The Big Enchilada

be a eunuch.
    “This jerk is asking about Mountain,” one of the punks said.
    “So?” Cueball squeaked.
    “So we thought you should know.”
    Cueball gave the punks a scornful look which made them squirm, and turned to me.
    “Class material,” he said. “They need a diagram to know which end to shit out of.”
    I shrugged. “They say good help is hard to find these days.”
    “You want to discuss the employment situation, or what?”
    “I want to find Mountain. You can tell me where he is.”
    “Who are you?”
    I told him my name, and he laughed with a sound like fingernails being scratched across a blackboard.
    “Yeah, I heard about you. Mountain did a little number on you.” He laughed again. “Mountain’s really something, isn’t he?”
    “He’s something, all right, but you see, he did some damage to my office, and I figure somebody’s got to pay for it.”
    “That somebody’s you.” He laughed again, and I shook my head. “Pal, you’re really stupid, you go looking for Mountain. People who are smart stay out of his way.”
    “Where is he?”
    He looked at me with his little red eyes. “Interview’s over, pal. Clear off.”
    “Where’s Mountain?”
    Cueball turned to the two punks. “Boys, this guy’s really stupid. He can’t even find the way out. Why don’t you show him where it is?”
    I shook my head sadly, and the two punks yucked it up a little. The chinless one reached under his chair and came up with a baseball bat. He swung it a couple of times as he walked toward me.
    “It’s nice to see youth taking an interest in sports,” I said, standing still, completely relaxed and alert.
    The punk looked pleased that I wasn’t running. He stood a few feet away from me with the bat cocked over his shoulder, excitement shining in his rodent eyes. He took a hard swing for my head, but he completely telegraphed his move and I easily stepped aside.
    “You’ll never hit big league pitching with a swing like that,” I said.
    He came running at me with the bat held over his head. As he swung down at me, I ducked under the blow and flipped him over my back. He hit the floor hard and the bat fell from his hands. I picked it up just in time to see the other one running at me with a length of lead pipe. He swung down at my head with enough force to crush my skull, but I pulled out of the way and then quickly turned back in as I swung the bat with all my force. It struck him dead center on his knee and I heard the kneecap shatter. He crumpled to the ground, screaming in agony and writhing in pain.
    The first one was on his feet. He looked at me shaking the bat, willing him to come on, and then he looked at his friend crying and groveling on the ground. He ran for the stairs and out of the building.
    I looked around for Cueball, but he had vanished. The two old groaners in the ring clung to one another in a sweaty embrace of mutual exhaustion, unaware of what was going on. I heard heavy footsteps going downstairs in the back. I got to the door in time to see Cueball turning the corner at the bottom of the stairs.
    I gained ground going down the stairs, and when I got to the back parking lot, he was only about ten feet ahead of me. I ran after him, and when I got close enough I threw a tackle that would have been respectable from a Ram linebacker. He went down, but his momentum carried him out of my grasp and he rolled upright just like one of those kids’ inflatable punching bags with a weighted bottom. I jumped up ready to continue the chase, but he wasn’t running. He stood facing me in a karate stance that looked like he knew what he was doing. I shook my head. It figured.
    He started advancing slowly toward me, his red rabbit eyes shining. I backed up, but I soon ran into the side of a parked car. I wasn’t worried, but I tried to look like I was, hoping to make him overconfident. He smiled a little and then suddenly kicked his foot high and slashed back at me, trying to plant his heel in my stomach. I moved to the side just out of reach, but he immediately followed with an overhand chop aimed at my head. I ducked just in time and the side of his hand came down on the front fender of the car. The fender crumpled nearly in half as it was torn away from the body. It was an old car, but still...
    He instantly turned and his other hand slashed out with a horizontal chop going for my throat. I moved enough for the blow to miss its target, but it still caught me on the chest just