Fugitive Nights(40)

Lynn noticed the bulge under the arm of Nelson's T-shirt and wasn't surprised. He'd figured Nelson to be a leg holster type as well. And he probably carries a dagger, and maybe a derringer in his shorts, Lynn figured. The Nelson Hareems of this world were as predictable as August heat rash.

It was dark when they got to the fourth one, Bessie's Apartment Motel, north of Desert Hospital, just a few miles and a few million dollars from the other Palm Springs. It looked promising, a run-down stucco one-story, with a white rock-composition roof.

Bessie herself was working at the reception desk, and wasn't overwhelmed by a Palm Springs police badge being waved under her nose. She'd been watching Wheel of Fortune and dreaming of winning a Beverly Hills shopping trip. She didn't look quite as masculine as George Burns, whom she resembled, but her voice was more gravelly.

Bessie glanced at Lynn and said, "What is it, another runaway from L. A. get in trouble?"

"Need to talk to a guy who mighta checked in yesterday afternoon. He's a Mexican . . ." Then Lynn looked at Nelson and said, "Or maybe he's from the Middle East."

"Like Kansas?"

"That's Middle West."

"Like the guys that're behind the counter in a Seven-Eleven store," Nelson offered.

"Oh, Eye-ranians?"

"Yeah, like that," said Lynn. "But maybe he's a Mexican."

"Mexican, Eye-ranian, gimme a break!" Bessie said. "Think anybody can tell the difference?"

"He's bald but might be wearing a blue baseball cap or some other hat," Lynn said.

"Then I wouldn't know he was bald, would I?"

"No," Lynn said.

"He's maybe in his late thirties, early forties. About my height but huskier. Strong-looking guy. With a big droopy black mustache. Might not have a car."

"He sounds like every gardener I ever seen around here," Bessie said. "Gimme a break!"

"Right," Lynn Cutter said, and indicated to Nelson that it was time to let Bessie return to her Wheel of Fortune fantasies.

"But," she said, "it maybe sounds like a guy named Vega in bungalow four."

"What?" Lynn and Nelson said in unison.

As they headed for the two rows of semidetached cottages making up Bessie's Apartment Motel, Lynn Cutter got a load of what a few others before him had seen and would never forget-Lynn got to see the carrot-top cop when he put on his game face!

The first thing Nelson did was reach up under his Lakers T-shirt and grab hold of the .38 in the upside-down holster.

"Puh-leeeeze!" Lynn cried. "This is prob'ly just a snowbird from Walla Walla. Let's not kill him right away!"

"Ain't you carryin a piece?" "No."

"I got an extra one!"

"I figured."

"Want it?"

"No."

"Then stay behind me."

"With pleasure. But puh-leeeeze don't Schwarzenegger the door. Let me handle it."

"I'll whistle when I'm in position!" Nelson whispered. "Like a whippoorwill!"

Nelson squatted down so he could pass under the front window, of bungalow four and not be spotted. He duck-walked toward the rear of the building, and when he was in position to watch the back door, he whistled from the darkness.

It dawned on Lynn. There's no whippoorwills in the frigging desert. Not even one scraggly-assed whippoorwill!

Lynn knocked. No answer. He knocked again and said, "Mister Vega! Bessie sent me to tell you the gas meter shows a leak in one a the bungalows! Mister Vega, you there?"

Lynn put his ear to the door. He walked to the corner of the bungalow, peered toward the darkness out back and saw Nelson crouching with his gun extended in both hands just like on television. When Lynn Cutter had first become a cop nobody extended two arms to hold one little gun!

"Nelson!"

"Yeah?"

"Nobody home. We'll come back later."

Bessie had turned off Wheel of Fortune by the time they got back, and was busy registering a nervous middle-aged guy who had a babe outside in his car.

When the cops reentered the motel office the nervous guy was writing "Mr. and Mrs. Johnson" in a counterfeit scrawl, and had given a wrong license number. As though anybody gave a shit about him and a teenage hooker from Indian Avenue.

Lynn said to the motel proprietor, "Bessie, we might come back later. Don't say anything to the guy in bungalow four, okay?"

"Think I'm gonna nail a notice on his door?" Bessie snorted. "Gimme a break!"

"Okay, Bessie," Lynn said, and the cops left her to tend to the nervous guest who kept watching the street for cops.

But before Lynn and Nelson could get out the door, Bessie said, "Hey! Here comes Mister Vega now."