Cat In A Topaz Tango

Their triumphal road show journey to the City of the Angels to find the delinquent little angel from the Molina residence was interrupted in the dawn’s early light by the unimaginative ring tone of Molina’s cell, which sounded just like an ordinary phone. Yawn.

Molina stared at her cell phone screen.

“It’s Mariah, thank God!” Jubilation and relief quickly became irritation. “But what is this, Aztec?”

Temple held out a hand. “Let me see.”

“You think you can read teen text messaging? I hate that! She knows it. Why couldn’t she have left a voice mail?”

“Probably didn’t want you to hear the fear.” Temple frowned at the abbreviated words on the small screen. And here she’d never taken shorthand in high school because she’d thought it was career-limiting.

“Basically, she’s saying that something became an ‘overniter’ and they had to stay in line or lose their place. She’s so ‘SorE’ but will ‘xpln’ later.”

“No hint of where she is?” Molina demanded.

“‘OK n LOFln.’”

“Laughlin?” Rafi repeated. “That’s just ninety miles down the highway from Vegas. If we backtrack we can cut off forty-five miles of highway 95. Laughlin’s a time capsule of how Vegas used to be in the eighties. What’s Mariah doing there?”

“‘AWdishn,’” Temple said. “Who knew phonetic spelling would ever become so hip?”

“It’s a way for kids to avoid learning grammar and spelling and parts of speech,” Molina said. “Hip-hop rhymes are now ‘high’ literacy, emphasis on the street meaning of ‘high.’ ”

“Lunacy,” Rafi added.

Molina looked up sharply to check if his agreement was sincere.

Temple wondered: if she and Matt had children, what strange symbols would they have to learn to communicate? Aliens R Us. And usually our kids.

Rafi took the phone and, while Temple hung over his shoulder and Molina leaned in to watch, texted: “U sing? Whr R U?” He hesitated and added, “Rafi.”

He shrugged at Molina. “I don’t know if she remembers me but I might come across less threatening than Ms. Policeman.”

New letters appeared on the screen. “Kool, R. Not sing. Dance. Aquarius.”

“As in ‘the age of’?” Molina asked, mystified.

“Not cool, Mombot,” Temple said. “Lyrics from Hair date you back to the Stone Age.”

“You mean the ‘stoned’ age.”

Temple shrugged. “Well, it was the sixties. If I didn’t like vintage and theater, even I wouldn’t have gotten your reference. I wasn’t born yet! It’s High School Musical today, and maybe a revival of Grease, not Hair.”

“U momma dont dance,” Rafi had texted back. “Me n Zoe meetya ther.”

“KOOOL! LOUEE 2?”

“LOUEE 2. Main dsk. 4 hrs OK?”

“OK.”

Molina glared at the cell phone screen, but breathed audible relief, then caught her breath and put a hand to her side. “At least she’s still a runaway, not a hostage.”

“Temple and I will be first contact when we get to the Aquarius,” Rafi said. “It’s a major Laughlin hotel-casino. You hang back.”

“You hang back! I’m her mother.”

“That’s the problem. We don’t want her rabbiting. I’m just the security guy from the last place she was a talent contestant, and Temple’s an ex-roomie, a pal. We’ll find what’s going on, and why. Then you can sweep in and put her in cuffs.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. It takes discipline to rear a kid these days.”

“And being in top condition. Come on, Carmen, you’ve got a major pulled muscle, or worse. This race to the rescue hasn’t done you any good physically or mentally. Take some Aleve and make a late entrance as a reasonable woman. We’ll clue you in first.”

“You are a bastard.”

“Yeah, and I’m right.”

Temple added, “Why finally find Mariah just to scare her off? You are the police. We’re not.”

Molina’s hands scrubbed the expression of uncertainty off her face. “Fine. I agree that you two established a more peer-style rapport with Mariah at the reality TV house.” She eyed Rafi. “Keep it that way. You don’t tell her who you are unless I say so.”

“Aye, aye, Captain.”

Silence rode shotgun with them all the way to Laughlin. They retraced their path on Highway 15, then took 164 east to pick up the last forty-five miles on 95 to Laughlin. The highway paralleled the snaking Colorado River as it flowed out of Hoover Dam. They drove until midmorning, when they finally hit a mini-strip of Vegas-style high-rise hotels. The buildings fronted the river, a distinctively non-Vegas look.

This was a movie model Vegas, miniatures so far. Hotel towers loomed only sixteen or so stories high. The skyline looked less pretentious, less expensive, and more fun, like the old style Vegas, as Rafi had said.

Louie had disdained the tote bag to recline on the seat next to Temple for the drive, but now he had his front paws braced beneath the side window, surveying Laughlin with them. He seemed pretty unimpressed.

“Looks like the kid’s performing ambitions have gone down-scale,” Rafi noted.

“Good!” Molina let her anger off the leash. “Upscale is more dangerous.”