His crime show had been an outstanding leader in radio for fifteen years, and only the advent of television which was strangling all night-time radio was now bringing it to an end. In the old days "The People Against—" had owned the network on Mondays. It was their prized show. Its studio was sacred and officiously guarded. Inside, the orchestra minded its manners, a rare thing for musicians, and the cast worked in terror of Bacon who swaggered through rehearsals with his hat cocked over one eye.
Now, all was changed. The studio doors were unprotected. No actors stood before them waiting for a chance to smile at Bacon. Inside, the full orchestra was reduced to an organ and two instruments. The studio itself was crammed with stored television sets, leaving just enough working space around a couple of microphones before the control booth. Half of Bacon's cast was in makeup and costume. They had obviously sandwiched "The People Against" in and were earnestly memorizing lines for TV shows. But Bacon still swaggered with his hat cocked over one eye.
Lennox sat down quietly in a corner and waited. Bacon was directing an actor in the style that had made him famous.
"You don't understand it," Bacon spoke confidentially. "You don't feel it like a gimpster. Let's have the line again."
"I want my vigorish, doll!" the actor snarled.
Bacon shook his head and sidled up to the actor like a pick-pocket. "Vigorish," he explained, "is thief talk for percentage. See? You're filing a beef about your cut in the caper. But it has to mean something more. Make like you're pimping for the broad when you say that. You've got your hands up her skirt. You're naked but you're not catching any colds. Think about her naked and warm up. Then we'll try it again."
He swaggered over to Lennox. "So Mason blew it last night," he said.
Lennox nodded. Bacon eyed him pugnaciously. "It's time we separated the men from the boys."
"Oh?"
"Sachs has got to go."