The Big Enchilada

discussed how we should proceed.
    “Acker won’t be expecting anything from you for a while,” I said, “so we’ll get together in a couple of days and work out something to give him. We’ll make it good so he’ll think you’re earning that ridiculous fee.”
    Stubby tried to look offended. “It’s not so ridiculous. The client wanted results, and he’s going to get them.”
    “If not in the way the client intended.”
    Stubby made a face and spat. “Screw the client.”
    Not a bad philosophy in this business, particularly since most of our clients would try to do it to us if we gave them the chance. Most of the time, being honorable meant getting fucked... or not getting paid. But for some reason I was going to try to be straight with my Acker.
    “In the meantime,” Stubby said, “I’m going to nose around a bit and try to find out what Simon Acker’s up to. I’ll see if I can see what makes his business seem so funny. What are you going to do?”
    “I’m not sure yet.”
    I was sure, but there was no percentage in telling Stubby. I’d let him follow his own line and I’d follow mine. Maybe they’d meet somewhere, and if not, I didn’t want Stubby getting in my way.
    We agreed to keep in touch and pass on anything of interest.
    I left Stubby sitting at his table. The two hookers had fallen asleep across theirs. One Arm Shifty was practicing a difficult three cushion shot and making it look easy. Jack didn’t bother to look up from her magazine as I went out.

TEN

    Since the Black Knight Club popped up every time I turned around, I figured I’d better keep on with it to see where it took me. You don’t have to be in my business very long before you begin to appreciate the importance of accidents and coincidence. You can plan fully, prepare carefully, and work hard, but an awful lot of the time, coincidence will make you or break you. You look really hard for the key piece of information, and when you stop looking because you decide it doesn’t exist, you trip over it and everything falls into place. A lot of veteran cops know this, and it turns them into gamblers or mystics.
    I wasn’t either, but I follow signs when I see which way they’re pointing, and that was why I was up in the hills looking for Nicky Faro’s house.
    I went by it twice before I found the number. It was easy to miss since all you could see was a small mailbox next to a narrow driveway that was mostly hidden by thick shrubs. The house was one of those little bungalows found throughout the Hollywood Hills, stuck down below the road and completely screened from everything by trees and bushes. These houses used to be some of the few cheap places in L.A. where you could have nearly total privacy, but they’ve become pretty Popular now and are no longer so cheap.
    I parked up a ways on the road and walked back down to the driveway. There was a car parked at the bottom of it, so it looked like somebody was home. I didn’t bother to call first because I figured this Faro guy was another one of those that it’s better to visit unannounced.
    I walked on the thin strip of grass next to the gravel drive so ‘Wouldn’t make any noise and quietly started moving around the house, looking in the windows. The third window I went to looked into the living room, and I saw that someone was indeed there.
    Rock music was playing very loudly and a couple were dancing around pretty actively. They were both naked. The woman was short and had a heavy, pale, fleshy body that was starting to lose its firmness, and a pair of the largest breasts I had seen in a long time. “Cantaloupes” was an understatement, but her breasts seemed to bounce in an unnatural way, and I figured they were shot full of silicone. Her hairdo and her heavily made up face told me she was a pro.
    The guy—who I took to be Faro—was dark complexioned with wify black hair. Tall and bony, his body was seemingly without either fat or muscle. He also had a huge, erect cock that must have measured fifteen inches, and was the kind of attribute that was only seen in stag films—usually on bulls or donkeys.
    They danced around a bit with the forced enthusiasm common to paid relationships. Her enormous breasts looked like they were balloons about to lift her off the ground. He looked like he could win a three-legged race by himself.
    He motioned her to get on her knees. He came up and jammed his cock between her breasts, which she pressed around it with her hands,