page 190-191 of DEVIL MAKE A THIRD:

Buck's big white hands were almost dainty as he ran the sharp point of a small knife through the tin foil that covered the stopper of the whiskey bottle. He and Jeff sat facing each other across the old soaped and sanded kitchen table. Buck uncorked the bottle mechanically, his eyes following Jeff's fingers as they traced the tiny raised ribs of grain that wavered down the table.

"Yessir," he said, slowly, speaking low with a current of excitement in his voice. "That buildin' caught my eye the minute I saw it. I wasn't the biggest in New York, and till you get used to it, it's kinda funny lookin'. Shaped like a sad iron. They call it the Flatiron Building. They just built it to fit what land they had an that's what I aim to do."

"You got a lot like that?" Jeff asked, reaching for a small glass and a whiskey bottle.

Buck grunted and shoved the bottle.

"Happy days," he said, and raised his glass. He drank his whiskey quickly and economically. First, he took a little water into his mouth, they he threw in the whiskey from a small glass and followed it with a long drink of plain water.

"Reckon I can find one," he said, when he had finished. He looked down at the table for a moment, they he cleared his throat and looked off as he spoke. "The city needs a new jail. Mice won't stay in that old place."

"What's that got to do with it?"

Buck was impatient.

"The lot it sits on," he said, "it's shaped like a flatiron, and it ought to sell cheap- specially since I'm the one to sell it and the one to buy it."

"I didn't know the mayor could buy land from the city," Jeff said, slowly.

"He can't," Buck said, matter-of-factly, "but the city can sell it to another fellow and the mayor can buy it from him."

Jeff's head came up quickly, "Not me," he said.

"You're too close. Have to be somebody that ain't kin to me."

"Tobe?"

"No, he's workin' for the city. Still too close."