The Big Enchilada

was still around, probably looked like some sci-fi mutant.
    Surprisingly enough, I managed to get a line on her. It seemed to lead to a porno filmmaker named Starr Monroe. I had a couple of sessions with him, but he didn’t seem to know anything. As far as I could tell, he had no reason to lie to me since I only wanted information and I didn’t care how he made his living, and I let it drop. Only recently did I meet a girl who had known Linda and who thought that she had been in some movies for Monroe, but I hadn’t followed it up. There seemed to be no point. The girl also thought that Linda had gone to work at a place called the Black Knight—some kind of club. Linda had said she was onto a good thing there, and seemed happy about the chance. Her friend had left town soon after that, and they had lost touch.
    I had never heard of the Black Knight and started asking around. Most people didn’t know anything about it, but the few that did got very evasive and nervous, and looked at me in a funny way. I gathered that it was a private club that maybe dealt in kinky sex, but I couldn’t get much beyond that, no matter where I asked, and I had pretty well decided to forget about it.
    So, even though there seemed to be nothing to connect Linda Perdue with the warning I received, people knew I was asking about her and Monroe and that club, and it didn’t seem like I could write off that angle either. Shit.
    My review had gotten me nowhere. It didn’t look very likely, but Domingo could be tied in with any of my cases— Acker, Lansing, or Perdue. Or it could have nothing to do with any of them. It was time to find out. Anything was better than going around in circles. If you want answers, you have to ask questions. You have to push if you want to find out if there’s any substance there.
    I was ready to start pushing.
    I paid Luis and bought a pack of Gitanes, which he carried especially for me.
    I put one of the fat cigarettes in my mouth and inhaled deeply, the smoke of the black tobacco filling my lungs.
    I stepped out into the shimmering afternoon heat. The pavement felt soft as I went to my car.
    I felt pretty good.
    I was moving again.

THREE

    I had decided I would pay a visit to Clarissa Acker to make sure that my suspicions about her letting her husband know about my investigation were correct. I didn’t call before I left. I usually don’t, having found that it’s often better to arrive unannounced.
    Driving through the winding, tree-lined streets up into the hills of Bel Air, the temperature seemed to get a little cooler. The suffocating heat that sat on the rest of Los Angeles was not as severe here, seemingly fanned down by the flap of hundred dollar bills. But the sky was the same dirty yellow, and the air smelled just as foul. Even in L.A. money could buy only so much.
    My old heap was really out of place among the seven- and eight-hundred-thousand-dollar mansions with their Continentals and Rolls-Royces and thirty-thousand-dollar sports cars. Even the servants drove better cars than mine. But I wasn’t going to play the Detroit sucker game of a new car every two years—each new car more expensive and of poorer quality than the old one. I’d drive my car as long as it ran. When it stopped, I’d buy something that did run. Nothing more.
    The Acker house was located on one of the dead-end streets near the top of the hill. From the street the house didn’t look very large or very impressive. I had an idea about what it must have cost, though, and I’d have trouble making even the tax payments on the place.
    I parked on the street in front of the house and walked up the long circular driveway. The house looked quiet, and I didn’t hear any response inside when I rang the bell. I tried a couple of more times, but nothing happened. This was looking like one time I should have called first.
    I was just turning to leave when I heard footsteps through the thick door. It was opened by Clarissa Acker herself. It took her a few seconds to recognize me.
    “Mr. Hunter, I didn’t expect you. You should have called first. Come in. All the help is gone. My husband thinks we should have lots of servants, but I can’t get used to the idea, and I always let them go early, before they can get any work done. Isn’t that something? So I was lying by the pool, wondering what the fuck I was doing lying by the pool just like every other Bel Air rich bitch. Am I a Bel Air rich bitch? God, I hope not.” She