“ Cambodia.”

“What did they do, keep the old sign?”

“Uh-huh. Painted out Abidjan, painted in Phnom Penh.”

“Must have been a tight fit.”

Indeed it was; Two Guys From Phnom Penh was what it looked like. “Cheaper than getting a new sign,” I said.

“I guess. Remember when it was Two Guys From Yemen? And before that it was Two Guys From Someplace Else, but don’t ask me where. It’s got to be a hard-luck location, don’t you think?”

“Must be.”

“I bet there was a restaurant there back when the Dutch owned Manhattan. Two Guys From Rotterdam.” She popped a cube of meat into her mouth and chewed it thoughtfully, then chased it with a swig of Dr. Brown’s Celery Tonic. “Not bad,” she announced. “That was Cambodian food we had up near Columbia, wasn’t it?”

“Angkor Wok,” I said. “Broadway and a Hundred and twenty-third, a Hundred and twenty-fourth, somewhere around there.”

“I think this is better, and God knows it’s handier. I hope they stay in business.”

“I wouldn’t count on it. A few months from now it’ll probably be Two Guys From Kabul.”

“Be a shame, but at least that would fit on the sign. Did you get the celery tonic at Two Guys?”

“No, I stopped at the deli.”

“Because it goes really great with Cambodian food, doesn’t it?”

“Like it was made for it.”

We ate some more of the daily special, sipped some more celery tonic. Then she said, “ Bern? What did you see last night?”

“The Roaring Twenties,” I said.

“Again? Didn’t you see that Monday night?”

“You’re absolutely right,” I said. “They tend to run together in my mind.” I closed my eyes for a moment. “Conflict,” I said.

“Conflict?”

“And Brother Orchid.”

“I never heard of either of them.”

“Actually, I may have seen Conflict years ago on late-night TV. It was vaguely familiar. Bogart’s in love with Alexis Smith, who’s his wife’s younger sister. He hurts his legs in a car crash, but then he hides the fact that he’s recovered so that he can kill his wife.”