Post by Gerard Angelo on Oct 9, 2022 7:10:35 GMT -5
Gerard dragged the back of his wrist across his forehead, wiping away the beads of sweat that formed as the hot Florida sun beat down on him. He muttered curses under his breath about opting to walk instead of riding in an air-conditioned car. Still, it was better if he needed to lose anyone he suspected was following him. He pulled his Yankee cap down over his sweat-matted hair as his sneakers beat down on the Orlando sidewalk, the sun still shining brightly through his dark sunglasses as if the star was about to swallow the Earth seven billion years too soon.
It had been rough for the self-proclaimed Living Legend the past few weeks and months both personally and professionally. While he was still the AW World champion, it seemed as if the champ was on his heels. Between the threat of Jill Park and her ability to create a title opportunity at any time with the All-In briefcase and that crazy clown Bozo seemingly lurking in any shadow around him, Gerry barely had any time to even attempt to relax. Not to mention he was soon going to be facing what would likely be a fired-up and focused Sam Kidsgrove at Clash: Showdown. And that was just his wrestling career.
He was still reeling from that fateful night when he had slept with his father’s new wife in a drunken mistake. He wasn’t sure if Katia had told his father or anyone for that matter. As much as he and his father didn’t see eye to eye, that wasn’t something he wanted to put his old man through. Any phone calls or texts made from his family to him he responded with being busy with Action Wrestling. The last thing he wanted to do was be forced into an awkward situation where family-shattering secrets could be revealed.
Oh the irony, he thought to himself.
He had simply thrown himself into training his body and searching for the Ronin. He liked to believe that his new, stricter, diet and new training routine had put him into the best shape of his life, making sure his body could handle the grind of potentially dealing with Kidsgrove, Park, and Bozo all at the same time. Or perhaps getting into an altercation with a highly trained assassin. Whichever came first. But searching for the Ronin had brought him to Florida, across the country from where Clash was being held in Seattle. It was a shock that his best lead was closer to home than he imagined.
=====
Damn, it feels like it’s been so long since we spent this intimate time together. I haven’t had to talk shit about anybody for weeks. It’s a shame I haven’t been able to grace you all with my gift of gab since we were off for two weeks. I’m sure the network is foaming at the mouth for this week's Clash. Eight championship matches capped off by the Living Legend defending his title against the dreg of Hollywood.
So I am here to say:
Fuck Sam Kidsgrove
Fuck Jill Park
Fuck Bozo.
Okay, we’re done here.
Ahh, you fucking thought. I’m the World Champion. This place needs me to pontificate.
This is a match I’ve been waiting for since my very first match in Action Wrestling. The one blemish on my otherwise immaculate record this year. My debut match in the Tournament of Despair. One-on-one with Sam Kidsgrove. Hollywood star versus Hollywood star. A big box office match in the first round.
And it ended in a fucking tie. Time limit draw my ass.
If I had a little more time. I could’ve put Sammy away. I’m sure he’d say the same thing but my words are facts. How do I know?
That was my first match in a little over a year. A bit rusty if I do admit. But I’ve only gotten better since then. I went on a roll after that. Winning match after match. Taking the United States title for my own and making it one of the most coveted championships in the business. I did more for that strap in ninety days than Kidsgrove’s done in his four record-setting reigns.
Then I moved on to bigger and better things. The World title. Seven months into my run here and I was facing Dandy DiVito for the big gold strap. And I won. I sit here as the face of the company, the face of the business.
I’ve accomplished more in a fraction of your time here, Sam.
I’m sure that eats at you because you hate me. And I fucking despise you. You walk around here like you are a saint despite being one of the biggest scumbags walking. It’s the fact you hide behind this model of morality that fucking bugs me. You’re as big of an asshole as me yet you get a fucking pass. I want to know why. Why do these fans cheer for you but have the fucking nerve to boo me?
Is it because you pander to them? Is that all it takes?
