And she wasn’t with me Sunday night, while I waited outside the warehouse where that little Satan’s spawn actress got saved several times by a movie star named Burt. Me, I was in costume, trenchcoat and hat and .45 in its speed rig, ready for my starring role as a hardboiled dick. The rod had a fresh shiny new barrel, the old one tossed down a sewer, having left its signature all over the dead guests at that farmhouse.

The lonely, ugly street, with its puddled cobblestones and crumbling brick and filthy sidewalks, made the perfect setting—even in color, this was a black-and-white movie. The only sign of life besides the occasional scurrying rat were the lights of the Florent a few blocks down, a coffee shop with great burgers and zany drag waitresses and a clientele out of Fellini.

A cab rolled up and its passenger climbed out with easy confidence. Vincent Colby—in a black silk t-shirt, lagoon blue two-button blazer, and loose matching slacks—paused to give the hackie a C-note, which explained how he got the guy to come here. The cab made its exit quickly, as if its driver knew being seen in these parts on a night like this would be embarrassing or maybe dangerous.

Young Colby strolled over, hands in his pockets, casual, a little smirky, the long, rather feminine eyelashes and product-dampened dark curly hair reminding me (as I’d observed the first time we met) of a Roman Emperor. I’d wondered if he was more Julius Caesar or Caligula.

Now I thought I knew the answer.

We didn’t bother with a handshake.

“What’s the joke?” he asked, hands on his hips now. He was smiling but irritation was in it.

“I didn’t know there was one.”

He gestured with contempt to his surroundings. “Why meet here, Mike? In the asshole of the city?”

“Privacy. Not exactly paparazzi around. Hey, can you think of any place more out of the way?”

He shrugged, smirking again. “Coney Island off-season. Which is now.”

“I didn’t think of that. You should’ve suggested it, when I called.” My turn to shrug. “This’ll have to do.”

I went over and unlocked a door with a key I’d borrowed and gestured for him to step inside.

He did, and froze as he took in a room full of darkness but for a card table and two chairs in a circle of white courtesy of a spotlight beam from a klieg light high up.

He muttered, “What in the shit…”

I put a chummy hand on his shoulder. “They were shooting a movie here last week, and I visited. They haven’t picked up some of the equipment yet. Thought this might be fun.”

His sideways look included a curled upper lip over perfect teeth. “Fun?”