Read The Postman Always Rings Twice for Free Online Page B

was off to our left. At Ventura they meet, and follow the sea right on up to Santa Barbara, San Francisco, and wherever you're going. But the idea was, she had never seen Malibu Beach, where the movie stars live, and she wanted to cut over on this road to the ocean, so she could drop down a couple of miles and look at it, and then turn around and keep right on up to Santa Barbara. The real idea was that this connection is about the worst piece of road in Los Angeles County, and an accident there wouldn't surprise anybody, not even a cop. It's dark, and has no traffic on it hardly, and no houses or anything, and suited us for what we had to do.
          The Greek never noticed anything for a while. We passed a little summer colony that they call Malibu Lake up in the hills, and there was a dance going on at the clubhouse, with couples out on the lake in canoes. I yelled at them. So did the Greek. "Give a one f'me." It didn't make much difference, but it was one more mark on our trail, if somebody took the trouble to find it.
          We started up the first long up-grade, into the mountains. There were three miles of it. I had told her how to run it. Most of the time she was in second. That was partly because there were sharp curves every fifty feet, and the car would lose speed so quick going around them that she would have to shift up to second to keep going. But it was partly because the motor had to heat. Everything had to check up. We had to have plenty to tell.
          And then, when he looked out and saw how dark it was, and what a hell of a looking country those mountains were, with no light, or house, or filling station, or anything else in sight, the Greek came to life and started an argument.
          "Hold on, hold on. Turn around. By golly, we off the road."
          "No we're not. I know where I am. It takes us to Malibu Beach. Don't you remember? I told you I wanted to see it."
          "You go slow."
          "I'm going slow."
          "You go plenty slow. Maybe all get killed."
     
          We got to the top and started into the down-grade. She cut the motor. They heat fast for a few minutes, when the fan stops. Down at the bottom she started the motor again. I looked at the temp gauge. It was 200. She started into the next up-grade and the temp gauge kept climbing.
          "Yes sir, yes sir."
          It was our signal. It was one of those dumb things a guy can say any time, and nobody will pay any attention to it. She pulled off to one side. Under us was a drop so deep you couldn't see the bottom of it. It must have been 500 feet.
          "I think I'll let it cool off a bit."
          "By golly, you bet. Frank, look a that. Look what it says."
          "Whassit say?"
          "Two hundred a five. Would be boiling in minute."
          "Letta boil."
          I picked up the wrench. I had it between my feet. But just then, way up the grade, I saw the lights of a car. I had to stall. I had to stall for a minute, until that car went by.
          "C'me on, Nick. Sing's a song."
          He looked out on those bad lands, but he didn't seem to feel like singing. Then he opened the door and got out. We could hear him back there, sick. That was where he was when the car went by. I looked at the number to burn it in my brain. Then I burst out laughing. She looked back at me.
          "'S all right. Give them something to remember. Both guys alive when they went by."
          "Did you get the number?"
          "2R-58-01."
          "2R-58-01. 2R-58-01. All right. I've got it too."
          "O.K."
          He came around from behind, and looked like he felt better. "You hear that?"
          "Hear what?"
          "When you laugh. Is a echo. Is a fine echo."
          He tossed off a high note. It wasn't any song, just a high note, like on a Caruso record. He cut if off quick and listened. Sure enough, here it came back, clear as anything,