"I sure don't," said Heller.

"I am fortunately in a position to help," said Madison. "I'm afraid I don't know your name."

"They call me Wister."

"Is that your full name?"

"Jerome Terrance Wister is that full name."

"Ah, well. I certainly do not want to force my attention on you, Mr. Wister. But I am afraid that now it has leaked, you will be bothered no end until you make some disparaging little statement. Is there a fuel?"

"Well, yes," said Heller. "But I was going to wait until I had graduated and people would listen to me."

"Oh, I quite understand. Of course they won't listen to just a student. So, to get them off you, why don't I make some little tut-tut statement in a conservative paper like Chemistry Today and they'll not bother you right now."

"Sounds sensible," said Heller.

"Good," said Madison. "Now, I was down here to do an interview on the effects of Non-Skid paint on asphalt. The asphalt has just been painted, you know. And I have a crew over there to take some pictures of the track. It would really be no trouble to rattle off some little story about some student who chanced upon the possibility of a new fuel—very low-key—and you'll be safe to go along and do your work and finish your education without press all over you. May I call over my crew?"

Heller shrugged. Madison took out a whistle and blew it.

Instantly a huge sound truck and three station wagons roared out from behind the grandstand and raced up. They were polished. They had signs on them, very modest, Chemistry Today. The crew alighted. They were clean, well groomed and professional. Very polite. Madison introduced them courteously and explained it wasn't an important story, just a favor he was doing. Maybe a little picture and a two-inch notice. The crew nodded understandingly.

The cameramen prepared to snap off a still.

Suddenly Madison raised his hand. "Wait, wait!" He turned to Heller. "Mr. Wister, you don't wear glasses. People associate glasses with learning. Would you mind if we put some glasses on you? To make you look learned? It's just a little snapshot."

Heller was amused.

"MAKEUP!" cried Madison.

Instantly a makeup man and two girl assistants came out of the huge truck. They set up a table with lighted mirrors. Madison took a pair of glasses. He put his finger through them, laughing. "See, no glass. But it makes you look studious." He put them on Heller. He stood back. "The jaw. It is too regular. It will arouse jealousy or women. MAKEUP!"

They quickly went to work on Heller's jaw. They made it protruding and pugnacious. Then the makeup man slid some large teeth into Heller's mouth.

Lighting men had been setting up.

"Just a little candid snapshot," said Madison. "The crew needs practice, you know. The paper probably won't even run it."

A backdrop was produced. Madison said, "Oh, dear, I'm late for my interview with Mr. Stampi. Do you mind, Mr. Wister, if my crew just practices a bit? They're a bit green. I won't be long." He left.

The crew posed Heller. They began to shoot with a high-powered, strobe-connected camera. They put a variety of hats on him, different helmets, a mortarboard. They asked for different expressions. Heller was mainly amused. But at their request, he was serious when they shot.

"We always make a little library of shots when we shoot and we lack practice," said the photographer. "You won't mind if we make some of these available on request?"

Heller looked at himself in their makeup mirror. He certainly didn't look like Heller. "Why not," he said.

The photographer gave him a model release to sign.

Then the crew chief said, "Mr. Madison is certainly taking his time."

"We could use it to practice our TV setup. The new one we never assembled," said their props man.

Quicker than a wink, they had what looked like an interior TV stage, backdrops, platform, mikes, all erected. They got Heller into some different coats—lab coats, street coats. And each time fired away with a TV camera.

Madison came running back, puffing. "I'm sorry I'm late. Oh, dear, what are you amateurs up to? Mr. Wister, I do apologize." He sat down in a chair on the platform. "They are so enthusiastic in their practicing. Well, as long as we're sitting here, you can tell me about the new fuel."

"Well," said Heller, "the planet does need one."

They chatted amiably. The camera appeared to be all on Heller and grinding!

Madison talked about anything and everything, all very banal. Heller answered conversationally. Now and then a costume man rushed in and changed his coat.

Finally, Madison turned to the crew. "That's enough practice today. We have work to do. Scrap all that film."

"Oh, it's expensive!" said the photographer. "Can't I keep it for my personal library?"

"Good heavens," said Madison, "I hope you have film left for the real reason we came!" He looked sad suddenly.

"I'm afraid I will be in trouble. We came to shoot Non-Skid paint and Mr. Stampi has no cars. All we can shoot is just black paint. It doesn't make much of a picture."

Madison got up. "Put all this away," he ordered. "Start shooting pictures of the black track."

"Oh, that won't make any picture!" said the photographer. "We'll all get ourselves fired!"

Suddenly Madison snapped his fingers. "Mr. Wister, I know it's a lot to ask. It won't take but a moment. Could you drive your car along there and put on the brakes a little bit and make it skid?"

Heller shrugged. Madison looked so honest and so appealing, sort of like a spaniel, that Heller said, "All right."

He drove the Cadillac out on the track. The crew took positions. Heller did as he was told.

"Didn't get it!" said the camera operator. "I need more speed. More zip."

Heller was amused. He wanted to try some driving anyway. He made the Caddy skid and spin. He amused himself.

They were having trouble getting the right angles.

Heller stopped at the pit. Madison wanted some pictures of the tires. Then Heller went out again.

He did a whole circle of the track. Just in front of the cameras, he slammed on the brakes. He was only doing about sixty.

Sideways went the Caddy!

Rubber screamed!

BANG!

The front left tire blew!

The Caddy careened, lurched, almost overturned!

Heller fought the wheel!

He came to a stop inches from a barricade. Smoke from the wrecked rubber rose.

He got out and looked. There was rubber all over the track, not much to tell from it.

He got a jack and a new wheel from his truck. He was working on changing the tire.

"Is it all right if we keep that for our library?" the photographer asked him.

"You shouldn't say yes," said Madison to Heller. "They pool everything they shoot with every photo library in town. I don't have any control over what they do with their films."

The chief cameraman began to rave. "(Bleep) you, Madison! That was a good shot! If I don't get some shots today, I'll be fired!"

Heller shrugged.

"Well, all right," Madison told him. "But you should be careful, Mr. Wister. Oh, yes. One thing. You can keep those glasses and those teeth. For your own safety, you should wear them if other photographers come around. I don't think they will, of course. I do thank you for your help today."

"Thank you for yours," said Heller.

They shook hands.

Madison and his crew left.

Me? I didn't get it. This Madison was mild as milk. I couldn't for the life of me figure out what he was up to. Then I had a clue. Confidence. He had spent all that time building Heller's confidence in him. I thought it was pretty inane. Bury had overestimated the danger in Madison, that was for sure.

For two whole days, watching the viewer or replaying its strips, there was no slightest sign of J. Walter Madison. I began to think he was just a fizzle and that I myself would have to get in there.