The Big Enchilada

kid said cheerfully as he went out of the room.
    “That’s good material you got there,” I said.
    “At least he’s clean.”
    “Only because no one’s tried to bribe him with bubble gum.”
    Green shook his head. “Don’t worry. He’ll be all right.” “Sure, he’s just the kind of sophisticated cop you want to bust prostitution and dope rings. How’d it go?”
    “Great so far. We caught them in the middle of filming a scene using four underage girls. You wouldn’t believe what they were doing.”
    “Yeah, I would.”
    He looked at me. “You probably would. We were lucky to catch them in the act, but even without that, we’re finding enough stuff here to put the bosses away for a good long time... unless, of course, they cooperate.’’
    “How does that look?”
    “Not bad. At least that Monroe guy went pretty limp. There’s no fight in him. His mother’s another story. Shit. What a nasty old broad. She almost took out one of my men, and she hasn’t stopped yelling since we got here. We’ve had to restrain her. If we keep her away from Monroe, he’ll talk pretty quick. We should get enough stuff to break up a big distribution outfit, and the feds will be interested in the out-of-state stuff. This was a good tip, Hunter.”
    “There’s still more to do, you know.”
    “I know. We’ll bring it home.” He looked at me for a minute. “Uh, Hunter, thanks for sticking around. If you want, come along tonight.”
    I went to the door and turned around. “Okay, Chief.”
    He laughed. “Where are you going?”
    “Outside—to make sure no other birds decide to fly.” None did.
    It took another two hours for them to wrap up things at the studio. They filled up the truck with boxes of material, and everyone was hustled off to a quiet precinct house where it was hoped everything would remain quiet.
    This was one of those operations where the cops watched each other more closely than they watched the prisoners. No one was to use the telephone or to leave the room alone. They even went to piss in pairs.
    Green talked to the girls they had picked up. They were twelve to fourteen years old, runaways who had all been on the street for a while. They gave him some good info on the connection between Venus Films and the Black Knight. Promising talent got the chance to move over to the club where the hours were shorter, the work easier, and they were taken care of better. None of the girls seemed to be getting much money for what they were doing, and they were unaware how valuable a commodity they were. When they got older—if they got older—they would probably regret the missed opportunity they had had to score big when they were more than just another piece of twenty-year-old meat on the block. I looked at one of the twelve-year-olds who seemed about as wasted as a thirty-five-year-old hooker-junkie. Her life was essentially finished. That’s the way it goes in the big city, folks.
    The hours passed slowly until it was time to begin the second phase of the operation. About eleven-thirty the troops started to assemble. More than half were to go with Green to the Black Knight. The rest would go with Burroughs to take out the smack factory. It was planned that the hits would go down simultaneously, and since Medco looked to be a piece of cake, I decided to go with Green.
    As usual the house that contained the Black Knight looked deserted, but the Lincolns, Caddies, and assorted expensive sports cars scattered along the street indicated that things were in full swing.
    Two cops went to coyer the rear door, and the rest moved silently up the walk and stood close to the door out of sight of the spy hole. I knocked on the door.
    “This is Sam Hunter,” I called. “I’ve got to see Lascar right away.”
    The door flew open. Bulldogs I and II had been replaced by III and IV, though it looked like they were wearing the same dinner jackets.
    “We been told what to do with—” one of them barked, but he never finished because the side of my hand rammed him in the Adam’s apple. He made a noise like “Quah, quah” before he fell over and was grabbed and cuffed by one of the cops.
    As soon as Bulldog IV saw what was happening, he started to reach under his jacket, but one of the uniformed cops— Purble, remarkably enough—was through the door and brought his nightstick down hard- on the bulldog’s elbow. There was a sound of crackling kindling, and the fight kind of went out of the guy. Purble