Post by King Incredible on Mar 17, 2014 21:14:43 GMT -5
“Fuck!”
I threw my three wood to the ground and kicked my bag over as my anger for the game of golf grew stronger today. I placed my injured hand over my forehead so I could block the sun out and heard my ball go “plop” in the little pond about two hundred yards away. It was the par four hole six at historical Dubsdread Golf Course in Orlando, where Blackout was going to be featured this Sunday. My partner to my right couldn’t help but laugh as he took his driver out to make a hit.
“Enough of this bull shit,” the man said in a thick Irish accent, lining up his shot, “let’s start talking business.”
“Please,” I cried, “I don’t know why, Silver Willard, you thought of all places for a man with an injured hand to come would be a golf course, but you’re a friend of Roach’s so it makes perfect sense.”
“Damn straight,” Silver winked, “so, Roach informs me you are fan of sneactha?”
“A fan of what?” I said puzzled, sipping on a beer near our golf cart, “is that like Irish for pussy?”
“No me ould flower,” Silver laughed, taking his shot as it hooks a mean left and course into the thick rough, “that be gowl. No, I mean, sneactha, like, snow?”
“Oh snow,” I laughed finally understanding what the man was saying, “yes, I enjoy snow. Why? You sell?”
“I don’t just sell,” he said grabbing a beer himself, “flower, I make it too. Damn sound stuff mate. I’m on the wee side of funds though so I was thinking…”
“Let me guess,” I asked, liking where this was going, “if I supply you with money you’ll make coke and distribute it for me? Am I right?”
“Yes mate,” Silver winked, “You ain’t a muppet like the rest of them.”
“But how is the profit going to work?” I pondered, putting the keys into the cart ignition, “I mean, yes, you’re doing all the hard work, but without me you wouldn’t be able to do anything.”
“Right,” Silver said, “I’m a nice fella and I recognize service when I see it, flower. I’d be willing do a fair fifty-fifty.”
“Sounds good to me,” I cheered, raising my beer, “now let’s finish this round of gold, I’m fucking exhausted.”
“We will,” Silver explained, “but we need a brand name!”
“That’s easy,” I smirked, “IncrediCoke!”
“I love it,” Silver sighed, “but don’t you think it’s a lil recognizable to you?”
“We’ll see how it goes, Silver,” I said.
“Then it’s settled,” he beamed, “I will prepare my lab and buy me some supplies once you wire me some funds and we’ll get this started!”
We cheer our beers together as I start the golf cart and we drive a bit down the hole as I begin to bitch about the fact I’m going to have to fish my ball out of a pond.
A light snowfall was in the air as I was being driven up a familiar street in my home province. It was Akerley Boulevard in Dartmouth, Nova Scotia, Canada, about fifteen minutes away from where I grew up as a child. I was sitting in the passenger seat of a blue 1999 Honda Accord as my sister, Emily, drove the car. I would’ve driven myself but this hand injury has dealt me a different hand. The car was silent as the place I was visiting was not somewhere I really wanted to be but due to the court’s it was obligated. We passed by old businesses that I remembered as a child; the furniture store that always sold ice cream in the summertime, the coffee shop with the best croissants, and the battery store where my father would always go to because he got a discount cause he knew the guy who ran it.
We headed past Burnside Drive and on the right was Don Bayer Sports Field where I use to play soccer all the time before I got into wrestling. My sister made a turn onto Colford Road and drove past Enchanted Lake where my best friend Donny and I use to go and fish for small aquatic creatures and junk treasures. The vehicle came to a stop in front of Central Nova Scotia Correctional Facility; the place I had to visit today. My sister turned to me with her green eyes staring at me and her flower dress wrinkled and gave me a smile.
“How long do you think you’ll be, big bro?” She said in a silly tone.
“Not too long,” I moaned, zipping up my leather jacket, “I am supposed to stay for at least fifteen minutes but I don’t think I’ll be any longer.”
“You should stay a big longer,” Emily implied, adjusting the heat in the car, “I saw her a few week ago and she is a bit lonely. I think she misses you.”
“Yeah right,” I scoffed, taking a deep breath, “little sis, I haven’t seen her in… two years.”
