good morning, jimmy.
this is him.
yeah.
neither will anyone else, anymore.
don't play dumb, shithead. you were with him last night at the club.
get ready, kid. this one's an e ticket. and, with that, they grab jimmy under the arms. carry him across the sidewalk to a plywood fence.
make sure. chet's hand flashes out for a third slap -- and from nowhere, joe hallenbeck's hand magically appears. intercepts the blow. clamps onto chet's hand and wrenches it. a cry of pain. chet stumbles backward, cradling the wrist.
milo warned us to watch out for this guy. chet is seething. he glares at hallenbeck. hallenbeck yawns.
jesus christ. you son-of-a-bitch. jesus christ!! he rushes to chet. kneels beside him. hallenbeck calmly returns to his seat.
you killed him! 'fuckin' a, you killed him, he's fuckin' dead!!! hallenbeck says nothing.
he killed chet, milo. the mother- fucker just killed him! milo looks toward hallenbeck. hallenbeck says nothing. instead, he calmly leans forward and picks up chet's lighter from the carpet. lights his cigarette. blows smoke.
approaches along the dock, looking lean and mean in an izod shirt. he stops in front of sarah and joe hallenbeck.
get up.
time for a little payback, joe. call it a service to dear departed chet. he slams a fist into hallenbeck's middle. sarah cries out in alarm.
how's that feel, fuckhead?
all right, lovebirds, break it up. he yanks sarah to her feet. lets his gaze roam up and down her body.
nice tits. he rips open her blouse. roughly fondles her breasts. hallenbeck. on the ground. he growls with fury. starts to push himself up.
stay down, fucker. don't you move. at that moment, milo comes striding down the dock. whistling cheerfully.
face it, pal. you're fucked by god. cut to:
are you a literate man, joe?
that's good. see, joe, what you're gonna do, you're gonna write a little story.
get him out of here. take him to mr. marcon. i'll follow you as soon as my business here is finished. the goon departs, leaving hallenbeck with pablo and two others. he studies them. calculates the odds. verdict: bad.
yeah, you're gonna write a little story, joe. about how guilt- stricken you are over senator baynard's death, which is all over the air waves, by the way. yeah.  you're so guilty about paying those hitmen to kill him, that you're gonna kill yourself.
oh, and, joe? don't forget to include how guilty you are over that cop you murdered.
that one.
shit, is he doing that? hallenbeck's face remains cold. expressionless.
that's amazing, man! hallenbeck picks up furry tom. inserts his hand, makes the furry head bob back and forth.