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　　DETECTIVE SIBERT
　　That’’s wonderful. Mm-mm. It’’ll
　　change your life， a course.
　　
　　MARGE
　　Oh， yah， I know that!
　　
　　DETECTIVE SIBERT
　　They can really take over， that’’s
　　for sure.
　　
　　MARGE
　　You have children？
　　
　　Detective Sibert pulls an accordion of plastic picture
　　sleeves from her purse to show Marge.
　　
　　DETECTIVE SIBERT
　　I thought you’’d never ask. The
　　older one is Janet， she’’s nine， and
　　the younger one is Morgan.
　　
　　MARGE
　　Oh， now he’’s adorable.
　　
　　DETECTIVE SIBERT
　　He’’s three now. Course， not in that
　　picture.
　　
　　MARGE
　　Oh， he’’s adorable.
　　
　　DETECTIVE SIBERT
　　Yah， he -
　　
　　MARGE
　　Where’’d you get him that parka？
　　
　　They have reached the end of the cafeteria line. With a nod
　　to the cashier， Detective Sibert indicates hers and Marge’’s
　　trays.
　　
　　DETECTIVE SIBERT
　　Both of these.
　　
　　MARGE
　　Oh， no， I can’’t let you do that.
　　
　　DETECTIVE SIBERT
　　Oh， don’’t be silly.
　　
　　MARGE
　　Well， okay - thank you， Detective.
　　
　　DETECTIVE SIBERT
　　Oh， don’’t be silly.
　　
　　GAEAR GRIMSRUD
　　
　　He sits eating a Swanson’’s TV dinner from a TV tray he has
　　set up in front of an easy chair.
　　
　　He watches the old black-and-white TV set whose image - it
　　might be a game show - is still heavily ghosting and
　　diffused by snow. The audio crackles with interference.
　　Despite the impenetrability of its image， it holds
　　Grimsrud’’s complete attention.
　　
　　At the sound of the front door opening， Grimsrud looks up.
　　
　　Carl enters， his face suppurating and raw.
　　
　　He reacts to Grimsrud’’s wordless look with a grotesque
　　laugh.
　　
　　CARL
　　You should she zhe uzher guy!
　　
　　He glances around.
　　
　　CARL
　　…… The fuck happen a her？
　　
　　Jean sits slumped in a straight-backed chair facing the
　　wall. Her hooded head， resting on her chin， is motionless.
　　There is blood on the facing wall.
　　
　　GRIMSRUD
　　She started shrieking， you know.
　　
　　CARL
　　Jezhush.
　　
　　He shakes his head.
　　
　　CARL
　　…… Well， I gotta muddy.
　　
　　He is plunking down eight bank-wrapped bundles on the table.
　　
　　CARL
　　…… All of it. All eighty gran.
　　Forty for you……
　　
　　He makes one pile， pockets the rest.
　　
　　CARL
　　…… Forty for me. Sho thishuzh
　　it. Adiosh.
　　
　　He slaps keys down on the table.
　　
　　CARL
　　…… You c’’n’’ave my truck. I’’m
　　takin’’ a Shiera.
　　
　　GRIMSRUD
　　We split that.
　　
　　Carl looks at him.
　　
　　CARL
　　HOW THE FUCK DO WE SHPLITTA FUCKIN’’
　　CAR？ Ya dummy! Widda fuckin’’
　　chainshaw？
　　
　　Grimsrud looks sourly up. There is a beat. Finally:
　　
　　GRIMSRUD
　　One of us pays the other for half.
　　
　　CARL
　　HOLD ON! NO FUCKIN’’ WAY! YOU
　　FUCKIN’’ NOTISH ISH？ I GOT FUCKIN’’
　　SHOT INNA FAISH! I WENT’’N GOTTA
　　FUCKIN’’ MONEY! I GET SHOT FUCKIN’’
　　PICKIN’’ IT UP! I BEEN UP FOR
　　THIRTY-SHIKSH FUCKIN’’ HOURZH! I’’M
　　TAKIN’’ THAT FUCKIN’’ CAR! THAT
　　FUCKERZH MINE!
　　
　　Carl waits for an argument， but only gets the steady sour
　　look.
　　
　　Carl pulls out a gun.
　　
　　CARL
　　…… YOU FUCKIN’’ ASH-HOLE! I
　　LISHEN A YOUR BULLSHIT FOR A WHOLE