Cindy Cahill carefully maneuvered her cruiser through the slowly moving traffic with a puzzled expression on her face. The freeways in and around Los Angeles were notorious for becoming congested and stranding motorists in the hot California sun, but the time of day was wrong. It was too early for the afternoon traffic jam caused by the commuters that daily took the freeways into and out of Los Angles to their homes in the suburbs. Breaking free from the congested traffic, she edged her cruiser onto the side of the road behind a blue truck where a man was changing a tire. She stepped out of the cruiser and purposefully strode onto the freeway where several cars were slowly moving while the drivers, predominantly female, were checking out the working man. At the sight of her uniform, they returned their attention to the road and it took only a matter of a few minutes to have the traffic once again moving briskly. She turned her attention back to the man who was taking the truck down off the jacks.
His cutoff jeans were extremely short and as he moved they rode up to alarming levels on his legs. His T-shirt was ripped off to a length that allowed a generous amount of abdomen to show whenever he moved his arms. A thick mass of blond hair curled down the back of his head to just above the neckline of the T-shirt calling attention to the broad shoulders. Cindy walked over with a little skip to her walk. "Excuse me, sir. Did you know that you were tying up traffic?"
Jon Baker turned and sighed, "Please, Cindy, this is not the day for it."
Cindy laughed and purposefully eyed him up. "Great outfit. What yard sale did you get it from?"
Jon leaned back against the truck and crossed his arms. He met her eyes and then nodded towards the freeway where another group of drivers was beginning to slow down. Cindy turned around and waved them on with authority before turning back to Jon. "I don't suppose you'd get into the truck."
Jon lazily moved towards the cab of the truck and got inside. Turning the ignition he waved at Cindy and looked for an opening in the traffic.
"Oh no you don't." Cindy stepped next to the truck. "I can give you a ticket you know. May I see your license and registration." The smile on her face couldn't possibly have gotten any wider. She was thoroughly enjoying the situation and Jon knew it.
"Look, Cindy, I'm going to be late for work as it is. I've got to take a shower at the station before I can put on my uniform. Give the kid a break, all right?" He flashed her a charming smile.
"Are you kidding? I've never seen you wear hot pants before. I should have my camera."
"They aren't hot pants. This morning they were a full-length pair of jeans. That is before the lawnmower ate 'em. And the shirt's not mine, it belongs to Wes."
"The lawnmower ate them?" Cindy was struggling hard not to laugh.
"The lawnmower ate one leg and my sister cut off the other so that they would match."
"And the shirt . . .?" Cindy suppressed a giggle.
"Don't ask." Jon ran his hand through his hair. "It has not been my day. And I still have to walk into the station wearing this yet."
"Is that why you're blushing?" Cindy teased.
"I'm not blushing." What was left of Jon's good humor was leaving fast.
"Jon," Cindy insisted, "your face is red. I kid you not."
Jon touched his face with his fingers and winced. "Oh, no," he groaned. "Sunburn."
Cindy leaned against the door of the truck and looked purposefully down at his unprotected legs. "You know, there's quite a bit of you out that doesn't normally see the sunshine," she observed.
Jon's eyes widened. He tried to move his right leg only to feel the seat sticking to the damp tender skin. "Oh, great. How am I going to get my uniform on?"
Cindy laughed and danced away from the truck. "I'd say very carefully." She jogged back to her cruiser and opened the door. "I'll see you back at the station."
Jon finished his shower and wrapped a towel around his waist before stepping into the locker room. He caught a glimpse of himself in a mirror as he walked by and groaned. The fair skin had turned from pink to a startling red after the water had hit it. "Great." He stood in front of his locker and stared at the long uniform pants with consternation. Shaking his head, he reached for his clothing until he heard the soft voice behind him. "That's worse than I thought."
He whipped around holding the towel firmly. "Cindy! This is the MEN'S locker room," he roared.
Cindy shrugged her shoulders and took another look at the sunburned legs. "You're the only one in here."
