NIGHT CRUISING

by Billie Sue Mosiman

Her head whirled with the names and the people. How could she ever remember all this to tell the police if she survived the trip with Cruise? She'd never remember it all. There were too many places, too many people. Years and years of madness and dying that left her astonished and trembling with outrage. How could one man cause such destruction and loss of human life? It was one long horror story that stretched the mind to its limits of understanding. Her mind rebelled at the carnage left along Cruise's trail. He might be the most dangerous man in the entire country. Had she not been frightened before, she was now petrified and speechless before his revelations.

  He told her all these secrets while driving steadily through the night. After he stopped and shaved off the beard and mustache his stories came in a flood told in a voice that chilled her to the very bone. Each new admission scored her mind with bright new pathways of fear. She feared to move, to speak, to break into his reverie and remind him she was there.

  He not only looked like a different man after shaving the beard and mustache, but he sounded like a different man. He wasn't the same Cruise that offered her Cokes and paid for her shower room in the truck stops. He wasn't the Cruise who held her in the circle of his arms in the Mexican cemetery as if she were a fragile bird with a broken wing. Ever since he had heard on the radio reports that he was being hunted, he had become more and more unstable. He was like a star flying out of orbit, disintegrating into trailing fire as it sped through space. He was a comet burning itself out as it slammed into the earth.

  She despaired when the stories faltered to a stop near Deming, New Mexico. He left the interstate and took a smaller highway north. She had hoped he would remain on I-l0 where a patrol car might spot them. The silence unnerved her more than his admissions of murder for the next forty miles. She cleared her throat a couple of times, wishing to question him about where they were going, but she just couldn't get the words out. If he was a burning comet, his fire could burn her to cinders at any moment. She could say the wrong thing, move the wrong way, and she knew her life hung by a slender filament.

  He promised to keep her, maybe to insure safe passage if he were captured, but she knew he was not operating the way a practical man would act. She couldn't trust him to save her to save himself. He was so far over the edge she could never reach him now.

  When he turned off the main highway onto another road, she sat up in the seat and looked around, trying to memorize the route. Where in holy hell was he taking her?

  A sign read CITY OF ROCKS STATE PARK.

  Cruise turned left and downshifted to cross a cattle guard. They bumped and rumbled across the metal grid, the truck lurching drunkenly to the left, then to the right. He slowed even further so that they were crawling across a desert floor. The truck motor growled low and the smell of diesel came into the window. About a mile away Molly could see flat-topped blocks of rock. City of Rocks? A state park? But there was no guard gate or guard, no camping facilities, no concession booths or souvenir stands. Just the desert, the standing rocks, prickly pear and barrel cacti, the twisted, thorn- infested mesquite trees.

  Hideout.

  Of course. He had been looking for a place to hide and lucked onto the City of Rocks. Or had he known about it before and came directly here? She didn't know. She was afraid to ask.

  "Fifty miles more and you could have seen the Kneeling Nun."

  His statement clarified the mystery for Molly. He knew this place. "Kneeling Nun?" Her voice sounded small, apologetic.

  "There's a huge mesa that split into two. One piece was weathered or something and it looks like a gigantic nun kneeling. She's so big she throws a shadow over the town. But this is more private," he added. "Much better for us."

  "Oh."

  "See those mountains back there?" He pointed behind the rock formations standing isolated on the desert.

  "Yes."

  'Mount, Holt's there. And Old Baldy. You can't see much at night, but during daylight you can tell there's snow up near the summits. The continental Divide's not too far north of us."

  As they approached the City of Rocks, Molly could see that at one time the entire cluster of one-story rocks had probably been all of one piece. A vast slab of mesa sitting out here in the desert by itself. Over generations of time heat and cold contracting within the rock had caused it to splinter down straight north-south, east-west fault lines so that now the blocks stood apart. As Cruise stopped the truck and sat staring into the crevices between the rocks, Molly could see that some of the lanes were wide enough to allow entrance of a vehicle and some were too narrow. Altogether the geological formation made a sort of city, a city of rocks, the rocks like houses built along cramped streets. A rock maze. A dead place.

