“Well, it looks like it really paid off.” And then he slid the Batmobile model into the pocket of his jean jacket and smiled at me. Just like that, daring me to ask him to put it back on the shelf.

“Wait a minute,” Rick said, looking at the books on the shelves, including several duplicate copies of the ones I’d written. “Zack Walker. Is that like Zachary Walker?”

“That’s right.”

“I know that name.” His eyebrows went together, like he was trying to remember something from a very long time ago. He pulled a copy of Missionary off the shelf. “Did you write this?”

I nodded. “That was my first book, yes.”

“Is this the one where those guys go to another planet and try to get the people to stop believing in God?”

“Yes, that’s the one.”

“Shit, I loved this book! I read it while I was inside.”

Inside? Inside what? Most people did their reading inside, unless they were taking their books with them to the beach in the summertime.

“Yeah, this was good,” Rick said. “I found it kind of spiritual, if you know what I mean. Man, I can hardly believe I’m meeting some hot-shit writer.”

“Well, not that hot shit, actually. My other books have done only so-so. But that one, it did the best, and I’m finishing up a sequel to it now.”

Rick’s eyes widened. “Are you kidding me? When I finished that book, I thought, Hey, what would happen next? Would the Earth guys suddenly get religion, or would they just be killed, you know, for not believing, or maybe back on Earth they’d send some more guys to see what happened to them, like in Planet of the Apes, you know, where they sent another astronaut after Charlton Heston found the Statue of Liberty on the beach there? Oh shit, I didn’t spoil the ending for you, did I?”

“I’ve seen it.”

“Check this out,” he said, reaching into his back pocket and digging out a silver cigarette lighter featuring the Star Trek insignia, the rounded upside-down “V” that was the symbol for the Federation of Planets, on the side. “Like it?” he said, turning it so I could see the emblem more clearly. “Got it from a guy inside. I looked after him, and he knew I liked Star Trek, so he gave it to me.”

There was the word again. I was starting to get an idea of what it meant to be “inside.”

“Sort of like you giving me this Batmobile,” he said, patting his jacket pocket. “Now I’ll do my best to look after your interests, too.”

I tried to smile.

“Now,” he said, getting back to the purpose of his visit, “how do you know Stefanie?” He put emphasis on the word “know.” “‘Cause you don’t really strike me as her type, though I could be wrong.”