I snapped on the light.
She was standing there, in a red kimono, as pale as milk, staring at me, with a long thin knife in her hand. I reached out and took it away from her. When she spoke, it was in a whisper that sounded like a snake licking its tongue in and out.
“Why did you have to come back?”
“I had to, that’s all.”
“No you didn’t. I could have gone through with it. I was getting so I could forget you. And now you have to come back. God damn you, you have to come back!”
“Go through with what?”
“What he’s making that scrapbook for. It’s to show to his children! And now he wants one. He wants one right away.”
“Well, why didn’t you come with me?”
“Come with you for what? To sleep in box cars? Why would I come with you? Tell me that.”
I couldn’t say anything. I thought about my $250, but what good was it telling her that I had some money yesterday, but today I lost it playing one ball in the side?
“You’re no good. I know that. You’re just no good. Then why don’t you go away and let me alone instead of coming back here again? Why don’t you leave me be?”
“Listen. Stall him on this kid stuff just a little while. Stall him, and we’ll see if we can’t figure something out. I’m not much good, but I love you, Cora. I swear it.”
“You swear it, and what do you do? He’s taking me to Santa Barbara, so I’ll say I’ll have the child, and you—you’re going right along with us. You’re going to stay at the same hotel with us! You’re going right along in the car. You’re—”
She stopped, and we stood there looking at each other. The three of us in the car, we knew what that meant. Little by little we were nearer, until we were touching.
“Oh, my God, Frank, isn’t there any other way out for us than that?”
“Well. You were going to stick a knife in him just now.”
“No. That was for me, Frank. Not him.”
“Cora, it’s in the cards. We’ve tried every other way out.”
“I can’t have no greasy Greek child, Frank. I can’t, that’s all. The only one I can have a child by is you. I wish you were some good. You’re smart, but you’re no good.”
“I’m no good, but I love you.”
“Yes, and I love you.”
“Stall him. Just this one night.”
“All right, Frank. Just this one night.”
CHAPTER
7
“There’s a long, long trail a-winding
Into the land of my dreams,
Where the nightingale is singing
And the white moon beams.
“There’s a long, long night of waiting
Until my dreams all come true,
Till the day when I’ll be going down
That long, long trail with you.”
“Feeling good, ain’t they?”
“Too good to suit me.”
“So you don’t let them get hold of that wheel, Miss. They’ll be all right.”
“I hope so. I’ve got no business out with a pair of drunks, I know that. But what could I do? I told them I wouldn’t go with them, but then they started to go off by themselves.”
“They’d break their necks.”
“That’s it. So I drove myself. It was all I knew to do.”
“It keeps you guessing, sometimes, to know what to do. One sixty for the gas. Is the oil O.K.?”
“I think so.”
“Thanks, Miss. Goodnight.”
She got in, and took the wheel again, and me and the Greek kept on singing, and we went on. It was all part of the play. I had to be drunk, because that other time had cured me of this idea we could pull a perfect murder. This was going to be such a lousy murder it wouldn’t even be a murder. It was going to be just a regular road accident, with guys drunk, and booze in the car, and all the rest of it. Of course, when I started to put it down, the Greek had to have some too, so he was just like I wanted him. We stopped for gas so there would be a witness that she was sober, and didn’t want to be with us anyhow, because she was driving, and it wouldn’t do for her to be drunk. Before that, we had had a piece of luck. Just before we closed up, about nine o’clock, a guy stopped by for something to eat, and stood there in the road and watched us when we shoved off. He saw the whole show. He saw me try to start, and stall a couple of times. He heard the argument between me and Cora, about how I was too drunk to drive. He saw her get out, and heard her say she wasn’t going. He saw me try to drive off, just me and the Greek. He saw her when she made us get out, and switched the seats, so I was behind, and the Greek up front, and then he saw her take the wheel and do the driving herself. His name was Jeff Parker and he raised rabbits at Encino. Cora got his card when she said she might try rabbits in the lunchroom, to see how they’d go. We knew right where to find him, whenever we’d need him.
