"Where the fuck you get off with this stuff? You smash up my films, you come down on me because of something my little brother said which I don't even know he said, and you give me some bullshit about Mexican scag, when if I remember right you never busted anybody more serious than a junkie with a couple of balloons in his crotch. Maybe you took a little juice while you were in vice, huh? You're a fucking joke, Purcel."

"Listen to this man carry on," Cletus said. "We're going to have to have privacy. Does this door go into the theater? Thanks, that's what I thought."

He opened a side door that gave onto a small theater that looked like a remodeled garage. In the flickering darkness a dozen or so men stared fixedly at the screen.

"What's happening, geeks?" Cletus said loudly, and began flicking the light switch on and off. "I'm the New Orleans heat. I just wanted to make sure everything was working all right. Enjoy your show."

They rose quickly from their seats and moved as a group up the aisles farthest from Cletus and went through the curtained exit.

"Big deal. The same guys'll be sitting out there tonight," Potts said.

"Could you leave me and Wesley alone a few minutes?" I said.

"I thought you might say that," Cletus said, and crunched again through the tangle of ruined film on the floor and closed the door behind him.

I sat on the corner of Potts's desk and folded my hands on my thigh.

"How do you think this is going to end?" I said.

"What d' you mean?"

"Just what I said. Do you think you can tell people somebody is going to blow me away and I'm just going to walk out of here?"

His sucked in his lips and looked at the wall.

"Tell me what you think is going to happen," I said.

"I don't know. I never saw you before. Why would I go around talking about you?"

"Who wants to drop the hammer on me, Wes?"