“I’ll have what he’s having on a clean plate.”

“Tell me this isn’t an all-nighter,” Neal said. “I have a test at eight-thirty in the morning.”

Graham chuckled. “You don’t know the half. Why do we always have to meet in this toilet?”

“I want you to feel at home.”

The waiter came with Graham’s food. Graham examined it carefully before pouring half a bottle of catsup all over it. He sipped at his coffee.

“When are you guys going to break down and make a fresh pot of coffee?”

“When you change your shorts,” the waiter answered happily, and walked away. He’d put in his time on Broadway.

Graham sat silently for a minute. Neal recognized the technique. Graham wanted him to ask the questions. Screw him, he thought. He hasn’t called me in eight months.

“You’re going out of town tomorrow,” Graham said finally, wiping a smear of catsup from his mouth.

“The hell I am.”

“To Providence. Rhode Island.”

“I know where it is. I’m not going, though.”

Graham smirked. “What? You got hurt feelings we haven’t called? Your rent gets paid, college kid,”

“How’s your hamburger?”

“Maybe they’d cook it next time. The Man wants to see you.”

“Levine?”

“Levine lives in Providence?”

“For all I see of Levine, he could be living in Afghanistan.”

“Let me tell you something. Levine would rather never see you again. Levine would like to see you pumping gas in Butte, Wyoming. I’m talking about The Man. At the bank. In Providence, Rhode Island.”

“Montana, and I have a test tomorrow”

“Not anymore.”

“I can’t screw around this semester, Graham.”

“Your professor understands. Turns out he’s a friend of the family.”

Graham was grinning at him. Graham was an evil leprechaun, Neal decided. A short, round-faced, middle-aged little harp with thinning hair, beady blue eyes, and the nastiest smile in the whole history of smiles.