The Big Enchilada (A Sam Hunter Mystery Book 1)

by L. A. Morse

  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 shrugged. “Domingo took a lot, and a lot went into the house and things. I like expensive things. They suit me.”

  “Where is it?”

  “Safe deposit.” He named a bank.

  “I won’t be too hard on you. I want a hundred.”

  “Too much.”

  “You’ve got no choice. I won’t bargain.”

  “All right. A hundred.”

  “How much cash have you got here?”

  “Why?”

  “I need money to get things moving, man. Arrangements take dough.”

  “I’ve got a couple of thousand.”

  “Not enough.”

  He sighed, which was the extent of the emotion he displayed. “Okay. There’s about ten thousand.”

  “Give it to me.”

  He looked at me with his cold eyes and then went to a cabinet and unlocked it. He took out a thick envelope. He hesitated before he handed it to me. “How do I know I can trust you?”

  “You have no choice. Besides, one phone call and I cancel your ticket. I haven’t made that call. With a hundred K coming, I won’t.”

  He handed me the envelope and I put it in my pocket.

  “Now some information,” I said.

  “Why?”

  “Call it professional curiosity. I’m tired of chasing shadows.... Who was the girl?”

  “How do I know? Just some tramp. She was nothing. A whore. She only existed to provide me with pleasure.”

  “And you killed her?”

  “So what? Her death was the only significant thing in her life. It provided me with pleasure, and thus her existence had meaning.”

  “That’s a tough way to get meaning.”

  “It is more than most people get. Most people are only robots, things, machines. They exist only to serve those of us who are set apart.” His eyes were staring at some unseen thing far away. “We can do with them whatever we want. We have that privilege by right of our superiority, by right of our power, by right of our needs. They understood that in the Middle Ages. That girl only existed to serve my needs. I have The Power.”

  “Did you get off on it?” I sneered at him.

  He looked at me with contempt. “You can never understand. You are one of them. You try to pull me down to your level, but you cannot. Because I am set apart. She gave me pleasure. And she continues to give me pleasure. She still lives—there, on the tape—and in my mind. The experience is still there. She will never die. By using her, I have made her immortal. I have The Power.”

  The man was fucking crazy, but he would pay. I owed my friend at least that much.

  “Unfortunately,” I said, “this is not the Middle Ages, you’re not a feudal lord, and murder’s a crime.”

  “We who have The Power can commit no crimes.”

  “The police may not agree. You did kill someone, and there was a tape of it.”

  “That is so.” He appeared to have returned to normal—whatever that meant with someone like Acker.

  “Domingo blackmailed you?”

  “In a manner of speaking. He said he had no wish to turn me in to the police, but if he was to do me a favor, I would have to do something for him in return. He asked me what I could do. I had long thought about the potential that existed in the company for the manufacture of illegal drugs, but I was not in a position to implement my ideas. I mentioned my ideas to Domingo, and he was much taken with them.”

  “I imagine he would be. A licensed drug company producing smack is like having a key to the mint.”

  “I, too, was sensitive to the financial implications. Too long had I worked for people who were my inferiors. It was not fair. I was being stifled. Great wealth was my right. I needed it to develop my potential.”

  His eyes were beginning to glaze over, and I didn’t want him to get started again on that subject. “But the company wasn’t yours at that time. It was about to be taken over by Megaplex.”

  “That’s right. I told Domingo about that. He did not seem too concerned. He’s a most remarkable man. He understands power... and the needs of power. He said he would investigate. I don’t know how he did it, but he stopped the take-over.”

  “And gave you the money to buy the company?”

  “That’s right. He wanted it kept in my name. He also made the necessary preparations to begin operations. It took longest to set up a distribution system. He ran the heroin side. I ran the company and fixed the books to absorb the profits. We went into production about a year ago.”

  “Why do you have a copy of the tape?”

  He looked surprised at the question. “I insisted upon it, of course.”

  “Of course. How nice to have a partner who understands you.”

  “It has been a most successful arrangement.”

  “Until tonight.”

