Editor’s note: Read Part 1 here.

The asphalt radiated heat back up my thighs as I walked back to my car. It was getting hotter by the minute and I needed to get the hell out of Palm Springs. Rölf’s story spoiled what was an otherwise lovely brunch.

Fuck me, was I really going to take this job? I needed to think and 90 degree heat at 11 in the morning isn’t exactly conducive to that activity. Fucking in a secluded pool-side cabana? Sure! Those two at the hotel weren’t exactly being discreet about it.

But considering whether to get involved with nasty people in bad places was a different story. I needed a drink but not the alcoholic kind. Shields was only a half hour away but it was in the other direction. I got in the car and decided to let the traffic gods make my decision.

The map showed red all the way from Morongo to the 29 Palms highway. Some big rig must have tipped over with the wind. There’s a reason they put all those turbines there.

Eastbound and down it was.

I switched the radio to 53, made the 90 at the foothills, and thought about Rölf’s “niece”. If they were related, I was in line for the royal crown of Spain but if that’s how he wanted to paint the picture, I wasn’t going to play art critic.

It’s always sad when these “good girls” get mixed up with bad people but if they were really that good, they wouldn’t have done that in the first place. But I couldn’t tell Rölf that. It’s not good manners and it’s not fucking useful considering she’s dead.

The parking lot at Shields only had two cars in it. I walked in, took a seat at the counter, and waited for the lady working the register. She was helping a cute couple holding hands and looking for the theater to see The Romance and Sex Life of the Date. They were so high I wondered how they got there.

She eventually came over and I gave her my order. As I waited for my date shake, I saw two girls wearing cowgirl hats, mirror shades, and Daisy Dukes walking in. The day was getting better.

They were wearing matching Stagecoach t-shirts and for a second there I forgot which month it was. After ordering their shakes, they sat down to wait next to me. I couldn’t help but notice they had matching ankle tattoos.

“Nice tats!”

The one closest to me turned to me and said, “What?”

“I said ‘Nice tattoos’. It’s an interesting design.”

She didn’t seem interested in holding a conversation with me but she was polite and gave me an “Oh. Thanks.” before turning back and facing her friend. My date shake arrived and I got up to leave.

Something stopped me in my tracks. What was that thing that Rölf had told me? Suddenly, it came to me. I turned around.

“I’m very sorry, ladies. I don’t mean to be rude and interrupt your conversation. May I ask you just one question?”

The one further away from me said, “What is it?”

“Who is the artist that did your ankle tattoos? It’s a great design and I’d like to get something cool.”

Their mood brightened up.

“Oh, we got them at an after-party in one of the hotels a few years ago. The sign said “Tattoos by Tara” but I think her real name was something else. Real nice girl!”

“Lara, maybe?”

“Yeah, that was it! How do you know that?”

“I know her uncle.”

***

I told Rölf I was taking the case. I had to. The universe sent those two into the store to tell me to take it. As I headed further east, I cursed the foul wind whipping up the death of the Salton Sea and sending it westward.

It’s a fact that they turned an accident into a resort. But that was a LONG time ago in a different world. Now it was meth and ten other drugs no one in the civilized world would touch that made this piece of the Golden State bearable.

Ever the optimist, I remembered reading about lithium and how it could save this place. I even, for a fleeting second, pictured it in the glory days with tourists and money. And then a homeless person crossed the highway in front of me and I nearly hit him. Her? It? I couldn’t fucking tell.

Lara had many “gigs” and tattoo artist was one of them. She was also a model, photographer, dancer, and painter. If you paid her enough money, all of those could be done in the nude.

I suppose a drug dealer could sell in the nude, but that just brings up a lot of logistical questions. Where do you keep the merchandise? What about the money? I don’t think they use one of those squares you attach to the phone, but I’m not a drug dealer.

Rölf thought she had started to get into that business and that’s why she was dead now but that didn’t make sense to me. Sex and art are much more lucrative. Specially in a town like Palm Springs.

Besides, from what Rölf said, she loved the high-class parties and lifestyle. Why would she come to the taint of California on a regular basis to procure the low-grade shit the desert rats used?

Lara had an appointment in her calendar every Wednesday for the last month in Salton City. The next and last one was tomorrow at 9 PM. There is nowhere more depressing to be than Salton City at 9 on a weeknight.

I got off the main road and pretended to be lost while scouting the meetup site. There was nothing there but a tackle shop that most likely sold the liveliest “bait” in the entire Inland Empire. My balls were literally dripping with sweat as I walked around to the front and tried the door.

It was locked. I had forgotten it was Siesta Time.

There was no way in hell I was staying anywhere near Salton City tonight. Who knew what new type of insect I’d discover in the “sheets” of the “hotel”. I’d already decided against driving back to LA, so it was southward from there.

Brawley? El Centro? Calexico?

Fuck it. I’m down here already and I came prepared. Mexicali.

Besides, it’s not every day a Mexican runs into a German speaking perfectly good Spanish.