Eight very large and very gay men filled the living room.

“This is Mike and Trix,” said Gary, glowering at me. “Mike wants to have an experience with us.”

The tallest man in the room, an Aryan blond in a sprayed-on white T-shirt and bicycle shorts, appraised me without love and then traded looks with Gary. “He’s gonna wash first, right?”

“Oh, we’re not going to party with Mike. I just want to shoot him up a little, and then he’s gonna head back to his hotel.”

“Me, too,” said Trix. “I mean, I want to play, too.”

“You know what we’re talking about, right?” Gary said.

“Sure I do. There’s some guys in Boston who throw parties and put the photos up on their Web site.”

“That’s Eugene,” a little redhead guy in black jeans hooted. “I love that guy. Visited him last summer. He took me whale-watching out on Boston Harbor.”

“Isn’t he cool?” said Trix. “I saw all his photos. Always wanted to try this. I figured that if you infused my labia, it’ll feel a little like having balls, you know?”

Feeling vaguely betrayed, I found Gary’s eyes and threw my best possible Murderous Gaze into them.

“I’m armed, you know.”

“No, you’re not.”

“What makes you think that?”

“I’m a cop. I can spot a guy carrying from thirty feet.”

How badly did I want this job? I could’ve just walked away from it there and then. Go back to New York, take a partial fee on the case. Hell, take no fee at all, chalk it up to more hideous experience. What fee was worth all this shit?

Trix was watching me. She looked sad. She gave me a little smile, but that was sad, too.

I sat down hard in the chair and dug my fingers into the arms.

“You’re not injecting salt water into my testicles and that’s that.”