  “Until tonight. Now I must leave.” He paused and stared off into the distance before he continued. “That is all right. It will be good to go. It feels right. I would have liked to leave with more, but I will have enough for my purposes.... I will go to some Latin American country, I think. They understand there that some men are set apart from others—that power must be exercised. Yes, it will be fine.... You will help me, won’t you?” He smiled confidently at me.

  I smiled back at him. “I’ll help you—right into the slammer.”

  His smile faded. “What do you mean? You agreed—”

  “Too bad. You see, I don’t really give a shit about the heroin operation. I think it’s a dirty way to make money, but I’m used to dirt.”

  “Then what—”

  “It’s the girl. The girl you killed. The girl whose death gave you
pleasure. The girl whose name you don’t know. Her name is Linda Perdue. She’s the daughter of a friend of mine. She’s the reason I’m going to bring you down.”

  “I do not understand. She was nothing. She was a tramp. She probably would have been dead now anyway.”

  “She was the daughter of my friend.”

  “Do you want more money—money to give to your friend?”

  “I should take all of your money, and then still turn you in, but I won’t. I’ll just turn you in. And I’ll feel good doing it.”

  Acker’s mask of icy control cracked. His face contorted into a grimace of anger and ferocious hatred. Foaming saliva appeared at the edges of his mouth. “You’re all the same,” he screamed, his pale blue eyes rolling in their sockets. “All the same! You try to bring me down because I am too great. But you cannot do it. I have The Power, and The Power is supreme.” He ran to the wall and pulled the four-foot-long broadsword from its cradle. Oh, shit. Holding the heavy weapon overhead with both hands, he ran at me. “You will pay the price! All my enemies will pay, and you will be first.”

  I could have pulled my gun and plugged him cold, but I didn’t. It would have been too easy, too impersonal. I wanted Acker’s blood, but I wanted to taste it. I wanted to hurt him in a way that he would feel the pain for the rest of his life. This was for Linda... and for me.

  The sword came down toward me with enough force to split me in half, but it was slow and I easily stepped aside. The sword hit an end table, splintering it. The weapon was sharp, all right.

  I looked around and spotted something. I grinned. It was a weapon amusingly called a morning star. Before Acker could make another charge at me, I removed it from where it hung on the wall. It was heavy in my hand. The steel ball weighed about five pounds with two dozen sharp spikes sticking out of it. It was attached to the wooden handle by a short heavy chain. Fuck! Acker had gone back seven hundred years and taken me with him.

  I swung the ball in a slow circle, backing Acker away from me. His eyes gleamed feverishly and his lips were pulled back in a snarling smile. The goddamn maniac looked pleased that I too had a weapon.

  He circled me cautiously, but the small room did not provide much space to maneuver in. He feinted once and then slashed at me. I backed up, but tripped over a footstool, and the blade caught me on the arm, tearing the sleeve of my jacket but only grazing my skin. At the same time I swung the mace and it hit him on the side of the upper leg, cutting through his robe, pulling it open, and digging into his flesh. A long gash appeared that soon welled up with blood. Acker looked surprised and put his hand on the wound. His fingers came up red. He uttered that same metallic giggle I heard when I entered the apartment.

  “Blood. Purifying blood,” he said, and giggled again.

  Suddenly he ran at me, catching me off guard. His leg shot up and kicked me in the ribs, knocking me off balance. As I stumbled to the side he closed in on me, preparing to bring the blade down on my neck. In desperation I yanked the ball from the floor in an upward arc. It caught him square between the legs, crushing his testicles and ripping them from his body. Dark red blood spattered the floor. An animal groan rose up in his throat. He clutched what was left of his bleeding balls.

  He advanced toward me with the sword held straight out in front of him, the sharp tip gleaming dully as it approached me. I tried to back him off by swinging the mace, but he no longer seemed concerned and moved steadily forward. He backed me into a corner and was able to keep me there with quick thrusts of the sword. One thrust caught me in the right shoulder and sent a shock of pain down my arm, almost causing me to drop my weapon. I could tell it was not very deep, but my jacket started to darken with absorbed blood. Acker’s pale eyes narrowed and he giggled again.

  “I am The Power,” he hissed through labored breaths.

  He moved back for a small step and drew in his arms. I could see he was preparing for a final thrust. The point of the blade was aimed at my stomach. The chain on my weapon was not long enough to reach him, and I knew I’d have to time my swing with his lunge if I was to avoid being run through.

