The train rattled along the track, crossing the border into Iowa. Outside the sun shone and the farmland rushed by, inside was a different situation. In one of the cars sat a collection of traveling salesmen, some smoking, some drinking, a handful playing cards and mostly ignoring the conversation being bandied around the car in regards to whether or not to give credit to customers like the stores in the East were doing. Many were firm on the fact that they would only ever take cash for the merchandise while a couple felt that in order to continue business in the East they would have to begin giving credit. One blond at the card table would glance up occasionally, shake his head and go back to the game.

"You can bicker all you want, but it's different than it was!" One of the men was saying.

A black-haired man, shook his head firmly, "No it's not. But you've got to know the territory you're covering."

"People want things faster, that's why credit's so big. We have to give it or we'll go under, surely you see that, Azazel."
The black-haired man shook his head again, "Credit's big because people want things faster, but how are you going to give them it and still get the money? We're not stores, we're salesmen. We get the money, they get the product, everyone goes home happy. You just have to know the territory and who you're selling to."

One of the older men who had been half paying attention to the debate finally cut in, "Have any of you heard of a fellow called 'Summers'?"

The name was murmured around the car, even the men at the card game glancing up and shaking their heads. Azazel seemed the only other man who had. One of them finally voiced their thoughts, "No. Who is he?"

Azazel scowled, "He's a fake and he doesn't know the territory."

"What's his line?" Apparently he'd gone unheard.

"Never worried about his line," came