"I seen richer browns on Thirty-third Street," Manny said. "They was popular with the sparrows."
"Manny, sometimes I think your aspirations—"
"Whatta ya talkin? I use a roll-on." Manny, turning to place a painting in the cage, stopped dead as he caught sight of Dan. The painting clattered to the floor. Dan stood, cleared his throat. "Uh...."
"Oh-oh," Manny said. "A double-cross."
"I've—ah—been expecting you gentlemen," Dan said. "I—"
"I told you we couldn't trust no guy with nine fingers on each hand," Manny whispered hoarsely. He moved toward the cage. "Let's blow, Fiorello."
"Wait a minute," Dan said. "Before you do anything hasty—"
"Don't start nothing, Buster," Manny said cautiously. "We're plenty tough guys when aroused."
"I want to talk to you," Dan insisted. "You see, these paintings—"
"Paintings? Look, it was all a mistake. Like, we figured this was the gent's room—"