The Adventures of Nick Slacker, Biker Private Eye (03/04)
Date/Time:  pre-dawn Monday morning
By Knightie Brooksie
__________________________________________

SET SCENE:
Outside of a building that houses a bar.  A peach fire truck sits in the
parking lot in front pouring water in through the broken front window.  A
crowd of people have gathered outside to watch.

Down the road, Nick Slacker has taken off his shirt and is trying to dry his
bike with it.  The bike, his duster and he are soaked with water from head
to boot.  The water droplets on his pale shoulders and chest glisten in the
streetlights.

VOICEOVER: (Slacker)
The situation was worse than I thought.  Many of the UF Hive party guests
had gathered at a local dive.  That expanding cake batter had set everyone's
nerves on edge. I guess they came here to try to relax.  But it didn't take
long before a bar fight broke out.  It was par for the course at a place
like this.

I was here to meet a snitch.  She said she had some information - important
information - for me.  But when we talked, she had more questions than
answers.  And her compadres, from the Church of the Vaqueras, were missing.

When the peach fire truck began to fire its water cannon, I knew that I had
to get out of there, pronto.  A Biker Private Eye is not held in high regard
by the members of the constabulary, and I knew they weren't far behind the
fire truck.  Someone had dropped a dime about the bar fight - I just wished
that they had kept it in their pocket instead of donating it to Bell Canada.
Telco's have already had their share of dimes.  But enough about corporate
greed - I'm getting off topic.

Knight-man.  He's the topic.  Where in the world is Knight-man?

[Slacker rolls up the leather duster and ties it behind the seat of the
bike.  Then he puts the shirt back on.  It is damp and has smudges of dirt
on it from drying the bike.  Slacker looks pleased with the mottled effect.
He starts the bike again and pulls back out onto the road.]

[Slacker drives the bike towards the Gardiner Expressway and then turns onto
Lake Shore Boulevard West by Old Fort York.  When he reaches the park he
stops again, parks the bike and walks down to Lake Ontario.]

OVERVOICE: (Slacker)
The waters of Ontario were quiet.  Far off in the distance I could see the
lights of a "laker", a container ship, making its ponderous way towards the
St. Lawrence, sitting low in the water, heavy with its cargo.  It reminded
me of my ponderous journey following the klews.  But I wasn't even making as
much headway the ship was.  Klews were as hard to come by as a Looney in New
York City.  What was I missing?  What had I overlooked?  I honestly couldn't
say.

[Slacker walks down to a small wooden dock and walks to the end.  A small,
one-bulb, lamppost stands at the end of the dock.  Slacker leans against the
post, hooks his thumbs over the waist of his pants, and lights up a
Tiparillo.  (Yeah, I know - neither Vachon nor Knight smoke, but well, this
is film noir, and I needed some uplighting on his face so that he could see
his reflection in the Lake.)  It stares mournfully back at him.  The spiky,
windblown hair, soiled shirt, and rock star-tight black leather jeans seem
to mock him.  He sees Knight-man's face staring back at him.  Slacker tosses
a dime (Canadian) at the reflection and watches in satisfaction as the
ripples consume it.]

OVERVOICE: (Slacker)
I've got to stop having these angsty moments.  These edgy scenes where you
can almost hear the music, low in the background, and played in a minor key,
[cue music - swell to angsty crescendo] and where the lighting makes sharp
contrasts.  I am Nick Slacker, Biker Private Eye, and I don't do angst and I
don't do edgy.  That's Knight-man's specialty.  I was bred, born and raised
a Slacker.  And I shall continue to be a Slacker.  And what do Slacker's do
when they come across an impossible task?  They slack!  So that's what I'm
going to do. [blink blink] I'm going back to the Loft and slack.
Knight-man's got some wonderful toys there.  Much better toys than the old
man.

[Slacker does a little twirly-thing turn, at the end of the dock, and walks
back to the bike much happier.  As it roars back to life, cut to the
lightening eastern sky]

END SCENE

SET NEXT SCENE:
Nick Knight's Loft at One Gateway Lane.  Biker Private Eye roars into view
on motorcycle.  Garage door opens automatically and bike pulls in.

CUT TO:
Inside of Garage.  Slacker turns off bike, sets kickstand and unties black
leather duster.  He unrolls, sniffs, and makes a face.  Turns and enters
elevator.

CUT TO:
Inside of Loft living quarters.  The Loft lift's doors open and Slacker
steps out.  Thirty-four eyes follow his path from the elevator to the
refrigerator and watch as he tosses the wet and wrinkled duster coat over
the back of a kitchen chair; takes out and chugs down an entire bottle of
blood.  He wipes his mouth on the sleeve of his shirt.  Seventeen mouths
make little "O" shapes and thirty-four lungs make the sound of a sharp
intake of air.  Slacker looks around at all the Knighties trying to catch
flies with their mouths open.

SLACKER:
[Spreads arms wide, bottle still in right hand]  What?  It was already
dirty!

[Slacker puts down the bottle and pulls the shirt over his head.  Several
Knighties faint.]

SLACKER:
Here [Throws shirt onto kitchen table] do what you want with it.  I'm going
to get some sleep.  G'night ladies.  [Goes upstairs to bedroom.  Closes
door.]


END SCENE