Ziegler:
Listen... Bill... The reason I, uh, asked you to come over is I... I... I need to talk to you about something.
Bill:
Sure.
Ziegler:
It's a little bit awkward. And I have to be completely frank.
Bill:
What kind of problem you having?
Ziegler:
It isn't a medical problem. Actually... it concerns you. Bill... I... I know what happened last night. And I know what's been going on since then. And I think you just might... have the wrong idea about one or two things.
Bill:
I'm sorry, Victor. I, uh... what in the hell are you talking about? [chuckles]
Ziegler:
Please, Bill, no games. I was there. At the house. I saw everything that went on. Bill, what the hell did you think you were doing? I couldn't... I couldn't even begin to- to imagine how you- how you even heard about it, let alone got yourself through the door. Then I remembered seeing you with that- that- that- that prick piano player Nick whatever the fuck his name was at my party. And it didn't take much to figure out the rest.
Bill:
It wasn't Nick's fault. It was mine.
Ziegler:
Of course it was Nick's fault. If he hadn't mentioned it to you in the first place, none of this would've happened. I- I recommended that little cocksucker to those people and he's made me look like a complete asshole.
Bill:
Victor? What can I say? I... I had... absolutely... no idea you were involved in any way.
Ziegler:
I know you didn't, Bill. But I also know that you... you went to Nick's hotel this morning and talked to the desk clerk.
Bill:
How do you know that?
Ziegler:
Because I had you followed.
Bill:
You had me followed?
Ziegler:
I- Okay. Okay, I'm sorry. All right? I owe you an apology. This was for your own good, believe me. Now look, I know what the desk clerk told you, but what he didn't tell you is all they did was put Nick on a plane to Seattle. By now he's... he's probably back with his family, you know, banging Mrs. Nick.
Bill:
The clerk said he had a bruise on his face.
Ziegler:
Okay, he had a bruise on his face. That's a hell of a lot less than he deserves. Listen, Bill, I don't think you realize what kind of trouble you were in last night. Who do you think those people were? Those were not just ordinary people there. If I told you their names... I'm not gonna tell you their names, but if I did, I don't think you'll sleep so well.
Bill:
Was it the second password? Is that what gave me away?
Ziegler:
Yes, finally. But not because you didn't know it. It's because there was no second password. Of course, it didn't help a whole lot that those people arrived in limos and you showed up in a taxi. Or that when they took your coat, they found the receipt from the rental house in your pocket made out to you-know-who.
Bill:
There was a... there was a... there was, uh, a woman there. Who, uh... tried to warn me.
Ziegler:
I know.
Bill:
Do you know who she was?
Ziegler:
Yes. She was... she was a hooker. Sorry, but... that's what she was.
Bill:
A hooker?
Ziegler:
Bill, suppose I told you that... that everything that happened to you there... the threats, the- the girl's warnings, her last minute intervention, suppose I said that all of that... was staged. That it was a kind of charade. That it was fake.
Bill:
Fake?
Ziegler:
Yes, fake.
Bill:
Why would they do that?
Ziegler:
Why? In plain words... to scare the living shit out of you. To keep you quiet about where you'd been and what you'd seen.
