There was a rap on the trailer door. “Boris?”

“Come in!”

A man entered. “Are you finished with my snake?”

“What?”

“You borrowed a six-foot rattler, remember? I handed it to you in its cage.”

“Oh, that. It got away.”

“How the hell did that happen?”

“I screwed up, okay? It got away from me.”

“Where?”

Tirov waved a hand. “Out there somewhere. Just bill me for the fucking thing, okay?”

“That will be one thousand dollars. I raised it from a pup.”

“Fine. Send me a bill.”

“Don’t ask to borrow any more animals.” The man left.

Tirov took another swig of the bourbon and lay back on his sofa, swearing under his breath.

There was another rap on the door. “Boris?”

“Who is it?”

“It’s Sam. Your director.”

“It’s open!”

The director came into the trailer. “I’ve had a conversation with a lawyer at the Directors Guild, and I have to report the shooting to the police.”

“It wasn’t a shooting, it was an accident.”

“I’m sorry, I’ve already called them. You’d better sober up enough to talk to them.”

“Oh, Jesus Christ, get out of here, or I’ll fire you.”

The director left, slamming the door behind him. “You just try that,” he muttered under his breath.

50

Tirov was sound asleep and snoring loudly when there was a loud hammering on his trailer door. “Mr. Tirov, Santa Fe County Sheriff’s Office. Open up.”

Tirov sat up on one elbow. “Open it yourself!”

Two men, one in a tan uniform and a Stetson, the other in a business suit, entered the trailer.

“Mr. Tirov, I’m Detective Rhea, and this is Deputy Smith, of the Santa Fe County Sheriff’s Office,” said the suit.

Tirov struggled to a sitting position and got his feet on the floor. “What do you want?”

“We’re investigating a report of a shooting on your movie set.”

“There was no shooting.”

“Then how come your arm is in a sling?”

“It was an accident, not a shooting.”

“How is it an accident that somebody was carrying a loaded weapon on a movie set, where every weapon is supposed to be loaded with blanks?”

“I figure somebody brought his own weapon from home and forgot it was loaded.”

“I’m sorry, sir, but that doesn’t make any sense at all. Where would I find this extra, Tom Baxter?”

“He called in sick. I imagine he’s at home, wherever that is.”

“Then how did he sign the worksheet?”

“There was clearly an unauthorized person on the set. He signed the only blank space on the sheet, rather than get thrown out.”

“Do you always have unauthorized persons mingling with your cast and crew?”

“It happens more often than you would believe. People are starstruck, movie-struck. Some of them would do anything to nuzzle up to our star, Brad Goshen.”

“Did anybody nuzzle up to Mr. Goshen this morning?”