Harry Belok turned, pointing his stick through the glass to the gym.
"Look down there. You see any reporters there? You see any cameras shootin'?"
Charlie Jingle did not move, keeping his eyes unblinking on Belok.
"Okay. There's no reporters. No press build-up. Pugs, Inc., has put the freeze on. So? What's the point?"
"The point," said Harry Belok, tapping Charlie Jingle's chest with the white-tipped stick, "the point, is that you don't get no match from Iron-Man unless you play ball with me!"
Charlie Jingle squinted at him through a cloud of brown-blue smoke. "Can't do it, Harry-mo," he said quietly.
"You serious?"
"Dead serious," said Charlie Jingle.
"You get too serious, that's the way you liable to wind up," said Harry Belok through his teeth. He turned and stomped toward the door and went out. The little man against the wall slid out after him.
Charlie Jingle walked nonchalantly to the door, hooked his foot behind it, and kicked it shut with a loud slam. Mischa Hannigan took a handkerchief from his pocket, wiping his brow.