“I think she’ll understand,” Emily explained, trying to stay optimistic, “after all, you went through a tough time and you’re getting yourself back on your feet.”
I smiled back at my little sister, gave a quick peck on the cheek and exited the vehicle as she whipped out a book for her to read with some subtle music playing in the background. A catch glimpse of the title of the book, “One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest”, as I quickly smoked a small cigarette before entering the facility. The police officer inside patted me down to make sure I wasn’t trying to bring her anything hidden and then I went through a metal detector and it went off.
“Sorry,” I chuckled, “my belt.”
I took off my belt and threw it in the bin with the rest of my other metal objects and the second time going through the detector was good. I then signed my usually consent form as I grabbed some belongings I was allowed to bring with me like the belt and my coat and headed towards a booth. I waited for a moment while fiddling my thumbs until a woman in front of the plexi glass screen and sat down in her chair. We stared at each other for a long time before even thinking of picking up the phone.
The woman I used to love had changed a lot since the last time I saw her; she was much skinnier and her skin was pale as if she hadn’t gotten much sunlight for the five years she’s been in here. There are dark bags under her eyes looking like she hasn’t slept in days and her hair was starting to gray and break, and that was a shame because she use to have the most gorgeous strawberry blonde curly hair. She picked up the phone slowly and put it toward her ear. I didn’t do anything for a moment as I continued to assess her but I did eventually pick the phone up.
“Hello,” I slowly said.
There was nothing but silence as she continued to have a fixed gaze on me and a stern look.
“Listen,” I began, “if you’re not going to talk to me, I’ll just go.”
“It’s been so long,” she muttered in a soft chilling tone.
“What, since I last visited you?” I asked, making sure I understood her question, “the deal was every two years at least and I’m sorry but I got stuff to do like have a life and try to make a career—“
“Oh really?” She laughed at me, “what about me? Huh? What about my life, what about my career?”
“You should’ve thought about that before going bonkers—“
“Before I went bonkers?” she yelled, checking to her side making sure a cop wasn’t looking, “how about when YOU went bonkers?”
“Shut your filthy mouth you fucking whore,” I whispered in hatred, “nothing of the sort happened.”
“Really?” She smiled, twirling her dead hair with her cold hands, “you keep telling yourself that. I got proof.”
“You have proof?” I laughed, “where are you keeping it? Tucked away in your pussy just waiting for the perfect timing?”
“Fuck you Ian,” she cried, a tear falling down her cheek, “you’re a mad genius, you know that? Blaming all of this crap on me… I’m the one who should be out there, I’m the one who should be doing! Seeing my child grow up… how is he?”
“I haven’t seen him in two years either,” I coldly stated.
“You’re a heartless prick,” she barked at me, “maybe I should just start raving about you and what you did, maybe they’ll start listening—“
“Why do you think they’ll listen to you?” I asked her, “no one is going to believe a mad woman who put her neighbour in a coma because they discovered you fed your son cocaine and almost killed him in an overdose.”
“I can’t believe I am rotting in here for something… this isn’t fair,” she tries to say it but can’t, “I’ll never forgive you for this. You’ve made my life a living hell and I wish you out of it forever!”
“Well that makes two woman,” I laughed, taking a cigarette from my coat pocket and lodging it in back of my ear, “if you two can’t take the heat, get the fuck out of my kitchen.”
“What do you mean, other woman?” she asked slowly.
I stared at her with a surprise look.
“What?” I began with a grin, “they don’t let you watch online wrestling shows in jail? I thought it was the norm.”
“Very funny.”
“You two are a lot alike, you both like to play games with me,” I snickered, “you both think it is fun to get under my skin and piss me off—“
“Let me guess,” she said sarcastically, “you crossed the line with her, just like you did with me? Like you did with Donny… our neighbour?”
“You mean like what you did, right?” I reiterated to her, “see… the both of you are trying to put blame on me when I never caused anything in the process. She disturbed me; she was the childish one. She’s the one who wanted to stick her nose where it didn’t belong and she went over the top to make a fool and mockery out of me. So I one upped her.”
“Of course you one upped her,” she scoffed, “wait, who is she?”
“Brianna Casablancas.”
“You’ve gone to wrestling females?” she laughed, “that is low even for you.”