Me and the Greek sang Mother Machree, and Smile, Smile, Smile, and Down by the Old Mill Stream, and pretty soon we came to this sign that said To Malibu Beach. She turned off there. By rights, she ought to have kept on like she was going. There’s two main roads that lead up the coast. One, about ten miles inland, was the one we were on. The other, right alongside the ocean, 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, and stopped, just like he had.
“Is a sound like me?”
“Jus’ like you, kid. Jussa same ol’ toot.”
“By golly. Is swell.”
He stood there for five minutes, tossing off high notes and listening to them come back. It was the first time he ever heard what his voice sounded like. He was as pleased as a gorilla that seen his face in the mirror. She kept looking at me. We had to get busy. I began to act sore. “Wot th’ hell? You think we got noth’n t’ do but lis’n at you yod’l at y’self all night? C’me on, get in. Le’s get going.”
“It’s getting late, Nick,”
“Hokay, hokay.”
He got in, but shoved his face out to the window and let go one. I braced my feet, and while he still had his chin on the window sill I brought down the wrench. His head cracked, and I felt it crush. He crumpled up and curled on the seat like a cat on a sofa. It seemed a year before he was still. Then Cora, she gave a funny kind of gulp that ended in a moan. Because here came the echo of his voice. It took the high note, like he did, and swelled, and stopped, and waited.
CHAPTER
8
We didn’t say anything. She knew what to do. She climbed back, and I climbed front. I looked at the wrench under the dash light. It had a few drops of blood on it. I uncorked a bottle of wine, and poured it on there till the blood was gone. I poured so the wine went over him. Then I wiped the wrench on a dry part of his clothes, and passed it back to her. She put it under the seat. I poured more wine over where I had wiped the wrench, cracked the bottle against the door, and laid it on top of him. Then I started the car. The wine bottle gave a gurgle, where a little of it was running out the crack.
I went a little way, and then shifted up to second. I couldn’t tip it down that 500-foot drop, where we were. We had to get down to it afterward, and besides, if it plunged that far, how would we be alive? I drove slow, in second, up to a place where the ravine came to a point, and it was only a 50-foot drop. When I got there, I drove over to the edge, put my foot on the brake, and fed with the hand throttle. As soon as the right front wheel went off, I stepped hard on the brake. It stalled. That was how I wanted it. The car had to be in gear, with the ignition on, but that dead motor would hold it for the rest of what we had to do.
We got out. We stepped on the road, not the shoulder, so there wouldn’t be footprints. She handed me a rock, and a piece of 2 × 4 I had back there. I put the rock under the rear axle. It fitted, because I had picked one that would fit. I slipped the 2 × 4 over the rock and under the axle. I heaved down on it. The car tipped, but it hung there. I heaved again. It tipped a little more: I began to sweat. Here we were, with a dead man in the car, and suppose we couldn’t tip it over?
I heaved again, but this time she was beside me. We both heaved. We heaved again. And then all of a sudden, there we were, sprawled down on the road, and the car was rolling over and over, down the gully, and banging so loud you could hear it a mile.
It stopped. The lights were still on, but it wasn’t on fire. That was the big danger. With that ignition on, if the car burned up, why weren’t we burned too? I snatched up the rock, and gave it a heave down the ravine. I picked up the 2 × 4, ran up the road with it a way, and slung it down, right in the roadway. It didn’t bother me any. All over the road, wherever you go, are pieces of wood that have dropped off trucks, and they get all splintered up from cars running over them, and this was one of them. I had left it out all day, and it had tire marks on it, and the edges were all chewed up.
I ran back, picked her up, and slid down the ravine with her. Why I did that was on account of the tracks. My tracks, they didn’t worry me any. I figured there would be plenty of men piling down there pretty soon, but those sharp heels of hers, they had to be pointed in the right direction, if anybody took the trouble to look.
I set her down. The car was hanging there, on two wheels, about halfway down the ravine. He was still in there, but now he was down on the floor. The wine bottle was wedged between him and the seat, and while we were looking it gave a gurgle. The top was all broken in, and both fenders were bent. I tried the doors. That was important, because I had to get in there, and be cut up with glass, while she went up on the road to get help. They opened all right.