"Yes, Cindy," Jon explained patiently. "That's because I'm a MAN. Men take showers in the MEN'S locker room. Women do not."
"I'm not taking a shower," Cindy smiled. "Besides, I come bearing gifts." She waved a can of Solarcaine in the air. "I thought you might need a little help getting into the uniform."
Jon reached for the can of spray. "Thank you. Now get out."
"I'd be happy to help you put it on."
"Get out!"
"You might not be able to reach everywhere."
"Out!"
Cindy laughed and sauntered out of the room. "If you sit on the very edge of the chair at briefing, it might help."
Jon turned back to his locker shaking his head. Cindy's dedication to the women's movement had a way of unnerving him at times. He untied his towel but held it in front of him as he scanned the locker room. Satisfied that Cindy had left, he dropped the towel and sprayed his legs and lower back with the medication.
"Good Lord, Jon. I've seen lobsters that color."
Jon swung around to meet the amused eyes of his partner. "Yea, so have I." Ponch took the spray can from him and applied the spray to the back of his legs. "Should I ask how you got sunburned that high up?"
"No." Jon took the can back and sat it in his locker. Even with the anesthetic spray, the uniform did not go on comfortably. The gun belt rested directly on the lower back where the sunburn actually radiated heat. "Let's try to make some part of the briefing."
They walked down the hallway and into the briefing room where Getraer was talking to the PM shift. "In addition to the regular notices, we have one from the Department of Forestry. Things are very dry out there people. Keep an eye on any potential fire hazards. If you see smoke, call it in. The last thing we need to do is an emergency evacuation. We are coordinating with all agencies on this, so keep alert. That's it. Hit the road." He closed his notebook and glared at Ponch and Jon. "Nice of you to join us."
Jon shrugged apologetically. "I had a flat, Joe, sorry."
"Yea, I wanted to talk to you about that." Joe left out his breath. "How far did you tie up traffic?"
Jon winced and whispered to Ponch. "Remind me to kill Cahill."
Joe picked up the notebook and swung it down by his side where he bounced it rhythmically off his leg. "Officer Cahill knew about this too?"
Jon looked up sharply. "Who told you?"
"Artie Grossman. He was traveling on the other side of the highway when he saw the truck. He didn't go over because a unit was already dispatched. He says that you were . . uh. . wearing?. . .a different style of clothing. Need I remind you that even out of uniform you represent the department?"
Ponch broke into laughter. "Oh, God, Joe. I swear I'll never be late again. You miss to dang much. What happened? Start at the top and don't leave anything out."
"Ask your partner," Joe replied.
"Joe," Jon began, "the lawnmower ate my pants and I had to get to work. . ."
"Baker, this is bizarre enough in and of itself. I don't think I want to hear it. Just don't do it again." Joe shook his head and turned to walk away. "It must have been some outfit, you don't normally blush."
"I'm not blushing," Jon called after him.
Ponch chuckled harder and nodded his head towards the door. "Let's hit the highway while he's still in a good mood."
The temperature was high and the motorists were out of sorts. The perspiration trickling down Jon's back over the sunburn was irritating in the extreme. Too make matters worse, a section of highway was down to one lane to accommodate road repairs and the smell of the heated asphalt was enough to bring tears to the eyes. Ponch kept up a running conversation about practically anything in an attempt to keep Jon's mind off the discomfort of his sunburn. They were laughing over Ponch's date of the night before when Jon noticed the first wisp of smoke rising from a small strip of meadow that had been left near the freeway. The dry grass was smoldering from a small neat fire that threatened to spread with each small gust of wind. Ponch maneuvered his bike off road to the smoking area and began to throw dirt over the flame. Jon who had stayed with his motor to call the fire department soon joined him and in no time, the fire was contained. The siren of the fire truck sounded through the valley and in no time the area was being sprayed with water to ensure that the fire was extinguished.
A fireman approached the motor officers. "I don't see what started that. I don't think a cigarette came that far off the road and there's no sign of anyone building a fire. You guys didn't see anyone out here playing with matches, did you?"
