In his hotel room, Hinsch hands Kristoff $500. “Remember those suitcases, Michael?”

Hinsch’s voice rumbles from deep within his massive belly. But Kristoff is fixated on the money. Hinsch continues, snapping his fingers. This man is a simpleton, he remembers.

“Michael, the last time we were together, I asked you to watch those suitcases for me. Do you remember?”

Kristoff lifts his head, making eye contact with Hinsch. A connection. Kristoff nods his head yes.

“And you looked inside?”

“I did,” Kristoff says.

“You saw those maps and those blueprints?” Hinsch asks.

“And the explosives,” Kristoff answers.

“Yes,” Hinsch responds, holding in violence. “The explosives.”

Kristoff rubs his thumbs on the money resting in his palms.

Hinsch continues. “I will explain.”