Diggstown Page #6

I don't know what's worse:

Fighting him or listening to your mouth.

- That's motivation.

- You call that motivation?

It gets the anger up.

It's good for you.

When I want anger,

all I gotta do is remember Moline.

- Don't start with Moline again.

- Motivation, my ass.

Just get in the ring

and fight this guy.

Back off!

Make him do the work!

- Let's go! Pick it up!

- Go get him, boy!

Fight!

Come on.

He's killing you. He's busting you up.

You gotta finish him off now.

Show this double-crossing son of a b*tch

why they call you "Honey" Roy Palmer.

Do your sweet thing.

And you do it now!

You hear me?

One, two, three...

- four, five...

- He's out!

Six, seven, eight, nine!

- Neutral corner.

- Get up!

Three, four, five...

six, seven, eight, nine!

God, no!

- Come on, son. Let's move back.

- Get him out of the way.

- Goddamn you!

- Watch out, boy! Get on back!

- Get back right now!

- Get off of me!

- Move back, boy!

- It's all right. It's okay.

Let me have him.

Come on, man.

- You gotta be cool.

- They just killed him, Roy!

I don't believe that.

Looks like poor Slim had all his hopes

on winning that money.

- Come on, Ham.

- Be strong.

Settle down now.

We gotta get you to the station.

- You'll have to answer some questions.

- Sorry, Ham.

That was one courageous fight

you just fought out there, sir.

You know what I mean.

Ham, did your brother try

to commit suicide before?

- Suppose you'll want to take a break.

- You think I need a break from you...

- Keep them coming, you son of a b*tch!

- Goddamn it, that's what he wants!

- Take a nap.

- I want your ass in the ring!

We'll take your break!

The names mean

absolutely nothing to me.

I gotta have faces

to go with the names.

Then fax me pictures of anybody

ever connected with Gabriel Caine.

Buster, just get me Gillors

second-half lineup right now!

Sh*t!

How's it hanging?

Kind of all at once, Paulo.

How's things with you?

- Better and better since you got out.

- Good.

Looks like

I'll finally get to kill you.

There's that

distinct possibility...

although I'd bet four dollars

against an hour with your mother...

that it doesn't happen that way.

I'm really sorry.

That was insulting.

Five bucks.

Mr. Corsini felt a reminder

of your obligations...

would be

in your own best interest...

seeing what just happened

in town.

It's kind of working.

Not that you could have any doubt

who would kill you the worst.

No, sir.

Come midnight,

you better win.

Don't ask.

Just Victor doing me a favor.

Would you untie me so I can

get this off my neck, please?

I hate being hung.

I just hate it!

The plars changed.

Gillors got over 700 grand in cash,

and I say we gut the prick.

If you guys want out,

I'll understand.

This ain't about money anymore.

All right.

Buster get the lineup

for the second half?

Sonny's up first,

but he's all show.

Robby Gillors next.

You know what he's about.

- Grab me some towels.

- Where are they?

- Back there.

- And then there's Frank and Tank.

- They covered?

- Yep.

So we'll wing it with the last man.

Gillon will save him to the end.

Ray will be fine. I've seen every

cracker on every farm in the county.

That's five fights to finish up

by midnight, in five hours.

Can you do that?

Sh*t! Is he breathing?

Get him.

Watch his neck.

- Somebody get his legs.

- I got them.

Get him back.

Watch his head.

He's alive.

This jaw looks terrible, Fish.

How's that eye?

Is it hemorrhaging?

His nose is busted.

The right eye is hemorrhaging.

- Got a pulse.

- Who am I? Do you know who I am?

My hat.

- I lost my hat. Find my hat.

- Easy, buddy.

I told you about that. I don't want

to see that thing in here again.

Okay, let's go.

You want to bet?

Let's bet!

I need one-five, Victor.

A million and a half dollars.

Or I forfeit

and you can kill me now.

There it is.

All of mine against all of yours.

Now there's only one question:

You got any balls

or just that two-inch dick?

I wish I had a bar of soap

to wash your mouth out with.

We here to talk

about what's in your bathroom...

or what's in your f***ing vault?

Are you going or not?

That's quite a sum of money.

It's just a tad more

than what I really have.

I tell you what...

why don't you throw in

that property you own around town?

Then we'll just call it even.

You seem to know quite a bit

about my finances.

What I know about you...

would make Charles Macum Diggs

himself get up and walk.

A million five.

Take a man with a big set of balls

to want to make a bet like that.

Go over to my bank, Chet.

Bring my safe deposit box here now.

I'll accept your wager.

Of Mr. Corsini's money, of course.

Somebody has to take him

to the hospital.

- Will you do it?

- Sure.

Ladies and gentlemen,

here comes Sonny Hawkins!

Sonny Hawkins

is now entering the ring!

The fight is about to begin at last!

We would like to thank you

for your continued patience...

during all the delays.

We have merely three hours left

until midnight.

With five fights still to go...

I don't think we will see

any more delays.

Thank you, ladies and gentlemen.

Gentlemen,

to the center of the ring.

You had your instructions.

No low blows.

Hit gloves, come out fighting.

- Sonny, we love you, honey!

- Come on, Sonny! Do it!

What the hell was that?

Get the next one up here.

One, two...

Come on! Get up!

Robby, I need you

to do something for me.

You can't go up there

and fight right now.

Daddy, I'm not afraid of him at all.

Listen to me.

It has nothing to do with that.

Remember what I told you downstairs

about his mind?

About capturing his mind?

Right now his mind

is in a whole different place.

I need you to walk out there,

step up onto the apron...

look him right in the eye

and then walk out.

Then we got him.

Daddy, I'm gonna look like a fool.

Daddy, I can't do that.

Do it.

Don't f*** with me on this!

Get Robby out here!

Hit him, Rob! Let's go!

Cut him down!

- What was that all about?

- Survival, I guess.

- One less fight.

- Who's next?

The guy who kicked your ass

at Nel's Bar.

Rip his tits off.

Hit that son of a b*tch!

Get up, you bum!

Neutral corner.

Disqualified.

- Who's next?

- Tank.

283 pounds of Tank.

Holy sh*t.

Those big arms can't hurt you

if you stay inside.

- Work him close. Just stay close.

- Right. Close.

You!

Fight!

Close! Come on! Get close!

Too close!

Sh*t!

Jesus.

Break it up.

Let's go.

Thank you.

It's 80.

- God.

- Close ain't gonna make it.

Look, he's bigger than you are.

He's tougher, he's faster.

He's younger than you are.

He hasn't fought 22 rounds today.

But remember this:

You are black.

- What's that mean?

- I don't know.

I'm trying to inspire you.

It's a Roots kind of thing.

- It's like a motivation thing.

- You are sh*t at motivation.

Now you got him!

That's it, Tank!

Cut loose!

Yes! Put him away!

He's out.

All right,

throw out your secret weapon.

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