This business was my first love. I was a wrestler before I was an actor. I just became so damn good that everyone outside the wrestling sphere of influence was forced to recognize my God-given talents. I wasn’t a failed child actor that leached off the business to stay relevant in pop culture. And even then you’ve done nothing but make awful movie reboots and stay stuck in the same lane you’ve been in since you got here.
=====
Gerard stopped walking and looked up at the building in front of him. He slipped his hand into his pocket and pulled out his phone, checking the address. This was it. Gerry stepped forward and opened the small iron gate, its rusty hinges groaning in protest as it moved. He walked up the uneven slabs of concrete that formed the walkway and stepped up the stairs, the awning of the building providing a slight relief from the oppressive ball of fire in the sky. Gerry gripped the brass door knob and twisted it, pushing the door open, feeling a rush of cool hair hit his face that reminded him how hot it was outside as the door shut behind him. The lady at the front desk gave him her best customer service smile.
“Hi there. Welcome to Reichert Assisted Living of Orlando. How can we help you today?”
“Hey, I’m here to see Steve Manion.”
The woman’s eyebrows go up a bit but she keeps the fake smile across her mug.
“Oh, that’s wonderful! Steve hasn’t had a visitor in God knows how long! Are you family?”
“Nah. He knew my mother though.”
“That’s nice. An old family friend. I’ll have someone take to you to his room. Connor?”
An orderly in scrubs walking past stopped and looked over at the front desk attendant.
“Can you take this gentleman to Mister Manion’s room please?”
“Sure Michelle,” he said before looking at Gerard, “Follow me please.”
Gerard nods in thanks to Michelle before following Connor the orderly down the hall. He leads Gerard o an elevator and hits the UP button. The doors slid open immediately and Connor motioned for Gerard to step in to which Gerry obliged. The lift smelt like bleach, the scent stinging at Gerry’s nose. He leaned against the wall of the car and Connor hit the button for floor two. The doors slid shut and the elevator car shook before it started to raise. Connor peered his head over a big shoulder at Gerard.
“Don’t I know you from somewhere?”
“Probably not. I get that all the time.”
The orderly shrugged and turned back around as the lift came to a stop, the doors sliding back open. Connor stepped out and Gerry followed him down the hall. They turned and entered a room. The lights were off as the blinds were drawn up to let in the mid-morning sunlight. The TV on the wall murmured as it showed a soccer game. In a recliner sat an old man. His white hair was thin and he had liver spots across his skin. He wheezed with each breath, oxygen tubes stuck in his nose as he watched the television. He turned his head and looked at the two younger men as they entered. He may have been old but his eyes were a vibrant green that sat in his skull, cold green eyes like emeralds.
“Comin’ back so soon youngster?” The old man asked in a southern drawl, “Need to force-feed me more pills?”
“No Mister Manion. You have a visitor.”
The old man's eyes flick over to Gerard. He eyes him up and down as a smirk splits his haggard, old, lips.
“I see that now. Leave us Con-Air,” the old man says with a cackle like he made the funniest joke ever. Connor rolls his eyes and leaves. Gerard watches the orderly leave before he steps over and sits on the edge of the bed. Steve’s eyes had moved back to watching the soccer match. They sat there for a bit before Steve spoke up.
“So who are ya son?”
“Just a guy looking for answers.”
“Well I can tell ya now, I ain’t ya father,” he says with a laugh, “Not ya grandfather either.”
“Trust me, I already know them and you’d probably be an upgrade.”
Steve gives another cackle.
“If ya lookin’ for money, I ain’t got much.”
“I actually want to know about your career.”
“I was a roofer for forty years.”
“I meant your far more lucrative one.”
Steve’s grin fades from his lips as he turns to look at Gerard.
“Just who’re you, boy?”
Gerry pulls off his hat and sunglasses, his hazel eyes staring intensely back at the old man.
“Someone who lost their mother because of your little group.”
Steve stares back at Gerard for a few moments before his brows raise as he has a realization.
