The Big Enchilada

becomes secretive. There was something there, but what? And what any of this had to do with the man-monster and Domingo was still a mystery. I’d had problems like this before, though, and I knew I just had to keep stirring things up, making noise, and getting people nervous, until all of a sudden—zap!—things fell into place.
    I stood up, dropped my cigarette on the floor where it joined the numerous generations of butts already there—the Turk wasn’t very strong on cleanliness, which probably accounted for the potency of the chile verde—and went out into the afternoon.
    By the time I had covered the two short blocks to my office building, my already limp shirt was even more so. I stepped over the wino who was prone in the doorway, either dead or laid low by the heat. The elevator again had a crudely printed sign, Owt of Oder, on it, so I went up the stairs. On the second-floor landing another drunk had passed out in a pool of oddly colored vomit.
    I went into my office to be met with a nice friendly greeting from Maria. At least she didn’t wrinkle her nose at me. In spite of the heat, she was looking pretty cool, or as much so as that hot tamale ever got. She was wearing a skimpy cotton halter that left her middle bare and showed her heavy breasts off to great advantage. Her skirt was just about long enough to cover her ass. Not your standard office attire, but who was complaining? The outline of her nipples showed clearly through the fabric in a way that started my jaws aching, but I decided to pass for the moment. When I got this situation sorted out, we’d have a couple of nice weeks in Mexico. If this w as what she wore to the office, I wondered what she’d wear on the beach. A smile, probably.
    I asked if there were any messages, and she said Mr. Argyll had called. At first I didn’t know who that was, and then I realized she meant Stubby. It was probably the first time since World War I that anyone had referred to him as Mister. Stubby Argyll had been a P.I. for about a hundred years. He smelled bad and most of his teeth were gone, but he was smart enough to never cross me, so we got along. He said he’d be in Jack’s around 3:30, and I should stop by if I could.
    I looked at my watch. That left me a couple of hours which * could put to good use. I went through the connecting door
    to my office. I was surprised to see that everything had been turned right side up and reassembled. The desk was a little the worse for wear but otherwise was about the same as it had been before Godzilla had tried his hand at redecorating.
    Maria had followed me in and stood grinning at my surprise.
    “Are you pleased, Sam?”
    “Yeah, Maria. That’s swell, How’d you manage?”
    “I got the janitor to help. He was very upset at the damage.”
    It figured. Janitors, who are paid in pigeon shit and a small spoon, always act as though it’s their property, and not a tax write-off for some asshole relaxing in the Bahamas. I got five dollars out of my wallet and handed it to her.
    “Get him a bottle of something strong and cheap, and tell him thanks.”
    “That’s not necessary. He was happy to do it—for me.”
    No doubt, the horny old bastard.
    “I bet he made you pick up all the little stuff, though.”
    “That’s right. How did you know?” she said, surprised.
    “Hey, baby, I’m a detective. Remember?”
    It wasn’t hard to figure. Maria was more stimulating than any cheap whiskey, and the sight of her bending over in that tiny skirt would be enough to inspire the dead, or at least the comatose. The janitor was probably still groaning and salivating at the recollection of it.
    “Never mind. Give him the bottle, anyway. I’ve a feeling he could use it about now.”
    Maria shrugged and turned to go. Halfway to the door she bent to pick up a small scrap of paper. The transparent panties she wore left little to the imagination. Yep, the janitor had been well paid for his assistance.
    “Say, Maria,” I said, and she turned around. “You want to go down to Mexico with me for a couple of weeks? We’ll find a quiet beach someplace where I can do some fishing.”
    Her face lit up and she ran across to me, her breasts bobbing gently in the halter. She kissed me quickly on the mouth, let her hand lightly run up my thigh, and then ran from the office, grinning over her shoulder. I guess she wanted to go.
    I checked the addresses of some gyms where pro wrestlers worked out, and I saw I could visit a few