“You know me Clover,” I sighed, “I do not discriminate on who I kick the shit out of. Whether it be some old-saggy ass veteran or some off-the-wall insane rookie or some coked up mother who tries to kill my child.”
Angie at that point took the phone and threw it at the glass and it shook a bit. A cop comes over and yells in her ear about calming the fuck down. He gives her one more chance and leaves. She picks the phone back up and I can’t help but laugh.
“So… how did you one up her?” she softly spoke crossed.
“I kidnapped someone precious to her and kick the shit out of them last week…” I said, but then retracted my statement, “I’m sorry I lied, someone ELSE kidnapped that person for me. Not me… but I did do the kicking the shit out of them part, and I did a fucking good job of it too. I had her on all fours like some stupid animal in a big blubbering mess.”
“Doesn’t surprise me,” Clover barked back, crossing her arms and holding the phone with her shoulder, “you did like to throw rocks at raccoons and lost dogs when we were kids. When we played Cowboys and Indians you used to have me on all fours like a stupid animal when I was a blubbering mess while you took advantage of me.”
“Those were the good days, weren’t they?” I smiled, putting my feet up on the desk, “listen… I should really get going.”
“Why?” Clover retorted, “I thought we were going to get all this angry crap out first and then having a meaningful conversation. Like, tell me more about Brianna!”
“What else is there to tell?” I asked honestly, staring at her wide eyed, “what, you want me to pick a random child’s classic book and dissect it with references in that book about her? Jesus if I did that we’d be here for hours and quite honestly, I’m done talking with you like I’m done talking about her. I will sum it up for you; she’s a full time wrestler, part time psychiatrist, full time nut case, part time achiever, meaning she doesn’t give a shit about titles and such—“
“So,” Clover said look dumbfounded, “why is she wrestling to begin with?”
“First off, don’t fucking cut me off again, you’ve done it like seven times,” I said pointing my finger at Angie, “and second, yes, for like the thousandth time of explaining it to everyone she is only in it for the thrill of being a wrestler. So I wouldn’t even call her a full time wrestler. More like a part time wrestler, maybe a half-assed wrestler. More like a wannabe wrestler. She doesn’t have any commitment to this sport. She just wants to have a few high profile matches and be done with it all. Not me. I came into this company to win the title, I won the title and now I am defending the title again; against someone who doesn’t even want it. So what happens if she wins, which let’s be honest, she won’t, but let’s say we live in a world where Oceanic Flight 815 never crashed on that island and John Lennon never got assassinated or Obama never became president and she did win. What is she going to do? She’ll probably just give me the title because I want it. That is fucked and I’ll tell you why.”
“Wait—“
"If she was to ever do something like that she would be destroying the prestige of the title and at that point make a mockery of where she works and her fellow wrestlers and if I were her I wouldn’t want that target on my back. I wouldn’t want people talking behind my back saying you just destroyed the image of one of the main belts in OCW and in doing so you’ve tarnished our company. I know they’d be thinking ‘if she doesn’t care, why aren’t I in the match?’. In some aspects I agree with them and other aspects I’m like ‘I’m the motherfucking Central Champ, none of you are getting this title at all.’ Why would Dean want to put someone like that in a match and jeopardize the reputation of his company? I don’t understand it at all. Yeah, I’m a dick, I like to piss people off and I have fun doing it but I do have respect for the art of wrestling and I respect the way it works. You join to fight people, to move up the ranks and become a champion. And if you don’t want to be a champion, why are you ruining it for the rest of us?”
“Hold on—“
“Remember thought that is IF she is to win, which will not happen. I wouldn’t let something like that happen. OCW is my show… it’s Mario’s show, it’s Roach’s show, it’s Sean and Kaitlyn’s show, it’s the show that belongs to the Family and we intend on keeping it that way for a very long time. I am a full time wrestler, full time champion, full time obsessive and full time achiever. I want everything OCW has to offer and I want people to know I want it. I will not stop until I am the most decorated fighter this place has and that journey begins when I shut Brianna’s cat-like trap and make her the mockery for thinking she can just make me and the company she works for a mockery.”
“Are you done your little rant?” Clover laughed in sarcasm.
