"Okay, Rube," Naples called.
I went over to him.
"I guess maybe you on the level," he said. "Standard fee. Five hundred, Old Federal notes."
I had to be careful now. I held a bland expression, reached in—slowly—took out my wallet. I extracted two hundred-C notes and held them out.
Naples looked at them, unmoving. The thug in the dirty overcoat moved up close, and suddenly swung the edge of his palm at my wrist. I was ready; I flicked my hand aside and chopped him hard at the base of the neck. He dropped.
I was still holding out the money.
"That clown isn't worthy of a place in the Naples organization," I said.
Naples looked down at the man, stirred him with his foot.
"A clown," he said. He took the money and tucked it in his shirt pocket.
"Okay, Rube," he said. "My regards to Haug."