I began to fool with her blouse, to bust the buttons, so she would look banged up. She was looking at me, and her eyes didn’t look blue, they looked black. I could feel her breath coming fast. Then it stopped, and she leaned real close to me.
“Rip me! Rip me!”
I ripped her. I shoved my hand in her blouse and jerked. She was wide open, from her throat to her belly.
“You got that climbing out. You caught it in the door handle.”
My voice sounded queer, like it was coming out of a tin phonograph.
“And this you don’t know how you got.”
I hauled off and hit her in the eye as hard as I could. She went down. She was right down there at my feet, her eyes shining, her breasts trembling, drawn up in tight points, and pointing right up at me. She was down there, and the breath was roaring in the back of my throat like I was some kind of a animal, and my tongue was all swelled up in my mouth, and blood pounding in it.
“Yes! Yes, Frank, yes!”
Next thing I knew, I was down there with her, and we were staring in each other’s eyes, and locked in each other’s arms, and straining to get closer. Hell could have opened for me then, and it wouldn’t have made any difference. I had to have her, if I hung for it.
I had her.
CHAPTER
9
We lay there a few minutes, then, like we were doped. It was so still that all you could hear was this gurgle from the inside of the car.
“What now, Frank?”
“Tough road ahead, Cora. You’ve got to be good, from now on. You sure you can go through it?”
“After that, I can go through anything.”
“They’ll come at you, those cops. They’ll try to break you down. You ready for them?”
“I think so.”
“Maybe they’ll pin something on you. I don’t think they can, with those witnesses we got. But maybe they do it. Maybe they pin it on you for manslaughter, and you spend a year in jail. Maybe it’s as bad as that. You think you can take it on the chin?”
“So you’re waiting for me when I come out.”
“I’ll be there.”
“Then I can do it.”
“Don’t pay any attention to me. I’m a drunk. They got tests that’ll show that. I’ll say stuff that’s cock-eyed. That’s to cross them up, so when I’m sober and tell it my way, they’ll believe it.”
“I’ll remember.”
“And you’re pretty sore at me. For being drunk. For being the cause of it all.”
“Yes. I know.”
“Then we’re set.”
“Frank.”
“Yes?”
“There’s j
ust one thing. We’ve got to be in love. If we love each other, then nothing matters.”
“Well, do we?”
“I’ll be the first one to say it. I love you, Frank.”
“I love you, Cora.”
“Kiss me.”
I kissed her, and held her close, and then I saw a flicker of light on the hill across the ravine.
“Up on the road, now. You’re going through with it.”
“I’m going through with it.”
“Just ask for help. You don’t know he’s dead yet.”
“I know.”
“You fell down, after you climbed out. That’s how you got the sand on your clothes.”
“Yes. Goodbye.”
“Goodbye.”
She started up to the road, and I dived for the car. But all of a sudden, I found I didn’t have any hat. I had to be in the car, and my hat had to be with me. I began clawing around for it. The car was coming closer and closer. It was only two or three bends away, and I didn’t have my hat yet, and I didn’t have a mark on me. I gave up, and started for the car. Then I fell down. I had hooked my foot in it. I grabbed it, and jumped in. My weight no sooner went on the floor than it sank and I felt the car turning over on me. That was the last I knew for a while.
Next, I was on the ground, and there was a lot of yelling and talking going on around me. My left arm was shooting pain so bad I would yell every time I felt it, and so was my back. Inside my head was a bellow that would get big and go away again. When it did that the ground would fall away, and this stuff I had drunk would come up. I was there and I wasn’t there, but I had sense enough to roll around and kick. There was sand on my clothes too, and there had to be a reason.
Next there was a screech in my ears, and I was in an ambulance. A state cop was at my feet, and a doctor was working on my arm. I went out again as soon as I saw it. It was running blood, and between the wrist and the elbow it was bent like a snapped twig. It was broke. When I came out of it again the doctor was still working on it, and I thought about my back. I wiggled my foot and looked at it to see if I was paralyzed. It moved.
The Postman Always Rings Twice Page 4