  Just like a boxer, I kept my eyes fixed on his, hoping they would reveal his intentions a split second before he moved. His eyes darted to the side, I fell to the left just as he came forward, swinging the steel ball with all the force in my arm. The ball went over the out-thrust sword and rose above his head. His forward movement brought him into contact with the ball as it descended. The steel spikes cut into the left side of his head, tearing off the skin from his forehead, the side of his nose, his eye, and most of his cheek. The sword buried itself two inches into the wall as he fell to the floor.

  Taking deep breaths, I knelt over him. Half his face was gone, but my blow had not been strong enough to break the bones. He would live, but no amount of surgery would ever make him resemble anything human again. I was satisfied.

  I took off my jacket and shirt and examined my shoulder. The cut was not bad and the bleeding had nearly stopped. It should have been looked at, but I didn’t want to bother. I went into the bathroom, found some iodine, and poured half a bottle into the wound. That hurt a lot worse than the cut itself.

  I got dressed and went back into the living room. Acker was still motionless and would be for a long time to come, but he was is no danger of dying. The blood was still oozing weakly from his groin, and his skull showed whitely through the ragged flesh of his face.

  I called and got Green at the Black Knight. He had nothing new to report, but it sounded like he was having a hell of a good time. I told him about the money in Acker’s safe deposit box. I told him where he could pick up Acker. I told him he better send an ambulance.

  “He’s not dead, is he?”

  “Hell, no. He’ll only wish that he was.”

  “Hunter, do you intend to go on leaving broken bodies scattered around the city?”

  “Not for much longer. But I can’t help it if people accidentally do themselves an injury, can I?” There was no reply. “Don’t complain. I’m even giving you a bonus with Acker.”

  “Yeah? What’s that?”

  “Just about two years ago you had a Jane Doe murder victim. I don’t know where the body was found. A fourteen-year-old blond girl. Death by strangulation. The girl’s name was Linda Perdue. Her family lives in Eugene, Oregon. If your photos are any good, they’ll give you an I.D. If not, the dental records will. Acker killed her at the Black Knight.”

  “How do you know this?”

  “There’s a videotape of him doing it. It’s in the apartment where you’ll find Acker.”

  “You’re shitting me.”

  “Would I do that?” I tried to sound offended.

  “Probably.”

  “You might be right, but this is on the level. You can see for yourself.”

  “I intend to. What are you doing now?”

  “I thought I’d go home. Have you taken off the pickup order that’s out on me?”

  “Done.”

  “And you remember what I want you to say if I call you in the morning?”

  “I do. I just wish I knew what you had in mind.”

  “I wish I did as well. If things go right, though, I’ll put the bow on your package, and all your troubles will be over.”

  He made a skeptical noise as I hung up.

  I Was starting to feel tired. I took a last, long look at Simon Acker. I felt better.

  And then I thought of Clarissa Acker.

  I had one more stop to make before I could go home. Time was running out.

  I left the lights on and unlocked the door before I shut it behind me. That would save the police the trouble of breaking it down. I shook my head. I must be going soft.

  TWENTY-NINE

  Considering the total success of the evening, I should have been feeling better as I drove up to the Ackers’ Bel Air house, but I wasn’t.

  Clarissa Acker had wanted me to get her even, and then to get her out. Well, I guessed she was more than even, and, i
n a way, she was out. But it was hardly done in the way she had expected, and there were going to be repercussions she hadn’t counted on. I had no idea how she would react; what continued to surprise me was that it made a difference to me. A big difference. Shit.

  I had to ring the doorbell about a dozen times before I heard footsteps coming to the door.

  The door opened a crack, and I saw Clarissa Acker looking kind of tousled.

  “Hunter!” she said, and let me in.

  She wore a loose robe that she held closed at the waist, succeeding in covering very little of what she had. Even half asleep she looked pretty good to me. My throat felt tight, and I didn’t know how I was going to do what I had to do.

  “What is it? Why are you here?” She sounded puzzled and confused.

  Before I could answer, a slender young Mexican padded into the entry hall, clad only in a towel that he held around his waist.