It was probably awful of him, but Sal wondered what it was Henry was thinking when he entered the bedroom. If his expression was anything to take into account, the fear factor had done it's job, probably too well, even. But the man's eyes were coated with something else that Sal, who had never experienced this emotion, didn't know how to place.
About three seconds later, Sal recognized the pure exhaustion scribbled all over Henry's face. He sighed, bemused.
"Sit on the bed." He motioned to it. "Go ahead, it's clean."
Once he was sure Henry would do as he was told (Henry might not have, but Sal was convinced he'd do it anyway), the leather-clad bastard went to the door of the room. His babies were lined against the back wall, but none had bullets in them. The bazooka was under his bed, but he was sure Henry wouldn't have the strength to use it. As for the pair of rifles under the pillow...
He'd take the risk.
"I'm gonna get you some water, comrade." He said. "Don't try escaping, or the vines'll getcha before you can say, 'Oops, stupid idea.'"