"Periclean Athens. Jimmy Frazier's the name."
"Red Dorakeen. You've a long haul ahead. How's your Greek?"
"Been studying it for two years. Always wanted to make this trip. —I've heard of you."
"Good or bad?"
"Both. And in between. You used to run arms till they cracked down, didn't you?"
Red turned and met the dark eyes which were studying him.
"It's been said." "Didn't mean to pry." Red shrugged. "No secret, I guess."
"You've been in a lot of interesting places, I suppose?"
"Some."
"And some strange ones?"
"A few of those, too."
Frazier combed his hair with his fingers, patted it into
place, leaned over to glance at himself in the rearvdew mirror, sighed.
"I haven't run the Road that much myself. Mainly
between Cleveland in the 1950s and Cleveland in the
1980s."
"What do you do?"
"Tend bar, mostly. Also, I buy stuff in the fifties and sell it in the eighties."
"Makes sense."
"Makes money too. —You ever have trouble with hijackers?"
"None to speak of."
"You must have some really fancy armaments on this thing."
"Nothing special."
"I'd think you'd need them."
"Shows how wrong you can be."
"What do you do if you're suddenly up against it?" Red relit his cigar. "Maybe die," he replied. Frazier chuckled. "No. Really," he said.
Red extended his right arm along the back of the seat.
"Look, if you are a hijacker, you've caught me between loads."
"Me? I'm no hijacker."
"Then stop asking these damn theoretical questions. How the hell should I know what I'd do in some hypothetical situation? I'd respond to circumstances, that's all."
"Sorry. I got carried away. It's a romantic life you lead. Where are you from, originally?" "I don't know." "What do you mean?"
"I mean that I can't find my way back. Once it was on the main drag, I think, then it became a byroad probably, then it just disappeared into the misty places which are no longer history. I guess I just waited too long to begin looking. Got occupied. It's not even legend anymore." "What's it called?" "Do you smell something burning?" "Just your cigar." "My cigar; Where the hell is it?" "I don't— Here. It seems to have fallen down the seat behind me." "You get burned?"
"Burned? Oh, I don't think so. Maybe my jacket, a little."
Red accepted the return of his cigar, glanced at the other's back. "You're lucky then. Sorry." "You were saying? ..."
"Red!" Flowers broke in. "There's a police cruiser headed this way." Frazier started. "What is that?" he said.
"You should be able to spot it in a minute." Red regarded the mirror. "Why don't they go find an accident?" he mused.
He glanced at Frazier. "Unless this is some sort of setup."
"What form of magic?-"
"... Should be coming into view about now." "Red! Where's that voice coming from?" "Don't bother me! Damn it!"
"Demons are very untrustworthy!" Frazier said, and he began tracing designs in the air. Fiery shapes flowed from his fingertips and hung before him.
"Red! What's he up to?" Flowers asked. "My opticalscanners show—"
Red cut sharply to the right and off onto the shoulder, braking.
"Stop cluttering my cab with spells!" Red ordered. "You're not from any main-branch C Twenty. What are you trying to pull?"
The police cruiser cut past and came to a stop before them. It was a gray evening, and snow decked the trees in the forest to the right.
"I repeat—" Red said, but Frazier had already opened the door and was stepping down.
"I don't know how you managed this—" Frazier began.
Red recognized the officer emerging from the police vehicle but did not know his name.
"—but you have just made a mistake." Frazier regarded the advancing policeman. "So did I, though, come to think of it..." he added.
The cab's door slammed shut. The truck went into reverse, its tires grinding gravel. Its wheels cut to the left, its engine revved through a long pause while ghostly shapes streaked by. Then it shot onto the highway to flee through a pale day, a golden arch above it.