The Big Enchilada

me?”
    “Probably...” I hesitated. Shit. “But I think I’ll need you more.”
    She looked at me and then smiled. “Okay. I think I’d like that.”
    “Okay. I’ll call you.” I turned and then stopped. “Oh, by the way. Don’t ask for room service.”
    “What?”
    “Nothing,” I laughed.
    It was after 4 a . m . With luck I could get a couple hours’ sleep before I received an angry visit.
    It had been a pretty good night.
    I hoped.

THIRTY

    I didn’t get to sleep very long, and I also didn’t sleep very well. Usually there’s nothing like giving it good to some assholes to guarantee that you have sweet dreams, but mine were troubled. For the first time in years I saw the face of the Vietnamese girl in Saigon, soft, quiet, and gentle. Then she faded into Maria, happy and laughing and shaking her long dark hair. And then both those faces melded, and they became that of Clarissa Acker, and that face stayed. The eyes showed warmth and strength, understanding and humor, and they scared me.
    I woke up wondering what the hell I was doing. I kept trying to tell myself that taking her to Mexico was a mistake, but somehow I wasn’t very convincing. Fuck it.
    Mexico was a long way away, and I had a lot of other problems to deal with before that one. Who knows? Maybe the decision would be made for me.
    I got up earlier than I probably had to, but I wasn’t going to face those dreams again, and I wanted to be sure I was ready for what I thought would come down.
    It was still quite early, but it was already fucking hot. The radio that was blasting away in the next apartment said the heat wave would continue for at least ten more days and maybe longer. Brown- and black-outs could be expected to continue from the over-use of air conditioners, and acute water shortages were inevitable. Forest fires were engulfing half the state. A crackpot mystical group said the weather was due to L.A.’s bad karma, and would not improve until everyone ate only green leafy vegetables and stopped using underarm deodorants. And that was the news.
    I saw that I was covered with sweat. I didn’t know if it was from the heat or from anticipation... or from something else. Whatever the reason, a cold shower took care of it. In the interests of water conservation, I held it to a quick ten minutes.
    In the shower I thought about what I was doing. I mean, I had over fifteen thousand in cash. I could just take off, either by myself or with Clarissa Acker. Why didn’t I? I didn’t have a good answer, but I knew I had to see things through to the end. I thought maybe it was for Maria and Stubby and Watkins, but I knew it was mainly for myself. Fuck it. I was going to do it, and that was that.
    I dried off and pulled on an old pair of pants. I was about to put on a shirt when I got an idea. I got out my gun and checked the load. I was about to snap the barrel shut, but I reconsidered and emptied out the bullets. I reached in the back of my dresser drawer and found the box of ammo with the cut points. I could almost hear my friend in the D.A.’s office groaning to himself. My gun was already strong enough to go through steel, but I figured if I had to use it, I wanted to be sure I made a really big hole. Using dum-dums, you didn’t have to be very accurate to do a lot of damage.
    I pulled up my trouser leg and taped the gun to my shin. Shit, it worked once. It should work again. A .357 is a bulky weapon, but my pants had wide legs and it didn’t show. I didn’t bother with a shirt and went to fix breakfast.
    I fried up four eggs and smothered them in jalapeño salsa. I used some San Francisco sourdough to soak up all the juices. I was sitting at the table, drinking coffee and waiting.
    I was on my third cup and thinking that I might have figured wrong when suddenly an incredibly loud cracking sound shot into the room. This was followed by the hinges of my frönt door being ripped from the wall and the door itself falling flat into the apartment. Mountain Cyclone walked in over the door, making one of his typical entrances. I dropped my hand to my leg and touched the gun. Just in case.
    “You should have knocked,” I said.
    He made a gurgling noise that sounded like “I did.”
    “Would you like some coffee,” I said, “or would you just like to chew on a cup?”
    “We go to Domingo.”
    “I was just getting ready to leave town. Isn’t that what Domingo wanted? Why does he want to see me?” I tried to make it sound