Jon looked at Ponch and shrugged. "All we saw was that little bit of smoke. Do you think this was deliberate?"
The fireman removed his hat and ran a hand through his damp hair. "I don't know what to think. Things are dry, that's for sure." He replaced his hat. "Thanks for the quick action. All I can say is, keep your eyes open."
Jon replaced his helmet and pulled on his gloves. "What do you think, Ponch?" He scanned the meadow again before putting on his sunglasses. Two more burned areas from previous fires took his attention.
Ponch sat on his bike and shrugged his shoulders. "Beats me. Not my field."
Jon groaned and turned the ignition on his bike. "You're jokes are getting worse, you know that."
The two men entered the traffic and continued on patrol.
It was an hour later that the motorcyclist sped past them. They quickly slipped behind him for pursuit. The sirens of a cruiser whaled faintly behind them and joined their own as they followed the speeding biker through the traffic and then up an access road. The dirt road was dry and dusty and soon the two officers were covered in the dirt that was kicked up from the road by the biker ahead of them. Ponch coughed and blinked as the dust made its way under his glasses and down his throat. The cruiser behind them slowed to navigate the narrower confines of the access road where the motorcycles had the clear advantage. The road opened slowly to reveal large mounds of gravel that had been placed there for use in road repair work. The biker attempting to ride up the mounds lost control of his bike and slid down towards the bottom of the piles in a small heap.
The two officers left their motorcycles and looked down to see their suspect picking himself up off the dirt. Ponch called down, "Freeze. You're under arrest." He stepped onto the gravel only to feel the loose shale move under his feet necessitating that he slide down to the man on his posterior. Jon followed him while Baricza ran around the piles to cut off any escape route from the bottom. Ponch yanked the fugitive onto his feet and cuffed the man. Turning to his partner with a smile on his face, he saw Jon sitting quietly in the dirt.
"Ooh, I bet that gravel felt real good against that sunburn," he winced.
Jon looked up. "Yea."
Baricza took the prisoner from Ponch with great satisfaction. "Thanks, guys. This guy just robbed some lady stranded on the freeway when her car overheated. He's a real sweetheart."
Ponch smiled at his friend. "Anytime we're in the area."
Baricza nodded at Jon. "What's with him?"
Jon glared at Ponch and stood up. "Nothing's wrong with him," he growled. He hit the dust off his pants without thinking. Ponch laughed as Jon's eyes grew wide.
"Don't . . say.. . a. . . word."
Baricza looked at Jon puzzled and then turned to Ponch. "Is he embarrassed because you beat him down the pile or because he stopped traffic this morning?
Ponch smiled and winked at Baricza. "He's not blushing."
Jon glared at them both. "I did not stop traffic. I changed a tire."
Baricza laughed and began to walk the prisoner back to his car. "That's not the way I heard it."
Ponch turned and eyed up his partner who was carefully pulling his damp shirt away from his sunburned back. "Am I going to hear about this morning?"
Jon looked him in the eye and carefully shook his head. "No."
Ponch and Jon returned to the freeway heading back towards the station where they could remove the dirt and get into clean uniforms. Jon's discomfort had gone up a notch with the addition of the dirt to the perspiration and Ponch had given up all hopes of distracting him. So, he was a little surprised when he saw Jon pointing to the divider and indicating that he wanted him to stop. They pulled onto the median strip and Jon pointed to the meadow they had left just an hour or so ago. A small wisp of smoke was threading its way up into the sky.
Ponch shook his head. "I can't believe it. It WAS out wasn't it?"
Jon nodded. "Here we go again." He reached for his radio and made the call.
The two men once again worked to put out the small blaze that was identical to the first one only several yards away.
"Someone hates this meadow." Ponch asserted wiping the perspiration from his face. The move left dark streaks of dirt across his forehead.
The firemen arrived and again soaked the area of the fire to be sure that it was extinguished.
"You guys saw nothing at all?" The frustration the fireman was feeling was evident in his question. "We've been to this spot four times today."
