We fade into the locker room of Eric O’Mac. He sits with a cooler of beer at his feet while Moosehead Jack and The Heels occupy three more chairs, arranged in a semi-circle on the locker room floor.
Moose: So did you talk to Tyson?
EOM: Yeah, I told him the score. He’s loyal to us. We can trust him.
Moose: I hope so. We need him.
The locker room door flies opening revealing a bloodied Tyson Kincaid leaning against the door frame. His leather jacket hangs lopsidedly off his shoulder as blood drips onto his torn Tom Waits t-shirt.
EOM: Shit, man! What the hell happened to you?
TK: What the hell happened to me? What the hell happened to you?! Is this what the deal is? You leave me hung out to dry while Stank jumps me in a parking lot?
EOM: That fucker! Look, there was just nothing we could do. If we knew Stank was still lurking around, we would have followed the trail of beer farts and found him before he got to you. We don’t let our friends get taken advantage of.
Tyson steps into the room and Moose motions for Johnny and AA to bring a chair over to Kincaid. He sits down, grabs a nearby towel and wipes the blood from his face as EOM reaches into the cooler and hands him a beer. He then grabs a plastic bag, fills it with ice from the cooler and hands it to Kincaid. Tyson puts the cold beer to his forehead and lets the bag of ice dangle in his other hand.
Moose: Stank must have really done a number on you.
Kincaid realizes the meaning behind Moose’s words, lets out a sigh, shakes his head and switches hands, bringing the ice to his forehead and opening the beer, taking in a long and appreciative mouthful.
TK: I can’t wait for tonight.
EOM: It won’t be long. You’ll get your payback on that limp-dicked shit and his buddy soon enough. And don’t forget that you’ll have Viper by your side and us watching your back.
TK: I’m glad to hear it. But all I really need tonight…Kincaid looks at his fists, soaked with his own blood…are these.