"Sure! Tanker's level! But how about the Contender? How about Hammerhead Johnny? How about Steamroller Jones?"
"You're crazy!" shouted Charlie Jingle. "It can't be! How the hell would you know?"
"You wanna know how I know? My daughter Marie—you remember her, she was a kid when you seen her—she's a secretary to Mike Bretz, the East Coast Assistant Vice of Pugs, Inc.... She's got the whole map out, from the word go. Pugs, Inc. is puttin' things in your way so that everybody thinks you got a real thing in the Tank. They're helpin' you get a build-up, you see, as if they wanted to freeze you out. When you finally break through the freeze-out one way or the other, they're gonna have one hellofa drawing-card! Get it now, Charlie?"
Charlie Jingle walked away from Rabbit Markey, went some twenty paces, kicked a dent in a refuse-chute, and walked back.
"I don't believe it!" whispered Charlie Jingle hoarsely. "I don't believe it!"
The bugle blew outside. Rabbit Markey looked at Charlie, looked at his ticket, and started toward the race-track.
Charlie Jingle caught his arm.
"Wait a minute, Rabbit."
Rabbit Markey shook his head.
"I already said enough to float me in blood, Charlie. Now lemme go and watch the bloody no-good fixed races."