There was a big cart on Broad Way. Other traffic was backed up trying to manoeuvre around it.

'Had my meat delivered at lunchtime, Fred, and when my carter came out...' All Jolson pointed to the large triangular construction locked around one wheel of the cart. It was made of oak and steel, with yellow paint sloshed over it.

Fred tapped it carefully. 'I can see where your problem is, right here,' he said. 'So how long was your carter in there?'

'Well. I gave him lunch...'

'And very good lunches you do, All, I've always said. What was the special today?'

'Smitten steak with cream sauce and slumpie, and black death meringue to follow,' said All Jolson.

There was a moment of silence as they both pictured this meal. Fred Colon gave a little sigh.

'Butter on the slumpie?'

'You wouldn't insult me by suggesting I'd leave it off, would you?'

'A man could linger a long time over a meal like that,' said Fred. 'The trouble is, the Patrician, All, gets very short about carts parking on the street for more than ten minutes. He reckons that's a sort of crime.'

'Taking ten minutes to eat one of my lunches isn't a crime, Fred, it's a tragedy,' said All. 'It says here "City Watch—$15 removal", Fred. That's a couple of days' profits, Fred.'

'Thing is,' said Fred Colon, 'it'll be paperwork, see? I can't just wave that away. I only wish I could. There's all them counterfoils on the spike in my office. If it was me running the Watch, of course... but my hands are tied, see...'

The two men stood some way apart, hands in pockets, apparently paying little attention to one another. Sergeant Colon began to whistle under his breath.

'I know a thing or two,' said All, carefully. 'People think waiters ain't got ears.'