“Aren’t you that actor? Gerard Angelo.”
“I am.”
“You were in that movie Under the Oak Tree.”
“You saw that one?”
“Yeah, they showed it here one movie night. Was a big piece a shit.”
“Says the guy sitting in his own shit.”
“You got me there, boy,” Steve says with another cackle. Gerry isn’t laughing as he continues to stare at Steve.
“I have no idea what ya talkin’ bout anyway.”
“Yes you do,” Gerry said, leaning over so his face was closer to Steve, “I know exactly who you are.”
“And what makes ya so sure that I’m who you think I’m?” The old man can’t help but smirk. Gerard returns it this time.
“Because no self-respecting southerner would be watching the English Premier League on a fall Saturday.”
Steve looks at the TV then back at Gerard and lets out another cackle.
“You got me there,” Steve said, dropping the accent completely.
“Good because you’re going to tell me all about the Ronin.”
“And why would I do that?”
“Maybe you’d like to atone for your sins.”
Steve gives another cackle at that and shakes his head.
“I know where I’m going. Nothing will ever wash my sins away.”
“Maybe I can make you tell me,” Gerry says, staring intently at Steve who just grins back.
“A big Hollywood type like you? Nah. You know the type of bad press you would get for beating up an old geezer like me? What do they call it now? Canceled? Deleted?”
“I’m at a point where I don’t give a shit.”
“So why are you asking about the exalted brotherhood? Poking around could make you and the ones you love… disappear.”
“You fuckers already did that to me when you killed my mother.”
They just stared at each other until Gerard stood up. Steve wondered for a moment if Gerard would attempt to strike him but Gerry just reached into his back pocket and produced a plastic half-pint bottle of cheap whiskey. Steve stared longingly at it.
“Is that…”
“Yeah, it’s your favorite. I know they don’t let you all drink here so I’ll give this to you.”
Steve reached for the bottle but Gerard moved it from his reach.
“But you have to tell me about the Ronin. Not everything. Just whatever I ask while you’re drinking. Once it’s done I’ll leave and you’ll never see me again.”
Steve looked from the bottle to Gerard and back again, chewing his bottom lip. In the end, old addiction won out over old loyalties as Steve nodded.
“Fine. Fine. I’d rather take the sweet embrace of death over being stuck in this chair all day, everyday.”
Gerard hands him the bottle which he snatches quickly, his old finger cracking the cap open as if they’ve done it a thousand times before. He brought the pint to his lips and tilted the bottle up, sucking down the whiskey so fast Gerry feared he would chug the whole thing. Steve didn’t and brought the bottle back down, a look of euphoria spreading across his face.
“Sorry, my boy. It’s been fifteen years,” Steve said, staring at the bottle for a long while before looking up at Gerard, “But I am a man of my word. What do you want to know?”
“Who put out the hit on my mother?”
“None of the people who carry out the removal know. That is discussed with the Masters. The Masters then relay the order to us. We ask no questions, just follow orders.”
Gerard sucks his teeth in annoyance. Steve takes another swig of booze.
“Who are the Masters?”
“The ones we swore obedience to. The ones who kept the exalted brotherhood alive for generations. But they are nameless and faceless.”
“Listen motherfucker,” Gerard growls through gritted teeth, “I came here for straight answers. Not to get fucked around by an old piece of shit talking like he’s Sun Tzu.”
“I can only tell you what I know,” The old man says before suckling from the bottle again. Gerard rubbed his chin as he thought.
“Is there anything you can tell me that can help me?”
Steve ponders as he takes another sip of cheap Kentucky whiskey.
“We are not cheap. The best never is. I would look into what your mother was doing around the time of the removal. That should tell how she made a powerful enemy. That’s honestly the best I can give you for that.”
Gerard nodded and stood up.
“Well thank you for that. I have a jet to catch.”
“I thought you said until the bottle was empty.”
“Keep it. Enjoy your soccer,” Gerry said as he exited the room. Steve’s eyes flicked back over to the television and sipped from the bottle.