“Yep, and I’m done with looking at your hideous face. See you in two years cunt.”
I put the phone on the hook as she pleads for me to stay but I leave and inform the cop I’m done. She is dragged back to cell as I collect my things and head out for the car where my sister is still deep in her book. I check my phone real quick and see a text message:
“Bishop, let me know when you get into Orlando, I got some business to talk to you about. Cheers.” – friend of Roach’s
I close the phone and get into the car where my sister puts her book down, begins the ignition and then takes me to the airport so I can get to Orlando for this PPV. There is silence again in the car and once again she breaks it.
“So…” Emily slowly started, “how is she?”
I think of the quickest way to sum up my experience before turning my head towards her.
“Like shit.”
It was a hectic scene at the Quitman Health Care centre in Georgetown, Georgia, about a half hour drive away from Cuthbert in the same state. It was the same night that Massacre had taken place at the Andrew College Gymnasium in Cuthbert and at the end of the show there was a gigantic brawl featuring most wrestlers that were on the card for Blackout 2 in Orlando, Florida. The ambulance had taken a number of wrestlers to the neighbouring Georgetown to have them looked over. Sitting in a row of chairs outside of the emergency area was President Dean and Leo the High School Intern. Both of them sat quietly as one of the doctor’s dressed in all white and wearing gloves comes walking out with a clipboard with a look that the president did not quite like.
“Just tell me the news, doc,” Dean yawned, looking at his gold watch that showed four in the morning, “it’s been a long damn night.”
“The patient in question has two dislocated fingers, a bruised bone in his thumb and lacerations on his hand,” the doctor explained in a very monotone voice, “there is a very mild fracture in his pinky thumb. So, because of this I’m afraid I would have to sign him off from wrestling for at least three weeks.”
Those words coupled with the late night and copious amounts of caffeine Dean had consumed produced a very heated response.
“Are you joking?” Dean fired back, with the doctor not flinching as if to suggest he was used to that kind of response, “he is in one of my two main events. Fuck… no… damn… no! I’m sorry, I can’t sign those papers.”
“What?” the doctor questioned dumbfounded, “he can barely grip a pen and you want him to grip a wrestler?”
“I’m sorry,” Dean exclaimed, trying not to go over the deep end, “but I am not letting this main event get spoiled over a few hurt fingers. He has to wrestle, you can tell him that—“
“Good to know you care for your wrestlers, Dean.”
Dean shifted his head slightly to behind the doctor as I stepped out from the room I was in with a nifty looking bandage around my left hand. The nurse was helping me get my leather jacket on.
“So you’ll sign MJ off and not let her and that zipper head compete in the turmoil so he doesn’t get overworked,” I scoffed, “but you have no problem taking your Central Champion and putting him into harm’s way?”
“I know how that sounds,” Dean shook his head, “but you must understand how important this match is for OCW.”
“Oh I know how important it is,” I laughed, taking a Marlboro out of my jacket pocket and lodged it behind my ear for later use, “and I want to kick that cunt’s ass too. That is why I didn’t sign the papers either… so you’re in luck.”
“Then why are you busting my balls?” Dean barked back raising his hands in the air.
“I’m busting your balls,” I began, “because one, I actually can’t grip the pen to sign it… and two, I know who you care for in your company and who you don’t. Mr. Undefeated Pikachu goes down and oh no! We better make sure we get him a Coca-Cola, a lawn chair and sit his ass down and make sure he’s well treated but no… if Mr. Incredible over here goes down he has to go do his part and make sure everyone gets a fucking paycheck. You disgust me Dean you fucking hypocritical cotton-picker.”
“OK that’s enough,” the doctor said raising his monotone voice and stepping in between me and Dean, who is about to rip my face apart, “Bishop, I’m going to have to ask you to leave since you’ve been looked after and I have to go over with Dean about other employees of his.”
I looked at the doctor with ice-like eyes as I put the Marlboro in my mouth and headed out to leave but made sure Dean heard one last word from me as I walked away.
“Dean you better hope my hand doesn’t get any more injured or I’m suing OCW’s ass.”
I glance back at bit to see Dean bury his face in his palms as the doctor began to discuss other topics like other wresters injuries. I walk out of the hospital with the bandage wrapped tightly around my hand and hail a cab to the airport.
