Brock and I sat there, staring moodily into our drinks. He had his big arms planted on the table.
"Well," I said, "let's see. I hold the world's speed record for company station wagons."
"And I," said Brock, "must hold the world records for 1969 Mustangs being driven at great speeds—sideways. Too bad we didn't get to drive. But I'm glad ol' Mick got the records."
We ordered more Scotch and thought about it some more. Then Brock brightened. "Listen," he growled in that bear-voice, "I've just got a great idea for the title to my story in Hot Rod. And I'll tell you if you promise not to steal it."
I looked up at him reproachfully. "Steal your headline?" I said. "Never."
"O.K." Ray sighed and wrapped one hand around his glass. "I'm going to call my story. At Least I Got My Name on the Door."