The Big Enchilada

haven’t heard from you in a long time.”
    He didn’t sound especially pleased to be hearing from me now. I had cleared up a mess an absconding junior partner had made, and I kept it so quiet that no one ever knew about it. But in the process I had turned up some stuff on Maycroft that wouldn’t do him any good. As a result, he was a useful source when I needed some information about the world of high finance.
    “Maycroft, I need some info on Medco Pharmaceutical Supplies. Go back a couple of years. Especially what was going on around the time of the attempted merger. Also, the status of the company now. Also, anything you’ve got on the president, Simon Acker.”
    “Now, Hunter.” He was starting to whine “That’s not my field. I can’t—”
    “Your firm has files on everything. Get one of your juniors to put together the complete story. I’ll come over about eleven o’clock tomorrow.”
    “But that’s not enough time. I need—”
    “I’ll see you at eleven.... Oh, Maycroft, I promise I won’t smash up your office or do anything that would embarrass you.” I emphasized “embarrass” and heard him swallow hard before I hung up the receiver.
    I drank some more gin and smoked another cigarette before I made my next call. It was to Detective Charles Watkins of the Los Angeles Police Department, Narco Squad.
    He wasn’t a very good cop, but he was one of the few who would still talk to me. We went back a long way together, and he would always owe me a favor since I had twice saved his life when we were in Viet Nam together.
    After being placed on hold and transferred about four times, I was finally connected with the right department and got him on the line.
    “Charlie, Sam Hunter here.”
    “Sam! It’s good to hear from you. How’ve you been? Staying out of trouble?”
    “If I’m out of trouble, I’m out of business. You know that.”
    “I guess I do. What can I do for you?”
    You can get me whatever there is on the Black Knightclub in Hollywood.”
    “Never heard of it. What is it?”
    “A private club of some kind.Might be a sex place. Vice should know something about it. You probably won’t get too much, but ask around.”
    “Sure thing. What’s this about? Important?”
    “I don’t know yet. Should I come over tomorrow to see you?”
    “Uh, I don’t think that’s a good idea. You know, you’re not exactly welcome around here after that Lafferty business.”
    I knew. I had created a lot of paper work for the boys in blue and made them look pretty bad in the bargain. There had been a lot of screaming up and down the line over that one. They tried to make me the patsy and lift my licence, and all they accomplished was to make themselves look worse than before. They didn’t have much use for me, and the feeling was mutual. Not that there aren’t good cops. I just hadn’t met many.
    “Look, Sam, why don’t I ask around tonight, and I’ll stop by your apartment tomorrow morning before I come in.” “Okay, see you then. It might be a good idea if you didn’t mention my name.”
    “I know that better than you, old buddy. When you started the shit flying, more than enough hit me. See you tomorrow.” I replaced the receiver and thought that it was cops like my friend Charlie that made the crime rate rise. Still, he’d get me what I wanted.
    It was starting to get dark, or rather the sky was turning the brown-green color that passes for sunset around here. The daytime drunks were being replaced by the nighttime junkies, prostitutes, and assorted creeps and misfits. It was the other side of the coin, but if was the same coin.
    I still had a couple of hours to kill, and I was starting to get hungry. Since I had to go to the Strip anyway, I decided on Fernando’s.
    The restaurant was on one of those semi-crummy business streets off of Sunset Boulevard that go dead after 5 p . m . It was far enough away from the action to get none of the fashionable crowd, but the food was good and you only paid for the food, not some fancy address.
    “Fernando” was a fat German who was just the right age to have been a Hitler Youth. He greeted me with enough oil in his voice to fry potatoes, showed me to a table, and took my order.
    The lighting was low to hide the fact that the tablecloths were dirty, but I could see the place was doing good business.
    The waitress brought me my drink. She was Fernando’s daughter, and looked like someone out of a German opera. She was large, but her