He got back in the Volvo, arranged his maps on the front seat, and nosed out onto the highway. He had time to find out where he was appearing and—he thought with a sudden, unusual thrill—time to hit a truck stop, pick up a New York Times and see just exactly how famous he was.

One of the great mysteries in life is that you can never find the newspaper you want when you really need it. It seemed to Todd as he scoured the periodical section of the truck stop that they had every paper and magazine known to mankind apart from the one he actually wanted. There were local papers, national papers, even foreign papers—Todd was convinced he saw a lone copy of Pravda in among the USA Todays—but no New York Times.

“Excuse me,” he said to the clerk. “Do you have the New York Times?”

The clerk stared at him.

“No, then,” said Todd, and left.

It was the same wherever he went. No truck stop, no roadside diner—Todd even searched a drive-in McDonald’s from top to bottom for a discarded copy—nothing, and nowhere. Perhaps there was some turf war between the Chicago papers and New York. Perhaps there was an East Coast newspaper strike. Todd had, frankly, no idea. He got back in the Volvo and drove on.

By the time he reached Chicago, his unspoken fantasies—A tickertape parade? For me? You shouldn’t have!—were packed away, and all he could think about was the bathroom break he should have taken forty minutes ago. At the first stop light, Todd glanced at his map. He was only a few blocks from his hotel. Todd hoped it was a decent hotel and not some motel that had somehow crawled into the city to die.

The Randall wasn’t a fleapit and it didn’t look like it had ever crawled anywhere. Even as Todd pulled up outside to see if there was somewhere to park, a man in a top hat was tapping on the Volvo’s window to get his attention.

“May we park your car, sir?” said the man.

“Okay,” said Todd, wondering how the man was going to get his top hat inside the car. But as he stepped out, Top Hat gave his keys to a much smaller man, who slid into the Volvo and drove away with enviable ease.

“Is this your only bag?” said Top Hat, and, without waiting for an answer, picked up Todd’s grip and strode into the hotel with it. Todd followed, nearly losing an arm in the revolving door.

*  *  *