The following morning I drove up through Zuma Canyon where, off a rutted road, Art Luke lived in a Quonset hut with a wife and a couple of kids. I remembered that he had grown up in a Mormon colony in Mexico and spoke fluent Spanish. He was just cantankerous enough that the story might appeal to him. When I got out of the MG, he was bringing his face up out of the engine of a pickup truck that was jacked up and had no tires. Joy lit his eyes. But, no, I hadn’t sold another of his noir detective screenplays. We sat on camp stools around an outdoor firepit, and I told him the story of Adios Diablo, and who wrote it, and why that writer was living in Mexico.

“I remember Simon Strassman’s Westerns. He’s a hack. No offense, Roxanne, but really, everything he wrote had a formula you could follow in your sleep. The Good Guy, the Bad Guy, the Sidekick, all that shit.”

“You’re right about most of his stuff. Jimmy’s fronting for him for television.”

Art’s long jaw dropped. “Damn. So that’s why Jimmy’s buying a house. He said he’d got lucky, and that television was eating his stuff up.”

“He did get lucky. Television is eating it up. I’m swearing you to secrecy. Routing out the Red vermin is still Hollywood’s favorite sport. I’m offering you a similar proposition with Adios Diablo. Your name, Simon’s work.”

“I’m no Communist. I fought in the Pacific. Lie down with Reds and you wake up Pink. Guilt by association.” He took the script from me and rifled through the pages. “You know I grew up in Mexico. My father met Pancho Villa. I still have family there. The Mexicans are still fighting the damn revolution forty years after they lost.”

“Then you know why this is a great picture.”

“What do you care about Mexico, Roxanne?” Art scoffed. “Why are you taking these risks?”

“I care about Simon. He’s never written anything this good in all his life, and he deserves a chance to see it on the screen.”

“If anyone will put it on the screen. Seems dubious to me.”

I took Adios Diablo from his hands. “I have to get this copied, but if you’re interested, come by my office this afternoon and read it. If not, I trust you’ll keep everything I’ve said here confidential.”

“I’d never rat out a friend. You can trust me.”

“If I didn’t believe that, Art, I wouldn’t be here in the first place.”