EXT. OCEAN AVENUE / STREET — DAY
BOB and LOUISE stride along. BOB wears a too-shiny wig (absolutely from Gene). LOUISE pops into his eyeline, hands as binoculars, hunting mischief.
BOB(fussing with the wig, self-conscious)
Is this sitting right? Gene said it's "human-adjacent." It feels… warm. Like a baked potato wearing a hat.
LOUISE(deadpan hype-woman, scanning)
You're wearing a hot ham on your head. Own it. Confidence is the adhesive.
BOB(muttering, adjusting)
People keep seeing scalp. I don't need scalp press today.
LOUISE(shrug-smirk)
If anyone asks, it's a medical wig for crime-fighting. You grew stealth hair.
LOUISE(popping up, hands as binoculars)
Crime has to be somewhere. We live downtown. In a shack.
BOB(defensive, then backpedal)
We don't live in a shack, Louise. We live in a—nice-ish—moderately acceptable apartment over our restaurant.
LOUISE(turns, yells cheerfully to passersby)
WE LIVE IN A SHACK!
BOB(winces, clamps wig)
Please don't yell "shack." People will think I sell raccoons.
They turn the corner into—
EXT. SKATEPARK — CONTINUOUS
LOGAN BUSH lands half an ollie, spots LOUISE, and spectacularly EATS IT.
LOGAN(on the ground, accusatory)
Ugh! I thought our beef was, like, squashed!
BOB(helpfully, patting his belly)
Beefsquatch? That's Gene.
LOUISE(patting Bob's belly, correcting)
Not Beefsquatch—Logan.
BOB(lifting his chin, trying dignity)
Also, eyes up here. At the hair. It is real… in spirit.
LOGAN(scrambling up, clutching board)
What?! Why are you here? Did you bring—whatever that hat is planning?
LOUISE(proud)
We're working a case. Dad's the muscle. I'm the brains and the hat.
BOB(apologetic hands)
We're not "working a case." We're just asking questions. Politely. About teen crime. Please.
LOUISE(points at Logan, battle stance)
Get him, Dad!
BOB(honest palms-out)
I'm not "getting" anyone. Also I'm awake, so the getting is very limited right now.
LOGAN(relieved/whiny blend)
Good! Because I'm not doing crime. I do skateboarding and being mean in a group chat. Also everyone ditched me because they think you're friends with the One-Eyed Snakes now.
BOB(neighborly)
We are acquaintances. Acquaintances who once saved my life and maybe a delivery window.
LOUISE(arms crossed, interrogator mode)
Even if you're not up to something—which I do not buy—you know where the bad kids hang out. Spill.
LOGAN(spins a wheel, calculating)
Maybe I know some stuff. What's it worth?
BOB(restaurant-brain blurting)
How about a burger… tw—ten—twenty percent off.
LOUISE(sharp elbow to ribs)
Mm.
BOB(wincing, caves)
Ow—okay! One complimentary burger.
LOUISE(legal voice)
With no sides.
BOB(points to her)
Yes, thank you, my lawyer.
LOGAN(offers a hand)
Deal.
They shake.
LOUISE(lean-in)
Where are they?
LOGAN(glancing around)
Do you have a pen and paper?
LOUISE(snatching BOB's forearm, producing a marker)
We have an arm and a Sharpie.
BOB(alarmed, guarding wig)
Wait, is that—
LOGAN begins sketching on BOB's forearm: arrows, X's, a skull, a tiny juice box. The wig slips; BOB ninja-saves it.
LOUISE(impressed)
Wig save. Reflexes of a sleepy god.
BOB(pretending normal)
It's wind. There's wind.
LOGAN(teen tour guide cadence)
Okay, there's "the Pit" behind Wonder Wharf where the older kids pretend to vape water. The loading dock behind the bowling alley—after nine, not before, or it's just dads. Alley by the Juice Caboose is where they trade weird sodas. And the roof of the old video store—don't use the squeaky ladder; it's a trap.
BOB(squints at his arm)
Are those… doodles?
LOGAN(mildly offended)
They're landmarks. Skull is where the chain-wallet guys hiss. Juice box is, obviously, the Juice Caboose.
LOUISE(studying, delighted)
This is solid. Nice work, Bush. Accidental teamwork.
BOB(grim beat)
Is that permanent marker?
LOUISE(already marching off)
You can wash your arm later! Crime nap later, punch a building in your sleep, we celebrate with fries.
BOB(rules-lawyer)
No fries. The deal was very clear about sides.
LOGAN(hopeful, inching away)
So… burger now?
BOB(gesturing at his tattooed map)
The grill is not on my arm, Logan. Come by the restaurant. Use the back door if you're embarrassed.
LOUISE(cheerfully cruel)
Or the front door if you want everyone to see you paying for information with meat.
LOGAN(rolling eyes, backing off)
You two are weird. Don't fall off the video store. And don't tell anyone I helped you. Especially Jocelyn. She'll, like, write a song.
LOUISE(Sharpie salute)
Our lips are shack—shut. To the Pit!
BOB(eyeing his arm, hand hovering over wig)
Great. The Pit. Love a family-friendly name like "the Pit." And I'm going to be scrubbing this off for a week. Possibly with my dignity.