Mason smiled. “Just bring me the lunch.”
When the waitress had left, Mason said, conversationally, “What were you and Milicant talking about?”
“Milicant?” Serle repeated questioningly. “Oh, yes, I keep forgetting his name was Milicant. I knew him as Louie Conway.”
“What were you talking about?” Mason asked.
Serle said, “Listen, Mason, I’m not foolish enough to talk my way into the cooler.”
Mason said, “The D.A. can’t square your rap.”
“I’ll take a chance,” Serle said. “Anyway, they have nothing on me. I have a legitimate business. I don’t know whether the people who buy stuff I sell are stage magicians or whether they intend to start gambling. I always warn them it’s a crime to introduce fraud into a gambling game. That lets me out. I’ve done my duty.”
“How about the lottery?” Mason asked.
“There wasn’t any lottery. I don’t know where you heard that.”
“The D.A. can’t square a federal rap.”