Remi shook his head slowly, expression serious. “I want my money first, Wease. Last time, it took ya half a month to pay me back fifty c, ‘n that was only after I sent someone to your house to shake ‘em out of you. Why should I believe that you’ve got the money now?” He said, and before Wease could interrupt: “And ‘m not giving ya any more loans, forget it. This is as nice as I get, ‘n I’ve given you more than enough chances. So you either show me the money, or you take your broke ass and piss off.”
"You know what? Fuck you! You think you’re better than me?” Wease was pissed, and before Remi knew what was going on, he had his hand twisted around to his back, and his head was being smacked into the brick wall he’d been standing with his back towards. “Give me the fucking drugs, ese.”
Remi could feel warm blood running down the side of his face, rapidly cooling by the time it reached his chin and ran down his throat. He felt dizzy, but he wasn’t gonna let himself be messed with. What the fuck was this bullshit? Remi brought his foot up in a well placed kick to Wease’s crotch. He knew it was a low blow, literally, but he didn’t have the arm strength to wrestle himself free, and Wease was, apparently, stronger than he looked. He was backing away now, though, doubled over from the pain. “Bitch.” Remi said, approaching Wease and grabbing the collar of his hoodie.
He’d gotten in a few good punches, and the left side of Wease’s face was beginning to show signs of bruising when he pulled the knife out, at which point Remi quickly let go of him and backed up, fumbling in his pockets for his gun. Suddenly, Wease came at him, and in his hurry to get the gun out, Remi dropped it and it slid a couple of meters away on the asphalt. Cursing himself, his heart beat rapidly as he grabbed Wease’s wrist with both of his hands, trying to wrestle the knife away from his throat. He really, really did not want to die over something as petty as this. He was scared shitless, though, and that must’ve helped him, ‘cause somehow he managed to match Wease’s strength, keeping the knife away. If only he could reach for the gun. How the fuck was he supposed to get out of this one?