violet leads her through the apartment. it is expensively furnished with very masculine tastes; a lot of gray and black leather.
violet springs from the couch as the front door crashes open, caesar charging in. he is doubled over, clutching something to his stomach.
franklin's face rotates as we pull back, seeing rows of bills carefully paper-clipped to lines of string.
the door bursts open. violet enters quickly, carrying a bottle in a thin brown bag.
caesar is choking on his own rage.
caesar is pacing.
violet stands.
there is a knock and caesar opens the door.
caesar hands violet and johnnie a drink. he stares at her. she stares back.
caesar puts the briefcase onto the coffee table.
crunched down behind the bar, violet listens to the only sound, repeating in the unnatural quiet:
the buzzer sounds again as violet sees him lift roy's body.
violet moves away from the intercom as caesar begins arranging the furniture on the rug.
caesar grabs the television remote, hits "on" and jacks the volume until it is obviously loud.
like a maniac, caesar wipes at any blood still visible until there is a knock on the door. he grabs violet by the arm.
caesar puts on a new shirt, the gun stuffed in his pants.
caesar drags himself in. violet closes the door behind them.