Margaret hadn’t noticed much security around that night. There were a couple of boys in blue out front, and a private auditorium guard had surveyed the stars as they walked in. But now, with the gate-crasher on the stage, a dozen men—some in uniform, most not—appeared and rushed out to remove him. Margaret was pushed forward and collided with several seat-fillers and Fontaine himself. He turned to see who had rammed into him, then did a double take. To avoid being crushed as the crowd continued to bunch up at the corner of stage right, Fontaine walked up the stairs onto the stage and then behind the curtain, out of view.

“Crazy, huh?” Margaret said, right behind him.

Fontaine shot her a look. “Where’s the real file?” he asked, dropping all pretense and barely concealing his rage.

Charlie made his way to the opposite end of the hall. No sign of Fontaine or anyone who might be involved. He opened a door marked NO ENTRY, revealing an industrial stairwell with worn steel railings and a buzzing fluorescent light. He entered, and the door closed behind him, but before it could snap shut a Santa Monica Police cadet burst in. He moved his right hand to his holster and unsnapped it. “Sir, what are you doing here, sir?”

“I’m, um,” Charlie said, “just looking for someone.”

“Sir, we need you out of here, sir,” the cadet said. He put his right hand on his gun. Charlie studied him. He looked barely old enough to vote.

“Son, I’m a U.S. congressman,” Charlie said.

The cadet panicked, drew his gun, flipped off the safety, and yelled, scared, “Sir, I need you to put your hands in the air, sir!”

The cadet was too hyped up to reason with. Charlie complied; who knew what could happen in such a situation? The cadet marched him out of the stairwell, down the hallway, and out the doors of the auditorium. He continued trying to explain that the kid had it all wrong, but fear had taken over the cadet and Charlie knew the best he could hope for was that an older, wiser officer would realize the insanity of the situation and release him.

But bedlam—not a wise police supervisor—was all that awaited Charlie outside the auditorium. Three police cars, lights flashing, pulled up onto the red carpet. Their occupants got out and ran into the arena, keys, cuffs, and weaponry jingling. More police stood in front of the doors, and sirens in the distance suggested yet more were on the way. Charlie was relieved when the cadet, perhaps desiring to be in on the real action, pushed him forward and released him like a fish before heading back into the building. Charlie stood for a moment.