY
Hey, Sky. Mick’s not here.

SKYCHILD
What’cha cookin’?

FANNY
A gigantic carton of fish sticks and a dazzling array of Hot Pockets. Hungry?

SKYCHILD
I’m becoming less and less comfortable with the concept of eating.

FANNY
Well, you’re dating a man who can afford to buy less and less food – sounds like a match made in heaven. What’s with the ferret?

SKYCHILD

I saw it in a store window and sensed its soul was unhappy.

FANNY
I’d be unhappy too, if I had three pounds of cotton balls stuffed up my ass.

SKYCHILD
It’s actually way more pleasant than you’d think.

INT. CRATER AND SAND AGENCY COMMON ROOM – DAY

Frank, an imposingly sized and humorless security guard, stands next to the common room fridge. Several rock stars stand around, checking their phones and smoking. Members or Iron Maiden play ping pong on the complimentary table.

Mick walks up the Frigidaire, with a gigantic brown stain on his shirt and pants. Plus a few splotches of blood from his split lip.

MICK

Hey Frank. Shouldn’t you be out in the parking lot, protecting our cars?

Mick opens up the fridge door and starts rifling through the contents.

FRANK
You don’t have a car.

MICK

(sexily)
Why, we don’t need an automobile, for a little Franky panky, Sweet Mouth. We can make the world our backseat.

FRANK
Fuck you, Mick. Sondra heard your fridge was broken. I’ve been ordered to stand here until you leave the building.

Mick continues to search. He doesn’t appear to be finding what he seeks.

MICK
There’s just food and juice in here! Doesn’t anyone drink during office hours anymore?

Mick yanks out one of the bottom drawers to better examine its contents. Frank pulls out his gun, puts it to Mick’s temple and clicks back the hammer.

FRANK

Step away from the lettuce crisper, Mick.

=DV=

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DBAWIS_ButtonDarrell Vickers started out as one half of Toronto area band, Nobby Clegg.  CFNY fans may remember the cheery song “Me Dad” which still gets airplay.  From there, he valiantly ventured to L.A. and eventually became head writer for The Tonight Show with Johnny Carson.  Since then, he’s created numerous sitcoms and animation shows in Canada and the U.S.  He still writes music and has an internet band called Death of the Author Brigade (members in Croatia, Canada and the U.S.)   Mr. Vickers also had a private music mailing-list where he features new and pre-loved music.  Anyone who would like to be added to his daily mailing list, just write him at Radiovickers1@gmail.com

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