In the shadowy underworld of boxing, the wise guys knew that the man to see when a fight was to be fixedor even scheduledwas a thug named Frankie Carbo, a flat-eyed hood with a shock of silvery hair. Nobody called him "Frankie." They called him "Mr. Grey." But when the law went looking for him, nobody could remember a thing about him where he lived, what he looked like, or even when he had last been seen.
Last week, run down at last by dogged gumshoeing, Mr. Grey went to trial in Manhattan's General Sessions Court on charges of tampering with boxing....
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