Clockers Page #3

Her moms is mad stressed

out about that sh*t.

She wants some

motherfuckin' payback.

She wants to

see that man dead.

What if it was you, your daughter?

Charise is her only child.

He just got to

be got, huh?

Well?

Yo, got ya, comin' at ya

Chrome to the dome...

Wasn't that

your favorite song?

Come on, man.

Vic, why you

f***in' with me, man?

I'm tryin' to kick

some serious sh*t here.

Should've known I couldn't

come to you about nothin'.

I know somebody.

Who?

My Man.

Who that?

Look, My Man.

A friend of a friend.

He'll do the job.

How much he talkin' about?

Nothin'.

So what's the deal?

I'm listenin'.

What you want me to do?

Nothin', man.

Just chill. All right?

My little mans,

my nephews, how they doin'?

I miss my kids, man.

Why don't you take your ass

home if you miss your kids?

There's the motherf***er.

What's up, Strike?

Yo, black, we closed.

I thought you

don't eat this sh*t

because it fucks with your stomach.

This is Ahab's, n*gger.

We ain't got no Di-Gel, no

Kaopectate, no P*ssy-Bismol!

Boom!

Gotcha!

Boom! Gotcha.

You still here,

motherf***er? What's up?

Mylanta! We need more Mylanta

out here for this girl!

Boom!

Probably

a f***in' triple-header.

Outdoors in the mud,

6O casings around,

and a big herd of Nubians stepping

all over everything, man.

Ahh! I don't like them

airplane bottles.

What the f*** happened?

Oh, that boy got shot up!

Who did?

God would know, I wasn't here, so I

really can't talk intelligently about it.

Yo, uh... I wouldn't want you

not to talk intelligently.

The body cold already.

Excuse me. Coming through.

Thank you.

Damn! Excuse me.

Hey, hey. Welcome

to the show that never ends.

Bartucci, what you got?

We got a black male,

dead man.

Darryl Adams, 22-years-old, the

night manager of this joint.

Plays like this.

Kid's standin'

by the door having

a conversation

with another male.

Pop, pop. Darryl goes down.

Shooter does a Carl Lewis.

Neighborhood says

there's four shots fired.

At this point,

that's all she wrote.

Robbery?

Nah. Way too fast.

Drugs? Was he a scumbag?

To tell you the truth,

I never seen this kid before.

Boys, Darryl Adams.

Darryl Adams, the boys.

Hi, Darryl.

Hello in there.

Live by the gun,

die by the gun.

The kid had brains.

Good thing he was

wearin' his gold, huh?

Bing, bing, bing!

Ricochet Rabbit.

I still think it

was the food here.

Hal, get in there,

tell me what you got.

There she blows.

Let's see.

No powder burns on the face.

These eyes have lied.

No stippling on the eyes.

Looking about 30,

35-years-old.

Doors one and two.

Okay, let's see.

Nothin' up the sleeve.

He might get better,

but he ain't never gettin' well.

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