“Now here is what it is, all right?” Leo said. “I will tell you what it is: fuckin’ niggers’ve got rights. If the niggers can’t find no apartments they can get a Jew or two and go to federal court and pretty soon every landlord in the city’s gonna be in federal court with his own high-priced loudmouth tryin’ to stop the judge from throwin’ him in jail because he didn’t take in every nigger that came down the street and make sure he had a warm bed and a good dinner in addition to, the roof didn’t leak. But when the niggers get in the apartments, then it is a different story. They don’t pay their rent. They stick out their lower lips and they look at you and they roll them big white eyes and they say, ‘Muh-fuck, I ain’t payin’ you no rent. I ain’t payin’ you no hundred thirty-five this month for them five rooms. I ain’t been warm enough. You ain’t got the heat up high enough. I is with-holdin mah rent until you gets the heat up there.’ And then they go shuckin’ and jivin’ down the street and you just try to get them into court, collect from them. You can’t get ‘em into court and you can’t get ‘em out the building, and they won’t pay you nothin’ while they’re in it, and your lawyer costs you money but theirs is free.

“Try and tell a banker that, sometime,” Leo said, “you got a half a day and nothin’ else to do. He won’t even hear you. He won’t understand a single word you’re saying. He will just keep telling you, you got to pay some money to him and it’s not his responsibility, get it for you.

“And that, Billy boy,” Leo said, “is when you learn to play with matches.”