I looked up and Moe had vanished. Time for a break. In the small restaurant, I walked up to the counter and ordered a slice of cherry pie and black coffee. Took them back to the table, sat down and waited.

Hard Knocks came in the door, got some coffee and joined me. Like many dealers, he's in his sixties and retired from some job or another. Average height, florid complexion with a beak nose. You know, I never did know his real name.

HK says, "Peoples are asking questions, P".

Hard deals in militaria, specifically World War II stuff.

"What questions?"

"Forgeries, art forgeries. They wants to know who does 'em. How to find 'em. Pick, these ain't plesant folk."

"Knocky, why are you telling me?"

"Your name is coming up. Be careful, P. I don't like the way this smells."

"Thanks Knock. Let me know if you hear anything else. Do you have my number?"

That, however, was not the end of it. In the course of walking the flea, three more guys tell me something very similar. Two guys, no one we know, well dressed are looking for copies of master works. And, my name keeps coming up.

Before heading back to the city I stop at Danny Boy's table. "What do you have to get on the rug Danny?" I ask.

Danny Boy Boyle is a young black man that works almost exclusively in North Philadelphia. His wife, Mai, who is a lovely young Vietnamese woman, purchases antiques and collectibles from the aging African American community. Back in the forties, fifties probably up to the present, many of the people from this neighborhood worked as maids in the wealthy Main Line communities. I suppose that today the proper nomenclature would be domestics. Back then they were simply maids and cleaning ladies.

Anyway, you would be surprised that a common experience for these domestics was to receive discarded items from their masters, sorry, employers. These items could be anything from silverware, lamps, dishes, artwork or whatever. Many of these discarded items were quality when purchased and have only gone up in value over the years. You would be shocked; I know I was, to walk into a North Philadelphia row home and to see it furnished with quality furniture, knick-knacks and artwork.