"Why didn't you tell us that earlier?" Jon was becoming a little edgy himself.
"I thought you knew," the firemen shrugged. "By the way, I'm Ned Hastings." He held out his hand.
Jon grinned and shook hands with him. "Jon Baker. This is Frank Poncharello."
Ned smiled back and shook his head. "The first fire was over by the road so we chocked it up to a cigarette. The second one was further in. The third one, you caught. Then this one. You can follow the burn areas. They almost follow a straight line. Whoever is doing this has a sick sense of humor."
Jon looked at where he was pointing and then looked up at the sky. He followed the line of burn areas with his eyes to a small hillock rising above the freeway on the opposite side of the road. "Actually, Ned, would you believe I've seen this sort of thing before?"
Ned turned to him surprised. "Going to let me in on it?"
"The area here is tinder dry. The line of fires follows a straight line that parallels the East to West progress of the sun. We might be looking for something that is amplifying the sun's rays. Making them concentrated enough to start to burn the grass would be difficult, but not impossible."
Ned turned and waved to the other firemen who were cleaning up the equipment. He walked over to them and within minutes the men were performing a systematic search of the small area.
Returning to Jon and Ponch, Ned nodded his head. "It's a long shot, but I won't say it's impossible, particularly if there's another agent involved somehow. We'll check it out." He smiled and took a long look at the two policemen. "You guys are a mess," he observed.
"Yea," Ponch agreed, "and if we don't get cleaned up, our sergeant will have us for dinner."
"We've got it here, get going," Ned smiled. "I'd hate to see you get all chewed up."
Jon stood in front of his locker for the second time that day looking at a uniform that did not appeal at all at the moment. He sighed and reached for the shirt only to stop when his eyes fell on a small box wrapped in silver paper and sitting on the shelf of the locker. Ponch looked over his shoulder as he buttoned his clean uniform shirt. "What's that?"
Jon took the small box and looked at closely. "I have no idea."
He unwrapped the box and opened it distrustfully. "I'm going to shoot Cahill."
Ponch reached from behind him and took the box from his hands. Reaching into it, he pulled out a pair of bikini swimtrunks and began to laugh. "They might be practical for after duty tonight. Unless you have something else that won't touch those legs."
Jon snatched the swimtrunks and shoved them back onto the shelf of the locker. "I'm not wearing those."
"All right," Ponch tilted his head and smiled, "but I bet they'd be more comfortable than anything else you own."
Jon moved his shoulders uncomfortably and slipped into his uniform shirt. "I wish everyone would just leave this thing alone. It's not like I'm the first officer on this squad ever to get sunburned."
"It's not the sunburn, Jon, it's the location."
Jon turned and fixed a solid stare on his partner. "If some people would keep their mouths shut, no one would know about the location." He shut the locker door firmly and stepped around the bench. "Are you coming?"
Joe Getraer met them as they entered the hallway. "Just the two I wanted to see." He crooked his finger for them to follow him and entered his office. "The fire company says that you did some good work. They found a bunch of broken bottles in that field and a small spill of gasoline left over from a tanker incident last week. The two combined to cause an ongoing problem out there."
"All right, Sarge. Jon was right on the money then," Ponch smiled and clapped his partner on the shoulder. "See ya."
"Uh. . . that's not all." Sergeant Getraer stopped them as they turned to leave. "I received a call from a lady on Welsh Avenue that wanted to know if the police officer that bought the house next to hers wants his shirt back. It seems she got it away from her dog." Getraer smiled and perched himself on the edge of his desk. "Either of you know who she was talking about?"
Jon let out his breath slowly. "My sister bought the house. I was helping her to tame the overgrown lawn that went with it, when that lady's dog jumped the hedge and took after me. I took off the shirt to wrap around my arm for defense and the darn dog took it."
"Uh. . . was this before or after the lawnmower ate your pants?" Joe smiled.
"Before." Jon was definitely not in a good humor.
