The Big Enchilada

didn’t think it would be a good idea to stick my nose into the operation, but I wanted to know how it would come out. I was sort of dozing in the stifling heat of late afternoon, feeling uncomfortable because I was sticking to the car seat, when I saw somebody coming down the alley next to the building. It was one of the uniformed cops, and he was looking nervously over his shoulder.
    He reached the sidewalk, looked both ways, and started walking quickly in my direction. I waited until he passed me. I got out of my car and followed him on my side of the street. He didn’t even look around. He reached the gas station on the corner, and when he went toward the phone booth there, I hurried across the street. Shit! I was pretty sure he wasn’t ordering in pizza. Fucking incompetents. I told them to make sure the cops they picked were clean and to keep everybody together. Jesus Christ!
    He was still dialing when I got to the booth. I yanked open the door, grabbed the receiver from his hand, and pulled the cable out of the box.
    “Sorry. This phone’s out of service,” I said.
    “Wha—” he said.
    “Who were you calling?”
    He didn’t answer but started to reach for his gun. The cramped quarters of the phone booth made it awkward for him to unsnap his holster-, and I had plenty of opportunity to swing the receiver back and smash it into his mouth. Fragments of teeth and a spray of blood spattered the walls of the booth. He groaned and tipped his head back. I clubbed him in the forehead with all my force, and a couple of times on the back of his head as he sank down. He wasn’t moving as he settled into the pile of dog shit that adorned the floor of the phone booth.
    I didn’t know what it was, but beating the shit out of a dirty cop sure made me feel good. I just hoped that Green hadn’t sent him to make the phone call. Fuck it. It was a little late to worry about that.
    I took his handcuffs off his belt and secured his wrists behind his back with the chain of the cuffs running around one of the phone booth’s metal supports. He’d stay there for a while.
    The gas station attendant, an overweight adolescent with “Bob” written above his heart, looked on with mild interest. He shrugged and went back to work.
    I went into Venus Films. The outer office was empty except for Green, who was looking through the desk. He wasn’t pleased to see me.
    “Before you say anything,” I said, “did you send one of your men down to the corner to make a phone call?”
    “Of course not. No one except Burroughs and myself was to have any outside contact.”
    “Then one of L.A.’s finest is in a phone booth with his nose buried in a mound of dog shit. He must have slipped or something, because he’s all cut and bruised. Funny thing was, as he was falling he managed to handcuff himself to the booth. Damnedest thing I ever saw.”
    “Is this one of your jokes, Hunter?”
    “No. He was about to make a call when he had his accident.”
    “Lucky accident.”
    “Wasn’t it?” I said sourly. “Shit, Green, what are you doing? Didn’t you check out any of these guys?”
    “I thought I did. Who was it?”
    “Gryffin.”
    “He was a last-minute replacement.”
    “Nice going.”
    “Leave it alone, Hunter.” He opened the door to the studio and called out a name that sounded like Purble. In a minute a very young, pink-cheeked, uniformed cop came out and snapped to attention.
    “Yes, Chief?” he said.
    I looked at Green and rolled my eyes. He rolled his back. “What do you know about Gryffin?” Green asked. “Gryffin, Chief?”
    “Gryffin. He’s in your division.”
    “I know that, Chief.”
    “What do you know about him?”
    “Nothing, Chief.” The cop looked bewildered, but then he probably always looked that way.
    “Do you know where he was before?”
    “Northern Valley Division, Chief.”
    “And before that?”
    “I don’t know, Chief. I think he once said he was downtown. He worked with Ratchitt of Vice, I think he said.”
    “Nice going, Green,” I said, somewhat unnecessarily because Green looked disgusted with himself.
    “At least that explains it.” Green told the young cop he could go.
    “Right, Chief,” he said, bringing himself up so straight it looked like he was trying to propel himself through the ceiling. He did a military turn and went to the door.
    Green called after him. “In the future, Purble, please don’t call me Chief. I’m not, you know.”
    “Okay, Chief,” the