=====
You can have your greatest United States champion of all time. I’m striving for the greatest ever. You can’t do that without winning the Action Wrestling World Championship. Something you’ve never done.
You’re punching above your weight class here, Sammy boy. This isn’t what you’re used to with your B-movies and US title matches. This is the top of the card, baby. This is where the lights are the brightest and the fakes wilt under pressure.
Though you know something about that, Sam. I could pick a few examples throughout but let’s go back a couple of months to Glory. You won that fourth United States championship, beating a once again apathetic Cassidy Adler. You cemented yourself as one of the best US champions of all time.
Then you lost it in less than an hour to Sociopath Barbie and started this whole Jill Park problem for everyone.
Don’t think I forgot about you, Jilly. I know you’re still lurking in the shadows, awkwardly standing there like a scarecrow left out in a storm, holding that briefcase over my head like a proverbial guillotine. Your hubris pushes you along to add another twenty pounds of gold to your admittedly impressive collection.
Remember what they say though, “Eww” Jill. Pride comes before a fall. You could walk away with three titles after Clash. You could walk away with just one. Who knows which Kyle Kemp is coming for your US title? Just remember if you come for me, Jill, put me down when you get the chance because you won’t get more than one. Go All-In at your own risk. You’ll have to end me to take my crown.
That goes for you too, Kidsgrove. You’ll take my World title from me over my dead body. I would rather die than let someone like you knock me from the top of my mountain.
Not that you could, Sam. I’m just better than you. I had the best of you in January if it wasn’t for an archaic time limit rule. I had the best of you at Evolution until Adler butted in. I know I can beat you. I just need to do it officially. Like I’ve done to every single person that has faced me head-to-head. Do you think you can be the one to end the single hottest streak in the business, Sam?
You’re on the back nine of your career. You’re burnt out and bitter, snapping at everyone from hotel clerks to that bug-eyed, talentless, hack that lets you poke around in her naughty bits once a fortnight. AW didn’t even extend your contract when they had the chance as we’ve heard you bitch about for months. That’s because they have me. A man that can do everything you can do and more. That’s why you hate me. I not only took your spot, but I also took the spot you think you deserve.
You have a chance to prove them all wrong though, Sam. You get your chance at the biggest prize in the game against the best in the business. If you manage to rip the title from my death grip, you get the biggest contract extension you can imagine. You get to go do all the sports and talk shows, and they will be interested in what you have to say this time. You get to shove it in everyone's face and make us all look like clowns.
=====
Gerard stepped back out into the oppressive humidity of the sunshine state. He stuck his hands back into his pocket as he walked down the sidewalk. It was so simple, so obvious. It’s where he should’ve started in the first place. But this would have to wait. He still had other, pressing responsibilities to attend to. He had to catch a flight to Seattle. He had a throne to protect.
=====
Speaking of clowns. What do you want Bozo? Do you want Torture or do you want me and what I have? Do you want the World title Bozo? Why don’t you come face me like a man sometime instead of running around half-peeking out of the shadows like a B-movie horror villain? I’ll be at Clash obviously. Come face me if you have the fucking balls, Krusty.
Back to you though Sam, I didn’t forget about you. The thing is, you won’t prove anything. You’re not going to beat me. It’s that simple. I’m operating at a whole different level right now. I’ve been so hot that beating me by count out is considered a career-defining moment.
What have you done lately? Aside from your forty-eight minutes of Glory, you’ve been a punching bag for half the roster. Before that, your last title was only because Dandy picked you to team with. You’re washed, Kidsgrove. This title match isn’t a comeback, it’s a swan song. I’m going to be the one to end your Action Wrestling tenure.
At Clash I’m going to beat you so bad you’re going to be collecting the rest of your paychecks of this contract on your couch. It’ll be a good thing because you won’t even want to show yourself in public for a while. Maybe after you recover you can land a role in season two of House of the Dragon. Maybe CBS will give you your own show on Paramount plus.
