ings up any; he had an almost lipless slash for a
mouth, a small reddish nose and cheeks that could have used either a
shave or a good sandblasting job.

* * * * *

"You said you wanted to see me," Palveri began after a second. "But
you didn't say what about. What's up, Mr. Malone?"

"I've been looking around," Malone said in what he hoped was a grim,
no-nonsense tone. "Checking things. You know."

"Checking?" Palveri said. "What's this about?"

Malone shrugged. He fished out a cigarette and lit it. "Castelnuovo in
Chicago sent me down," he said. "I've been doing some checking around
for him."

Palveri's eyes narrowed slightly. Malone puffed on the cigarette and
tried to act cool. "You throwing names around to impress me?" the club
owner said at last.

"I'm not throwing names around," Malone said grimly. "Castelnuovo
wants me to look around, that's all."

"Castelnuovo's a big man in Chicago," Palveri said. "He wouldn't send
a guy down without telling me about it."

"He did," Malone said. He thought back to the FBI files on Giacomo
Castelnuovo, which took up a lot of space in Washington, even on
microfilm. "You want proof?" he said. "He's got a scar over his ribs
on the left side--got it from a bullet in '62. He wears a little black
mustache because he thinks he looks like an old-time TV star, but he
doesn't, much. He's got three or four girls on the string, but the
only one he cares about is Carla Bragonzi. He--"

"O.K.," Palveri said. "O.K., O.K. You know him. You're not fooling,
around. But how come he sends you down without telling me?"

Malone shrugged. "I've been here two weeks," he said. "You didn't know
I was around, did you? That's the way Castelnuovo wanted it."

"He thinks I'd cheat him?" Palveri said, his face changing color
slightly. "He thinks I'd dress up for him or drag down? He knows me
better than that."

Malone took a puff of his cigarette. "Maybe he just wants to be sure,"
he said. "Funny things are happening all over." The cigarette tasted
terrible and he put it out in an ashtray from the chair-covered table.

"You're telling me," Palveri said. "Things are crazy. What I'm
thinking is this: Maybe Castelnuovo wants to keep this place
operating. Maybe he wants to keep me here working for him."

"And if he does?" Malone said.

"If he does, he's going to have to pay for it," Palveri said firmly.
"The place needs dough to keep operating. I've got to have a