And if we're cops, everybody jets down the dirt road behind the warehouse."

We emerge from the alley and into a paved lot rimmed by a factory and a couple of other lifeless buildings.

Joel's awake now. He's peering into the sleeping faces of our worn surroundings.

"We're almost there!" Lee says anxiously.

We disappear down another dark alley that extends for about fifty yards. It opens into a vast unpaved area, parts of which are fenced in. A large warehouse with broken out windows along its upper level is before us. At first glance I estimate over two hundred haphazardly parked vehicles. We pull in next to Spin Doctor's sedan.

"This way! Over here!"

Joel and I are almost in a run as we try and keep pace with the three crank addicts as they seem to hop and skip there way toward the warehouse. Approaching the rear, a door suddenly bursts open, spraying us with an assortment of lights and sounds. Two human shapes stumble out noisily and fall to the dirt. The crank addicts leap over the bodies and race for the open door. The fallen bodies are laughing wildly as Joel and I pass and I hear one of them squeal something about "Nitrous hits!" We squeeze through the door.

And yes—just like Lee said—it's a cross between a dance club, as far as the lights and sounds are concerned, and a rampaging party. The flashing array of lights explode from a box mounted upon two colossal speakers—the deafening music from these reverberates through the masses of dancing party goers. Threading a path, Joel and I chase after Lee, catching brief glimpses as he vanishes and reappears in the crowd.

When we finally catch him he's standing with Spin Doctor and Vampire. The three of them are crowded around a large tub and each have a plastic yellow cup in one hand. There's a table set up a few feet away with stereo equipment—a male with long braided dreadlocks, silver rings piercing his nose and lower lip, holds a headphone set to one ear as he changes the music selection. He must be the DJ. At the near end of the table is a stack of yellow cups.

"Take one!" Lee shouts over the loud music. He thrusts a cup into each of our hands. "It's for the spoadie!"

"Punch bowl?" I ask.

"Something like that—but better!"

Lee shouts to a girl with dyed black hair, inquiring as to "What's in it?" She shouts back numerous brands of alcohol, ending with something called "Everclear."

"Go ahead, bros! It's like that beer I gave you. It tastes better though. One beer didn't hurt you, did it? No. So just fill your cups one time. That's all." He guides our cups into the tub, not letting us withdraw until they're full. As Joel and I take cautious sips, I can't help but notice Lee and Spin Doctor snickering as they watch. Surprisingly, the fruit punch tastes good, as unclean as it looks, but for a faintly burning aftertaste of alcohol. It's much better than the beer.

Vampire, a small group of partygoers in tow, hurriedly approaches.

"See! See!" he's shouting, pointing wildly at Joel and I. "It's them! 9-0-2-1-0 show! Real stars!. . . .From Beverly Hills!"