I threw my three wood to the ground and kicked my bag over as my anger for the game of golf grew stronger today. I placed my injured hand over my forehead so I could block the sun out and heard my ball go “plop” in the little pond about two hundred yards away. It was the par four hole six at historical Dubsdread Golf Course in Orlando, where Blackout was going to be featured this Sunday. My partner to my right couldn’t help but laugh as he took his driver out to make a hit.
“Enough of this bull shit,” the man said in a thick Irish accent, lining up his shot, “let’s start talking business.”
“Please,” I cried, “I don’t know why, Silver Willard, you thought of all places for a man with an injured hand to come would be a golf course, but you’re a friend of Roach’s so it makes perfect sense.”
“Damn straight,” Silver winked, “so, Roach informs me you are fan of sneactha?”
“A fan of what?” I said puzzled, sipping on a beer near our golf cart, “is that like Irish for pussy?”
“No me ould flower,” Silver laughed, taking his shot as it hooks a mean left and course into the thick rough, “that be gowl. No, I mean, sneactha, like, snow?”
“Oh snow,” I laughed finally understanding what the man was saying, “yes, I enjoy snow. Why? You sell?”
“I don’t just sell,” he said grabbing a beer himself, “flower, I make it too. Damn sound stuff mate. I’m on the wee side of funds though so I was thinking…”
“Let me guess,” I asked, liking where this was going, “if I supply you with money you’ll make coke and distribute it for me? Am I right?”
“Yes mate,” Silver winked, “You ain’t a muppet like the rest of them.”
“But how is the profit going to work?” I pondered, putting the keys into the cart ignition, “I mean, yes, you’re doing all the hard work, but without me you wouldn’t be able to do anything.”
“Right,” Silver said, “I’m a nice fella and I recognize service when I see it, flower. I’d be willing do a fair fifty-fifty.”
“Sounds good to me,” I cheered, raising my beer, “now let’s finish this round of gold, I’m fucking exhausted.”
“We will,” Silver explained, “but we need a brand name!”
“That’s easy,” I smirked, “IncrediCoke!”
“I love it,” Silver sighed, “but don’t you think it’s a lil recognizable to you?”
“We’ll see how it goes, Silver,” I said.
“Then it’s settled,” he beamed, “I will prepare my lab and buy me some supplies once you wire me some funds and we’ll get this started!”
We cheer our beers together as I start the golf cart and we drive a bit down the hole as I begin to bitch about the fact I’m going to have to fish my ball out of a pond.
***
A light snowfall was in the air as I was being driven up a familiar street in my home province. It was Akerley Boulevard in Dartmouth, Nova Scotia, Canada, about fifteen minutes away from where I grew up as a child. I was sitting in the passenger seat of a blue 1999 Honda Accord as my sister, Emily, drove the car. I would’ve driven myself but this hand injury has dealt me a different hand. The car was silent as the place I was visiting was not somewhere I really wanted to be but due to the court’s it was obligated. We passed by old businesses that I remembered as a child; the furniture store that always sold ice cream in the summertime, the coffee shop with the best croissants, and the battery store where my father would always go to because he got a discount cause he knew the guy who ran it.
We headed past Burnside Drive and on the right was Don Bayer Sports Field where I use to play soccer all the time before I got into wrestling. My sister made a turn onto Colford Road and drove past Enchanted Lake where my best friend Donny and I use to go and fish for small aquatic creatures and junk treasures. The vehicle came to a stop in front of Central Nova Scotia Correctional Facility; the place I had to visit today. My sister turned to me with her green eyes staring at me and her flower dress wrinkled and gave me a smile.
“How long do you think you’ll be, big bro?” She said in a silly tone.
“Not too long,” I moaned, zipping up my leather jacket, “I am supposed to stay for at least fifteen minutes but I don’t think I’ll be any longer.”
“You should stay a big longer,” Emily implied, adjusting the heat in the car, “I saw her a few week ago and she is a bit lonely. I think she misses you.”
“Yeah right,” I scoffed, taking a deep breath, “little sis, I haven’t seen her in… two years.”
“I think she’ll understand,” Emily explained, trying to stay optimistic, “after all, you went through a tough time and you’re getting yourself back on your feet.”