  She shivered uncontrollably and locked her hands around one another. She didn't want to be here. It was the worst place he could have taken her. It was barren and lonely and there was no one here to help her. The police would never...

  "We..." She had to find some spit in her mouth so she could talk. "We...could we...this is...uh..."

  "What's the matter, don't you like it?"

  "But it's so..."

  "Empty?"

  She nodded and licked the split in her lower lip.

  "Yeah," he said. "It's empty and pretty much stays that way. Not many tourists ever find their way here. That's why I like it so much. With food and water, we could stay some time before anyone ever showed up. As it is, we should be able to stay until the heat gives up. The cops will think we just disappeared into thin air."

  Oh, no, Molly thought, not here, not out here at the end of the world. I don't want to disappear with Cruise, not in this terrible place.

  #

  Cruise pulled the truck into one of the wider streets leading into the City of Rocks. He parked it. and turned off the motor. He climbed from the cab. Stood looking overhead past the tops of the rocks on either side. There were a million trillion stars, more stars than he had ever seen from any vantage point except maybe up in the Colorado Rockies. The stars twinkled and blinked and shone down steady, silver and gold and icy blue and crystal pink.

  He took in a desert-cool breath, feeling easier. He heard the cab door open on the other side of the truck and knew the girl was looking around. If she'd look up, let her gaze travel heavenward, she too would feel better about his chosen hideout.

  He heard a rustle along the ground and turned his attention there. He saw a gila monster scurry away, pushing aside small stones and pebbles in its way. Sometimes on his visits to the City of Rocks he heard coyotes wailing out on the plains.

  They'd never find him here. When he left it could be weeks before anyone found the body of his witness.

  #

  Fifty miles seemed to spin out to five hundred. He should have driven it in an hour or less, and according to his watch he had, but the hour seemed to be ten while he drove and cursed and called Molly's name in a whisper.

  He almost passed Highway 6l and had to slam the brakes, skid to a complete stop halfway past the turnoff. He passed a sign that read CITY OF ROCKS STATE PARK. He continued to a small town. Sherman. Were they here? He needed to check with someone. He tried the CB, but the streets were devoid of traffic this time of night. And there were no trucks along this route.

  He realized that Sherman was just a spot in the road. There were no lights on or places of business that were open this time of early morning. As he crept along at less than twenty miles an hour, he saw the glow of a cigarette in front of a dark closed service station. He whipped the steering wheel to his right and pulled up to a stop. He hopped from the car, left it running. He must have scared the older man as he came toward him. He saw him drop the straight-backed chair he'd been leaning against the wall to the ground with a hollow thump. He saw a six-pack of beer at the side of the chair. The man had one open in his hand and a cigarette in the other.

  Mark had to hurry.

  "Listen, I hate to bother you, but have you been here the last hour or two?"

  "Sure, mister.
What's the trouble?"

  "I'm with the state police," he lied smoothly. "We're searching for a truck. It isn't pulling a trailer. It's dark blue, has a snub nose, a cab-over truck. Have you seen it?"

  The man shook his head and his long hair moved like a sheaf of white wheat. "Ain't nothing come by here since about midnight. I close up at eleven. I sometimes sit out here with a beer afterward. I like the peace and quiet, and those stars up there." He pointed overhead with his beer and Mark caught himself looking up too. The sight at this elevation was spectacular. He had never seen so many stars in Florida.

  "I don't get too many customers through here this time of night," the man continued. He laughed as if that was supposed to be a joke on the town.

  "You didn't see a truck? Any kind of semi-truck?"

  "No, sir. I would have noticed. I've been sitting right here in front of the place all night. Last sale I had was a pack of Salem Lights to Jerry Salinas, and that was around closing time. He stops by after work at the hospital and gets either cigarettes or a brewski."