". . . but the pants were eaten prior to the LAPD showing up," Joe prompted.
"I was covered," Jon's voice was soft and even.
"Not according to the little old lady that lived across the street."
"She couldn't see over the fence. All she saw was what was above it and what was below it."
"Which was. . . ?" Joe prompted.
"Joe!" Jon's patience had worn out.
Ponch burst into laughter. "I'm never going to be late for work again."
The strong sun that had been at the beginning of shift was fading but the intense heat continued into the late afternoon. In addition to their regular assortment of speeders and violations, the two men had to deal with overheated cars and overheated passengers with short tempers. By the time it was coming close to the end of shift, good humor was at a premium. They had stopped on an overpass for a short break from the traffic when they saw a car move erratically across the freeway and bounce off the embankment. Revving up their engines, they quickly re-entered the freeway and got to the scene of the accident. The driver was slouched over the steering wheel of the small red car, a small cut on his forehead oozing blood. Ponch called the accident in to the dispatcher requesting an ambulance and tow truck while Jon carefully opened the door to the small car and checked the vital signs of the driver. Satisfied that the driver was in no immediate danger, he inspected the vehicle for signs of mechanical problems while he waited for the ambulance to arrive. The driver moaned gently and made an attempt to lift his head.
"Easy there," Jon told him gently. "Just try to stay still. We have an ambulance on the way."
The driver opened his eyes and took in the figure of the tall, blond policeman. "Those plates should be outlawed," he grumped drowsily.
"Excuse me, sir," Jon leaned down to hear him.
"Those plates. The guy in front of me had one of those plates with all the shiny stuff around them. The sun hit that shine and I couldn't see a thing."
"Yes, sir," Jon said soothingly. "I understand."
Ponch walked over with the ambulance attendant who immediately began to assess the injuries of the driver.
"What was he talking about?" Ponch asked.
Jon straightened up and pulled on his gloves. "Someone had one of those flashy plates for their car. The sun hit it just the right way and it blinded him."
"I hate those plates," Ponch shook his head. "They're too hard to read."
"Well, we'll make a report and see if the State of California will agree with us. We've been trying to get them off the road for some time."
Ponch shook his head. "Statistics. They need statistics on how many people get burned before they'll move on it."
Jon looked up at the sun and then at the small red car. "Yea."
Ponch knocked on the door to Jon's apartment and then tried the knob. The door opened easily and he walked inside. The neatly kept apartment always seemed to radiate the personality of the man who lived there with its classic picture of galloping horses streaming along the wall above where a saddle rested on floor. A few plants were scattered around the room peeking out from behind books and hanging over shelves. A pizza sat on the stove still in its cardboard box. "Hey Jon," Ponch called.
The bedroom door opened and Jon entered the living room. Ponch took one look at his friend and began to laugh. Jon's face turned a little redder than the sunburn allowed for. "Oh, shut up," he growled good naturedly. "You're the one who pointed out that it was practical."
Ponch leaned against the counter gasping. "I never thought I see the day when Jon Baker would wear bikini trunks."
"Yea, well this had better not be common knowledge down at the station," he warned.
"But Jon. . ." began Ponch.
"It doesn't leave here." Jon's tone was menacing.
The sound of a door closing made both men swing around. Cindy Cahill stood at the entrance to the apartment obviously enjoying the scene in front of her. "Oh, Jon, I just knew that they were your color."
Jon swung back to Ponch and glared fiercely.
Ponch shrugged his shoulders and laughed. "Grossi couldn't make it, so I asked if Cindy wanted to play poker. How was I to know you were starting a new fashion?"
Jon sighed and then chuckled softly. "I hope you like mushrooms on your pizza, Cindy."
"Are you kidding," Cindy replied, "even if there was no pizza and I lost all night, this would be worth it."
"It doesn't leave here," Jon warned.
"Right." Cindy agreed.
Jon glared at Ponch. "Right," Ponch said.
Jon raised his eyes to the ceiling. Tomorrow was going to be very embarrassing.