Jingle in the Jungle

When even the Fight Commission is in on the plot, and everyone knows that the fix is on, when no one will help him, what can a man do—except help himself?
Charlie Jingle walked into the long room with the long table and long Commissioners' faces in it. He went to a chair at the head of the table, and sat down, a small man in loose, seedy clothing looking rather lost in a high-backed chair with a regal crest carved in the wood.
You, asked one of the Commissioners, are Charles Jingle?
Charlie nodded his head, a small nod from a small man sitting in a big man's chair.
You are aware of course ... began the Commissioner, but Charlie Jingle waved his fingers and cut him off.
Sure, sure, let's can the bunko and get down to cases.
You have been summoned here ... began the same Commissioner, and Charlie Jingle waved his fingers again.
But I ain't gonna anyway, said Charlie Jingle. The Commissioners stirred, cleared their throats, slid their bottoms with unease on their chairs.
You understand, said the Commissioner, that your license may be revoked if you insist on being uncooperative?
Sure, said Charlie Jingle. I understand.
A bulky man, who had been standing at a window with his back to the seated members of the Commission while they talked with Charlie, turned to face them. A man with a heavy, grey face that had no humor in it. Charlie Jingle watched him slowly cross to the table and recognized him as Commissioner Jergen, head of the Fight Commission.
Jingle, said the man in a dry voice, I'm going to make an example of you if you don't come across. I'm going to smear your name from coast to coast. I'm going to blackball you so hard you won't get a job anyplace, at anything! Get the message?