  Mark thought it over. "No truck? You're sure?" He couldn't figure that out. The station was right on 6l. There were no other highways crossing 6l they might have taken.

  The sign he'd passed flashed through his mind. CITY OF ROCKS STATE PARK.

  "That state park back on 6l," he said. "What is that anyway?"

  "What is it? Well, it's just a big bunch of squared-off rocks. You can walk down through them and all. It ain't much."

  "Could you drive into them? Park a semi-cab in there?"

  The man gave it some thought. He twirled the beer in his hand. "Oh, there's one or two streets in it, well....they ain't streets really, just lanes where the rocks have split, but there's a couple you could drive a big cab into, sure."

  "Thanks." Mark turned on his heel and was back inside his running car before the man could ask any questions.

  He turned the car around and headed back out of town.

  That's the only place Molly could be. Parked in the City of Rocks. She had to be there, hidden from view. He just knew it.

  #

  Once they were off the road, time fell back into a familiar pattern. In fact, it might have slowed now. The stars wheeled overhead in dazzling array. A caressing wind blew down the canyons between the rocks.

  Cruise made Molly walk with him through the maze while he worked out his tension and stretched his legs. When they came to the outer edge of one of the streets, he would pause and look out at the plain. There were desert spoon plants, small yucca-type plants that Indians sometimes used for spoons. There were straggly mesquite trees blowing in the starlight, long pods of dry beans rattling like strings of tiny clicking bones.

  "You think this is desolate?" he asked Molly.

  She didn't answer. She was a most uncooperative witness, a sad little companion.

  "This is paradise," he said. "There's the wind and the stars, the rocks that have been here longer than man has wandered these plains. I love it here."

  Prodding her, he turned back to take another stroll down another canyon street.

  He had time.

  All the time he needed.

  #

  Mark turned off his headlights before he turned onto the cattle guard crossing that led to the City of Rocks. He could see the formation not far away. He didn't want to alert the killer, if he was here. He pulled over onto the desert sand and shut off the ignition. He'd walk. If he was wrong about this, he'd kick himself all the way back to the car. He prayed he was right.

  He was trying to think of a weapon to use to get Molly back. He wished he had a gun. He should have asked the fucker who put in the CB at Guthrie's Truck Stop.

  All he had was the tire iron in the trunk and the strength of his resolve. It would have to do. He was a Marine, god damn it. You had to be really good to beat a Marine.

  #

  Cruise was leading Molly down a street hardly wide enough for his shoulders. As they approached one of the intersections he heard footsteps. He stopped abruptly.

  He pulled Molly to him and clamped his hand around her mouth. She struggled in his arms until he tightened his grip. "Sshh," he whispered close by her ear. "Someone's here."

  The footsteps neared, halted, neared again. They paused every few feet as if the person was listening.

  Cruise suddenly thought about Boots, his old infantry buddy in 'Nam, how he crept through the jungle so lightly so as not to alert the Cong.

  Boots. Boots.

  No, it couldn't be. Boots had not visited him in twenty years. Boots died in 'Nam, everything leaking from the stumps of his legs. He was buried shallow under leaves and forest debris by Cruise's own hands.

  Some of the stories Cruise told Molly were lies. Tall tales to fill the time driving over so many miles. Sometimes Cruise had told his stories to the witnesses so many times that he came to believe they were true. Sometimes, and he just now realized this truth, he couldn't distinguish between his lies and the real past. But the story of Boots was true. It was Boots who had persistently showed himself even though he had been dead, Boots who rallied him when he faltered in the jungle, who woke him when he slept, who lured him ever onward to the 'copter pickup point. Boots who saved his ragged ass.

  Molly struggled anew. He held her fast, furious that she would give him trouble now when he least needed it. One more time, one more move, and he'd break her goddamned neck right where she stood.

  The footsteps neared.

  The wind gave a low eerie whistle as it eddied down the narrow rock walls.