I smiled back at my little sister, gave a quick peck on the cheek and exited the vehicle as she whipped out a book for her to read with some subtle music playing in the background. A catch glimpse of the title of the book, “One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest”, as I quickly smoked a small cigarette before entering the facility. The police officer inside patted me down to make sure I wasn’t trying to bring her anything hidden and then I went through a metal detector and it went off.
“Sorry,” I chuckled, “my belt.”
I took off my belt and threw it in the bin with the rest of my other metal objects and the second time going through the detector was good. I then signed my usually consent form as I grabbed some belongings I was allowed to bring with me like the belt and my coat and headed towards a booth. I waited for a moment while fiddling my thumbs until a woman in front of the plexi glass screen and sat down in her chair. We stared at each other for a long time before even thinking of picking up the phone.
The woman I used to love had changed a lot since the last time I saw her; she was much skinnier and her skin was pale as if she hadn’t gotten much sunlight for the five years she’s been in here. There are dark bags under her eyes looking like she hasn’t slept in days and her hair was starting to gray and break, and that was a shame because she use to have the most gorgeous strawberry blonde curly hair. She picked up the phone slowly and put it toward her ear. I didn’t do anything for a moment as I continued to assess her but I did eventually pick the phone up.
“Hello,” I slowly said.
There was nothing but silence as she continued to have a fixed gaze on me and a stern look.
“Listen,” I began, “if you’re not going to talk to me, I’ll just go.”
“It’s been so long,” she muttered in a soft chilling tone.
“What, since I last visited you?” I asked, making sure I understood her question, “the deal was every two years at least and I’m sorry but I got stuff to do like have a life and try to make a career—“
“Oh really?” She laughed at me, “what about me? Huh? What about my life, what about my career?”
“You should’ve thought about that before going bonkers—“
“Before I went bonkers?” she yelled, checking to her side making sure a cop wasn’t looking, “how about when YOU went bonkers?”
“Shut your filthy mouth you fucking whore,” I whispered in hatred, “nothing of the sort happened.”
“Really?” She smiled, twirling her dead hair with her cold hands, “you keep telling yourself that. I got proof.”
“You have proof?” I laughed, “where are you keeping it? Tucked away in your pussy just waiting for the perfect timing?”
“Fuck you Ian,” she cried, a tear falling down her cheek, “you’re a mad genius, you know that? Blaming all of this crap on me… I’m the one who should be out there, I’m the one who should be doing! Seeing my child grow up… how is he?”
“I haven’t seen him in two years either,” I coldly stated.
“You’re a heartless prick,” she barked at me, “maybe I should just start raving about you and what you did, maybe they’ll start listening—“
“Why do you think they’ll listen to you?” I asked her, “no one is going to believe a mad woman who put her neighbour in a coma because they discovered you fed your son cocaine and almost killed him in an overdose.”
“I can’t believe I am rotting in here for something… this isn’t fair,” she tries to say it but can’t, “I’ll never forgive you for this. You’ve made my life a living hell and I wish you out of it forever!”
“Well that makes two woman,” I laughed, taking a cigarette from my coat pocket and lodging it in back of my ear, “if you two can’t take the heat, get the fuck out of my kitchen.”
“What do you mean, other woman?” she asked slowly.
I stared at her with a surprise look.
“What?” I began with a grin, “they don’t let you watch online wrestling shows in jail? I thought it was the norm.”
“Very funny.”
“You two are a lot alike, you both like to play games with me,” I snickered, “you both think it is fun to get under my skin and piss me off—“
“Let me guess,” she said sarcastically, “you crossed the line with her, just like you did with me? Like you did with Donny… our neighbour?”
“You mean like what you did, right?” I reiterated to her, “see… the both of you are trying to put blame on me when I never caused anything in the process. She disturbed me; she was the childish one. She’s the one who wanted to stick her nose where it didn’t belong and she went over the top to make a fool and mockery out of me. So I one upped her.”
“Of course you one upped her,” she scoffed, “wait, who is she?”
“Brianna Casablancas.”
“You’ve gone to wrestling females?” she laughed, “that is low even for you.”
