Fugitive Nights(41)

Lynn grabbed Nelson's arm to anchor him and took a good look through the motel window at the burly man walking their way. He was carrying a bag of take-out food and he did look like the guy with the baseball cap, right down to his Zapata mustache, except that he was wearing a straw cowboy hat.

Before Nelson could start blasting out windows, Lynn opened the glass door and dashed out, as though hurrying toward the parked car containing the Lolita.

Suddenly, Lynn stopped in his tracks, turned to the dark burly man, and said, "Sir! You have a wasp on your hat!"

And the burly guy dropped his bag of ribs and whipped the hat off all in one motion. And his hair fell out. He had more than Milli Vanilli, all done up in double braids, Injun style.

"Where is it?" the guy yelled.

"It's gone," Lynn said. "I oughtta get a job with Terminix Pest Control. Boy, I can spot a nasty wasp faster'n the Anti-Defamation League."

Even in Nelson's topless Jeep Wrangler, cruising along Palm Canyon Drive at night was beautiful. Rows of light washed high up on the towering palms that lined both sides of the avenue.

There were throngs of in-season tourists strolling about, and college kids scoping out the hardbodies.

Of course, during Easter week there'd be hell to pay when Palm Springs tried to keep forty thousand vacationing students under control after they got drunk and turned Palm Canyon Drive into a honking blaring screaming parking lot.

A television crew would be on hand then, which would encourage lots of on-camera miniriots. There'd always be a few coeds hanging on the back of a bike, or sitting up on the trunk of a convertible, flashing the crowd. One would probably start it off by removing her bikini top. Then another might stand up in a pickup and show everyone that her bikini bottom was on backwards. Then somebody would take it all off.

Then a macho sophomore would no doubt run out into the street to cop a feel, or steal the bikini, or otherwise prove to the coed that she shouldn't have had that last six-pack. And she'd scream for help, and a fight would start and lots of students and maybe a few cops would all end up with contusions and abrasions. It happened every Easter week: traffic jam, gridlock, flashing, fighting, riot.

And every year, a coed would have to flash at least one cop by lifting her T-shirt to reveal her address written across her tits. After which, she'd utter some variation of, "Officer, I'm lost. Here's my address. Can you take me home?"

The last one to do that to Lynn Cutter-when he was in uniform with a squad of cops from five different jurisdictions -was a nymphet with creamy shoulders and a pouty candy-apple mouth. While her pals snickered and guffawed at the cop-flashing, Lynn had said to her, "I can tell by your nipple development that you're under the age of eighteen. There's a curfew law. Go home."

She'd covered her boobs very quickly, wiped off her smirk, and said, "I'm seventeen and ten months! I consider myself eighteen!"

"So do I," Lynn said, "but that doesn't change reality for either of us. Go home!"

As Nelson Hareem revved the Jeep Wrangler, it jerked Lynn Cutter out of his reverie.

"Wanna try Desert Hot Springs or Cathedral City, Lynn?" Nelson asked.

"Why don't we finish up here in town first?"

"Okay," Nelson said, agreeably. "There's one on Chaparral that looks likely. Thirty-five a night isn't too much for a terrorist, is it?"

"I don't know, Nelson," Lynn said. "I haven't called the terrorist hot line lately."

"Wanna hear some Dwight Yoakam?" Nelson started thumbing through his country cassettes.

"Never heard of him."

"How about George Strait?"

"Is George Strait the one that wears a Gene Autry hat?"

"Damn, Lynn!" Nelson was incredulous. "What kinda music do ya like? Waltzes or somethin?"

"As a matter a fact 'Tennessee Waltz' is a big-hit single in The Furnace Room. Has been for thirty-five years or so. The only cowboy song I can identify with is 'She Got the Goldmine (I Got the Shaft).' "

Nelson said, "My favorite lately is 'Chasin' That Neon Rainbow.' I guess maybe that's what I'm doin, but damn it, I need some bright lights! I wanna get outta the desert and come to town!"

When Nelson changed lanes to lunge past some cruising kids in a van, Lynn almost got whiplashed. "Puh-leeeeze, Nelson! I'm getting seasick. Do I have to buy a patch to wear behind my ear?"

They checked out two more Palm Springs motels, but got no report of a single man fitting the smuggler's description. Nelson said, "We oughtta drive up to Desert Hot Springs now."

"Gimme a break, Nelson!" Lynn moaned. "Jesus, Vm starting to sound like Bessie."

"Okay, let's see, how about the Cactus and Sand Motel? Know anything about it?"