The light changes green and a mid-size sedan, white, but un-identifiable passes at a good speed. I notice dual exhaust. Good, I think, not a bad sign.
I wonder if they’ll be going over the canyon or turning right onto Mulholland. The light is green at Mulholland and they are doing about 50 when a black Cadillac, one the smaller, sporty models, turns right off of Mulholland, right in front of them. I’m still a pretty far behind but I lay on the horn.
They quickly pull off to the side.
That was close.
The white, Japanese/European/unknown style sedan is making good time up the hill in front of me.
At turn six, climbing, we hit a light fog bank/assumed marine layer/ocean influence. On the downhill I let them pull away. After several turns on a long straight away I see headlights behind me and I judge that they are not gaining. On the left, that same mini-truck, a slightly older Ford, and therefor suspect, is parked on the shoulder with one of those sun-reflectors on the dash/covering the windshield. I don’t see any tickets. There must be a driver, asleep somewhere, but this section of Topanga there are no homes, no driveways, visible.
I catch a glimpse of headlight glaring of the guardrail in front of the sedan which tells me someone has turned out onto the road in front of him. I quickly begin to close the distance.
It’s a Prius or something similar, with something, either one of those mapping cameras or a pizza delivery sign, mounted on the roof. After just a couple of turns they turn on their indicator and turn right onto a private drive.
“Domino’s Pizza”—at this hour?
I imagine it’s some young guy who lives up the side road he’s turned out of…. rent’s so high he probably lives with his parents… or in a tree-house. It’s either a delivery or…
“Come over now, he’s gone.”
“Um, okay… should I shower?”
“No, just hurry up. I’ve got ‘things’ I’ve got to do.”
“Why are you with him? I don’t like it—“
“Look, I don’t want to talk about this—do you want to come over or not?”
At P.C.H. there’s a C.H.P. so we all slow down. 50 is the limit. “Pontiac”. Okay. And there’s my exit.