"No, no, bring the whole pie. Two if you've got ' em." She stood up straight, looked at him quizzically and departed, her heels clicking on the linoleum. By the time she came back with four salads, she was prepared to make another go of it.

"Doesn't look like your friends are going to make it," she pronounced. "How about you and I get a room at the Hilton down the street and order room service?"

"Here he is now."

Remo slipped out of the deep vinyl booth and approached the man who was standing inside the entrance, smoothing his lapels and looking displeased. When the waitress saw who it was, she vanished into the kitchen.

"Michelangelo, good to see you!" Remo said with a hand outstretched.

"Good to see me? Good to see me?" The new arrival declined to shake hands. "Buddy, you got some serious balls, I'll give you that much. But you got serious troubles, too, you know what I mean?"

"I have a table." Remo gestured to the huge booth.

"I know you got a table. You think I don't know you got a table? You think I haven't been watching you, trying to figure you out?"

"Please." Remo was conciliatory. "Join me for dinner. We'll talk."

"I don't feel like dinner. I feel like bustin' your ass." Remo kept a firm grip on the smile. He never claimed to be an actor and this good-to-see-you shtick was getting on his nerves. To his amazement, Michelangelo "The Fig" Figaroa slid into the booth.

Remo joined him. They could have fit another five or six human beings into the booth without crowding, and the vinyl backs were so high it was like being in a room by themselves. Here they could have privacy.

"I got two guys with guns watching the place, just so's you know. I also had the place closed up. For added privacy."

"Very efficient of you, Michelangelo."

"You think I'd be here if I thought this was a setup? I had every square inch of this place checked out the minute I got your phone call and my guys been watching it ever since. I know you came here by yourself. I know that. Got it?"