It was a muggy evening in Frisco. Not really hot, but damp, the kind of night when it's not so much the heat as the humidity. You know what I mean.
I was sitting at my desk with a bottle of bourbon watching the neon glow of a sign from the dirty book store next door stream through my venetian blinds.
My head hurt from too many hours of looking at porn and trying to make sense of the box covers. Finding the plot to Nasty Nympho Night Shift Nurses #147 was a brutal job but somebody had to do it.
I was about to knock off for the night when my secretary came in. Actually she wasn't really a secretary. It was doubtful whether or not she could read or write and we didn't talk much. My tongue got hard when I looked at her and it made communication difficult. I'd only hired her becaue she was the kind of tattooed, pierced and otherwise enhanced model that I liked.
I mumbled something and she handed me a large manilla envelope. Opening it, I found a set of photographs. Someone had pasted Luke Ford's head over Eric Cartman's body. There was a angular blue dog in the photo and Luke/Cartman seemed to be calling him a dildo.
There was also a phone number.
With trembling hands, I dialed. The fat man answered the call himself.
"By god, I knew you'd call, Mr. Riser," he wheezed. "I admire a man who acts on his instincts."
"Who are you?" I asked. "Why did you send me this filth?"
"By god, you get right to the point, sir," he exclaimed, mopping himself with a hankerchief. "I don't trust a man who beats around the bush. He isn't sure what he wants."
"You didn't answer the question," I pointed out, briefly wondering how I knew he was sweating if we were talking on the phone.
"Luke Ford has been causing problems for the Kosher Nostra. He's getting too close to exposing us," the fat man said.
I'd always thought the jewish organized crime ring that ran porn valley was a mere figment of Luke's imagination, but here it was ... real and in my face.
"So why send me the pictures?"
"Put them in your porn news column," the fat man said. "Expose Luke for the dog-raping beast he is."
"But Luke isn't raping dogs in this pic ... and the pics are doctored on top of that," I pointed out.
"By god, sir, it looks like Luke to me. And even though you can't see him actually raping the dog, he's calling it a dildo. Obviously in another frame which has been suppressed by his friends, Luke inserts the entire beast into his anus. That's why it has the particular shape that it does."
"They're bogus pics," I point out. "I know Luke and he wouldn't call a cartoon dog a dildo. It's not the way he talks."
"But you admit, sir, he might have sex with a cartoon do, were it possible to do so?"
"I admit Luke's a strange bird," I shrug. "He might be capable of anything, but I don't know him well enough to make that judgment call."
"By god, you are a card, sir," the fat man cackled. "Since you admit you don't know the truth about Luke's proclivities, in the interest of fairness, you should post these items and let the public make up their own minds, n'cest pas?"
"It's a bogus story," I repeat.
"It doesn't matter," he wheezed. "If you print them, people will believe. He'll be ruined."
"No," I say. "I will not help you."
"Fine," the fat man sighs. "I'll just give the pics to Luke and have him run them."
"Are you insane? Why would Luke run pictures falsly villifying himself when he's knows they are fakes?"
"It's his nature," the fat man wheezed, melting into a puddle of his own sweat. "He won't be able to help himself. He has to post everything he hears."
Hanging up the phone, I pour another bourbon and hit the buzzer on the intercom.
"I'm going home, Angel," I tell my secretary. "I need some air. Make a note for me to check lukeford.com tomorrow afternoon. I think there'll be some new beastiality photos on it."