The Big Enchilada

giggled, blushed, and then giggled again.
    The cops descended on the lounge, abruptly terminating that evening’s performance—“The Rape of the Vestal Virgins.” Unfortunately they were not in time to preserve the virtue of the girls in question. But ten minutes wouldn’t have made any difference. Ten years, maybe.
    The audience was shocked that they were being busted, except for one fat, old, bald bastard seated in a dark corner. A girl was on her knees in front of him with her head buried between his legs. “Just a minute! Just a minute!” he shouted. “I’m almost there. Give me a break, will you? It’s the first time in years I’ve had it up.”
    I didn’t wait around to see if they gave him a break. I led Green and a few cops down the corridor to Lascar’s office. We went in without knocking.
    Lascar was behind his desk, engrossed in watching a television that was built into a wall cabinet. It wasn’t the movie of the week that held his attention, not unless one of the networks had been taken over by an S-M leather freak. A barely pubescent girl, clad only in thigh-high boots complete with spurs, was busily swatting the flabby bare ass of a guy wearing a baseball cap. There was no sound, but he seemed to be shouting encouragement. Abruptly he turned on the girl, pulled her over his knee, and began spanking her. As she squirmed in his lap, a rapturous expression came over his face. The plot wasn’t very good, but the performances were strong.
    Lascar swiveled in his chair. His look of annoyance changed to incredulity and then fear when he saw the uniforms.
    “What the fuck is going on?” he managed to squawk.
    “Police,” Green said. “You’re busted.”
    “Hey, you’re making a big mistake. That’s all taken care of.”
    “Not anymore,” Green said.
    Lascar’s head was twisting around so much he couldn’t speak. It looked like he was trying to shake it off his neck. I was standing in the background, but he finally noticed me when his spasm subsided. “Hunter! You’re in this? You’re a dead man.”
    I grinned at Lascar, and, following Green’s order, he was cuffed and removed. He started to weep like a girl as he was dragged from the room. Tough guy.
    I walked over to the TV.
    “Shall we see what else is on? This is getting boring.”
    I turned the dial. The next channel on the closed-circuit television showed an unoccupied room decorated with lots of frills and stuffed animals, like a little girl’s room. I turned again, and a couple humping in the missionary position appeared on the screen.
    “Hmm. How dull. Must be a rerun,” I said, and switched the channel.
    A dark-complected man with a hairy, muscular chest appeared.
    “Say, that’s Rick Stallion!”
    That exclamation of surprise came from Purble, who was still in the room. It was, indeed, Rick Stallion, a pop singer whose sexy, super-macho, stud image made middle-aged ladies dampen their drawers. The intricate posture in which he was entangled with a slender young man would not have helped his image.
    “What’s he doing?” Purble said, open mouthed, and his expression changed from puzzlement to horror as the couple shifted their position. “That’s disgusting!” Purble said just before he threw up on the carpet.
    “Hardened crew you’ve got here, Green,” I said, but Green was busy issuing orders for his men to grab the occupants of the private rooms.
    I watched the action on the TV. It was the funniest show I’d ever seen on the tube.
    The net haul included a pair of corporation presidents, a prominent banker, and a municipal judge who had made a name for himself by being tough on pornography and prostitution. He’d probably try to explain that he was in the club doing field research, the asshole.
    Everything was under control, but Green had a lot of tidying up to do. I wanted to get over to Medco and see how things had gone there. Before I left, Green assured me that he’d hold everyone as long as he could. I told him it didn’t matter anymore, now that the operation had gone down smoothly, but that Lascar had to be kept on ice for at least twelve hours. He was the only one that could tie me to the raid, and if he did, it would fuck up my plans for the morning. I reminded him about what he was to do if I called him, and he impatiently nodded. He was anxious to start bargaining with the fat asses he’d caught.
    Green was humming happily to himself as I left. I was sure he was already seeing beyond the