“Fine,” Malone said. “This is going to explain a wrecked club?”
“Well, sure,” Manelli said. “Because something went wrong with the machinery, or maybe the operator goofed up. And number seven came up eight times in a row.”
“Good old lucky seven,” Malone said.
“So there was a riot,” Manelli said. “Because some people had money on the number, and some people got suspicious, and like that. And there was a riot.”
“And the club got wrecked,” Malone said. “That’s what I call bad luck.”
“Luck?” Manelli said. “What does luck have to do with roulette? Somebody goofed, that’s all.”
“Oh,” Malone said. “Sure.”
“And that’s the way it’s been going,” Manelli said. He puffed on his cigar, put it in a nearby ashtray, and blew out a great Vesuvian spout of smoke.
“Too bad,” Malone said sympathetically.
“It’s all over,” Manelli said. “Mistakes and people making the mistakes, goofing up here and there and everyplace. There have been guys killed because they made mistakes, and nobody can afford guys being killed all the time.”