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simply stayed put.  A police captain and two other officers walked onto the set and headed directly toward him.  When they’d closed to within a few feet, the police captain stopped and looked at Warren with revulsion.  He grabbed the whisky bottle out of Warren’s hand and smashed it to the ground.
    “Somebody tell me, where’s Bill McGhee?!” the captain yelled.
    Warren held his hands out to his sides.  Who was Bill McGhee?  He moved backwards until he bumped up against a wall.  A stunning brunette appeared in a doorway wearing a skimpy burgundy negligee.  She was a vision of beauty, with flawless features, long thin legs and a bust that seemed to defy gravity.  Purple eye shadow and black mascara highlighted her large, round eyes.  Warren’s pulse raced.  He felt lightheaded.  It was a familiar sensation.  One that took him back to the heady days of his youth.  Back to the very first time he’d laid eyes on Ophelia.  This girl looked just like her.  Close enough, anyway, that his face turned pale.  His jaw hung low.  Warren took a deep breath.  Of course this was not Ophelia, he had to remind himself.  He hadn’t seen her in ages.  Not since he’d fled from New Orleans three years before, but the sight of this actress brought all of his longing right back.  He did his best to bury it again where it came from.
    “Nobody’s gonna tell you where Bill is, copper.  You couldn’t drag it out of us,” said the woman.
    “Drag it out of you I will, Maggie, if that’s what I have to do,” replied the captain smugly.
    “That won’t be necessary, Mr. Police Man.  You can leave the lady alone,” came another voice from behind her.  A handsome man in his 50’s with an air of confidence walked out to boldly face the captain down.  He wore a red silk robe with red slippers on his feet.
    “Well, well.  If it isn’t the elusive Bill McGhee,” said the self-satisfied captain.
    “You should have brought more men,” said McGhee.
    “Oh, I did, Mr. McGhee.  I most certainly did.”
    Warren flinched on instinct as twenty more officers emerged from the end of the street, clubs drawn.  McGhee gazed at the police casually.  “Is that all you can muster?” he asked, waiting until the cops nearly had him surrounded before he held up one hand and snapped his fingers.  In an instant, thugs with guns appeared in every window and doorway in sight, perched on the rooftops and spilling out into the street, ready to do battle.
    The captain scowled at the heavily armed men.  He was out-manned and out-gunned.   He seemed to contemplate his next move.  How could he back down without losing face?  Would these gangsters massacre cops in broad daylight?  Warren wondered if a shootout was coming.   
    “You haven’t heard the end of this, McGhee!” the captain shouted.  He turned with his head down and led his men back the way they had come.
    “And stay out!” yelled McGhee, to the cheers of his men.  “Well done, boys,” he added.  “Drinks on me!”
    At that an even greater cheer went up and everyone followed McGhee back inside.  Warren kept his eyes on the raven-haired beauty until she’d disappeared.  He wiped his brow.  His heart was beating much too fast.
    “Cut!  Fabulous!  We’ll do it exactly like that on film!” shouted Kaplan.
    An assistant ran back onto the set and handed a fresh whiskey bottle to Warren while another man quickly swept up the remains of the first one.  Warren looked at the new bottle with amazement.  If only it was the real stuff, he thought.
    “Places people, let’s go again!” yelled the director.
    “Welcome to the movie business,” said Bridget, relieved that Warren hadn’t made some sort of blunder and ruined the shot.  “Don’t worry, you’ll get used to it.”
    “I don’t think I’ll be here that long,” Warren answered. 
    “You never know,” Bridget said with a shrug.

Chapter Four
     
    Warren stood in line at the buffet,