What the fuck. The distant radio announcer voice seguing into - what is that, a harpsichord? - isn't quite enough to distract Leon from his task of trying to stab the giant scorpion, but the sudden downpour that follows and the way the thing melts away like a sand sculpture stops him cold, and he stands there staring at the spot where it had been for a moment before turning to look at the smoker at the table properly.

"Did you do that?" he asks, too baffled to be impressed exactly but clearly having some kind of moment.