SLAM!!!
A deafening noise.
"You think?!" Matty's roar exploded like a thunderclap in the cramped strategy room. The kind, avuncular man from a moment ago vanished, replaced by a completely unhinged, rabid dog.
It was only then that Li Wei realized the man before him was the Matty that Dabor had mentioned in his office.
"Are you playing a fucking guessing game with me? This is the NFL! Not your mommy's book club!"
"Your protection scheme is 'I think'? Ha!"
Matty's bloodshot eyes went wide. He mimicked Timmy's timid tone in a shrill, exaggerated shriek:
"So on game day, when a 300-pound defensive end smashes your ribs into dust like a bulldozer and shoves them into your lungs, are you going to be lying on a stretcher, grabbing the paramedic's hand and saying, 'Doc, I think you can still save me'?!"
The room fell dead silent.
