“This is the deal,” Gluck said, and for once he talked straight. “We do things in a new way around here, and that includes you. We don’t rough-house, we don’t attract attention, we don’t act like hoodlums in a gang war. It’s big business all around, which means be nice, do what you’re told, and when you shaft a guy you make him like it. Understand?”

“Sure. But that’s not for me, President.”

Gluck sighed. “You know, you’re asking for it, Jesso.”

“What?”

“The boot.”

“Try it, Gluck,” and Jesso smiled.

“Not me, buddy boy The syndicate.”

Jesso just laughed.

“What if I asked you to fade, Jackie boy? Blow, scram, never come back?”

Jesso shrugged. “I wouldn’t go. I got some interests to protect.”

“That’s what I like to hear, boy.” Gluck looked friendly. “I like to hear you’re interested in your skin and that it’s all tied up with us.”

“So?”

“So you can stay. Like on probation.”

This time it stung. Jesso got out of his chair like a shot and slammed his hands on the desk.

“Gluck, you sonofabitch, try pushing me! Just try.” Jesso’s voice was like a knife. Then it sounded foolish to him, because it wasn’t really Gluck that mattered. It was the spidery web of one big clique that nobody ever saw, a thing much bigger than one man. He stood still, waiting.

“You listening, Jackie boy?”

“Yes, sir.”

“I got a job for you.”

“Thank you. I got one.”

“An easy job, Jackie boy, but it’s like probation.”

“Like what? Apologize to Buchanan?”

Gluck laughed. “We wouldn’t do that to you, boy. This job is easy.”

“What?”

“I’m farming you out.”

Jesso got tense. He had to hold on, bide his time, stall them long enough to get his things in order. The syndicate might look polite, but in the end they handled things just about the way he did. One fast punch, or push, or shot, and the problem was solved. For good.