Freedman sat at the bar, moodily nursing his fifteenth gin-and-tonic. He was starting to get a bit crocked.
Where was Oscar? He was supposed to have met Freedman here at 9:30. It was now nearly two. The crummy jukebox was silenced for the moment in its eternal singing of the same sad old songs of love lost and love betrayed. Freedman wondered again what the Doc wanted with him after all these years. He gave up for the moment, snuffed his cigarette and went to the throne-room.
When he got back Oscar was standing just inside the door. Freedman waved, Oscar spotted him and advanced to the bar.
"Hi Oscar, what'll you have?""A Black Russian for me. Sorry I'm late. Got caught at the hospital with a difficult delivery. I'm glad you waited."
Freedman ordered the drinks then looked Oscar over. The Doc hadn't changed much with the years ... oh, a touch of grey showing around the temples, maybe, but still the same natty dresser. Freedman decided it was good to see him again.
"Well, what's all this about?" he said.
The drinks arrived. Oscar took a good shot and visibly relaxed.
"It's Norman," Oscar said. Freedman looked puzzled. "You know, ever since we were kids growing up together it's been all-for-one and one-for-all and even though we've drifted apart, I still thought you'd want to know about this. I'm really worried about him."
Oscar studied his drink, took another big swig.
"Freedman, I think Norman's cracking up and I don't think there's anything I can do about it."
Freedman felt dizzy. It was probably just the drinks.
"Let's grab a booth and go sit down," he said. "Got any quarters for the jukebox?"