Desert Run by Marshall Thornton

Palm Springs, 1973. Don Harris is a piano player on the run after killing a Chicago mobster's son in a bar fight. On the lam, he meets a pretty blonde girl in town for a convention. He lets down his guard and spends the night with her only to discover she’s the younger sister of his best friend all grown-up. Foolishly, she tips her brother off to Don’s location, and he’s on the run again, hoping to find a safe place to land.

Out of money and desperate, Don accidentally walks into a gay bar where he allows a kid named Harlan to pick him up so he'll have a place to stay. As the mob chases them, Don begins to fall for the kid, putting them both in harm's way. Harlan has problems of his own, and Don knows he shouldn't get involved but he can't help but step in when Harlan gets in trouble. To save himself, Don's got to save Harlan.

Oh, man. Colour me impressed with a capital IM. You hear that? Not just a capital I. No, Desert Run deserves two capital letters to tell the world just how damn impressed I was.

You know when you open a book and the voice just slaps you upside the head and you sit back and think, “Oh yeah, this book is going to suit me!”? Well, this happened to me. The voice is friggin’ great, just as though Don was talking to me. ME, you know what I’m saying? Just me. Like when someone on TV looks at the camera, but they’re not looking at the camera—they’ve only got eyes for YOU. Oh yeah, Don was telling me his story, letting me into his world, and I followed along right on his heels. If I’m honest, I almost overtook him, that’s how close I got. He got into my heart, my soul, and I LOVED that guy.

Don usually goes with women, so after he’s forced to find somewhere else to hide out and ends up with a guy, as a reader I got absorbed in how he felt about that. He wasn’t gay—at least he didn’t think he was—but he’d enjoyed Harlen’s attentions. Hell, I enjoyed reading about them lol. I got to thinking about all the crappy views people have on being gay, and because Don enjoyed himself, I got one of those moments where I wanted to set myself up on a high box in town and shout at all the people who give gays such a hard time. If you enjoy it with someone of the same sex, so damn what, you know? And Desert Run was the perfect book for me to indulge in nodding, saying “Oh yeah!” and “Bloody good for you!” about Don’s choices.

Harlen is too cool for skool. I loved him too, his devil-may-care attitude shining bright. The pair of them just drew me in, wrapped me in a hug, in their world, and I wanted to follow them everywhere to see what they got up to. The mob looking for Don adds a tense, edge-of-your-seat dimension that runs parallel to the emotions Don’s feeling towards Harlen. Those emotions are enough to deal with on their own, especially with it being in the 70s when being gay certainly wasn’t considered right or “normal” (I won’t even go there on how angry “normal” makes me feel), or whatever the hell term people use in this instance. But he dealt with it all. The fear, the love, the growing attachment.

You know what? I’m giving NOTHING away from now on. You just need to read this book yourself. Sit down, imagine the time and how people perceived others, imagine suddenly finding yourself in bed with someone of the same sex and loving it, and have a good look inside yourself. I suspect you’ll find, just like me, you can maybe imagine yourself doing exactly the same thing as Don. I’m not ashamed to admit I can. Let the voice roll over you. Let this pair take you on their journey. I got on their bus and travelled with them, and even though that journey ended and I had to get off, the memories of that time will stay with me.

I knew I should tell her to get lost; instead I said, "No, you’re barking just fine."

I walked down the street, trying to find a quiet spot; in my head I was trying to make some sort of logical story of my life.

"You matter, all right? Just right now, shut the fuck up." (Yeah, you shut the hell up lol!)

…I had my hands on a rock the size of a big shoe. (A big shoe…what a damn fantastic description choice.)

"Why did your parents throw you out?" I asked.

"Why do you think?"

I got a lump in my throat and walked out of the room. I didn’t like it. Not one bit. But short of beating the crap out of him and tying him to a chair, I didn’t see a way out of it. The thought crossed my mind that this was one reason it might be better to be with girls. A girl would do what I wanted. But then I remembered how brave Shelly had been, not telling her killers any of the things they wanted to know about me. When it came right down to it, a woman would probably be as big a pain in the ass as Harlan. (And there we have it. The PERFECT way of putting it. Whoever he was with would have been a pain in the azz. Man or woman. It does not MATTER. Huge round of applause for getting the point across in such a simple, beautiful way.)

I have the feeling of wanting to cry. The book has ended, and I didn’t want it to. I invested a lot of emotions into these people. I don’t regret it, I just wish the trip hadn’t been over so fast. And this is a novel we’re talking about here, people. A novel, and it STILL wasn’t long enough. Thank you, Marshall Thornton, for writing this book. From the bottom of my squishy-wishy heart, thank you.