reading movie magazines? I know you’re a little older, but let’s say.”
“I didn’t like nice girls.”
“Hard-boiled,” she said warningly.
“No, it’s true. I liked Sin. I was praying for a girl who’d, you know, pull the book out of my hands and the glasses off my face, even though I didn’t wear glasses, and, you know, corrupt me. I thought I was a very serious guy, too, but I was hoping some red-hot mama would come along and make a wolf of me.”
“And what happened?”
“That’s what happened.”
“Oh ho.”
“Took a few years, though.”
“So I’d’ve been too nice to be your girl. But maybe we could have been friends?”
“If you’d ever talked to me, I’d have fainted.”
“And after I threw a bucket of water over you and woke you up?”
“Then I’d have made fun of your movie magazines.”
“And after I kicked you in the shins?”
“Then I guess we might have been friends. I don’t know, Rebecca. To tell the truth, you play-act so much, I couldn’t say what you’d be like if you stopped.”
“Neither could I,” she said sadly. “I’m play-acting now?”
“I couldn’t tell you, Rebecca.”
“Neither could I,” she said again.
We’d jogged through town just past the airport and were back on the Coast Highway now, and the road was rising as we came around the curve toward Malibu. I could see Point Dume off in the distance.
I said, “Aw, hell, Rebecca. I’m sorry. The truth is, I may be too old to faint, but you pretty much scare me now.”
“I scare all the boys,” she said. “All of them with any brains. Well, so much for our beautiful friendship.”
“Even if it never happened,” I said, “it was nice while it lasted.”
“Yes, at least we’ve got our memories.”
“Yeah.”
“Our movie magazines. Your glasses.”
“Your bucket.”
“Do you know what I really would’ve said to you, Ray? If I were your friend?”
“What?”
“I’d tell you, stay away from that Rebecca girl.” She leaned toward me. “I’d tell you:
“Yeah,” I said. “But if I was your friend, I’d say, Sorry, I’m sticking around anyway.”
“So I guess it wouldn’t matter, me warning you.”
“I guess not.”
“You keep looking back in the mirror. Why do you keep looking in the mirror?”
“Rebecca?”
“Yes? What’s back there?”
“You wouldn’t set me up, now, would you?”
“What do you mean?” she said.
“The same car’s been behind us for the last fifteen minutes. I’m pretty sure it’s been with us since we left my place.”
The big engine took hold, and I felt us both being mashed back into our seats.
The speedometer said 70, then 80, then 90. The wind rushed by my ears with a scraping sound.
“All right,” I said. “That’s enough. That’s not necessary.”
“He’s going to burn me,” she whispered. No, it was worse than whispering. “He’ll burn me.”
105, and starting to rock a little. Rebecca’s face was stretched taut and her lips were white, and behind the sunglasses her eyes were huge and lopsided. The cords were out on her throat. She looked as if she were forty years old and hadn’t been living right. I set my hand on the back of her neck and stroked it. “It’s okay, Rebecca,” I said. “This isn’t necessary. Just stop it.”
“He’s going to—”
“No. You think you’re panicking,” I said. “And that you can’t stop. But you can, any time. You can stop now. Right now. Now just slow down.”
She didn’t answer.
I scooted closer, slid my left leg under both of hers and lifted my knee. The back of her knees felt delicious against my leg. I can’t help it, it did. I humped up my leg under hers, and both her feet came off the pedals and the car began to slow. She stared hopelessly straight ahead, gripping the wheel, feet dangling, tears trickling down her cheeks. “That’s right,” I said. “That’s right. You’re getting it back under control now. All righty.”
“I’m sorry,” she said.
“You’re okay now. I’m going to take my leg away. Will you hold it at 60?”
“Yes.”
“Say it so I believe it.”
“Yes.”
I pulled my leg back and she set her foot gently on the gas. We settled in at 60.
“All right,” I said. “There’s someone behind us. We don’t know who. If it’s Halliday, he can’t do anything while we’re all driving along, and it won’t help to put us in the ditch.” I looked back again. It was still there, a big car, dark blue and gleaming in the sun. “If it’s him, the one thing we don’t want is to lead him to your house. So we’re going to turn off in a minute, and see if whoever it is turns off with us. If he does, I’m going to meet him. What’s in the trunk?”
“What? Nothing. A spare.”
“Good,” I said. We’d just passed Topanga. “Take the next turnoff,” I said, and started working the trunk key off the ring hanging from the steering column.
“What are you going to do?”
“If it’s Halliday? Take back the initiative. Here’s the turnoff.”
We turned up Tuna Canyon, a dirt road crawling up a little gully full of scrub and weeds, olive and brown. If the blue car turned in, we’d know.
I said, “This’s as good a place as any. Pull up over there. Now, nothing much’ll probably happen, but if you see or hear anything you don’t like, just take off. But don’t go to your house. There’s a diner called Charlie’s Gold Medal on Western and 137th. Go there and tell Rina you’re my friend and need to wait in the office upstairs. I’ll call you there as soon as I can. If you haven’t heard from me within, say, four hours, you’ll have to use your judgment. All right?”
“Western and 137th,” she said. “Okay. I’m sorry about before.”
“Good girl,” I said. “Right over here.”
I was out the door while the car was still rolling and trotted around to the trunk. It was the cleanest damn trunk you ever saw. The tire iron was right where it was supposed to be. It was just the right length and weight, too, and I took a few practice cuts with it, getting used to the gravel under my feet, wishing to God I’d worn my gun that morning. With the Colt, all you had to usually do was show it and folks got peaceable. I left the trunk lid open to block Rebecca off from whoever came up behind. We’d raised a trail of dust and it stung my nose. The blue car turned off the highway and began cruising toward us. I wasn’t too worried about a bottle of lye. He wouldn’t slosh it at me, for fear of getting some on himself, and he wouldn’t want to carry it up to a guy with a tire iron that might break it. And I couldn’t see him setting out in the morning with a bottle of lye and a gun, both. Then I realized how