“You know me Clover,” I sighed, “I do not discriminate on who I kick the shit out of. Whether it be some old-saggy ass veteran or some off-the-wall insane rookie or some coked up mother who tries to kill my child.”
Angie at that point took the phone and threw it at the glass and it shook a bit. A cop comes over and yells in her ear about calming the fuck down. He gives her one more chance and leaves. She picks the phone back up and I can’t help but laugh.
“So… how did you one up her?” she softly spoke crossed.
“I kidnapped someone precious to her and kick the shit out of them last week…” I said, but then retracted my statement, “I’m sorry I lied, someone ELSE kidnapped that person for me. Not me… but I did do the kicking the shit out of them part, and I did a fucking good job of it too. I had her on all fours like some stupid animal in a big blubbering mess.”
“Doesn’t surprise me,” Clover barked back, crossing her arms and holding the phone with her shoulder, “you did like to throw rocks at raccoons and lost dogs when we were kids. When we played Cowboys and Indians you used to have me on all fours like a stupid animal when I was a blubbering mess while you took advantage of me.”
“Those were the good days, weren’t they?” I smiled, putting my feet up on the desk, “listen… I should really get going.”
“Why?” Clover retorted, “I thought we were going to get all this angry crap out first and then having a meaningful conversation. Like, tell me more about Brianna!”
“What else is there to tell?” I asked honestly, staring at her wide eyed, “what, you want me to pick a random child’s classic book and dissect it with references in that book about her? Jesus if I did that we’d be here for hours and quite honestly, I’m done talking with you like I’m done talking about her. I will sum it up for you; she’s a full time wrestler, part time psychiatrist, full time nut case, part time achiever, meaning she doesn’t give a shit about titles and such—“
“So,” Clover said look dumbfounded, “why is she wrestling to begin with?”
“First off, don’t fucking cut me off again, you’ve done it like seven times,” I said pointing my finger at Angie, “and second, yes, for like the thousandth time of explaining it to everyone she is only in it for the thrill of being a wrestler. So I wouldn’t even call her a full time wrestler. More like a part time wrestler, maybe a half-assed wrestler. More like a wannabe wrestler. She doesn’t have any commitment to this sport. She just wants to have a few high profile matches and be done with it all. Not me. I came into this company to win the title, I won the title and now I am defending the title again; against someone who doesn’t even want it. So what happens if she wins, which let’s be honest, she won’t, but let’s say we live in a world where Oceanic Flight 815 never crashed on that island and John Lennon never got assassinated or Obama never became president and she did win. What is she going to do? She’ll probably just give me the title because I want it. That is fucked and I’ll tell you why.”
“Wait—“
"If she was to ever do something like that she would be destroying the prestige of the title and at that point make a mockery of where she works and her fellow wrestlers and if I were her I wouldn’t want that target on my back. I wouldn’t want people talking behind my back saying you just destroyed the image of one of the main belts in OCW and in doing so you’ve tarnished our company. I know they’d be thinking ‘if she doesn’t care, why aren’t I in the match?’. In some aspects I agree with them and other aspects I’m like ‘I’m the motherfucking Central Champ, none of you are getting this title at all.’ Why would Dean want to put someone like that in a match and jeopardize the reputation of his company? I don’t understand it at all. Yeah, I’m a dick, I like to piss people off and I have fun doing it but I do have respect for the art of wrestling and I respect the way it works. You join to fight people, to move up the ranks and become a champion. And if you don’t want to be a champion, why are you ruining it for the rest of us?”
“Hold on—“
“Remember thought that is IF she is to win, which will not happen. I wouldn’t let something like that happen. OCW is my show… it’s Mario’s show, it’s Roach’s show, it’s Sean and Kaitlyn’s show, it’s the show that belongs to the Family and we intend on keeping it that way for a very long time. I am a full time wrestler, full time champion, full time obsessive and full time achiever. I want everything OCW has to offer and I want people to know I want it. I will not stop until I am the most decorated fighter this place has and that journey begins when I shut Brianna’s cat-like trap and make her the mockery for thinking she can just make me and the company she works for a mockery.”
“Are you done your little rant?” Clover laughed in sarcasm.
“Yep, and I’m done with looking at your hideous face. See you in two years cunt.”
