Frazier combed his hair with his fingers, patted it into place, leaned over to glance at himself in the rear view mirror, sighed. “ I haven’t run the Road that much myself. Mainly between Cleveland in the 1950’s and Cleveland in the 1980’s.” “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.