If the camp is restless, it's nothing compared to the energy coursing through Rodeo. All that heat caged up inside is burning him up, and though it fuels him it also frustrates him immensely. Now that he knows how this is gonna go down, he's ready to move. The wait is killing him. Every second his baby sister is trapped in that cell is another second where this all could take a turn for the worst. He's made his deal with Olinger, but what if the man changes his mind? What if he decides to force Rodeo's hand, changes the terms, makes a move Rodeo hasn't accounted for? His stomach is tied in knots.
The distraction of purpose is helpful, so when Roman approaches Rodeo is glad for the task at hand. He lifts his cigarette for a deep draw, and when Roman reaches him he gives an upwards jerk of his chin that functions as an acceptable man-greeting around these parts. His eyes are wild tonight with his spinnin' mind, and his words come out on a cloud of cigarette smoke.
"Yeah, ain't it?" he says. He nods to the motorcycles lined up near the gates, ready to ride out at a moment's notice. "You got time to take a ride with me, bro?" Rodeo doesn't even want to risk talking about this here. They'll ride out to the area of the Greenbelt where the Praxacaterol is stored underground, where Rodeo can be sure that no one will overhear the instructions he needs to give Rome.