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Froreen-plaid cap with a short bill and a plu sixty-year-old men hen they buy a convertible sports car to ied to Oscar He had real style"

"I hope his chauffeur’s uniforuise"

"Put it on Put, put," she insisted Frolasses and handed them to h the cap fit, I felt silly in it, as if I were trying to pass for a Scottish golfer circa 1910

Zippering open a slove box, producing a two-ounce bottle containing a golden liquid, Mrs Fischer said, "Let me paint soum" Fros "Mustaches," she said "Different styles A handlebar wouldn’t be right for your face So more modest But not a pencil mustache, either Too affected Oh, I also have a chin beard!"

"Why would you carry a enuinely perplexed by my question "Whyever wouldn’t I carry one?"

Gently but firmly I insisted, "I won’t wear a fake mustache"

"Then a chin beard You’ll be a whole new person"

"I’ll look ridiculous"

"Nonsense, Oddie You’ll look ilasses and a chin beard, everyone will think you’re a famous poet"

"What poet ever looked like that?"

"Virtually every beatnik poet, back in the day"

"There are no beatniks anymore"

"Because most of their poetry stank You’ll write better," she declared, unscrewing the cap from the bottle "Stick out your chin"

"I’m sorry, ma’am No I respect my elders and all that, and you’ve been especially kind, but I won’t glue a beard on my chin I don’t want to look like Maynard G Krebs"

"Who is Maynard G Krebs?"

"He was Dobie Gillis’s friend on that old TV seriesit somewhere"

"You don’t look like a lard-ass couch potato"

"Thank you,sticks with me, like even the naht as she screwed the cap back onto the bottle "You’re such a nice boy--and a genius, too"

"Not a genius Far from it I just have a sticky ood luck, God bless"

Pattingit, Mrs Fischer said, "Take your tioing to happen next, but I know I’ back to you"

"Of course you are You’re my chauffeur"

"I don’t want to put your life at risk"

"Don’t be so hard on yourself, child You’re a good driver"

"I erous ene Miss Marple, and I’ll be here when you’re finished"

Six

IN PLAID CAP AND SUNGLASSES, LOOKING LIKE A PRETEND Scottish poet golfer who left his chin beard at home, I approached the front doors of Star Truck They slid open automatically with a pneumatic hiss, which seemed to be an expression of disdain at my appearance

I was in a kind of lobby, a spotless space, about twenty feet wide and thirty long As outside, the walls were clad in stainless steel, but up close, I could confirm that it was plastic, excellent fake steel but fake nonetheless

To the left were glass doors under a red plastic sign that announced TRAVEL STORE in white letters They sold everything from wrench sets to cushioned insoles, racy postcards to Bibles, audio books to zinc ointave no indication that the rhinestone cowboy could be found in there