Intrigue filled the air at 7th and Montana this morning as the Screenwriter Brothers tipped me off that they were expecting their "informant," a Genuine Secret Agent who has been advising them on a Top Secret Script, to join them for a cup of coffee. "Really?!?," I said, "There's an agent in our midst?!? ... This I have to see!" I spent the next ten minutes playing an unsuccessful game of Guess the Gumshoe. "Is it him?," I asked, quietly pointing to a middle aged man with gray hair, a crew-cut and dark glasses. "Get real," said Rob, "We're talking about a real killer here. That guy has man-boobs." "O.K., your right," I said, "He looks more like a retired airline pilot, anyway. What about her?" I gestured at an elderly woman with a distinct limp and a purple tinge in her hair. And so it went, until I had worked my way through just about everyone around us. "I give up," I said, getting up to leave. Just then, Mark got a text message. "Ahh," he said, "That's him ... he's running a little late." Only in Hollywood would a Secret Agent send a text message to a Screenwriter when he gets stuck in traffic. I'll bet, like all the other agents in town, he also works on Ten Percent Commission ...!