One of those blood-and-tear-stained shockers from the ashes of the Movement-that-was as Hawkins, the FBI's quiet ""Philosopher,"" the only quiet one around, follows the five-year-old traces of Weathergirl Theresa, now freaked out on Jesus and hiding in Majorca from all kinds of wanted charges from arson to murder. She's also hiding from the inappropriately named Elf James, a still hotter fugitive who shoots randomly as if there were no tomorrow for anyone. But Elf, a lesbian, has an insatiable avidity for Theresa and even if ""rage was her vocation,"" she abandons it to follow Theresa to the old dungeon where, after much erotic karate, Elf is found dead--enigmatically--and Theresa is led out by the gentle hand of the susceptible Hawkins. If, as Theresa says, the Movement and Elf have died of irrelevance, Crosby makes the livid latterday most of it.