The Big Enchilada

and he started pushing and thrusting. It looked like it was a good time to make my entrance.
    I went around to the back, where I had seen the door was open. The screen door was unlocked and I silently went in. I crossed to the living room.
    His back was to me as he worked away, and the woman saw me first. She screamed. He whirled around.
    “Sorry to interrupt,” I said. “Census Bureau.”
    “What the fuck do you want?” he spat at me.
    Before I could answer he was moving across the room to a desk in the corner. I had seen movements like that often enough to know what was coming next, and I started moving as well. I was at the desk as he got the drawer open, and by the time he pulled out the gun—a good old .45 automatic-— I was throwing a hard right that caught him flush on the jaw-He crumpled joint by joint like a marionette until he lay in a pile on the floor. Oddly enough, his cock remained stiff and straight.
    The woman was no longer screaming, but was glaring angrily at me. She seemed used to this sort of occurrence.
    “What do you think you’re doing, buster?”
    “It’s not your concern,” I said, “but your friend will be all right.”
    “Man, I don’t care if you off the schmuck. It’s just that—” She cut herself off, came over next to me, and tried, but failed, to look seductive. “I like you. I like strong men. He’ll be out for a long time. Why don’t you and me have some fun. I’m really special, baby. I’m worth it.”
    She took my hands and put them on her breasts. They felt like overly inflated beach balls. She started to rub her belly up against me. I gently pushed her away.
    “Maybe later,” I said. “Now you’d better go.”
    “Shit! You goddamn son of a bitch. How’s a working girl supposed to get along?”
    She was right. I asked how much she was going to get.
    “A bill.”
    I saw Faro’s wallet on the desk. I took out four fifties. “Here’s two bills. Forget you were here.”
    “I been at the beauty parlor all afternoon. You’re okay, honey. Sure you don’t want me to take care of you quick? On the house. I really am good.”
    I told her good-bye. She shrugged, threw on her clothes, and was out the door in about a minute. I heard her go up the drive, and soon a car started on the road.
    Faro was still out, and looked to be for some time. I lifted him onto a straight-backed chair and tied him securely with a couple of neckties I found. I wanted to look around without worrying about him coming to and sneaking up behind me. I pocketed his gun. You never know when a loose weapon might come in handy.
    There was nothing to be seen in the kitchen, bedroom, jiving room, or bath, except that Faro was a piss-poor housekeeper. There was also a door that was locked. I could Probably have found the key in about two minutes, but what the fuck, who can be bothered? Two good kicks and the door splintered open.
    Behind it was an elaborate darkroom setup, with lots of good quality equipment and some expensive cameras on a shelf. Faro hardly seemed the type to have this kind of hobby, but then I saw the prints on the drying rack and everything came a little clearer.
    The pictures might be called action shots, but the kind of action that goes on behind closed doors. Each picture involved a couple—not always of different sexes—engaged in some not-too-conventional sexual practice, often employing exotic costumes or implements. The pictures were not posed and, from the lighting and the angle, I gathered that they were candid shots taken with a hidden camera. I only recognized one face in the bunch, that of a well-known Hollywood actor who was entangled in a complicated posture with an extremely young girl. I began to get a clearer notion of the Black Knight Club.
    There was a metal file cabinet with a heavy padlock on it. In view of what I had already seen, its contents were tantalizing, but I couldn’t open this without a key, and I decided it was time to have a chat with Faro.
    He was just coming around and was not especially pleased with his condition. He yelled and cursed and threatened me, but he was hardly in a position to do anything about it. I asked him about the club. We danced around that a bit and all I got out of him was that I was in big trouble, and that if I didn’t let him go, there wouldn’t be enough of me left to feed to a small dog. Hardly the kind of cooperation you expect from someone who is tied bare-assed to a chair with his hose hanging over the