Charlie Jingle laughed.
"You're here to make a big noise, and scare all the scrawny citizens into a confession, Jergen. Don't kid me!"
"I suppose you've got too many contacts to be frightened?"
"Contacts? No, I don't have a single damn contact. All I got is my two hands, and you already told me I ain't gonna be able to make a livin' with them, so why should I stick around here anymore?"
Commissioner Jergen pulled a chair forward.
"Siddown, Charlie. Let's talk like reasonable men," he said. Charlie Jingle searched his face for a lie or a trick. Finding none, he went back to the table and sat down.
The Commissioner waited a moment, and then said earnestly:
"Listen, Jingle. Seventy years ago this country outlawed prize-fighting. It was barbarous, they said. Men shouldn't fight men. Men shouldn't capitalize on other men as if they were animals. Okay. They changed it. Now we got the Pug-Factories. But we also have the same thing that went on before. We have the grifters and the shysters and the fixers operating at full tilt all over the place. There's a few honest guys in the game. I hear you're one of them. All we want is to nail the crooks! We want to bust the Fix Syndicate wide open, get me? Now, if you love the game the way I hear you do—not for the money, but for the smell and the excitement—why won't you help us bust them wide?"
Charlie Jingle shook his head.
"You got it wrong, Jergen. I know about the fixers. But I never consorted with them. If I did, I could've retired a rich man a long time ago."