Show Business is Murder

{Walsh exits the bar, arm-in-arm with a tipsy middle-aged dyed blonde with frizzy hair and a dress too short for her age. They are laughing and kissing as they meander toward his car.}

AN SUV

{-screeches around a corner.}

EXT. ROSS’S LOS FELIZ HOME

{The exec now has a anxious look on his face as an INTRUDER, indistinct in the dim light, emerges from the shadow of the shrub}

ROSS: What is this?

INTRUDER: Judgment.

ROSS: For what?

EXT. ESCAPE ROOM BAR

{Kagen and the woman kiss and grope each other but react to a voice yelling from inside the SUV zooming by.}

VOICE (in SUV): Charlatan.

{A Molotov Cocktail is tossed and breaks near Kagen, exploding into flame.}

KAGEN: Fuck.

{The woman SCREAMS as Kagen beats out the fire that has ignited his sleeve from a splash of lit gas.}

EXT. ROSS’S LOS FELIZ HOUSE

INTRUDER: You know, traitor.

{Ross regains his nerve and charges. The Intruder is startled as he throws his Molotov Cocktail. The bottle explodes on Ross and he’s ablaze.}

ROSS: Oh God:

{Ross has enough presence of mind to drop and roll on the ground as the Intruder runs away.}

END INTERCUTTING

INT. KODAMA’S AND MONK’S HOUSE, BEDROOM,

SILVERLAKE-DAY

{It’s the next morning and the two are in bed under the covers making love in the tastefully appointed bedroom. Morning light creeps in beneath a partially drawn shade.}

CU

{-on one of the judge’s oil paintings hanging over the bed. The work depicts denizens of Skid Row at dusk. Some wear Mardi Gras party masks. In the background, there’s a building with a lit neon sign that reads: “Justice.” The Sounds of the couple’s passionate lovemaking can be heard.}

DISSOLVE TO:

INT. BEDROOM

{A little later and Monk exits the shower back into the bedroom. There’s a towel wrapped around his waist and he’s brushing his teeth. Kodama, in a slip, sits on the bed, using a blow dryer on her wet hair. The radio is on to the local NPR station.}

MONK: You meeting with the Asian Pacific Islander Caucus tonight aren’t you?

KODAMA (wearily): Yes, as you well know.

MONK: I ain’t player-hatin’ baby. I’m all for you running for the State Senate.

{He rases the dripping toothbrush above his head and pumps his fist.}

MONK (cont’d): I’ll door knock the ’hood till I’ve worn my shoes to my ankles for the one true Asian sister who’ll stand up for all our rights.

{Kodama makes a derisive sound as he re-enters the bathroom to finish his teeth-cleaning chore.}

MONK (cont’d, from the bathroom): You said you wanted to do something different than adjudicate.

KODAMA: That doesn’t mean-

{The RINGING phone cuts her off. She leans over and plucks the handset up. Monk re-enters the room.}

KODAMA (into handset): Hello?

{She listens then:}

KODAMA (cont’d): He’s right here, Nona.

MONK: What’s my mother want?

CUT TO:

EXT. MAGNOLIA AVENUE, SHERMAN OAKS-DAY

{Monk and Walsh Kagen, his arm bandaged but not in a sling, walk along the thoroughfare in the San Fernando Valley. Monk has his hands in his pockets and Walsh puffs on a thin Parodi cigar.}

KAGEN: Again, I’m sorry to have bothered your mother, but judges like cops have their addresses blocked by the phone company.

MONK: But they’re aren’t a whole lot of people with my last name.

KAGEN: Yeah, and Thelonious ain’t with us anymore.

MONK: And you’re willing to see if I can find out something about this attack on you and Ross the cops can’t?

KAGEN: According to the piece in this morning’s Journal, you were one of the last people seen talking to him.

MONK: So was the waiter bringing the drinks.

{Kagen snickers.}

KAGEN: But you’ve got story potential, Ivan.

{Monk halts before a bookstore. On its green awning are the words: Mysteries, Murder & Mayhem. Through the window, the proprietor, a rugged individual with a red/browninsh beard, talks animatedly with a customer.}

MONK: So you want to make this into a screenplay? You follow me around while I look for whoever torched you and Ross? I got news for you, Walsh. He might be all doped up now from his third-degree burns, but in a day or two Ross is going to be able to talk and that will be the end of the mystery. His attacker got up close and personal.

KAGEN: But until then who knows what can happen. What if all he has is a vague description?

MONK: You mean of some Middle Eastern perp?

KAGEN: Middle Eastern doesn’t necessarily mean an Arab or Muslim.

{Monk resumes walking and Kagen falls in step.}

MONK: Herv Renschel of the AJA gave you grief, too?

KAGEN: He hasn’t been called the Jewish Farakhan for kicks. I got a few threatening calls