Holding the phone in one hand, he yanks the curtains open again. The guy’s still there.

CASS: Hey, if you—do you need to talk to me?

MAN: Well—

CASS: Because do you see this? This is a phone. Ever see one? You can call me.

MAN: Actually, you’re on the phone.

CASS yanks the curtains closed.

Pause.

Door goes Knock Knock.

Pause. CASS puts the phone down and opens the door halfway.

MAN: Mr. Cassandra?

CASS: Who am I talking to, please?

MAN: I’m Agent Salazar with the Federal Bureau of Investigation.

CASS: I don’t wanna talk to you.

The MAN holds out an ID and badge. CASS peers at them.

CASS: Salazar, that’s a funny name for a blond guy. Practically an albino guy. We are not going to have a conversation.

SALAZAR: Well, we certainly don’t have to. But we’ve been talking just a little here already, haven’t we? Is it so horrible?…On a scale of one to ten?

CASS. Bee-low zero.

SALAZAR: You know why I was so nasty just a couple minutes ago? Have you heard of the good-cop bad-cop routine? I was being the bad cop. That was stupid.

CASS: It was stupid.

SALAZAR: I was just trying it out.

CASS: Yer too stupid to cough.

Pause.

SALAZAR coughs.

SALAZAR: Sorry—I wasn’t—

CASS (overlapping): I hate to be rude—

SALAZAR: No! You’re not being rude. You’re being a lot more pleasant than some folks. Last month—three weeks ago—in connection with my work—I got thrown out of a car. In connection with some undercover work. You can bet that—did I say it was moving? I got thrown out going about, nearly, thirty. I could do that ten more times in a row, and I’d be dead every time. I was born lucky. I really believe that. What about you?

CASS: I don’t know.

SALAZAR: Would you say you’ve been generally pretty lucky? On a scale of one—

CASS: Extremely far down below zero. But! I put my last quarter in a slot there in I think Tonopah, I think, and…

Pause.

SALAZAR: Really hot out here.

CASS: You think it’s cooler in here? Some fool left the window wide open all night.

SALAZAR: It’ll break a hundred today. My prediction, a hundred and one by three P.M.

CASS: It’s thermometer weather.

SALAZAR: What does that mean?

CASS: Thermometer weather?…Uh.

SALAZAR: I don’t think I’ve heard that expression before.

CASS: Yeah. Shit. I’m doing it again…Have you ever been sitting at a bar and you hear a guy maybe polishing up like the tip of his cue stick, man, and you just know he’s gonna lay it aside—he’s laying it aside; he’s getting out a knife; he’s stepping over behind you and he’s gonna ram that knife right through yer spine? Well, I do, I get that feeling, I do, a lot. And a lot of other people do, too. I can tell which ones just by the way they’re sitting there…Or: You’re sitting there with a cup of coffee, and a leaf blows into your cup. You fish it out and go on with another sip, but you didn’t know it was a poison leaf. I mean, oleander grows all over the West, and it’s poison enough to kill large animals. Oleander kills horses. And you take a sip of oleander coffee and blow your motor right there and keel over dead. (Suddenly blithe:) Come in! (As SALAZAR obliges:) Look, I freely admit I never should’ve gone to Vegas. I don’t do big towns at all like a gentleman, not anymore. I get all stirred up, I get—It’s all the familiar faces. Do you know what I’m talking about? Everybody looks like somebody you used to know, or at least there’s some family resemblance. Running up to people with your arms out—whoops! Sorry, man, just took a false read on your face. Then when I’m completely certain—Jack Tilsdale! All these years! And he says, No, I’m not Jack Tilsdale. Quite the opposite. I killed Jack Tilsdale. I ran him over. He stepped funny in the traffic!