This had been Neal’s idea. For a hamburger lover, it was mecca. A narrow little place, jammed in on the first floor of the Hotel Belleclaire, it catered to everyone from junkies who had scraped together a few bucks to movie stars who had scraped together a lot of bucks. Nick made the best burgers in town, if not the civilized world, and it was a terrific place to pick up a fast meal and a tip about a ball game. The Yankees would be in it this summer for sure-the Pennant and Series, too, just for the Bicentennial.

Neal went in and waved at Stavros behind the counter, then took an empty booth in the corner. Sure enough, Graham wasn’t there yet, but Neal was early. He ordered a cheeseburger with Swiss cheese, fries, and an iced coffee. He settled into the Times and waited comfortably for things to happen. In his line of work, waiting well was an acquired talent and a necessity. Neal was a newspaper addict. He read the three major dailies religiously and absorbed the variety of weeklies that New York served up like a heavy dessert. Tonight it was the sports news that interested him, convinced as he was of the Yankees’ destiny.

He started right in when the food came. Although “Meet me” always meant in one half hour at the last designated spot, Neal knew that he could double the time and still be waiting on Graham. He figured that Graham did it on purpose to annoy him. So he did his best to cover his embarrassment when he looked up from his paper to see the smiling face of Joe Graham looking across the table at him. Neal was glad to see him, but he didn’t want to show that, either.

“You look like a bum,” Graham said.

So Graham wasn’t being followed or in any immediate trouble.

“Been working hard,” Neal answered. “How are you?”

“Ah.” He shrugged.

“So… what’s up?”

“You in a hurry? You mind if I eat? I see you waited for me.”

Graham signaled the waiter.