ABSTRACT
Charlie Dixon eased the small Peugeot 304 around the closely parked cars in the sub-basement garage of his Neuilly apartment house and headed carefully for the up-ramp. He rolled down the window, stopped at the foot of the long ramp, reached out, and pushed the button that opened the overhead door at the top of the ramp. As he accelerated, the engine stalled. After three tries on the ignition switch, it finally coughed to life with a more promising sound, but by this time the automatic door at the top had run its automatic cycle and closed, so he had to back down and press the button on the wall again.
