“Sure it does,” Manelli said. “But there was a foul-up someplace, because the win animal was disqualified and nobody heard about it until after a lot of payoffs were made. That costs money.” He stopped. “I mean it would cost money, if it happened,” he finished. “Sure,” Malone said. “Certainly would.” “And you tell me it’s not the FBI?” Manelli said. “That’s right,” Malone said. “As a matter of fact, we’re investigating things like these confusions and inefficiencies all over.” Manelli finished his drink in one long, amazed swallow. “Now, wait a minute,” he said. “Let’s say for a joke, like, for laughs, that I am some kind of a wheel in these things, in bookies and numbers boys and like that.” “Let’s call it a syndicate,” Malone said. “Just for laughs.” “Okay, then,” Manelli said, with a suspicious gaze at Malone. “Whatever you call it, a man like me today, he wouldn’t be some two-bit chiseler without brains. He would be a businessman, a smooth-operating smart businessman. Right?” “Right,” Malone said. “And what I want to know is: how’s business?” “You’re kidding?” Manelli said. “I’m not kidding,” Malone said. “I mean it. The FBI’s investigating mix-ups just like the ones you’re telling me about. We want to stop them.” Manelli blinked. “You know, Mr. Malone,” he said softly, “I heard about government interference in private enterprise, but don’t you think this is a little too far out?” Malone shrugged. “That’s what I’m here for,” he said. “Take it or leave it.” “Just so it’s understood,” Manelli said, “that we’re talking about imaginary things. Theoretical.” “Sure,” Malone said. “Imagine away.” “Well,” Manelli said slowly, “you heard about this wrecked night-club in Florida? It happened maybe a month ago, in Miami?” “I heard about it,” Malone said. “This is just a for-instance, you know,” Manelli said. “But suppose there was a roulette wheel in that club. Just a wheel.” “Okay,” Malone said. “And suppose the wheel was rigged a little bit,” Manelli said. “Not seriously, just a little bit.” “Fine,” Malone said. “This is going to explain a wrecked club?” “Well, sure,” Manelli said. “Because something went wrong with the machinery, or maybe the operator goofed up. And number seven came up eight times in a row.” “Good old lucky seven,” Malone said. “So there was a riot,” Manelli said. “Because some people had money on the number, and some people got suspicious, and like that. And there was a riot.” “And the club got wrecked,” Malone said. “That’s what I call bad luck.” “Luck?” Manelli said. “What does luck have to do with roulette? Somebody goofed, that’s all.” “Oh,” Malone said. “Sure.” “And that’s the way it’s been going,” Manelli said. He puffed on his cigar, put it in a nearby ashtray, and blew out a great Vesuvian spout of smoke. “Too bad,” Malone said sympathetically.