The Sergeant's deadline is tonight. An offer to get in contact with people you know, yet also a threat. Given how fed up he was, it's unlikely he's joking about the kind of cruelty he's willing to go through for the sake of getting what he wants.
That's why it may not be so surprising that, early in Friday morning, there's this air of tension, despite the bright sun in the sky. It doesn't help that a firetruck and a couple patrolcars race through the streets, passing in front of the motel and going west. The reason why is clear after a single glance:
There's a thick column of black smoke emanating from somewhere inside the Junkyard.
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[ Wow. Now he'll... have to think about it for a moment. ]
Hey, can you take off my cape? There's chain in the front.
[ You know the one over his dude cleavage. They need to figure out the rest of the knives. ]
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[Not that she won't check out the dude cleavage. He's also pretty damn tall so she has to stand on her tip toes to reach.]
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[ He doesn't want anyone else getting poked with rusted knives ]
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[Trash can seems pretty easy to tell people not to touch. I mean, it's a trash can.]