Free My Gun Has Bullets by Lee Goldberg Page B

the cast and crew.
    Which was why anorexia nervosa hit epidemic proportions in Los Angeles. And why it was all the more unusual that Charlie Willis was absolutely starving. He had grazed at the craft services table between every shot, and had wolfed down a fun lunch. And yet his stomach wouldn't stop growling.
    Something about the tedium of making a series, of the long waits between shots, of the endless repetition as the same scene was filmed from every possible angle, made Charlie hungrier as each day wore on.
    He was also worried. For some reason, he couldn't get Sabrina Bishop out of his mind. Maybe it had something to do with the danger he knew she faced. Maybe it had something to do with the misguided responsibility he still felt to his forfeited badge. Maybe it had something to do with her tremendous body.
    Whatever the reason, he knew he had to see her again. He had to find some way to make it very clear to Sabrina that Esther Radcliffe was insane and posed a genuine danger.
    So he had another handful of garlic-salted almonds and washed them down with a Snapple before striding back into the warehouse. Along the way, he bumped into Jackson Burley, the showrunner.
    "I got a present for you, Charlie," Burley said, in that good-old-boy drawl he had honed to perfection. "Have you seen the overnights?"
    Charlie had been forced on Burley, who had lobbied for Chad Everett, but the producer wasn't about to turn away a guaranteed thirteen-episode series commitment. If the network wanted a cop in the part they could have it. For Burley, pragmatism came before art. That, and his straightforward approach to action adventure shows, had made him quite successful. And truth be told, over the last few weeks, Burley had decided that Charlie wasn't half bad.
    "I don't look at them, Jack," Charlie said. "Mainly because I don't understand them."
    "Ratings and shares, that's the name of the game, my friend." Burley showed him a sheet full of numbers. "All you've got to know is that the audience is a big cherry pie, and we're getting a bigger slice every week. Last night we left the other shows with crumbs."
    For the most part, Charlie liked Burley. Although the man was worth millions, he strived to cultivate the image that he was just one of the guys. Which was why he eschewed designer labels for faded jeans, dirty Reeboks, a polo shirt and a Dodger cap.
    The only problem was he wanted you to believe he was just like you. But, at the same time, he didn't want you to believe you were just like him. People who couldn't walk that fine line with him were immediately standing on the unemployment line instead.
    "We're snowballing, Charlie," Burley said. "My Gun Has Bullets is becoming part of the cultural fabric of this country."
    Charlie gave him a look. "It's only a TV show."
    " 'Beam me up, Scotty.' 'Go ahead, make my day.' 'To be, or not to be,' " Burley said, as if reciting passages from the Bible. "Those aren't just lines of dialogue. They are a part of who we are. They are etched forever in our collective unconscious. 'My gun has bullets' is going to be there, too. So are you, pal."
    "We aren't making a TV show here," Charlie said, as if coming to a revelation. "We're making history." It was the most acting he had done all day.
    "And money, hand over fist," Burley said.
    Well, at least Burley's head wasn't entirely in the cosmos. Charlie didn't give a damn
    about history, but his paycheck meant a lot.
    That's when the perpetually harried assistant director rushed up, his finger on the walkie-talkie on his belt. "They're ready for you on the set, Mr. Willis," he said.
    Jackson Burley clapped Charlie on the back. "Knock 'em dead, Charlie." And he rushed off to coin more catch-phrases for the ages.
    Charlie followed the assistant director to the center of the warehouse, where the camera crew, soundmen, and various actors-as-mobsters were waiting for him. The director was Elliot Wachtel, wearing spurs and a ten-gallon hat to the set as ifhe