Mousetache

Ricey Bob sat nonchalently in the departure lounge, reading a cheap paperback.

Or so it appeared.

The paperback itself concealed a small laptop, minus keyboard and mouse. Casting his eyes around him, he sought the face of the man he was seeking - Alex the Florist.

Alex the Florist was a man of many faces, but the up-to-date image library on Ricey Bob's laptop contained photographs of every disguise Alex had worn over the past ten years.

Fingering his false beard, Ricey Bob was grateful to UnaBubTech for letting him beta-test their soon-to-be-fameless 'keybeard' input device. Tap, tap, tap....he flicked through a dozen recent photos, comparing them with the faces around him.

Tap, tap....wait! Back...yes, that one! The face in the photograph was small and indistinct, but it had the same profile as the gentleman in the suede vest and polo- neck sweater sitting not more than two yards from him. Ricey Bob strained to make out more detail in the image without appearing consipicuous. He needed to zoom, but no easy pattern of keyboard strokes would accomplish this, and plugging a mouse into his "paperback" would be as conspicuous as it was cruel.

Thank goodness, he thought, for the Buchanananonymous mousetache that he was wearing. Twisting his mouth to the left as if in thought, he wrinkled his nose to click-and-drag, bringing his lips across and up to sweep out the rectangle around the face. A quick relaxation of the nose, another facial tic and a quick nostril-flare and he'd selected "zoom".

Yes, no doubt about it now, the man sitting opposite him was indeed Alex the Florist. He'd lost a lot of weight since the photo was taken, and had become much less pixellated, but there was no mistaking him. Alex the Florist would soon be pushing up the daisies.

Now to email Joanna Coffee to let her know everything was going well. He wondered if this airport had pubic WiFi access.