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Show page 3 look after Nick, Nick looks after me." Nick Panagiatopulos the Greek was a little man, with hairy hands and arms and a chubby face, and eyes like the Mediterranean Sea. His colored patrons called him Mr. Pan, others called him Kick, for who could pronounce Panagiatopulos. Nick had dropped off the Florida Special southbound wearing a fifty dollar suit and a fifteen dollar hat to take over the cafe from Jim Fotianos who departed for the old country. Hick worked the night shift, twelve hours straight, always in a crisp white shirt. Johnny Mack worked the day shift. Nick paid him by the week. Johnny Mack spent most of his money at the Travelers Hotel, for he thought the girls were nice and he saw no point in saving anything. Johnny Mack xvas tall and hollow cheeked and he had a way of looking at things quite opposite to Nick. Nick didn't probe. He x«7as too oleased that Johnny Mack could cook burgers with the fat so tasty that nobody griped at all. "We got to do something for Nick, honey," the brunette repeated. Johnny Mack polished the coffee urn and listened to the girls' talk and wondered which one he would go up to see. The brunette was a little on the plump side, but in a dress known to the trade as a Wanderer her bulges were hardly noticeable. Her eyes were cornsilk soft. Johnny Mack decided on the brunette. The song ended, the jukebox winked in silence. Johnny Mack v/iped his hands on his long apron and looked out across the tracks |