"Shut up." Joe Amico opened the wallet and, without taking them out, checked the bills in it. "Fifty bucks. How much was Connolly's bet, and on what? Don't bother lying because I'll check with Connolly on it."
"Thirty," Ray said miserably. "Thirty across, on Blue Belle. Fifth, Aqueduct."
Amico put the wallet down on the desk beside him. "Bill," he said, "take thirty-six out of that. Make slips on both bets—you heard 'em. Then give him his wallet and his lousy fourteen bucks change back."
Monahan went around behind the desk.
Ray said, "My God, Joe, I know this looks like I was dragging down on you on purpose, but—"
"Shut up. From now on don't say a God damn word, till I finish and ask you if you understand, and then you damn well better say yes. Just yes and nothing else.
"Somebody else taking bets in my name, dragging down on me, that's one thing—the one thing I won't stand. Don't matter if it's six bucks—that's all I knew about for sure at first—or thirty-six or a million. Or six cents, for that matter.
"We're through, Ray-boy, finished. You come around here with a grand in cash and want to lay it, I don't take it. I don't deal with chiselers.
"I made you a nice easy deal—four months I'd of took to get all that four-eighty at thirty-five bucks a week. I meant it and you could of had the deal, but at the same time I was testing you, to see if you were going to give me that lousy six bucks. I knew if you ever dragged down on me you would tonight, on account of you're behind the eight-ball."
Monahan came around from behind the desk and held out Ray's wallet to him. Ray took it and put it back into his pocket with a hand that was shaking badly.