It was another stifling hot summer day. A sulphurous yellow haze hung over most of Los Angeles. From my window I could see the cars backed up about two miles at one of the freeway interchanges. Down below the winos were shuffling around looking for some patch, of shade where they could escape the sun. Even the packs of kids that would usually be breaking windshields or ripping antennas off of parked cars were not on the streets today. It was that hot.
As I watched my old fan rotate and attempt to push the hot air from one corner to another, I thought it would be a good idea to take a vacation from all of this for a while. A couple of weeks on a beach in Mexico, and the worst of the hot spell would probably be over, and I would be able to get some work done. If it got a little bit cooler, I might also have some work to do.
The lettering on the door said SAM HUNTER, INVESTIGATIONS, but there had not been much to investigate lately. The law about no-fault divorces had cut into my business, and the same with all the computers they were using for credit, checks. But it could have been worse. There were still nasty people who wanted dirty jobs done. They wanted the goods in order to get an especially juicy alimony settlement or to do a little civilized blackmail. And that was fine with me. The nastier and the dirtier they were, the more I would charge them, and they didn't have any choice because I usually turned up just as much dirt on them. So I was working less, but my income was just about the same. It wasn't one of your noble callings, but most of the time it suited me all right, and best of all I was on my own, I didn't have to account to any son of a bitch for what I was doing, and if I wanted to tell someone to fuck off, I did just that.
I had a few cases going on, but they were strictly back burner stuff for a while. If I took off for a couple of weeks, that would probably be just enough time for them to come to a boil, and I could finish them off quick. I don't care how messy an assignment is, it's the waiting around for something to happen that gets to me.
So I had pretty well decided that I would go somewhere south of Mazatlán and was considering if I should take Maria with me. She'd been with me about eight months as my secretary, and so far I didn't mind having her around. She was dynamite to look at, and she had the good sense to keep her distance until I wanted her for something. What she had to do, she did right, and she didn't try to do any more. She didn't try to dig herself in and get a stranglehold on me and the office. There were women who had tried to do that to me, who thought they could improve upon the way I did things, but they didn't stay around long. So far Maria was okay. She also spoke Spanish and was not a bad lay, so I thought I might as well take her with me.
I was about to call Maria in to tell her we were going to Mexico when I heard her say something like, "You can't go in there."
Whatever she had said was obscured by the door to my office flying open and slamming against the wall. Even though the door was unlocked, my visitor had not bothered to use the doorknob but had pushed it open with such force that the jamb had splintered and the door itself had nearly been ripped off its hinges.
It happened so quickly that I had no time to react when the doorway filled with the biggest, ugliest man I had ever seen. He must have been more than six-eight and weighed nearly five hundred pounds. His shoulders touched either side of the door, and he must have been sixty inches around the chest and seventy-five around the waist. All of his features were grotesquely over-sized except for his eyes, which were little black slits nearly lost in the masses of flesh of his overhanging forehead and puffy cheeks. His forehead and jowls were covered with dozens of ugly red warts, as were the backs of the largest hands I have ever seen. They looked like giant yellow sponges on the ends of his arms. They were so large that at first I didn't even notice that he was carrying a gun in his right hand. It was a police .38, which is a fairly large weapon, but it looked like a child's water pistol in his giant fist.
He moved into the center of the room, his vast bulk dwarfing everything in it.
I had stood up by this time, angry at the way he had entered my office, angry as hell at him pointing a gun at me, and getting madder every second looking at his ugly hog's face.
Before I could say anything, a kind of gurgling sound came from somewhere in his face, and I heard, "Stay away from Domingo."
"Who are you and what do you want?" Not the best line, but it was all I came up with.
His expression remained unchanged, but that same gurgling voice coming from far away, deep inside all that flesh, said, "You heard me. I had a message to give. I gave it. Stay away from Domingo."
I was really angry then. As others have learned to their misfortune, I do not take kindly to orders, no matter who gives them. This time, however, the size of my visitor, and the size of his gun, suggested that some caution was in order. Especially if I was going to find out what the hell was going on. I had never heard of any Domingo, but obviously Domingo had heard of me. Figuring that subtlety would be lost on the ape in my office, I was very straight.
"I don't know what you're talking about. I don't know any Domingo. Who sent you with the message?"
He had not moved an inch from where he had settled in the center of the room, but he seemed to be tensing his muscles for the effort of turning his body around. I noticed that his lips hardly moved when he spoke.
"Last time. If you want to stay healthy, stay away from Domingo."
He slowly turned and started to move toward the door.
I moved quickly around my desk and started to grab his arm.
"Listen, you ugly son of a bitch--"
Before I could finish my sentence he had whirled around with a speed I thought impossible for him. With the thumb and first two fingers of his left hand, he grabbed me at the base of my jaw. With seemingly no effort he lifted me about a foot off the ground so that I was slightly over his head. He looked up at me with the small black slits in his face, and a sound came from inside him that I suppose was meant to be a laugh. Then, as though he was tired of the sport, he threw me through the air for about ten feet, where I crashed into the wall. I hit with the back of my shoulder, and it felt like I'd been slammed with a sledgehammer. I went momentarily numb, and then my back started throbbing.
Now, I'm more than six foot three and weigh more than two hundred pounds, but he handled me with no trouble at all. In fact I don't think he was even straining. As if to make that point, he put two fingers under the edge of my desk. With about as much exertion as you would use to brush away a fly, he raised his hand. The desk flew three feet in the air, flipped, and crashed upside down with a splintering sound. The desk was a large one, of solid oak, but he treated it like it was cardboard.
With that display he turned and left the office.
I was standing up, still a bit dazed from being thrown against the wall, when Maria rushed in and threw her arms around me with a sob.
She was shaking and badly frightened, but that only served to make her more attractive. She had some Indian blood in her which gave her a light olive complexion, and she had shiny black hair which she wore long. She had a full, rich body which she displayed to good advantage. That day she wore a very short skirt that showed almost all of her long, well-shaped legs. She had on a thin blouse that was open except where it was tied beneath her large firm breasts. She was wearing no bra--she never did--and her dark nipples were easily visible beneath the semi-transparent material.
Holding her close, I felt the musky scent of her hair begin to have its effect. She was still crying, and I could see she was badly frightened, but that was all right. I've found that nothing makes a woman readier for sex than a good scare.
I turned her head up so that she was looking at me.
"Sam, are you hurt?" she said between sobs.
I didn't answer her. Instead I kissed her hard on the mouth. After a second she responded, and my hands went to the knot in her blouse, untying it. I covered her magnificent melon breasts, feeling the nipples grow hard in the palms of my hands.
I felt her hand slide up my leg. She quickly unzipped my fly and put her hand around me.
I put my hand under her skirt and felt the heat rising off her. I put my hand under the flimsy material of her panties and tore them from her.
I entered her quickly and took her standing up against the wall. I bounced her roughly into the wall, my hands squeezing, digging into her breasts.
Soon the nature of her sobs changed. She was no longer frightened. Her fear turned into mindless ecstasy as I slammed her again and again.
When I was through I let her down slowly. She slid down the wall until she was sitting on the floor, skirt above her waist, legs spread wide, totally spent.
I zipped up my pants and left the office.
I wanted to get something to eat.
I also wanted some information. About Domingo. Whoever or whatever that was.
My vacation would have to wait. Until after I found Domingo.
At the very least, Domingo owed me a new desk.