Darrell Vickers – Mick Fire For Hire: Chapter Eight (Episode 3 – Part 1)

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.

OPENING

EXT. ILL-DEFINED – DAY

SEBASTIAN
Rock ‘n’ Roll is a fucked up world. The individuals in it live 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 a starry wand and lightly flicks it. We hear a “Ding.” He winks.

As we pull out further, Sebastian is 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.

 

JAKOB (OS)

Hello, I’m Jakob Dylan and welcome to FMTV.

INT. FIRE LIVING ROOM – CONTINUOUS

A camera crew fills the small living space. Jakob Dylan sits across from a still considerably bandaged Mick. Sky cuddles his side, for spiritual and literal support.

Mick slurps wine and puffs on a cigarette through the entire interview. He appears to be in an elevated state of intoxication. Nurse Savory looms in the background with an open bottle of vino at the ready.

          JAKOB

Today, we’re sitting down with one of the truly legendary photographers of rock n’ roll, Mick Fire.

MICK

Am I getting paid for this interview? The legendary shit I’m about to reveal is worth some serious jack. I banged the Judds, for Christsakes.

SKYCHILD

(forced smile)

Ixnay on the Udds-jay.

Mick flicks his ash into Sky’s delightful cleavage.

JAKOB

This is a news show. We’re not allowed to pay.

MICK

Good to know.

(peering over Jakob’s shoulder)

Is there anyone else waiting to interview me who isn’t a complete goddamn cheapskate?

SKYCHILD

(faux laugh)

He’s only kidding. Assholes beat the living fuck out of him, so he’s a little…

MICK

I’m a little confused, is what I am. Is this a history-making interview with a living legend or a goddamn charity event? Do you want me to buy some of your homemade fudge, as well?

SKYCHILD

(desperately trying to smile)

This is Jakob Dylan, sweet-buns.

MICK

I know who it is.

(to Dylan)

Actually, I have one of your father’s old teeth stashed in the boudoir, if he’d like it back.

JAKOB
Perhaps on my next visit.

MICK

Well, if you have to come back and not pay, at least bring some decent coke with you. I remember Joan Baez was so blasted once; she tried to go down on the Pink Floyd concert pig.

JAKOB
(turning to camera)

And I’m Jakob Dylan for FMTV. Back to you in the studio, Bunny.

CAROL

Excuse me, but I have to pee.

Match fade the girl tied to the chair with…

INT. BAD GUY’S HIDEOUT – CONTINUOUS

Carol, still bound to her seat and as naked as a Paul Verhoeven film. Danny and Manny have set up easels and are painting her. Danny’s watercolor is truly awful. Manny’s has a certain primitive charm.

DANNY

And exactly what do you want me do to about that?

CAROL

Please sir, if you could just untie me for a couple of minutes.

DANNY

Nice try, sister, but no way in Shiny, Shiny Shitville am I letting you out of that chair.

CAROL

But I need to pee.

DANNY

(condescending)

Well, I need a third arm so I can jack my Johnny while I’m driving a stick shift.

MANNY

And a third eye to help him find it.

DANNY

Fuck you. And stop casting a shadow over my canvas. You’re distorting my hues.

MANNY
I’m just saying, if she pisses herself, liquids are really difficult to paint.

DANNY
How hard could it be?

MANNY
There’s a whole complicated technique you have to use. The urine has to be visible but you have to see through it.

DANNY

Wow. That does sound difficult.

MANNY

If we let her take a pee – we won’t have to spend an entire day reading up on it and we get to preserve our artistic vision.

This logic swirls around in Danny’s head, like a turd in a goldminer’s sift pan. He stares at his painting and then at Carol and once more at his awful masterpiece. Brushes are tossed in frustration.

DANNY
Fuck!

MANNY

It took me all morning just to get her hairline the way I wanted it.

DANNY

We’re not untying her.

Manny appraises the naked problem before him.

