He turned the key. The engine roared to life instantly, purring with a smooth, deep timbre it hadn't possessed hours before.

"Nonsense," Barnaby said, reaching under the counter and pulling out a heavy set of keys with a bright yellow keychain shaped like a smiley face. "I’ve got 'The Wanderer.'"

A young attendant came out to check the mileage. "Wow," the kid said. "Barnaby still renting out The Wanderer? This thing is a relic."

A moment later, a man emerged. He looked to be in his late sixties, wearing a loud Hawaiian shirt and a visor that read Life is Good . He had the kind of tan that only comes from spending forty years under a desert sun.