Paris Scott can't make anything work out. A failed Hollywood screenwriter, he works nights at a convenience store, and drives a '74 Gremlin. And he was just dumped by his best girl. But when the last master tape of a freshly-suicided rock star and a small fortune's worth of stolen drugs fall into his lap, he seems to have stumbled on the key to his dreams. It might as well be a neutron bomb. Although the people who want the dope get themselves dangerously confused with the people who want the tape, it's clear to everyone that Paris is the target. And how does a guy who's wanted dead stay alive? "Get out of town, get some money, then get more out of town." Paris puts his Gremlin in gear and the resulting chase and chain- reaction madness stretches from Los Angeles to Las Vegas leaving a trail of blood, bodies, and broken hearts in its wake. Dope dealers, Hollywood agents, two-bit criminals, three-bit criminals, waitresses, rock stars, strippers, beautiful women, not-so-beautiful women, honest working Joes and psychopaths -- no one comes out clean in this raucous romp-and-stomp. It's John Ridley at his most devilishly sly, laying out proof that, without a doubt, everybody smokes in hell. Hollywood nights are for people with name tags. Call them employees. Losers. Or call them Paris Scott. He microwaves hot dogs at a twenty-four-hour convenience store. His girlfriend just dumped him. And everyone is working his last nerve. Until a surprise encounter with a bum leads to a Bel Air mansion, a dead rock star's last gasp on tape, and a chance for Paris to flirt with a dream. Even if it is someone else's. It's worth his life. Even better, it's worth a million bucks. From the snarling vastness of Los Angeles to the neon-lit inferno of Las Vegas, John Ridley charts a one-way ride into a glittering hell of blood, bodies, and broken hearts. Dope dealers, Hollywood agents, two-bit felons, three-dollar strippers, honest Joes, and an increasingly desperate Paris Scott--no one comes out clean in this raucous ride that turns an obsession with fame and fortune into a dangerous game of truth and consequence. It's a wild place where dying large is a must, every crime is a thrill, and the finest pleasures are the guilty ones. Paris Scott can't make anything work out. A failed actor, writer, musician - a failure, period - he works nights at a convenience store, drives a '76 Gremlin, and was just kicked to the curb by his best friend. But when the last master tape of a rock star and a small fortune in stolen drugs falls into his lap, it's like he's stumbled onto the key of his dreams.. "He might as well have stumbled onto a time bomb.. "The people who want the stolen dope back get themselves viciously confused with the people who want the stolen tape, but no one is confused about Paris's being the bull's-eye of the target they're gunning for. His name tag reads Paris Scott. A night clerk in a low-rent convenience store, living off his last dollar, freshly kicked to the curb by his girlfriend; it might as well say: "loser." Until a chance encounter with a filthy vagrant leads to a Bel Air mansion, a dead rock star's last gasp on tape, and a chance for Paris to flirt with a dream.
