Denzel (lighting a cigarette, voice rough):
“Listen, Joe… I don’t hand out trust like candy. Russians put me in the dirt, and I crawled back out just to keep my name alive. You think I forgot that? Hell no. But the way I see it… the streets don’t belong to one flag. They belong to whoever’s got the balls to stand up when the wolves start circling.”
Yugo Joe (arms crossed, steady gaze):
“You’re right about the wolves. I seen ‘em too—politicians feeding them, preachers blessing them, mobsters paying them. They want us divided, D. Black against Slav, Slav against Latino, everyone fighting for scraps. But if we stay split, multiculturalism dies. They win.”
Denzel (squints at him, exhaling smoke):
“You really believe in that? Multiculturalism? Ain’t just a buzzword to you?”
Yugo Joe (steps forward, voice fierce):
“I grew up with Croats, Serbs, Bosniaks, Albanians, all killing each other. I saw mosques burn, churches burn, whole families wiped out. You know what that taught me? If we don’t learn to live together, brother, we all burn together.”
Denzel (pauses, the edge in his voice softens, almost a whisper):
“…Damn. You sound like Martin mixed with the Balkan war. Maybe there’s truth in that.”
Yugo Joe (puts out his hand):
“We don’t have to like each other. But if we want a future where East Van ain’t just another graveyard of cultures, we gotta fight side by side.”
Denzel (stares at Joe’s hand, hesitates, then grips it tight):
“Alright, Joe. A reluctant alliance. But hear me—if you ever start moving like those Russian mobsters, I won’t hesitate. I’ll put you down myself.”
Yugo Joe (half-smirks, half-dead serious):
“Fair enough. Same goes for you, D. Let’s save this city before it forgets what it is.”
