"Or any streetcar. I would suggest, General, that you choose a target
for its visibility. One that you cannot mistake."
The uniforms were suspicious, as they conferred with their noses flat
against the glass. They beckoned to me and pointed.
"That one there."
"Which one where?" They had to be more explicit than that.
"The big truck. The one with the green top and the pipe sticking out."
I spotted it. It slowed for a red light, and came to a complete stop.
I concentrated. Blow, Gabriel.
* * * * *
The crosstraffic halted, and the truck again got under way. Then
suddenly, as it must have been, although from where we were it seemed
like a leisurely stroll, it veered through the other traffic lane and
smoke burst from its hood. We could see the driver pop from his seat
and race to the corner fire alarm box. Almost instantly traffic both
ways was four deep. I turned away from the window. I don't like
heights, anyway.
"Now can I go?" Walk, not run to the nearest exit.
The old man spoke directly to the uniforms, "Well, gentlemen, are you
satisfied?"
They were satisfied, all right. They were stunned. They were probably
visualizing a stalled tank retriever, a stalled 6x6.
"Thank you, Mr. Miller. Thank you very much." My grin was wide, as I
started for the door.
"But I think that it is only fair, before you go, for me to tell you
one thing."
With my hand on the knob, I laughed at him. "You mean that there isn't
any Santa Claus?"
The corners of his mouth went up. "Not for you, I'm afraid. Are you
insured?"
"Me? Insured? You mean the extra thirty cents I give the newsboy every
week?"
"That's it. Insured. Life insurance."