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way I figure it, the only way to keep up with inflation.”
    Sam blinked. “To what?”
    Ben took a can of Alaska king crab meat from his left coat pocket and set it on the table, a bottle of multi-vitamins following it. “Watch: a dollar eighty-nine, and a dollar twenty-nine makes three-nineteen.” Sam couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Ben produced a bathtub stopper from his other pocket, and a jar of imitation caviar. He read the prices to Sam, adding them up as he went along, putting the tax on at the end. “…On a total of twenty-three twenty-six, that’s over ten per cent, right? Which puts me well ahead of the annual rate of inflation.” He wagged his finger at Sam. “But remember, in the spring and summer, I can’t wear a coat without arousing some suspicion—so we can consider this,” his small eyes twinkled, “a kind of lay-away plan.”
    Sam shoved his chair back and stood, the rubber stoppers on the chair legs squealing against the wood floor. “You’re out of your mind,” he said. He picked his jacket up from the sofa, where he’d thrown it. “You eat by yourself, you hear? And if you do this again, you’ll—you’ll have more than inflation to worry about…. Sure.” Sam wanted the words to come out quickly, like machine gun fire, but he felt that his tongue was in the way. His father had the words, the voice. “I don’t care what you say, you don’t fool me. You’re not gonna do me in, do you hear? And that’s what you’d like—to have one of those TV cameras spot you and then—and then—” He searched for words.
    â€œDo you in? Listen, sonny boy, I’m not out to take anything that’s not coming to me.” Sam’s hand was on the doorknob, Ben’s hand on top of his. “But they’ll screw you any way they can, and I’m telling you that plain up and down. Do you in? Tell me, if you’re so smart, what defense does a man my age have against the automatic workings of an economy that’s endlessly inflating?” Ben laughed, angrily. “They won’t do me in, either, do you hear? I’ll make my own specials, damn them!”
    â€œYou do what you want, I’m getting out.” Sam set his teeth. “You don’t fool me.”
    Ben lifted Sam’s hand from the doorknob. “Relax, Sam. With all the, you’ll pardon the expression, shvartzehs they have to keep their eyes on, they never give an old man like me a second glance.” Pulling Sam back into the room, he whispered: “How do you think we’ve been eating so well? Answer me that! Granted you chip in, but—well, if you calculated sometime, you would have seen, long ago-”
    â€œLook, Ben—”
    â€œTrouble budgeting, folks?” Ben said, his voice moving down, into its favorite register. “Steal! In these days of soaring costs and run-away inflation, we all do our best to make ends meet. Your money will go farther when you steal. Remember—”
    â€œNo,” Sam said, and got to the door before Ben could stop him. “No. You don’t fool me. Not for a minute. I don’t need one of your routines.” He stepped into the hallway and, hoping to wound his father, found something to say which he thought would do the trick. “I’m glad Andy’s hurrying—that he sent for you. Sure. Inflation being what it is, what’ll he be worth if he kicks off in a few years?” Sam laughed, felt the laughter, sharp, as it moved from his throat and across the threshold to his father.
    â€œI—I don’t understand,” Ben said, sitting down at the table. “I think I get your drift, but, what I mean is, in exact terms, it doesn’t make any sense , Sam—what you’ve just said.”

3
    Something was up. The Knicks had now won their ninth game in a row, Stallworth was playing