  Cruise kept still and waited for someone or something that was coming for him out of the night.

  #

  Mark found the truck. The front grille was still hot to the touch so it had not been here long.

  Where was Molly? Where had the son of a bitch taken her?

  The City of Rocks was an endless maze of lanes leading he knew not where. He might follow them for hours without getting close.

  His training kicked in and he began to creep down the canyons like a sniper on reconnaissance. He would move forward a few cautious steps, stop, listen so hard his ears started ringing, move forward again. Stop. Listen.

  They were here somewhere.

  His baby was here. Somewhere.

  #

  Cruise thought it the worst possible time for the worms to start wriggling beneath the skin of his arms.

  He jerked Molly to the side and back again. She made a sound muffled behind his hand and he tapped her on the head with the heel of the knife. She shut up.

  He jerked her back again, trying to relieve the pressure building along the veins and muscles of his forearms. He had meant to show her the cuts and ask her opinion of what he might do. He hadn't had the chance. Time had come unraveled, then the peaceful stars shining down on the City of Rocks had made him forget for a while.

  But the closer the footsteps came, the more he wanted to throw the girl to the ground, and rip off his shirt, tear apart the bandages. Something had to be done and soon. He could cut off his arms they felt so inflamed. There were rolling sparks falling down his shoulders to his hands, leaving behind them burning tracks that made his muscles spasm.

  He nearly cried out in agony.

  The footsteps were close now, just around the corner, coming to get him. If it was Boots, by God, he'd have to kill the motherfucker, make him die a second death. He

  didn't care who it was. Orson. Edward. Minde. Riaro. The screaming fat man with the diamond ring. The cowboy with the baseball bat, the woman in the Pick 'N Save, the truck driver.

  Lannie.

  Daddy.

  Didn't care. Had to stop the creeping footsteps.

  And then a man with a crew cut, bearing a tire iron before him, stepped into view.

  #

  Molly didn't know what happened. One minute Cruise was genial and trying his best not to frighten her, telling her about desert spoons and coyotes, and the next minute he had his hand around her mouth, crushing her lip
s against her teeth.

  She fought to get free, adrenaline racing, heart pounding, thinking this was the end, but the more she tried, the harder he held her. Then she felt the blade of the knife cold against the blood throbbing at her throat and she turned to stone; she couldn't have moved had she wanted.

  With her eyes wide searching back and forth for some way out, she saw him come around the corner not four feet from where Cruise held her in the vise of his arms.

  Her father.

  #

  Mark came to the intersection with a stealth he thought undetectable. He did not expect to move beyond the wall and look to his right and see Molly imprisoned in the arms of the man. He almost dropped the tire iron. A weakness born of relief at seeing his daughter alive attacked his arms and legs in successive waves. The weapon wavered unsteadily in the air just above shoulder level. Her name fell from his lips. "Molly."

  That's when it all went out of control. There was a flurry, the man moving faster than his vision could track, and he tried to keep Molly in view, saw her go down, flung aside, hitting the rock wall, crumpling to her knees with a cry. The man came at him holding out one arm as if he carried something in it, but Mark couldn't see anything, just a closed fist. A fist, nothing up against the tire iron, nothing to stop him from dropping the man to the ground.

  He swung, strength returning from the place it had scampered, and imagined he hit the larger man, but knew a second later he was wrong, he hadn't touched him. How could that be?

  How could it be that he felt the arm holding the tire iron loosen of its own accord and fall at his side like a mannequin's arm? The tire iron dropped against his knee, fell onto his right foot.

  Mark looked down, then up, and the man was moving away from him down the canyon street, turning into another intersection, disappearing from sight.

  Molly appeared next to him, a daub of darkness--blood?--on her forehead. She threw herself on him, but he could not get his right arm to work, couldn't get it up to hold on to her. When she stepped back screaming, the darkness dripping from her hands now, he realized finally that he was wounded. Badly.