Vince cruised into the estate via the service lane, past immaculate lawns, retaining walls of natural stone set by hand, and into the lee of a three-story mansion. The elegance visible through his windshield was enough to make him wonder how he could get into investment banking.
The caretaker greeted him by the six-car garage. Vince pointed at the emblem on the side of his truck: SUBLIME AUTO DETAILING. "I'm here to do the limo."
"Right," the caretaker said. He fished a valet control badge from his pocket, keyed in a code, and pinned the device on Vince's shirt. "There. Just let the garage and limo know what you want."
"Great."
"I'll be over there if you need me." The man headed for the rose garden, clippers in hand.
Vince opened the back of his truck, uncapped spray bottles, unravelled hoses, and unlocked the garbage bin. He turned to the garage. "Open." The nearest door obeyed. Daylight fell on an elegant gold limousine.
A Detroit Limited. Vince sighed. They didn't make 'em like that any more.
Setting a marker on the asphalt next to his truck, he said, "Center your front bumper over that, my friend."
The automobile rolled to the designated spot, using its battery-powered accessory drive. To turn on the powerful road engine, Vince would need more than a valet badge.
"Unlock doors, hood, and trunk."
The car obeyed. "Thanks," Vince said, and began vacuuming. Only a little touch-up was necessary. The owner was apparently a tidy sort, and the filtration system had taken care of most of the dust. But Vince skipped nothing. Not only was he trying to impress this first-time client, but he never settled for less than a thorough job.
The Detroit Limited was one of the first A.I. models, available even before the traffic guidance network had fully come on line. Vince aimed to treat this one well. "You know, if it weren't for cars like you, I might be unemployed right now. Some chauffeur would be doing all this." Instead, mobile detailing was an industry that had come into its glory days.
He emptied the ashtrays, wiped them, and began cleaning the upholstery. "How about some music, my friend?"
The sound system woke, the volume increasing gradually, serenading the car's interior with 1970s pop.
"Nice equipment," Vince commented, wiping the speaker grills. "How about something more, um, 21st Century?"
The music shifted to a contemporary hit. A pair of female vocalists belted out a high, soaring harmony that had Vince pausing just to listen. "That's good," he said. "Gets the blood moving. Say, you got a name?"
"James."
Of course, smiled Vince.
A stain on the edge of one of the rear seats caught his eye. He aimed his spray bottle, and paused.
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