The Big Enchilada

giggling sound, a metallic hee-hee-hee from a robot’s voice box.
    I crossed the small entry hall and looked into the living room. The glow originated from a large TV screen. The giggle came from Simon Acker. He was seated on the couch about five feet from the television. He was leaning forward, his eyes fixed on the screen. He was naked. He was vigorously masturbating, and his penis was large and swollen. Okay.
    I turned my attention to the television, which I saw was connected to a video recorder. This was apparently my night for kinky viewing. I saw a man wearing a long cloak that hung open in the front. He was naked underneath the cloak and in a state of arousal. He crossed the room to a young blond girl who was chained to the wall, her arms and legs spread wide. She was naked and looked afraid. The man looked steadily at her and then ran his hands slowly over her body. The girl tried to twist away from his touch, but she was too securely fastened to the wall. He then started to grab and squeeze her with increasing force, pinching her nipples and twisting her breasts. The girl protested, and, even though there was no sound coming from the television, it was obvious that she was pleading with the man. He slapped her hard across the face several times and then dipped his head. The girl screamed in pain as he bit the soft flesh of her breast. At the same time his hand went between her legs and viciously tore at the inside of her thighs. The man was frenzied now, and his hands flew over the girl’s body, scratching, digging, pulling at her skin. The girl was screaming frantically, and the man punched at her to quiet her, but she continued to scream. His face contorted with passion and anger. To silence the girl he put his hands around the girl’s slender throat and applied pressure. The girl stopped screaming and her eyes grew wide with fear. The man continued to choke her, pressing his penis against her belly as he did so. The girl’s eyes turned up in her head and her body sagged. The man continued to throttle her long after she was dead. Finally he ejaculated, his mouth open wide in a triumphant yell. He released his hold on the girl and fell to the floor. There was no doubt this was a snuff film. The real thing.
    The quality of the picture was poor, but I recognized the room as one at the Black Knight. I recognized the man as Simon Acker. And I recognized the girl as Linda Perdue, the missing daughter of my friend.
    The final piece of the puzzle had fallen into place.
    The screen went white as the videotape ran out. Acker’s breathing grew harsh and labored. His eyes were tightly shut. His whole body was straining. Finally a gasp of relief escaped from his throat, and his body relaxed as he brought himself to climax.
    I felt cold and hard. I was going to enjoy this.
    I flicked on the overhead light, revealing the black walls hung with medieval weapons. “What’s the second feature?” I said.
    Acker whirled around, startled, a frightened weasel in the chicken coop. As soon as he recognized me, though, his composure instantly returned, and he glared at me with those soulless blue eyes.
    “I didn’t hear you knock,” he said, pulling on the heavy, black dressing gown that was next to him on the couch.
    “You probably wouldn’t have, even if I had knocked. You were too wrapped up in the late show. Interesting bit of tape, that.”
    “What do you want?”
    “You may not believe this, but I’m here to help you.”
    “I don’t, but go ahead.”
    “About two hours ago Medco was busted. They found the smack factory.” I waited for some reaction. There was none. The son of a bitch was hard as ice. “Every cop in the city is looking for you now. By morning, it’ll be every cop in the country. You’ve had it. But I can get you out.”
    “How and why?”
    “The how is easy. False papers. A little bread in the right place. And you’re out. Mexico, Brazil, the Caribbean. Wherever looks best. The why is obvious.”
    “How much?”
    “A lot.”
    “What makes you think I have anything?”
    “Anybody producing heroin will have more cash than he could possibly spend. Even after a lot is funneled through the company’s books, there’ll be buckets of the stuff left over. You’ve got it stashed somewhere. That’s why you can get away. That’s why I’ll get you away.”
    “How much?”
    “How much you got?”
    He stared at me for a minute. “About three hundred grand.”
    “Is that all?”
    He