“A thousand dollars.”

Then Frank Master threw back his head and laughed.

“Cigar, Mr. O’Donnell?”

Frank Master didn’t mind a bit of corruption. Give a man’s son a job, and he’ll do you a favor later. Give a theater manager a tip for a good investment, and he’ll send you tickets for the opening of a new play. These were the kindnesses that made the world go round. Where did corruption become a vice? Hard to say. It was a question of degree.

He’d thought he knew most of the Tammany Hall tricks. Apart from the basics, like the small bribes for permits, or the larger bribes for contracts, the big stuff was to be found in the padded contracts. Supply the city with food, say, for the poor. Add a percentage to the true invoice. Split the difference with the man who gave you the contract. Continue it year after year. Hard to detect, harder to prove, almost impossible to prosecute—assuming anybody even wanted to. Over time, the money could be huge.

But this trick of O’Donnell’s was new to him. As they lit up their cigars, he gazed at the young man benevolently.

“Nice try.”

O’Donnell looked at him sharply, but said nothing. “Thousand bucks is a pretty good shakedown,” Master continued amiably.

“The threatened plant …”

“Doesn’t exist, Mr. O’Donnell.” Frank Master smiled. “I’m used to paying the city boys for this and that. But the threat of a non-existent rendering plant is a refinement I admire. Do many people fall for it?”

Sean O’Donnell was silent for a moment or two. Then he gave his host a charming smile.

“Between us, sir?”

“Yes.”

“An amazing number.”

“Well, my respects to Mr. Wood, but I’m not one of them.” O’Donnell considered the new position. “There’s one problem, sir. I wouldn’t like to return to Mr. Wood empty-handed. It’s not a good idea.”

“I suppose not. What’ll he take?”

“Five hundred, minimum.”

“Two fifty.”

“Won’t do, sir. You know he’s quite likely to be mayor at the next election.”

“And you’ll be stuffing ballot boxes?”

“Of course,” said Sean cheerfully.

“Two hundred for him, and the same for you.”

“You’re most understanding, sir.”

Frank Master rose, left the room for a minute, and returned with a bundle of banknotes.

“Cash acceptable?”

“Certainly.”

Master settled himself in his chair again, and puffed on his cigar.

“We have a girl by the name of O’Donnell who works here, Mary O’Donnell,” he remarked easily.

“It’s a common name,” Sean answered.

Master continued to puff on his cigar.

“My sister,” Sean said finally. “But she doesn’t know I’m here. Doesn’t approve of me, in fact.”

“I think we treat her well.”

“You do.”

“She said there was a fellow bothering her. My wife told him not to come round any more.”