*We open on a dreary day in the Bowery. Slip and Chuck are walking down the street.*

Chuck: Slip, I really appreciate your worrin' about me, but I can take care of myself.

Slip: I'm just a little uneasy after those goons tryin' to send ya six-feet under.

Chuck: I can understand that. That was really scary, for all of us. (Shakes his head) But things are better now. Adriana is going to beauty school, and I'm talkin' to the newspaper where Gabe works to see if they need a copy boy.

Slip: So, what about you and Adriana, hmmmm?

Chuck: (Blushes) We're takin' it slow, Chief. She ain't ready to rush into anythin' after what happened with Allan, an' she said she wants to concentrate on school.

Slip: *Smiles* I'm glad to hear that.

Chuck: How 'bout you n' Sally? How's things comin' with you two?

Slip: How's it usually between her and me?

Chuck: She still wants you to get a job?

Slip: Yeah, there's that.

Chuck: Well...why don't you?

Slip: Cuz...well... *sighs* It’ll end up like the last time, an’ I'll get fired.

Chuck: You get fired every time. Why don't you try bein' agreeable?

Slip: When've I ever been agreeable?

Chuck: You can't always be leader everywhere, Slip.

Slip: Who says?

Chuck: Most jobs. Yeah, I'd like to be a reporter now...but that ain't gonna happen until I get some trainin'. (Thoughtful) Actually...have you ever thought of goin' for your private eye license? Seriously? You did pretty well with that.

Slip: Yeah, I've thought about it. Then I thought about the test I'd hafta take.

Chuck: You can read, and you've gotta pretty good mind. That's all they care about.

Slip: Tell me som'en I don't know.

Chuck: (He stops) Slip, do you hear somethin'?

Slip: Hear wha... *pauses* Wait, yeah...

(A group of street toughs in dark leather jackets seem to materialize from the shadows. Some carry brass knuckles. Other carry crowbars or knives.)

Street Tough #1: Ok, Skinny n' Fat Boy, give us your money. You gotta pay the toll.

Chuck: (His eyes widen; he puts up his hands) We don't have any money to give!

Slip: 'Sides, this is our turf. Just move yerselves aside, an’ we'll forget this happened.

Street Tough #2: Oooh, little fat man thinks this is his turf!

Slip: Yeah, I do think that. We was throwin' fruit around this neighborhood before you goons were outta diapers!

Street Tough #1: Well, it's our turf now (smirks) old man, and you've gotta pay the price.

Slip: Even if we had the money ta pay yer so-called toll, we wouldn't pay it.

Street Tough #1: Then you're gonna have to pay the penalty, old man. (Nods at the ones behind him) You work on Skinny. I'll take Fatso.

Slip: *Puts up his fists* That's what you think.

(The street tough goes after Slip with his brass knuckles, slamming into his chin immediately.)

*Slip staggers back, wincing. He mutters an expletive or two, then moves forward again, his arms in a more defensive pose.*

(The nimble young man manages to dodge Slip's two uppercuts.)

Street Tough #1: Just like I thought. You're too slow, old man!

*Slip growls, silently cursing an injury that slowed his fists. He sends more fists at the Tough.*

(The Street Tough dodges them...and sends one fist at his gut.)

*Slip gasps and tries to straighten.*

(He sends volley of fists into his sides.)

(Chuck is working on the other two, trying to dodge them. He has the advantage of not carrying weapons...and of being just as small and nimble as the two boys.)

*Slip isn't doing so well. He’s still bent over, gasping. He attempts to ram his shoulder into the Tough's gut.*

Street Tough #1: (Dodges him again) I've seen street carts that are faster! (He slams Slip in the chin again.)

*Slip stumbles this time and ends up staring up at the darkening sky.*

Chuck: *Sees Slip go down* Slip! *manages to send the two young men after him into each other, sending them sprawling; he goes to meet the Tough hovering over Slip* Hey! You can't do that to him!

Street Tough #1: Why not, Skinny?

(The Street Tough goes after Chuck with the same moves he uses on Slip...but Chuck easily dodges them.)

Chuck: *A familiar smirk appears on his face* Because you can't. *sends a fist at the Tough's jaw*

(The fist gets the guy down, just as two beat cops rush over.)

Officer Murphy: Hello, Charles. What's going on?

Chuck: These goons thought they could push us around, askin' for a toll. When we didn't pay, they wanted to fight.

Officer Murphy: Oh, one of these new street gangs that have been poppin' up in the area. (He pulls the young man to his feet, then looks over his shoulder at Slip.) How's your brother? Should we call a hospital?

Chuck: *Sees Slip raise a hand to cover his face* Nah, he's fine. Bruised egos don't require hospital visits.

Officer Murphy: Well, all right. If nothing's broke, we'll be takin' these three to the station to have a little chat with them. (They haul the other two to their feet and lead them away.)

Chuck: Slip? (He goes to his side.) How are you feelin'? That guy did do a number on ya.

Slip: *Groans* The ego's tied for what hurts the most. *Uncovers his face; there's a purple welt on his chin.* What happened to me?

Chuck: That guy's fists. (Frowns) Do you think you're up for walkin' back to our place? I could call a cab from a phone booth.

Slip: *Waves a hand, then pushes himself up, wincing* Didn't mean the guy's fists. *sighs* I usedta be able to fight anyone an’ come out on top.

Chuck: Age. Your accident. Your weight. His age. (Sighs) Sometimes, Slip...you do encounter guys who are bigger than you that you can't take on. (Grins) That's when I protect you.

Slip: The only thing ya didn't just hit me wit' was yer fist. *rolls his eyes, but gives a half grin* I don't say this enough. Thanks, Chuck. *winces* If I think I'm feelin' this now, tomorrow mornin's gonna be som'en.

Chuck: Anytime. I am your brother. Brothers keep an eye on brothers. (He helps Slip gingerly to his feet.) Come on. Let's get home.

Slip: *Smirks* No racing, okay?

Chuck: (Grins) Ok. (He puts his arm around Slip's shoulders and helps him hobble back to their apartment as we fade out.)