Plink. Plink. Plink.

That bastard, he thought. Max crumpled the Brazilian postcard against his chest, trying to squeeze the words out of it. Leo wasn't coming back, and soon, nervous little children with Swedish accents would be running around their terrace in Rio.

Goddamn terrace, I hope it burns. Can terraces burn? I hope it explodes.

The mattress of the cot sank several inches as Max sat on it. He still clutched the postcard. He never should've listened to him, that Mr. Bloom. The idiot was in paradise with two million dollars and the woman who was supposed to be Mrs. Bialystock.

Plink. Plink. Plink.

Max wanted to yell, "Shut off that damn faucet!" but he was too busy brooding, and since when did the faucets work? This prison, this cell, the entirety of it was hell.

At least Roger isn't in here with me.

An odd feeling had taken hold of him. A general uneasiness, bordering on nausea, which told him something was wrong. Well, of course something was wrong: his plan – Leo's plan – had backfired at the worst possible time. But, he wasn't sure if that was the cause of his anxiety.

"A producer could make more money with a flop than with a hit."

Max couldn't tell what bothered him more: that Leo has ridden him like a subway until he reached Broadway, that his money and almost-girlfriend had been stolen away, or that the partnership that meant so much to him apparently meant nothing to the younger associate of Bialystock & Bloom.

"No way out…"

The both panicked when the four-star, thumbs-up reviews began piling up. The kid – the traitor, the Judas – cracked and was going to turn himself (and the money) into the police.

Why did I stop him?

Max wondered, which was worse? Being in prison, broke and alone, with his partner and would-be-lover in paradise…or Leo in jail, Max with a singing, sexy Swede, and both of them broke.

Gee, what a difficult decision.

Max uncrumpled the postcard, smoothing it out and rereading it. "Many different herrings", what the hell? He was drunk when he wrote this, he had to be.

Plink. Plink. Plink.

Betrayed. He'd been betrayed.