What Lurks in Plain Sight (RP vs BRIM/Nickleman)

[Tamika Strader]

“What’s the state of security at the estate, Ramon?”

Tamika Strader sits behind her large oak desk in a high-back burgundy leather chair, tapping her favourite gel-ink pen on a calendar mat centrepiece with multitudes of information written on it. A large oil painting of Scott Nash Strader hangs on the Tamika signature green/teal coloured wall behind her, with one of Meghan to the left and to the right, the current CEO/COO of the greatest former Craze Champion. She doesn’t look impressed by whatever is coming through the receiver.

“Right, well, let me remind you of the breach in security on the estate before I left for Djibouti and then when I came back after Meghan was kidnapped.”

She shakes her head as a reply comes through the phone. Her sigh could be heard in both east and west Texas.

“Ok, let me put it to you very simply like… get all those cameras working properly so I can stream the CCTV feed on my Mac or phone. We have been under attack for months now….”

She rolls her eyes.

“No, Ramon. It’s not Thaddeus Duke. He might be an over-sexualized sleaze who’s high on his own hype, but he’s not a creep and would come at us directly, not behind some veil. I am not interested in opinions, Ramon. I am interested in legitimate facts. Long story short? Get it set up. I am not going to say it again.”

The Matriarch puts down the phone with force but doesn’t slam it like Meghan would have when she sat on the “throne” at Strader Incorporated. She places her forehead in the palm of her hand and sighs before leaning back in her chair. After a moment, she is on her feet, looking out the bay window of the highrise tower that the family industry called home, overlooking the downtown area of Houston. She sees her reflection in the signature Tamika-green power suit with her strawberry blonde hair draped over her shoulders. No matter how long she has been in charge, it’s still a bit of a shock to the system. This was never the plan, but life as a Strader was never simple or boring.

Knock-knock

“Come in,” she says, staring out the window. The double varnished doors open, and she can see a tall man enter by the reflection. He is quite handsome, casually styled with short auburn hair, and a wine-coloured Calvin Klein designer with vertical black pinstripes. She smiles when she turns around and can see clearly. “Kris! How are you, cousin?”

Kristopholis Strader, the nephew to SNS, smiles as he hugs Tamika. He pulls back slightly, arms still around her and smiles with a twinkle in his eye.

“I’m good, Tamika. The business look suits you. How is your sister?” he inquires with a look of concern paired with a smile similar to John Nash Strader’s.

“(Sigh) She’s… getting by,” is her reply, keeping the fact that Meghan hadn’t been around in weeks as she was with Victoria in the alternate dimension. Truthfully it came down to Tamika still not fully understanding the insanity of it all.

“Anything Mari and I can do, please do let us know.”

“Thank you, Kris. Give Marisol my love, and that is very much appreciated. Please, have a seat,” she motions to the burgundy leather lounge-style chairs in front of her desk as she sits back down in her high-back chair.

“Thank you, cousin.”

Tamika hits a button on the large, technically advanced telephone.

“Harold, bring me a couple rock glasses and my good whiskey, please and thank you.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Kris chuckles softly.

“Don’t tell me your assistant is Uncle Scott’s methed-out cameraman?”

“He got off the meth… he is an opiate fiend now. Still loves his hookers, though. Was he not at his desk when you came in?”

Kristopholis smirks as he pulls out a folded piece of paper and slides it towards his cousin. She looks at it and shakes her head.

“BRB getting my one eye Harold polished…. This guy, I tell ya. Anyway! What brings ya up from Dallas?”

“Organizing the funeral for dad,” the sadness radiates off his words, and Tamika frowns.

“Yeah, I just heard about Uncle Ryan. I am sorry for your loss. First, it was Auntie Vicca, then dad, now Uncle Ryan….”

Kris reaches across her desk and holds her hand, squeezing it.

“I appreciate that. I am hoping that you’ll be able to attend?”

“Of course, Kris. Megz can’t fly right now, but I will be there. I’ll see if Johnny can make it too.”

The older Strader cousin smiles and nods. Harold, the former cameraman turned personal assistant, busts through the doors in a panic.

“Tamika, come quick. There’s an issue down in R&D!”

“What kind of issue?”

“A breach in security; they need you down there to reset the system.”

“A mother’s work is never done. I’ll be right back, Kris. Harold, make sure my cousin gets a drink, please,” she instructs the opiate-fiend long-time Strader employee.

“Take your time; I’ll be here,” his response, paired with a smile, quickly turns to the infamous Strader sneer when Tamika leaves the room. “Alright, show time.”

He reaches inside his blazer, pulling out a small black device. He gets up, moves to Tamika’s side of the desk and finds the internet router installed under her desk. He unplugs the ethernet cord, plugs it into the device and connects a small ethernet cord into it and back into the modem. He pulls out his cellphone, an iPhone 13 and makes a phone call.

“Marisol, my love. Yes, the device is planted. Is the signal showing? Excellent. They’ll never know what hit them. See you soon, my angel.”

As he sits back down, Harold comes in carrying a bottle of scotch and a couple rock glasses. It’s not clear what Kristopholis Strader is up to, but whatever it is, it can’t be good for Tamika and the rest of her side of the family.





Tamika Strader sits in the master bedroom watching Monday Night Massacre, which looks more like a hospital room made somewhat comfortable. Tamika had the best equipment, so Veronica didn’t have to be in a lonely hospital room but close to her family. Meghan appears in the doorway, a cane in her right hand, steadying her balance. Tamika gets up from the lounge chair beside her comatose niece and embraces her sister.

“You’re back, thank goodness. We have been worried about you!”

