The Killing Floor

---

The building was erected in 1879.

As I explained to your assistant,

you've got the 16th,

Just write a draft and I'll look

at it when I get back.

Before I forget, I got

two manuscripts on my desk.

Make copies and send them home

with the partners

and send me additional copies

'cause I don't wanna carry that sh*t.

After the previous owner died,

the estate asked us

to handle the matter.

- However, the company--

- How many times is that?

Eight. Who calls someone

eight times in a week?

Four bedrooms, five baths.

A housekeeper to take care of

the 11,000 square feet of space--

Who else? Yeah.

I'll talk to them.

Patch me through.

Well, try him on his cell phone.

Tribeca, Soho and beyond--

Make me care.

The bathroom has a--

Kristen, you didn't--

A Jacuzzi.

Fine, send me the draft

when you're done. Bye.

The private elevator handles all three floors,

as well as the rest

of the building.

Bec, you still on? Who else do I owe?

Who?

Dunlap?

No, I don't even know

who that is.

Hey, Bec, ahem, I'm finishing up,

so I'll just try you from the car.

As I mentioned,

the company is in no rush.

Well, actually I am.

What do I have to do to get this place

and still make my 1:00 o'clock?

Jesus Christ. You're pitching me a story

about a haunted house

without doing the work.

Make me care.

Create a back-story,

develop a mythology.

Write a story

about you writing a story.

Heh. That's scary.

Now, why on earth would you

put me on the phone with him?

I know, I'm sorry. I'm sorry.

This is dog sh*t.

These two need charged.

Uh, Garret called again.

Why is my best friend

stalking me?

Leave a message

with his assistant.

Tell him I was busy-- What?

He didn't get the job.

I was supposed

to make a call, wasn't I?

I reminded you for a week.

The partners needed

your reference.

Send him a basket.

The Barneys' one.

Write him a note, tell him...

How sorry I am, that I'm thinking of quitting

and that all the partners are fucks.

But you are a partner.

The other partners.

Hey, David.

David, uh, you didn't,

you know,

maybe possibly have a chance

to look over the story

I gave you, did you?

Sh*t. No. But I'm gonna blow through a stack

of reading as soon as I get home.

I'll see ya.

Hey!

Ouch! Ow.

- Oh.

- Oh.

Sh*t. I am so sorry.

It's okay. It's okay.

I'm, uh--

I'm awake now.

Coffee was supposed

to do that, but...

I guess I owe you

a caf mocha.

With soy.

And a towel.

With soy and a towel.

I have those.

Well, your pockets must be

a lot bigger than they look.

No, not on me.

I, uh--

I live in this building, here.

Wow. It's a great building.

Yeah, I love it.

I just moved in.

You wouldn't know it.

You must do very well

for yourself.

These places

are pretty exclusive.

I do okay.

One caf mocha with soy.

Thank you.

So, what is it you do "okay" at?

I, uh, represent writers. Books.

Hm, what kind of books?

Horror mostly. Well, entirely.

Must get into your head.

Is that why you were

running so fast?

Monsters after you?

Horror is scary

'cause it plays on your fears.

That's all.

What are you afraid of?

Having a party tonight.

You wanna come?

You didn't answer.

Neither did you.

Check your guest list,

David Lamont.

You did invite

your neighbors.

Audrey Levine, third floor.

Pleasure.

Thanks for the drink.

You didn't think I'd come in

to a stranger's apartment, did you?

Well, I just thought

you were easy.

I am. You're just not that charming.

See you tonight.

Great.

- Hi.

- Hey.

Pretty dress.

Give me a flat water, no ice.

Bobby Reed. Ha, ha.

Congratulations on the book, buddy.

Thank you, David.

It's been--

Hard to believe only two weeks

on the Times, no Oprah.

What's up with that?

Well--

But I'm sure your agent

knows what he's doing.

Have a good time.

I guess preppy

is making a comeback.

Hi.

You headed to a birthday party

afterward?

It's for you.

Happy house-warming.

House-war--?

It just rolls off the tongue

with this one.

Joe Grimpel, Kathy Mahoney,

this is my assistant.

You'll have to excuse her.

We're still working

on group interaction.

You guys have a good time.

But his agent...

I hate...

Excuse me, I hope I wasn't--

I wasn't interrupting you.

Are you kidding me?

You finally saved me.

- That's Kathy.

- Oh...

You know, the party,

it just turned out to--

To really be something else.

And the food is just--

Beautiful night.

Sorry. Do I know you?

I think we may have bumped

into each other.

You have a lovely place.

It's a great building.

I think you've said that before.

Actually, I think

you've said that before.

Can I get you something

to drink?

Preferably without soy.

As long as you promise

not to run.

You look great.

There you are!

I have been looking

all over for you.

How are you, my brother?

How are you?

Doing all right, ahem.

You holding up?

F***ing great.

Never bitter-- Or better.

Never better.

Great party, man.

What are you doing?

Partying. Drinking.

What? Did I interrupt

something in there?

Sorry.

You're pissed off.

How'd you guess?

You know, if you want to be mad

at me, Garret, that's fine.

But don't be a p*ssy about it.

Be direct.

Just air it out.

Direct?

Like the basket you got me?

David, I invented

the "f*** you" basket.

It wasn't

a "f*** you" basket.

No, that would require

you actually dictate the letter.

- I did dictate it.

- Hey, look, man!

I'm, uh-- I'm not even

pissed at you.

I'm pissed at me for believing

that I could count on you.

Christ.

And when you lose your job

and your best pal steals

your clients

and then makes a dash

for another agency...

- Oh, come on!

-...that's sh*t!

That's not what happened.

Okay. Tell me what happened.

Come on, I'm all ears.

You're in a slump, Garret.

A professional slump.

Slump...

Hmm.

So the book's a total mess.

Hey.

This should be my life,

my party, my place.

Sorry.

F*** you!

F*** you.

What in the f*** did you write

in that note to him?

Just what you told me to.

Did I do something wrong?

Did that look

like it went well?

Have you seen Audrey Levine?

Five-seven, brown hair,

black dress.

Her name wasn't even

on the li--

David Lamont?

Yeah.

My name is Martin Soll,

detective, N.Y.P.D.

Sorry, Mr. Lamont,

for calling at this hour.

That makes two of us.

What, uh, is this about,

detective?

There's a guy downstairs who claims

that you're squatting in his residence.

Do you have the deed

to this place?

My lawyer does.

I'll give you

his phone number.

This is his home

and his cell.

Who is he?

Uh, Jared Thurber.

Uh, his father

was the previous owner.

He claims that

when the old man died,

you moved in here illegally.

Well, I can assure you,

the transaction was entirely legit.

Well, if you say so.

Hopefully, I can get

back to some real work, and...

you can get back to all this.

Oh, I almost forgot.

In case anything comes up.

Like what?

Hey... it's New York.

The only penalty

you ought to worry about is the one

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