"If only you'd seen the TV news last night!" Nelson said. "You had the guy!"
"If it was him."
"The red flight bag, Lynn!"
"Yeah, I know. It mighta been him, I admit. He probably went to Palm Springs Airport and booked a flight home."
"Can you forget about it that easy?"
"I already did. I'm going home and I'm going to bed. You do the same, Nelson."
"Good night," said Nelson Hareem. "I'll keep your secret so long as the guy don't surface again and hurt somebody."
"Me, I'm going to bed," Lynn said. "I'm not a real cop anymore."
Lynn Cutter watched Nelson jump in his topless Jeep Wrangler and squeal out into the heavy tourist-season traffic. Then Lynn got into his Rambler, turned south, drove three minutes and parked at a gas station across from the Alan Ladd hardware store. Lynn was staggering just a tad when he walked to the phone stand with his flashlight.
And because the whole world was sneaking up behind him lately he wasn't even surprised when a tenor voice said, "You're still a cop, Lynn. You can't fool me."
Then, while Lynn Cutter surrendered to his fate, Nelson Hareem borrowed Lynn's flashlight and started searching for clues.
"People write down numbers anywhere at public phones," Nelson said.
"Please chill out, Nelson," Lynn said. "It's embarrassing enough being out here like this. Only guy that'd hang around a public phone this time a night is either a candidate for AIDS or somebody from the planet Krypton."
"Can I see the coins tomorrow?"
"You ain't gonna lift prints from coins, for chrissake!"
"The guy was seen puttin coins in his mouth."
"What was he doing with coins in his mouth?"
"Diminishes thirst, we were told. He's a desert rat, this guy."
"And what difference would it make, pray tell, if I found those particular coins?"
"They might have old saliva on them. I read where DNA technology can sometimes match up somebody from saliva. See, our eyeball witnesses're really lousy; they'll never ID the guy even if we bring him down."
"That's space-age stuff, Nelson. Match up somebody from degraded saliva on a coin? Jesus! How do we know they were his coins? Anybody coulda left some foreign coins here. You could have all ten fingerprints, it wouldn't mean a thing. He's probably got no record here in the States. He's a foreigner!"
But undeterred, Nelson Hareem put the butt end of the flashlight under his chin and started whipping through the Palm Springs yellow pages with both hands.
Suddenly he cried, "Tits!"
"What?"
"This is absolutely tits! We got him!"
"What're you talking about?"
"Look at this!" Nelson said, pointing to the yellow pages.
"I don't see . . ."
"He tore out a motel page! A through C! All we gotta do is find another phone book and check all the motels that begin with A, B and C! There's only thirty or so, I bet."
"How do you know he did it?"
"Same way I know he left those coins! I got his scent!"
"Nelson, unless you lift your leg to pee you don't have his scent. And you don't know if he left those coins. The fact that he may have left a Spanish coin is irrelevant."
"He's ours!"
"Nelson, when you gaze up at the stars do you get lonely for home?" Lynn wanted to know.
"You can't bail out on me, Lynn!"
"Whaddaya mean?"
"I never worked detectives. You got the experience."
"I'm going home."
"Well, I guess I got no choice. I guess I jist gotta turn all this information over to . . ."
"Nelson, I told you . . . warned you I don't want anybody finding out I'm working for a P. I. Understand?"
"But Lynn, I gotta do somethin about this! If I can't tell the sheriff's department then we gotta work it ourselves."
"We gotta . . . Nelson, you're a madman!"
"Get a good night's sleep, Lynn, but first gimme the number at your house-sittin gig. I'll call you tomorrow. And gimme Breda's number."
Lynn Cutter had to go to bed. He had to think. He gave Nelson the phone numbers because he had no choice.
Before Lynn could get into his Rambler, Nelson showed him that daffy grin and said, "If we get him I hope you'll put in a good word for me with your ex-captain. I jist gotta get a lateral transfer to Palm Springs P. D. They got eighty-four officers so there's always somebody retirin or leavin. They gotta take me!"
Lynn couldn't remember if his gun was in the trunk, but what good would it do? The Dirty Hareems of this world couldn't be stopped with silver bullets. They just keep going and going and going, with more lives than that Energizer battery and Richard Nixon.