“I know. I asked Victoria to bring me home to be close to Ronnie.”

Tamika releases her embrace, leaning back slightly to look into her sister’s icy blue eyes.

“Well, that couldn’t have made her too happy.”

“Vee… she is confused. She blames Christian for everything, but she knows I love all my children, and I wouldn’t be able to rest knowing the shape Ronnie is in,” she replies, looking over at her daughter. She moves slowly to her bedside and tries to lay beside her. Tamika helps her up and sits back down in the chair. It’s almost to the point in the TransAtlantic title match when the lights go out, and Cyph3r’s actions are revealed. She turns up the volume.

“Oh my God… he helped Easton kidnap that poor kid?!”

“This business… makes good people do stupid and bad things all because they believe it’s justified.” Meghan leans over, kissing Veronica’s head. She can’t help but remember when Cara’s father had taken her, and SNS fought his way through two cages to reach the small one she had been held in, forced to watch the match for her freedom.

“I like Easton, he’s got a lot of heart, but that whole situation… never should’ve happened. I’m no fan of Thaddeus and Sahara, but Frankie is just an innocent child. If anyone ever did that to Lil’Scottie… they would be dead.”

“I know. Same goes for me and all my babes. Wow, look at the group attack… is the match still going?”

“Of course it is. Thad is just going to give the belt to his wife. What a disgrace to the relevance Veronica gave the TransAtlantic Championship….”

Tamika shakes her head in disgust. She takes out her phone and taps away furiously on the screen.

“What are you doing?”

The Strader sneer comes across her face.

“Reaching out to Leo. I want a match at Massacre in Calgary. I am going to make this right. For Veronica.”

She hits send and puts her phone down on the night table. A fire burns in her gut as she reaches onto the bed to hold Veronica’s hand.






Tamika wasn’t sure how long she had been asleep, but she looked around and sees her sister sleeping beside Veronica. She can’t help but smile. Something, maybe it was a sound, it doesn’t really matter, catches her attention, and she heads out to the kitchen to see her dad sitting at the kitchen table. He’s got a Labatt 50 and a Players Light Smooth cigarette between his lips.

“Darlin, sit down. It’s been a while.”

“Daddy, what are you doin’ here?”

“I just wanted to see how you were doing and get your thoughts on the state of the industry….”

Tamika pulls out a chair, sitting to her father’s left. Leaning back, a sigh escapes her lips before replying.

“As much as this business seems to change for the better, the more it stays the same. The industry was in better shape when I made my debut with Johnny in the real Outlaw Pro Wrestling in 2007. We didn’t have social media for people to cyberbully and antagonize opponents. We relied on promotional videos to get across what we wanted and what we planned to do. Then we would enter the squared circle, put it all on the line to win, and make main event money if we were good enough.”

“You’re my kids; you are more than good enough. How is your career going these days?”

“As most know, up until OCW, I wasn’t a singles wrestler. I made my name as a tag team with Meghan as the Cowgirls From Hell, a tribute to you and our uncles, the Cowboys From Hell. No matter who we faced, we won. We even beat the OCW legendary tag team, the Danger Boiz, to retain our PWA Tag Team titles… and I’m not talking about that joke of the community we are finally free of either.”

“Well, sometimes it was, especially if Sommers was up to his old tricks. What’s the top talent like in OCW? Any jokes that shouldn’t be in it?”

“Outside of me and BRIM, Charles Nickles, aka the Nickleman, isn’t all that different from many of the “talent” OCW has let in since Thaddeus Duke weaselled his way into being the majority owner. Like the planes at an international airport, these asshats fly in, realize this isn’t their home and board another plane to quickly exit. This isn’t the XWF. This isn’t Sex Club. This ain’t a video game wannabe. OCW might be wild, but only the wild survive here. I discovered that side of me when I fought Roach above a vat of gross-ass Irish stew for the Craze Championship. I learned what I was capable of when I put down Mark Storm, Sadie Ko, and Crash Rodriguez the first time.”

“You are a Strader, Tamika. You are capable of anything you put your mind to; you know that. You seem very comfortable in OCW, kiddo.”

“OCW is my home. At first, my arrival was for my sister to get close to Veronica and to help get Victoria back but in the midst of all that… I fell in love with the craziness this place is all about because at the end of the day? It’s about wrestling, and I absolutely adore what I do.”

Scott smiles at her, nodding in agreement.

“There is no doubt BRIM is like me because OCW is home and where we will accomplish great things. Nickleman is just a poor man’s Thunder Knuckle, another XWF reject who thinks they have what it takes to be something more than he is. A terrible father and an outlaw mud show peckerhead who relies on ultra-violence to get ahead in the game. Like so many loud-mouth asshats that came before, he’ll fizzle out like all the rest.”

The Strader Sneer creeps her face as it always does. She closes her eyes for a moment and finds herself standing by the Strader Jet, bag in hand, and her father beside her.

“So what’s the plan, sweetheart?”

“Monday night… in the country that I was born in, I will arrive at Scotiabank Place (Saddledome) in Calgary, Alberta. I will remind everyone why I was the longest reigning and most dominant Craze Champion ever in OCW when I put down BRIM and the few cans short of a six-pack Nickleman.”

The father-daughter duo look at one another with a sneer.

“There is someone in the shadows… they are trying to take what is ours.”

“Let them try… just like anyone before who’s tried to take what we have built, they will find themselves on the losing end.”

“It’s more than that… someone is out to - - -”

Tamika jerks awake, cold sweat running down her back. She looks out the Jet’s window, her father’s reflection flashes as her hand reaches out to touch it, and it’s gone.

“What were you trying to tell me?”