The five walked into the motor pool. Mrs. Goudeket stared blankly at the empty space where the Dodge had been. She said to Mr. Cioni hopefully, "You moved it? Into the street?" Mr. Cioni looked sick. "Guy had your trip ticket," he said. "Mr.--Cheese?" "Chesbro," Dick McCue said. "Rat bastard Chesbro, to be exact." "Just resourceful," grinned Sharon Froman. "He'll be back. Let's wait. He just wants to get the statement out to the country. Time's important, you know. He's got to hit the morning papers and newscasts." And I, she thought comfortably, pointed that out to him. The boy's geared to a country-weekly tempo, but he's got talent all the same. Mrs. Goudeket said something long, eloquent and heartfelt in Yiddish. Groff, the New Yorker, got the gist. It was a prayer that Artie Chesbro die of cholera upside-down with his head stuck in the ground like a radish and worms eating out his ears. * * * * * His lists. There would be two of them, one of people to get the nod and the other of people to get the nix. "A sound businessman and a hard worker, that boy. Built his place up from nothing. Guts and brains, the kind of man we want to help first--fast. I know his stock and his turnover, and I'd say fifty thousand would set him on his feet again. Of course he's the kind who'll consider it a debt of honor, won't rest until it's clear...." And the other. "Um. Yes. Know the man well. We've got to help him, of course, but I wouldn't put him at the top of the list. The _vital_ services have got to be restored first, of course. I know people need (shoes, gasoline, bread, hardware) but it's my feeling that a more efficient man should be assisted first. We don't want any free riders and we don't want to subsidize chaotic competition in the first month." No indeed. We want to organize the area. A nod to Flaherty, the fuel man whose note I hold. A nix to Greenlease, the hardware man who unpatriotically carries his current obligations and improvement loans in Philadelphia. A nod to Erpco Feed, who buy their sacks from my very good friend and associate Don Rider, who is under my thumb because of his lease. A nix to Fowling, the appliance wholesaler who won't use my trucks when he's in my territory. A man who doesn't encourage local business is asking for trouble, and this is his chance to get it. An emphatic nod to Rorty and his skinny new wholesaling business; in a year he'll pass Fowling and I'll be in the driver's seat. Turn nobody down, he cautioned himself. Merely postpone, and postpone, and postpone. And eventually there will be no more money left and the nixed will find themselves in a poor competitive position and a little later they'll find they're broke and out of business. And the people in business will be my men.