The smaller one grabs Alex and pushes his face into the counter while the other one goes through the store breaking stuff. “Where’d you get all the dough?” growls the smaller one. “Nice car, nice house… you been holding back on us, Hammill? Not paying your dues, huh? Huh?”

“What?” says Alex. “I don’t know what you’re talking about!”

Flop go some pictures on the counter. The goon eases up just enough so that Alex can look at them – high quality stuff, Alex running out of the shop after a Ferrari, Alex slumping down in a chair in a big, well-decorated room, Alex going in and out of a townhouse that toes the line between tasteful and palatial.

“These aren’t mine,” he protests. “These are from a movie I was in. They were for the movie! Look, I live above the store. You can go see my apartment, if you want.”

The bigger one comes over. “Could be he’s right,” he says. “Ain’t nothin’ here worth the trouble of breakin’.”

The littler one spits. “Don’t try to con me, Hammill. I’ve seen you, driving around in your Ferrari, big as life, drinking that nice scotch. Did you think we wouldn’t notice? Huh?” He shakes Alex by the collar. “Did you think we wouldn’t collect?”