"Hi, I'm Jeeval Knievel," said the young man who stood on my doorstep. "I'm here to take you to the airport.
"If you think I'm going to ride to the airport on the back of that thing" -- meaning the motorcycle that was parked at the curb -- "you've got another think coming" I protested.
"Well, in that case, Mr. Bahama, I'll just have to ask my associate to bring the limousine," Jeeval said with a wink. "In fact, here she is now."
"You can call me Owen," I said, softening a bit as a young woman pulled up beside the motorcycle..
"I'm Amelia Deerhart," she said, "but you can call me Amy. Jeeval will help with your luggage, and I will ride with you on the flight to make sure you make all your connections." She leaned toward me and whispered, "He's just yanking your chain about the motorcycle. As far as I know, today was the first time he's ever gotten on a motorcycle himself."
"That makes me feel so much better," I muttered darkly. "But why would he be teasing me anyway? "He just met me."
"Uncle Floyd mapped this out in detail," Amy confided.
"How did my uncle know you and Jeeval would be available on such short notice?" I asked. "It's not as if he knew when he was going to die."
"Well, he had a very capable fortune-teller," Amy continued, "but I can't tell you more about that except to say that the fortune-teller hit it right on the nose."
Through some alchemy of street choice and lucky green lights at the intersections, the ride to the airport went faster than I expected. Not that I was in any great hurry to get there