I asked the barber on Hollywood Boulevard to shave my head. In a deep cigarette scarred voice, the old man asked, “Military, skinhead, or bald?” I paused, thinking, and then realized what suited me best was something completely different.

“Bald.”

Without flinching the man pulled out his large clippers, and within minutes, I looked like an eight ball. I paid him my six bucks and proceeded to move down the boulevard of broken dreams to a wig shop.

The kind Asian woman behind the counter wasn’t sure if I had cancer or was an ex-con looking for a new hairdo. Regardless, she was grateful for my business. I bought two wigs, one black and one red, complimented with a moustache and sideburns.

I then moved down the block to the drugstore where I purchased needed accessories (sunglasses, clip on earrings, gum, etc.) to make my Cunanan image complete. NO WAY was anyone going to recognize me.

With my new identities in the bag, I looked through a local gay magazine and found where the local gay bathhouses were. Perfect! The Hollywood Spa would be my overnight home, and then I’d cab it to Flex in Silverlake tomorrow. I had to lay low for awhile as the police searched the city for their “escaped mental derelict,” as one newspaper stated.

What surprised me about this bathhouse located off of Hollywood Boulevard was how expensive and how very “Hollywood” it was. Three stories tall, filled with a café, movie posters, and pictures of beautiful men, I cruised the hallways and then retired to my suite which had a one way glass mirror so I could watch the parade of towel draped men in complete anonymity–just like watching a Rock Hudson home movie.

And then I saw him come up the main staircase, his eyes scanning the men wandering through the maze of hallways. He looked uncomfortable, but not in a gay way--- certainly much more in a straight way. With all of my time dealing with the police, I could smell ‘em at 500 paces. This guy was an undercover cop, without a doubt. The question was whether he was there as part of the Vice Squad or Special Unit? Vice had no jurisdiction since this was a legitimate business, well within the city health and safety codes; therefore proving to me that he was Special Unit, and more than likely assigned to find me.

I waited as he came out of the locker room, his handsome face and muscular body draped in a towel. His arms were crossed, defiantly uncomfortable. I watched him–his eyes staring at passing men that had sandy blonde hair, tall, and reasonably good-looking. He paid no attention to brunettes, blacks, or Asians. In other words, he was looking for me. But that me was now bald.

He began to meander the hallways, disappearing from sight. I decided to have some fun and began attaching my black wig and moustache, when suddenly I froze.

“Shit,” I declared, realizing my wig didn’t match my body hair. “You idiot!” I hadn’t planned on being naked! I slumped in my room, looking out the window at the passing men and seeing the cop move right in front of me, arms still crossed, a Harley tattoo on his right shoulder blade.

I felt like once again my room had become a jail cell.

Two hours later, I had to pee–but the cop was still circling the hallways. I had images of peeing in the corner of the room but that would obviously start smelling, thereby alerting the management, and certainly bringing attention to me. No, I would have to plan it just right and hope that our paths wouldn’t cross in my desperate attempt to release my bladder.

I opened my door, seeing a couple lounging on their bed, clearly waiting for someone to join them. I quickly moved along the hallway, crossed through the locker room, into the shower area, and then to an empty toilet stall. As I sighed in pleasure, I didn’t care if I was arrested at that moment. I felt so much better.

The tapping sound caught my attention. I looked down on the floor and saw a bare foot from the adjacent stall bouncing back and forth. Looking at the stall wall, I noticed glory hole protruded nicely. My eyes darted through the hall and there I saw the Harley tattoo on the man’s back. IT WAS THE COP!

I had to smile to myself as I extended my pelvis toward the hole. I could feel the cop’s mouth around me, hearing him stroke himself at the same time. He continued to work me, eventually using his hand as he continued to bring me closer to a climax, until finally I exploded, breathing heavy.

I quickly retreated out of my stall and down the hallway, escaping to the privacy of my room.