Reaching the top of the hill in Franklin Canyon, Charlie withdrew the lighter he’d had since the war, one he’d taken from a dead Jerry. He gently tossed it underhand to Sinatra, who caught it and lit his cigarette in one graceful motion, as if they’d rehearsed the move several times.

“Boyo, I’ll tell ya, this is one of the weirdest flicks I’ve ever been a part of,” Sinatra said.

“It’s going to be great,” said Charlie.

“You really think so?” Sinatra asked.

“I do,” said Charlie. “I think it’s going to be important. It’s a compelling thriller, but it’s also subversive.”

“Go on,” Sinatra said.

“So in the movie, the crusade against Communists is secretly led by Communists,” Charlie explained. “Those who doubt the conspiracy are killed by the conspirators. Medals of Honor are awarded under the least honorable circumstances imaginable. It’s all a brilliant metaphor for the Cold War.”

Sinatra took a drag from his cigarette and stared thoughtfully across the canyon before he turned to Charlie with a wry smile.

“Kinda like Joe Kennedy asking me to enlist made guys to help his son win and then after he does, Bobby goes after those same guys,” he said.

“Yeah,” said Charlie. “Kinda like that.”

Sinatra took one last drag then snuffed out the butt of his Winston under his army boot. “Do we look authentic to you, soldier?” he asked.

“Uniforms are too clean,” Charlie observed.

“Yeah, no one stays clean in war, do they, Charlie?” Sinatra said with a knowing glance. He took another cigarette out of the pack. In the distance, car horns blared, then stopped as quickly as they’d begun. A soft breeze provided the waiting actors with a brief moment of balm.

“So who do you think did it, Charlie?” Sinatra asked. He was squinting and as serious as a surgeon. He put a cigarette in his mouth as if it were a lollipop and Charlie dutifully lit it for him. “Lola,” he added.

“I don’t know, Frank,” he said. “Someone who wanted to destroy me, is all I know. I’ve had folks try to pull similar schemes on me in the past, but that was blackmail.”

“This wasn’t that, kid.”

“I know. They obviously wanted me to be found with her in the car.”

“When was the last time you’d opened the trunk before that?”

“No idea,” Charlie said. “You don’t know anyone who’s mad at me, do you, Frank?”

Sinatra didn’t answer right away, and Charlie wondered if he was trying to decide whether to be offended. Just then, Frankenheimer joined them, a clipboard in hand. “Everything okay?”

“Swell, Johnny,” Sinatra said. “Charlie just explained to me how brilliant your picture is.”