“I messed up.”

I told Mickey about Nathan Silverstein.

Mickey laughed and said, “Natty Silver gave you the slip?”

“That’s what it comes down to.”

Mickey the C chuckled, then said, “Why don’t you have another beer and relax. I’ll put a call out. Everyone in town knows Natty, we’ll have him in maybe half an hour.”

“That’s why I came to you, Mr. C.”

It wasn’t just shameless brownnosing, it was also true.

Mickey said, “That’s one smart thing you did today, anyway.”

“I knew there was something.”

“Take it easy, kid,” Mickey said. “Nice to meet to you.”

“Thanks for taking the time, sir.”

“You have good manners,” Mickey the C said. “Joe Graham did you okay.”

Yeah, he did.

It took two beers instead of one, but I had just drained the second one when the barrel-chested guy found me at the bar and said, “Mr. Silver is at the Flamingo, in the Palm Room. Their guy is watching him till you get there.”

I thanked him and left a tip for the bartender that was more than the beers would have been. Anything less would have been bad manners.

As I stepped down into the Palm Room I heard Natty say, “Guy comes home and finds his wife rubbing her breasts with newspaper. He asks her what she’s doing. She says, ‘I read in a magazine that if you rub your breasts with newspaper they’ll get bigger.’”

There was an expectant chuckle from the small crowd in the cocktail bar. (I was going to say a “titter of laughter,” but I thought better of it.) Natty waited out the laugh, then continued, “The guy says, ‘Newspaper? You should try toilet paper.’ The wife says, ‘Toilet paper? Why?’ and the guy says, ‘Well, it worked on your ass’.”

The dozen or so people in the room roared. Didn’t laugh-roared. I slipped into a booth at the back and hoped Natty didn’t see me from the tiny stage. I looked around for the plainclothes security, made him in about three seconds, and nodded. The guy gave me a quick wave and strolled out.