Elsewhere backstae, shaking the ice inside a plastic cup, Hayes Hanlon tips back the final sips of his beverage before tossing it into a nearby trash can.
One hand retreating into the pocket of his black slacks, and the other retrieving his phone, he absently scrolls away as he wanders down the hall.
An intersection interrupts his gait, and he lifts his eyes from the screen.
They glance to the right. Toward the Argyle position. The curtain. To watch Youngblood and TAL battle the Bayou Butcher and the Russian Bear.
He takes the initial steps down the right hallway.
A squint at the phone screen, then a look over his shoulder, down the hallway in the other direction.
A sigh under his breath.
Hayes Hanlon: Screw it.
He stuffs the phone in his pocket, and walks away to the left.
We then cut to our final commercial of the evening.