We ordered some cappuccino and split a cannoli. Said our goodbyes and went on our way.

I headed down Broad Street near the stadium. Found a legal parking spot in front of Burger's Sports Emporium. Kato jumped from the car and followed me inside.

"Is he friendly?" asked the short man behind the counter. Perhaps five-foot six. What he lacked in height was more than made up in muscle. Arms like Popeye. Large gut but solid. Bald on top with graying black hair on the sides. My guess would be former dock worker.

"No. Mr. Burger, I presume." I knew Leon Burger by reputation only. Personally, we had never met or done business.

"Yes, yes. I'm Burger. How can I help you Mister…"

"Picker, no mister. I believe that my friend Hari Henderson was in to see you yesterday."

"Yes, yes. Nice boy, Hari. Been doing business with for some time now. Yes, yes. Sold me some cards. Very nice, very nice."

"Forgive me for asking, it's really none of my business. What cards, exactly?"

"No problem, no problem. Here, let me show you." The little man turned around; kneeled down next to an ancient floor safe and spun the dial. Swung open the thick black door; reached inside and extracted a metal box. Placed it on the counter. "Here we go, here we go." The repetition was getting old fast. Burger removed a half dozen baseball cards; spread them on the counter.

This is what I saw: vintage baseball cards with names, stats and photos of Mickey Mantle, Shoeless Joe Jackson, Ty Cobb, Lou Gehrig, Babe Ruth and Jackie Robinson.

"Mr. Burger, if I may ask, what are these worth?"

"Well, well, Mr. Picker. These players, if they were the right edition and manufacturer would top a million easily. But, but, they're not. Doesn't mean they're not valuable though. A quick sale would be maybe $20,000.00. If I held onto them, perhaps $30,000, maybe a little more, maybe."

"And the deal that you struck with Hari?"