[ Her answer doesn't seem out of place. This isn't the goddamn Ritz Carlton — the staff's about as incompetent as they come. Still, it isn't a misguided paranoia. When you lead a life like the Gecko brothers, you have to be on your guard at all possible times. If you feel eyes on you, there are. If you see something in the corner of your vision, there is.

There's no shortage of trouble they're into. Bad blood is sure to find them, one way or the other.

It's hesitant, but Richie's arm lowers, and he places the gun back to safety. ]

Four Rooms.

[ Judging by her expression, she hasn't seen it. Richie walks to the bedside, eyes narrowing at the sight of the open drawer. Another armed pistol resides alongside the obligatory Holy Bible. He closes it. ]

Robert Rodriguez? Quentin Tarantino? Tim Roth, he's the bellhop at this hotel — the Hotel Mon Signor? He keeps getting caught up in all these — strange happenings in all the other rooms. In this one room, David Proval, he's got his wife at gunpoint. Wants her to admit she's having an affair.

[ He inclines his head, lips turning down in something like a frown. ]

Turns out, it was just some fantasy scenario to improve their sex life.

[ Richie nods at her. ]

—What's your name?