loan, or
else I'm going under."

"The place is making money," Malone said.

Palveri shook his head vigorously. He reached into a pocket and took
out a gold cigar case. He flipped it open. "Have one," he told Malone.

An FBI Agent, Malone told himself, had no business smoking cigars and
looking undignified. But as a messenger from Castelnuovo, he could do
as he pleased. He almost reached for one before he realized that
maybe, sometime in the future, Palveri would find out who Kenneth J.
Malone really was. And then he'd remember Malone smoking cigars, and
that would be bad for the dignity of the FBI. Reluctantly, he drew his
hand back.

"No, thanks," he said. "Never touch 'em."

"To each his own," Palveri muttered. He took out a cigar, lit it and
returned the case to his pocket. The immediate vicinity became crowded
with smoke. Malone breathed deeply.

"About the money--" Malone said after a second.

Palveri snorted. "The place is making half of what I'm losing," he
said. "You got to see it this way, Malone: the contacts are gone."

"Contacts?" Malone said.

Palveri nodded. "The mayor's resigned, remember?" he said. "You saw
that. Everybody's getting investigated. A couple of weeks ago the
Golden Palace guy knocked himself off, and where does that leave me?
He's my only contact with half the State boys; hell, he ran the whole
string of clubs here, more or less. Castelnuovo knows all that."

"Sure," Malone said. "But you can make new contacts."

"Where?" Palveri said. He flung out his arms. "When nobody knows
what's going to happen tomorrow? I tell you, Malone, it's like a curse
on me."

Malone decided to push the man a little farther. "Castelnuovo," he
said with what he hoped was a steely glint in his eyes, "isn't going
to like a curse ruining business." He took another deep breath of
tobacco smoke.

"Primo Palveri don't like it either," Palveri said. "You think
whatever you like but that's the way things are. It's like Prohibition
except we're losing all the way down the line. Listen, and I'll tell
you something you didn't pick up around town."

"Go ahead," Malone said.

* * * * *

Palveri blew out some more smoke. "You know about the shipments?" he
said. "The stuff from out on the desert?"

Malone nodded. The FBI had a long file on the possibility of
Castelnuovo, through Palveri or someone else in the vicinity, shipping
peyotl buttons from Nevada and New Mexico all