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laminated article from a magazine. The headline read, “
Los Quatros Gros Años
of Jorge Grijalvas: Janitor to Millionaire in Four Years.” Beside it were a certificate from the Chamber of Commerce “awarded to Jorge Grijalvas for his efforts in renovating low-income housing in the Los Angeles Barrio” and a black plastic sign that said “Member, Better Business Bureau.”
    Immelmann said, “Chinese, we’re out of our depth.”
    “Right,” said Kepler. “Not only owns real estate, but a man with ‘Four Fat—’”
    “Quiet,” said Chinese Gordon. The receptionist’s heels could be heard approaching up the long hallway. The three men sat down on the long leather couch. She reappeared, still smiling, and directed them to the door at the end of the hall.
    Inside, a short, stocky man with a smooth, almost luminous tan complexion smiled and held out his hand. “I’m pleased to meet you, Mr. Gordon,” he said, and ushered them to chairs along the wall opposite his desk. “Can I offer you a drink?”
    Chinese Gordon said, “Mr. Grijalvas, this is Mr. Immelmann, Mr. Kepler.” Out of the corner of his eye Chinese Gordon saw Kepler nod, and then he heard him say, “Just beer.”
    Grijalvas pressed a button on his desk and snapped “
Cerveza
” into the intercom, then sat back and smiled, his hands folded on his stomach. “So, what can I do for you gentlemen?” he asked.
    “We’re looking for a chance to make a small investment,” said Chinese Gordon. “We felt that you, with your business connections, would perhaps be interested in helping us in exchange for a percentage.”
    “Perhaps,” said Grijalvas, staring above their heads.
    The door opened and a young man entered carrying a tray of beer bottles and tall glass steins. “Oh, the beer. Excellent, Juan. Thank you very much.” Juan was thin at the waist but had the bulging arm muscles and thick neck of a weight lifter. As he turned his expressionless face toward them they could see a small blue tear tattooed below one eye, on his high cheekbone.
    Grijalvas continued, “What sort of investment did you have in mind? Money for commercial property is extremely scarce at the moment—”
    “Oh, no,” said Chinese Gordon. “It wasn’t real estate we were thinking of. We’re expecting an embarrassingly large inflow of capital in the near future and we’d like to try something more speculative. Although we have confidence in the long-term value of real estate, the turnover is so slow.”
    “Well, then,” said Grijalvas, sipping his beer, “perhaps a partnership with someone who is willing to take on the risks of entrepreneurship.”
    “That’s right,” said Kepler. “We’re in, we’re out, everybody does his part, and we all have a beer.” He poured the glass of beer down his throat without swallowing and grinned.
    “What we were thinking of,” said Chinese Gordon, “was something like financing a venture in pharmaceuticals—imported pharmaceuticals.”
    Grijalvas slammed down his stein like a gavel. “Good day,” he said.
    “Huh?” said Kepler.
    “Get out.”
    “Wait,” said Chinese Gordon.
    “No, gentlemen,” said Grijalvas. “It’s ridiculous. The entrapment you people stoop to is so crude it’s insulting. You come in here like you were born yesterday and try to get me to say something you can take to a grand jury. You don’t even have the sense to take the gun out of your boot. Do you realize who you’re dealing with? See that?” He pointed to an ornate western saddle with hammered silver studs that hung on a stand in the corner of the room. “I’ll be sitting on that to ride in the Rose Parade before you make lieutenant.”
    Kepler whispered to Immelmann, “He’ll need three more for his Four Fat—”
    Grijalvas was still speaking. “You want to bust somebody for drugs, go out to ULA. Here,” he shouted. “Take it with you.” He tossed a folded newspaper on Chinese Gordon’s lap.
    Juan held the door open, so