“I was looking for you. You know, I can’t go up that secret mountain to get you, so I’ve got to catch you when I can. I could have used you last night. Had a piano player must have been German. All he knew was polkas. Must have been a POW.”

“Sorry.”

“It’s your club, too, you know.”

“I haven’t heard you say that for a long time.”

“You don’t share the profits, mind, because your daddy Mike never put any money in. But we were partners. His name is on the papers. He was going to buy in, but he never had the chance. I always sent a little money this way to your mother, you know. I didn’t have to, but I did. What is that you’re smoking? Smells like it collected in a hoof.”

“I know.” Joe dropped the homemade and stepped on it.

“Thing I learned was always be sharp. A person in the public eye has a responsibility to look sharp.”

Joe stepped on the running board. “What are you leading up to? So I didn’t get to the Casa last night.”

“I’m selling it.” Pollack was pleased by Joe’s surprise.

“The Casa Mañana?”

“Yeah. Eddie Junior’s coming home from Italy. I’m going to set us up in a nice club in Harlem.”

“That’s too bad. I mean, that’s great for you and Eddie, but the Casa was the best club in the state.”

“The only one with the authentic big-band sound. One hundred thousand dollars. That’s including kitchen, tables and chairs, liquor, liquor license, plus parking lot—practically an entire block. Albuquerque’s going to boom after the war, you know.”

“Why doesn’t Eddie Junior come here?”

“He grew up with his mother. All he knows is New York.” Pollack’s eyes wandered off in thought.

“And Italy.”

“Italy, yeah.” Pollack brightened. “A war hero like you. A veteran. Wouldn’t it be great if you came to New York and played in our new club? One little thing, Joe. A matter of clear title. I’m going to need your signature on the papers, you being Mike’s heir.”

“Me being his heir? To what? I don’t have a share of the club, you said.”

“It’s a nicety.”

“The nicety is I’m a partner without a share?”

“There’ll be a consideration.”

“Money?”

“A consideration.”

“A definite sum?”

“Considerable.”

“Give me a number. A hundred-dollar consideration? A thousand-dollar consideration? Give me the range.”

“I can’t say.”

“I can say. How badly can I fuck up your bill of sale?”

“Joe, we’re friends, we’re partners.”

“I’m just finding out.” Joe studied Pollack’s aghast face. He slapped the top of the car. “Fuck it. Bring around the papers, I’ll sign them. You don’t have to bring any ‘consideration.’ ”

“You scared me.” Pollack still looked gray.