I put the phone on the hook as she pleads for me to stay but I leave and inform the cop I’m done. She is dragged back to cell as I collect my things and head out for the car where my sister is still deep in her book. I check my phone real quick and see a text message:
“Bishop, let me know when you get into Orlando, I got some business to talk to you about. Cheers.” – friend of Roach’s
I close the phone and get into the car where my sister puts her book down, begins the ignition and then takes me to the airport so I can get to Orlando for this PPV. There is silence again in the car and once again she breaks it.
“So…” Emily slowly started, “how is she?”
I think of the quickest way to sum up my experience before turning my head towards her.
“Like shit.”
***
It was a hectic scene at the Quitman Health Care centre in Georgetown, Georgia, about a half hour drive away from Cuthbert in the same state. It was the same night that Massacre had taken place at the Andrew College Gymnasium in Cuthbert and at the end of the show there was a gigantic brawl featuring most wrestlers that were on the card for Blackout 2 in Orlando, Florida. The ambulance had taken a number of wrestlers to the neighbouring Georgetown to have them looked over. Sitting in a row of chairs outside of the emergency area was President Dean and Leo the High School Intern. Both of them sat quietly as one of the doctor’s dressed in all white and wearing gloves comes walking out with a clipboard with a look that the president did not quite like.
“Just tell me the news, doc,” Dean yawned, looking at his gold watch that showed four in the morning, “it’s been a long damn night.”
“The patient in question has two dislocated fingers, a bruised bone in his thumb and lacerations on his hand,” the doctor explained in a very monotone voice, “there is a very mild fracture in his pinky thumb. So, because of this I’m afraid I would have to sign him off from wrestling for at least three weeks.”
Those words coupled with the late night and copious amounts of caffeine Dean had consumed produced a very heated response.
“Are you joking?” Dean fired back, with the doctor not flinching as if to suggest he was used to that kind of response, “he is in one of my two main events. Fuck… no… damn… no! I’m sorry, I can’t sign those papers.”
“What?” the doctor questioned dumbfounded, “he can barely grip a pen and you want him to grip a wrestler?”
“I’m sorry,” Dean exclaimed, trying not to go over the deep end, “but I am not letting this main event get spoiled over a few hurt fingers. He has to wrestle, you can tell him that—“
“Good to know you care for your wrestlers, Dean.”
Dean shifted his head slightly to behind the doctor as I stepped out from the room I was in with a nifty looking bandage around my left hand. The nurse was helping me get my leather jacket on.
“So you’ll sign MJ off and not let her and that zipper head compete in the turmoil so he doesn’t get overworked,” I scoffed, “but you have no problem taking your Central Champion and putting him into harm’s way?”
“I know how that sounds,” Dean shook his head, “but you must understand how important this match is for OCW.”
“Oh I know how important it is,” I laughed, taking a Marlboro out of my jacket pocket and lodged it behind my ear for later use, “and I want to kick that cunt’s ass too. That is why I didn’t sign the papers either… so you’re in luck.”
“Then why are you busting my balls?” Dean barked back raising his hands in the air.
“I’m busting your balls,” I began, “because one, I actually can’t grip the pen to sign it… and two, I know who you care for in your company and who you don’t. Mr. Undefeated Pikachu goes down and oh no! We better make sure we get him a Coca-Cola, a lawn chair and sit his ass down and make sure he’s well treated but no… if Mr. Incredible over here goes down he has to go do his part and make sure everyone gets a fucking paycheck. You disgust me Dean you fucking hypocritical cotton-picker.”
“OK that’s enough,” the doctor said raising his monotone voice and stepping in between me and Dean, who is about to rip my face apart, “Bishop, I’m going to have to ask you to leave since you’ve been looked after and I have to go over with Dean about other employees of his.”
I looked at the doctor with ice-like eyes as I put the Marlboro in my mouth and headed out to leave but made sure Dean heard one last word from me as I walked away.
“Dean you better hope my hand doesn’t get any more injured or I’m suing OCW’s ass.”
I glance back at bit to see Dean bury his face in his palms as the doctor began to discuss other topics like other wresters injuries. I walk out of the hospital with the bandage wrapped tightly around my hand and hail a cab to the airport.
