(Max opens the double-barrd door and holds back the deadlight velvet drape to admit a bowlegged, potbellied figure in a fedora, trenchcoat, and double-breasted suit, with a strange lump under the left armpit. It is a local bookie by the name of Amos "Craps" DeWitt.His business card says Bookkeeper, but his friends (such as they are) have been heard to say "Gee -- where's he buy all them vowels?".)

A large cuppa black coffee, s'il vous plait. Make it a double, shaken not stirred! Heh. Youse gotta rendition of "Smoke Gets In Yer Eyes" for an old stiff in from the hard streets? Crack a decka Luckies an' toss one back this way, pal. Tanks. Ihear the local floozie here is pretty good, and that she got a new racoon coat from a certain someone, who shall remain Nameless unless someone squeals. Let's see if she can tweak the ol' heart strings, ya know whaddI mean?