"You afraid of that Moe punk, Jimmy?"
"No sir."
"Good, but keep an eye on him. He'd sell his mother for fifty cents clear profit—seventy-five if he had to split the deal. Now, kid, do you know anything about spotting?"
"No sir."
"Hungry?"
"Yes sir."
"All right. Come on in and we'll eat. Do you like Mulligan?"
"Yes sir."
"Good. You and me are going to get along."
Inside of the squalid shack, Jake had a cozy set-up. The filth that he encouraged out in the junkyard was not tolerated inside his shack. The dividing line was halfway across the edge of the door; the inside was as clean, neat, and shining as the outside was squalid.