Selling My Books on the Streets of Brooklyn 5/23 - Angel

Mother Nature provided a substantial rainless window for the floating book shop. Unfortunately, only one of my regulars showed. I thank her for buying the book on love. In the great beyond, Frankie Lymon must be smiling. I don't have the will to comment on the terrorist act in London, so here's an excerpt from my horror screenplay, All Hallows, in which five nuts escape from an asylum and wreak havoc on a small town. It's less than a five-minute read:

Meanwhile, Angel is seated in the idling car, thinking, observing. A witch on a bicycle sails past her, humming the witch's theme from "The Wizard of Oz." Angel follows, pulls even with her, rolls down the window.
   Samantha, imitating Margaret Hamilton: I'll get you my prit-tee.
   Angel: Excuse me. Can you tell me how to get to the Bates- Myers Institute?
   Samantha tenses demonstrably.
   Samantha: You stay away from me.
   Angel: Mary Shelley?
   Samantha pulls a can of canned string from her cape and fires at Angel, who hits her brakes momentarily, tears the string away, and pursues. Samantha takes to the sidewalk, finds a shortcut, and puts distance between Angel and she. She turns a corner too fast, however, and falls. She scrambles to her feet and runs.
   Samantha: Daddy! Daddy!
   Angel's car screeches to a halt. She exits, gun drawn. She didn't hear the cry of "Daddy!" She follows across a lawn. The witch climbs porch stairs. A shotgun blast goes off. Angel is so startled she falls backward and checks herself for wounds. She looks up and sees the Clown pointing a shotgun at her. A waft of gunsmoke hangs in the air above him.
   Clown: I got more in here if you desire.
   Angel, resting on her elbows, has a flashback of her rapist's stocking-covered face.
   Clown: Never killed a woman before.
   Angel: I'm with the Sheriff's department.
   The Clown smirks.
   Clown: Doesn't surprise me.
   Angel: That's your daughter, I take it?
   Marge emerges from the shadows.
   Marge: That's right. And whose daughter are you - the devil's?
   Angel: I'm sorry. She fit the description of someone at large.
   Marge: Get off our property right now.
   Angel rises. Samantha sticks her tongue out at her.
   Marge: Come inside and have some cocoa, honey. It's like New York out there tonight.
   Samantha: My bike!
   Marge: Fetch it, Jim.
   As Angel nears her car, Schottsie's nemesis emerges from the shadows.
   Angel: Whatta you want?
   The dog growls, baring its fangs.
   Angel: As if I didn't know. Typical male.

Vic's 4th Novel: http://tinyurl.com/bszwlxh

Vic's 3rd Novel: http://tinyurl.com/7e9jty3
Vic's Website: http://members.tripod.com/vic_fortezza/Literature/
Vic's Short Story Collection (Print or Kindle): http://www.tiny.cc/Oycgb
Vic's 2nd Novel: http://tinyurl.com/6b86st6
Vic's 1st Novel: http://tiny.cc/94t5h
Vic's Screenplay on Kindle: http://tinyurl.com/cyckn3