Free To Kill the Duke by Sam Moffie, Vicki Contavespi

that had taken him to the scene of the fire, it was out, and Dick Powell could see that the water and smoke damage were going to be more expensive to clean and repair than putting out the actual flames. He also knew that getting the fire chief and the hordes of firemen off the set was going to be problematic, because the firefighters all seemed bent on finding a celebrity or being discovered. He looked for someone who looked like a take-charge guy and ended up finding an intern he had hired from Wittenberg University, which was located in Springfield, Ohio. The intern was there for the summer learning the film business and it was a hire that brought one of those tax breaks that Howard Hughes loved.
    “Hey kid,” Powell said to him as he motioned for the intern to come to him.
    “Yes sir,” the intern replied.
    “I don’t have time to conduct a field trip for the firefighters. Give them all free passes with two tickets apiece for any of our upcoming premieres. Also, if any of them think they can act they should send their resumes and pictures to you, care of me here at the studio. Don’t forget to tell the chief to send me 25 tickets to the next fundraiser… and tell them that your name is Randy Komara.”
    “You remember my name!” the boy shouted, upbeat that Dick Powell had indeed remembered his name.
    “Okay Randy. Write a report and drop it off at my secretary’s office; tell her to set up a meeting with me,” Powell said as he climbed back on to the golf cart and drove back to his office. “And kid, no one could remember my name when I first set foot on a studio lot.”
    “I’m doing what I said I would do
a happy Dick Powell thought.
Nice kid, too
, he further mused as he mouthed a “thank you” to the movie gods that the entire lot hadn’t been engulfed in flames and looked forward to talking to the Duke about the Hollywood Ten and making plans for a night of hard-drinking before they both went their separate ways in the next few weeks. Powell wanted to get drunk, because he still hadn’t cast the two top leads. And when it came to drinking, John Wayne was one of the best guys to party with.
    Dick Powell assumed that when he returned from putting out the fire his friend would be sound asleep on the couch from being bored by Oscar Millard’s script.
    Once again, Dick Powell proved to be lousy at guessing.
    “Dick, this is one of the most interesting scripts I have ever read. Was everything okay with the fire and all?” John Wayne asked.
    “Someone must have been playing with those special-effects gizmos again. Those guys who make the explosions are always causing damage around here. Luckily, the fire was more smoke and water. What script?” Powell asked.
    “This one, Dick,” the Duke said as he waived the manuscript that Dick Powell had let him read while Dick went out to check on the emergency.
    “You like it?” Powell asked his friend.
Boy, have I been a bad guesser of late,
thought Powell as he waited for the answer.
    “It’s a western set back in time. I love it!” cried out the Duke. “Is it already cast?”
    Is he serious?
Dick Powell mused.
Hhhmmmm. He’s caught on that it’s a western, just set a long time ago. A theme that seems to be a common thread with everyone who reads the script. Although not Brando… but then… this man is John Wayne. Who would be better for a western? And after Wayne, I’ll get the actress with a big rack that Howard wants. But wait a minute; I’d have to have Oscar re-write it. No way can the Duke deliver the lines like they stand. That will be a delay, and that cannot take place.
“Wait a minute big guy. Are you serious or are you pulling one of your practical jokes on me?”
    “Moi? Pull a fast one on you?” Wayne joked.
    Dick Powell had every reason to believe that John Wayne was indeed pulling his leg.
    Wayne’s practical jokes on his close friends were as legendary as Wayne’s career.
    And one time Dick Powell tagged along to take