The Big Enchilada

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, in 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.
    A bitter feeling rose up from my belly and I tasted it in my mouth. Disappointment? Anger? Jealousy? I didn’t know what it was, but the strength of the feeling confirmed what I had tried to avoid facing for the last few days: this woman mattered to me.
    “Is everything all right? Who is this?” The Mexican tried to sound like he belonged there. He didn’t make it.
    “It’s okay. This is a friend. Go back to the bedroom,” she said.
    He didn’t look too happy about that. He moved out of hearing, but he kept us in sight.
    “Gardener?” I said, and she nodded. “Congratulations. You’ve just joined the beautiful people of Bel Air.” It was supposed to be a joke, but even in my ears it sounded ail wrong.
    She looked at me for a long minute. “Hunter, you’re making me feel like I should be apologizing.”
    Was that what I wanted? Probably, but as soon as she said it, I knew I was wrong. “No, not at all,” I said, and I meant it. Fuck the double standard.
    She continued to study my face, but I didn’t know what she saw there. “Hunter, I think you might be human after all.” She smiled. “I’m glad.” Her smile faded, however, when she noticed my torn and bloody jacket. “What happened?”
    Here it comes.
    “Your husband did that. We had a fight.”
    “What! What happened? You look okay. How does he look?”
    Was there any point in trying to be delicate? No. “Half his face is gone and his balls have been ripped off.”
    Her face went pale beneath her dark tan, and she took a step backward. The news hit her almost like a physical blow, but she struggled to deal with it. “Why?”
    “By now the police have arrested your husband for the sex murder of a fourteen-year-old girl. It happened two years ago. Your husband gave me no choice. He tried to kill me.”
    "She looked at me, but didn’t say anything. I read a question in her eyes.
    I nodded. “Maybe I gave him no choice. The girl was the daughter of a friend of mine.”
    “Oh, Hunter!” There was pain and sadness and understanding in her voice. I watched as she thought about what I had told her. She was still shocked, but the shock was no longer at what I had done to her husband, but rather at what he had done. Finally, she looked up at me.
    “It’s funny,” she said. “I can’t believe that Simon is a murderer, but at the same time there’s something—a part of me—that’s not really surprised. I guess I always knew he was sick, but I never wanted to think he could be that sick. I wonder how much I’m responsible for? Probably a lot.”
    “No! He did it himself, all by himself. He did it because he chose to do it. He wanted to do it. The evil son of a bitch got off on it.” I spoke harshly because I wanted her to see it the right way, and fast.
    “Oh, Hunter,” she said. She came over to me and held me. Her robe opened and I felt her body against mine and her strong fingers digging into my back. The Mexican kid flinched, but he did not move otherwise.
    After a moment she stepped back. “Well, I guess I got what I wanted. I won.”
    “I guess you did.”
    “Does victory always feel so shitty?”
    “Not always, but it always has its price.”
    “Yeah.” She thought for a minute, and then nodded. “I can live with it.” She waved her hand at the house. “All this stuff was so important to him, and now he’s got nothing, and I’ve got it all. That’s what’ll kill him. I guess that’s