MANNY

Don’t need to. I mean, she’s not a hugely heavy woman, right?

DANNY

What are you saying?

INT. RECORD SHOP – MORNING

Max stands behind the counter, sipping from her coffee like it was that last oxygen on Earth. She slathers gooey blobs of peanut butter onto her toast as Fanny flips through a small pile of “new arrivals.” “What About the Bond” by Bruce Cockburn plays on the stereo.

MAX

So, how’s Mr. Wonderful doing this morning?

FANNY

(mulling her answer)

Recovering. Drunk. But, certainly not a recovering drunk.

Max looks at her watch.

MAX
It’s always 5 O’clock, somewhere in your father’s mouth.

A customer approaches the counter.

CUSTOMER

Is this an original pressing?

MAX

It’s from the dollar bin.

CUSTOMER

So?

MAX

So, it’s a fucking dollar. It’s Pablo Cruise. It’s not the goddamn Beatles Butcher Cover.

CUSTOMER

What are you saying?

MAX

I’m saying…

(holding up album and waving it)

This record sold for a buck in 1980. It sells for a buck now. Beanie Babies would be a better investment. Or underwear made out of car parts.

FANNY

Myspace. Edible hair plugs. Biodegradable seatbelts.

This is all going way over the poor lad’s head.

CUSTOMER
Do you have it on colored vinyl?

Max takes the record out of the cover, slams it down on the counter and spreads peanut butter across it with her knife.

MAX

I have this one in an ultra-limited Jiffy-brown splatter.

FANNY

It also comes in “chunky’ and “low fat” variants.

CUSTOMER

Well, now you’re just being rude.

INT. HIDEOUT BATHROOM – DAY

Danny has a shaky grip on two chair legs. Manny holds the back rest aloft. Carol is still firmly tied to it and hovering over the toilet, face down.

DANNY
This is ridiculous.

MANNY

Shut up. I’ve got the heavy end.

CAROL
A little to the right. I’m peeing on the seat.

HYDE (OS)

We, here at the department, are becoming increasingly concerned about this impending turf war.

INT. SAUNA – MORNING

Abernathy stands, in a full business outfit, in front of her be-toweled boss. Hyde sips on an orange juice and sweats up a storm. Abernathy is sweating up a bigger storm, sans liquid refreshment. Hyde pours water onto the coals to add a steamy patina to her subordinate’s misery.

ABERNATHY
Jonesy and I are pulling out all the stops to monitor the situation.

HYDE
We think it’s time you went undercover.

ABERNATHY

Really?

Hyde drops her towel and Abs halfheartedly swacks her back with some birch branches.

HYDE

Your work has not gone unnoticed, Love. I chose you for this plum assignment, myself.

ABERNATHY

I won’t let you down Ma’am.

HYDE

You’ll be renting a room two doors down from the Fire Family. Your flat-mate is Robert Price. He’s old, fat and smells like a warm bucket of hippo sphincters but after sharing a car with Jonesy, it should be a piece of cake.

ABERNATHY

Certainly, ma’am. There’s not a smell on Earth I wouldn’t gladly inhale to bust a perp.

HYDE

Good to hear. I don’t have to tell you that failure is not an option. Hundreds of lives could be hanging in the balance.

ABERNATHY

I’m all over this like a priest on a choirboy.

Abs lays down a series of spirited blows with the birch as she thinks about perp stink and priest love.

HYDE

Mmm. You’re not bad at that.

ABERNATHY

I once went out with a Canadian. Our first date was at a curling rink. To tell you the truth, his broom was a better lover than he was.

HYDE
He fucked you with his broom?

ABERNATHY (OS)
Mostly, had to. Having your junk that close to the ice all the time is pretty much a cock killer.

INT. SAUNA – CONTINUOUS

Abernathy continues her boss birching.

HYDE
I had no idea.

ABERNATHY

(nodding her head)

No one who plays the game more than once-a-month fathers their own children.

=DV=

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Darrell 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