“You know him?” Graham asked.

“He lives in the neighborhood. His mother’s on the needle.”

“Lucky for you you didn’t have time to spend any of this,” Graham said to Neal. Then he slapped him hard across the face.

“You want the cops?” asked McKeegan, reaching for the phone.

“What for?”

Neal knew enough to keep his mouth shut. There wasn’t any use trying to deny the obvious. Besides, he was a little demoralized, having just been cornered and beaten up by a guy with one arm. Life sure does stink, he thought.

“You do this a lot? Pick pockets?” Graham asked.

“Only since last Friday.”

“What happened last Friday?”

“I took a bath in the market.”

“You got a smart mouth for a pick who gets caught so easy. I were you, I’d work on my technique, let Jackie Gleason do the jokes.”

Graham looked real hard at this child. He was just pissed off enough to call the cops and make the kid take the trip to juvenile hall. But a younger Joe Graham had found more than one meal in someone else’s pocket. And you never knew when a smart kid could be useful.

“What’s your name?”

“Neal.”

“You a rock-and-roll star, or you got a last name, Neal?”

“Carey.”

“McKeegan, how about making a cheeseburger for Neal Carey?”

McKeegan gestured behind him. “Do you know what this is?”

“A grill.”

“A clean grill, and it’s going to stay a clean grill until five o’clock. I’ll not be dirtying it up for a sneaky thief who’s after robbing my customers. I rob my customers.”

“How about a turkey sandwich?”

“That, I’ll make.”

McKeegan turned to the counter to make the sandwich. Graham turned to Neal.

“Your mother takes dope?”

“Yeah.”

“Do you take dope?”

“I take wallets.”

Neal was confused.