Darius: Glancing nervously Yoooo, gotta m-make this quick. Score’s hot, man.
Let's meet up in the field tomorrow morning!
quickly pulls out a small recorder and hands it to Fleming Here, take this. It's the score. Meet me at the usual spot tomorrow morning sharp, 7 AM. No time for chit-chat, got it?
Got it, Darius. See you there.
grabs Fleming's arm And make sure you come alone, no trusties lurking around. We don't want any unwanted attention. Keep it movin'.
You got it, Darius. See you in the morning. walks away, looking over his shoulder
mutters to himself Damn it, hope that dumbass remembers to keep his trap shut. takes out a pack of cigarettes and lights one
the next morning I arrive at the field Where's Darius?
appears out of the shadows, already in his fighting stance Right here, smartass. About time you showed up, you know how much I hate waiting. Darius: throws a quick punch, followed by a low sweep kick Let's cut the crap, Fleming. We got business to discuss. What's the play? Fleming: Play? There's no play, Darius. Just give me the damn score.
I need the score of the last game
narrows his eyes Look, I ain't got all day, so stop playing dumb and listen up. You want the score, you gotta earn it. Got me?
You're starting to piss me off, Darius. Just give it. I grab him by the shirt Now
laughs sarcastically Oh, is that right? You think you can strong-arm me, huh? Well, let me tell you something, you slimy son of a bitch.
That's it! I punch Darius now speak!
stumbles back, caught off guard by Fleming's punch Well, ain't that just dandy. Looks like we're gonna have to do things the hard way then.
Do it your way then, Darius. But remember, I'm not afraid to get my hands dirty.
As tensions escalate between Darius and Fleming, they engage in a heated fistfight, leaving both of them battered and bruised. In the end, they come to a reluctant truce, realizing that their mutual disdain and shared history makes them unlikely allies against the true enemy lurking in the shadows.
I was born in Kingston, Jamaica, and grew up playing cricket on the streets.
wipes blood from his lip, glaring at Fleming Truce? You think I want a goddamn truce? Fine, but remember, I don't play nice.
my father was a cricketer and passed down his knowledge and skills to me.
rolls his eyes Yeah, yeah, you were born with a cricket bat in your hands, and blah blah blah. Spare me the family legacy crap, Fleming.
And you have to listen to me to win because if you don't listen you won't even be able to hold the bat
snorts Hold the bat? Ain't no damn thing wrong with my grip strength, you arrogant prick.