When Redskins Super Bowl ticket holders showed up at RFK Stadium yesterday to claim their prizes, many walked a gantlet of out-of-town scalpers so rough they scared the local scalpers.

"There's people here that shock me," said Danny, a self-described "street hustler" from suburban Maryland who said he was buying for a local ticket agency. "There must be 60 hustlers here," he said, pointing out shadowy figures in little groups on the rainy pathways who he said came from California, Chicago, New York, Dallas and New England, all looking for tickets to the big game so they could fill orders for their brokers back home.

There was Knockout Pete from New York and his sidekick, Red Beard, exchanging obscenities under the eaves of the stadium. There was "Mike Weaver" from San Diego, sporting a three-day growth of stubble, fresh off the plane from the West Coast, pockets of his black jeans bulging with $100 bills. "That's just a name I use," Weaver said, "like a nickname, when I'm checking into hotels and stuff."

These were not men who wasted time on small talk. "You got tickets?" they shouted, hounding ticket lottery winners down dank pathways outside the stadium, thrusting wads of bills at them. "How much you want?"

"There's some really, really rough guys here," said Danny, who asked, as did all the other scalpers interviewed, that his last name remain confidential.

"I saw one guy from New York. I didn't like his looks. I asked this friend of mine. He said, 'Oooh, stay away from him. The guy is bad news. His job is to rough up people, get to the customers, get tickets, whatever it takes.' "

Yesterday morning, the scalpers, dressed in sweat pants, black leather jackets, high-top sneakers, even one in Bermuda shorts, moved in for the first of five days of ticket dispersal to Redskins faithful who won Super Bowl seats in a drawing last week. Washington is a ticket hot spot because, as a competing team, the Redskins drew 20 percent of the tickets to pass on to their best customers.

The scalpers started pushing and shoving at 9 a.m. when the windows opened, Danny said, but D.C. police moved in and forced them either across the street or down to stadium parking lots, where they resumed their efforts in smaller groups.

"There's potential problems here," said Police Capt. Louis Widawski. "Basically, we're trying to separate them {scalpers} from ticket holders. There's a lot of money changing hands. There's the possibility of tickets being stolen, of harassment. The scalpers are harassing people."

D.C. municipal regulations prohibit selling tickets to any public event on public space, regardless of whether prices are inflated over face value. Police thus had authority to break up transactions, although no arrests were made.

A spokesman for the Redskins said the team has no policy regarding resale of Super Bowl tickets by season ticket holders. However, players and staff members "are not supposed to sell tickets in excess of face value," according to spokesman Donnie Tuck. "And people who get tickets from us are expected not to sell them for more than face value."

With $100 tickets selling for $400 to $1,000 and up, depending on location in the stadium, and then being resold by the scalpers and the brokers for whom they work for $700 to $2,500, commerce was not seriously impeded by the presence of police or Redskins policy. "This is free private enterprise at its best," laughed Bob Cochran of Philadelphia, who said he was waiting in line to pick up a pair of tickets for a friend.

Others were less sanguine. "There's some rough people down there," said Jim Lamb of Alexandria.

There were small fortunes to be made, said Danny. "If I can buy 30 tickets for $500 apiece and sell 'em back to my dealer at $700, I just made $6,000. But that's a big if."

Nor is his a seat-of-the-pants operation. "We have one other guy here, and a guy in Denver is working the stadium there," said Danny. "You want to talk to him?"

Danny reached inside his black jacket and pulled out a cellular telephone, pressed one button, put it to his ear and said, "I want you to talk to this guy."

The man on the far end said, "It's cold out here" in Denver. "The Broncos did a lot of mailing {of tickets}. The action at the stadium is slow."

To hear the scalpers tell it, it wasn't brisk at RFK, either. "The media hyped this thing too high," said the Californian called Mike Weaver, who was buying tickets for his broker in San Diego. "They made a misconception about the prices. I've got no room to work. These guys {ticket holders} want retail price, $700 and up. They read it in the newspaper and they think that's what they should get."

As he spoke on the street corner near the Stadium-Armory, a man pulled up in a late-model sedan and rolled down the passenger side window electronically. Weaver jumped into action. The script seemed tailor-made to prove his point.

"What you got?"

"I got two."

"What you want?"

"Seven hundred apiece."

Weaver looked around. "See what I mean?"

He looked back to the man in the car. "Hey, let me have some of those mints."

The man handed him two breath mints, which Weaver popped in his mouth. "Thanks," he said. "I was hungry. Now listen: $700 for end zone, that's what I'm charging. How am I going to make any money?"

The man in the car said, "Okay, $1,350 for the pair."

"Forget it," said Weaver, and the man pulled away.

Weaver said it was the ticket holders who were the real scalpers. "They just paid $100 for a ticket and they want $700. I'm going to pay $500 and sell for $700. Now you tell me, who's the scalper?"

He paused as a woman pulled up nearby in a small car.

"That's mine," said one of Weaver's colleagues, sprinting.

"Customer?" he was asked.

"Nah, she's bringing me more money."

And so it went, on into the afternoon, the slush melting at their feet. High finance in the cold, mean, dirty streets.