“Frank?” Fletch said.

At the urinal, the managing editor jumped. He did not turn around. “Who wants me?”

“That’s a different question.”

“Different from what?”

In the men’s room, empty except for them, Fletch stepped to his own urinal three away from Frank Jaffe’s. “Matters in hand,” Fletch said.

“Oh, it’s you. Nice suit.” Frank flushed. “Didn’t know the tide came in already this morning.”

“Have I invited you to my wedding yet?” Fletch asked.

“God, no.”

“It’s Saturday, you know.”

“Which day is Saturday?” Frank was washing his hands.

“End of the week. Day between Friday and Sunday.”

“Yeah: that’s the day I try to get away from employees.”

Fletch followed Frank to the washbasin. “I’m pleading a case, Mr. Jaffe.”

“A case of what? Have you confessed yet to what’s-her-name you have a case of something-or-other?”

“That’s my point, Frank. Don’t want a case. Don’t want a dose. Don’t want to go near that place.”

“What place is that?”

“Frank.” Fletch shook his wet hands over the basin and then held them in front of him. “I’m getting married Saturday. And you’ve got me investigating a whorehouse!”

“Every nook and cranny.” Frank dried his hands on a paper towel.

“Is this some kind of an office joke?”

“Not yet,” Frank said. “But I’m sure it will be.”

“Dump on the kid, is that it?”

“Fletch, you need the experience. Don’t you?”

“Not that kind, I don’t. Not to get married, I don’t.”

“Come on. You asked for a job, a real job, so I gave you one.”

“A whorehouse the week before I’m married?”

“Gives you a chance to show your stuff. Let us see what you can do.”

“Very funny.”

“We want you to give it your all, kid. Get to the bottom of things. Really get into the crux of the matter. What we want is a penetrating report. We want everybody to get your point.”

“You forgot something.”

“What did I forget now?” Frank looked at his fly.

“My expense account.”

“We expect there to be expenses.”

“Yeah, but I’m going to write my expense account with accuracy painful to you.”

“That will be a novelty.”

“In detail. I’m going to write down exactly what money I’m spending on the Ben Franklyn Friend Service, and for what services.”

“Expense accounts are never questioned, if the story’s worth the expense.”

“Frank, I’m gonna file a pornographic expense account.”

Frank opened the door to the corridor. “Maybe we’ll print that, too.”

“What will the publisher say about that?”

Leaving the men’s room, Frank said, “Give it your best shot, kid.”