I’ll still be here. Setting records, defending my title, and putting myself in the Hall of Fame. Establishing myself as the best to ever grace the hallowed halls of Action Wrestling.
We are not the same. You broke, I’m up.
I got clowns to the left of me and Jill Park’s to the right.
And I’m stuck in the middle with you, Sam.
That’s perfectly fine with me. I thrive under pressure.
I’m a goddamn diamond.
I want you to bring your very best, Kidsgrove. I want the A game. The best shot you’ve got left in the tank, Sam. That’s why I didn’t lay a hand on you since you became the number one contender. I don't want any excuses from you when I finally scrub that blemish all those months ago from my record when I prove without a shadow of a doubt that I am superior to you. I want to show you that no matter how hard you try, I’m just better than you.
This isn’t your Hollywood Ending, Sam.
It’s mine.
=====
Steve was still in his chair past nightfall, his eyes closed as one liver-spotted hand curled around the plastic half-pint. He snored heavily, his mouth hanging open slightly as drool fell down his chin. The door to his room pushed open silently, darkness moving in quiet. It crept slowly towards the sleeping old man. The darkness, silent as it was, crept up behind the chair. A black glove hand curled gently under his chin as a needle pressed into his neck. Steve's eyes opened and he smiled slightly.
"I knew you'd come."
Steve's eyes closed once more for the final time.
It had been rough for the self-proclaimed Living Legend the past few weeks and months both personally and professionally. While he was still the AW World champion, it seemed as if the champ was on his heels. Between the threat of Jill Park and her ability to create a title opportunity at any time with the All-In briefcase and that crazy clown Bozo seemingly lurking in any shadow around him, Gerry barely had any time to even attempt to relax. Not to mention he was soon going to be facing what would likely be a fired-up and focused Sam Kidsgrove at Clash: Showdown. And that was just his wrestling career.
He was still reeling from that fateful night when he had slept with his father’s new wife in a drunken mistake. He wasn’t sure if Katia had told his father or anyone for that matter. As much as he and his father didn’t see eye to eye, that wasn’t something he wanted to put his old man through. Any phone calls or texts made from his family to him he responded with being busy with Action Wrestling. The last thing he wanted to do was be forced into an awkward situation where family-shattering secrets could be revealed.
Oh the irony, he thought to himself.
He had simply thrown himself into training his body and searching for the Ronin. He liked to believe that his new, stricter, diet and new training routine had put him into the best shape of his life, making sure his body could handle the grind of potentially dealing with Kidsgrove, Park, and Bozo all at the same time. Or perhaps getting into an altercation with a highly trained assassin. Whichever came first. But searching for the Ronin had brought him to Florida, across the country from where Clash was being held in Seattle. It was a shock that his best lead was closer to home than he imagined.
=====
Damn, it feels like it’s been so long since we spent this intimate time together. I haven’t had to talk shit about anybody for weeks. It’s a shame I haven’t been able to grace you all with my gift of gab since we were off for two weeks. I’m sure the network is foaming at the mouth for this week's Clash. Eight championship matches capped off by the Living Legend defending his title against the dreg of Hollywood.
So I am here to say:
Fuck Sam Kidsgrove
Fuck Jill Park
Fuck Bozo.
Okay, we’re done here.
Ahh, you fucking thought. I’m the World Champion. This place needs me to pontificate.
This is a match I’ve been waiting for since my very first match in Action Wrestling. The one blemish on my otherwise immaculate record this year. My debut match in the Tournament of Despair. One-on-one with Sam Kidsgrove. Hollywood star versus Hollywood star. A big box office match in the first round.
And it ended in a fucking tie. Time limit draw my ass.
If I had a little more time. I could’ve put Sammy away. I’m sure he’d say the same thing but my words are facts. How do I know?
That was my first match in a little over a year. A bit rusty if I do admit. But I’ve only gotten better since then. I went on a roll after that. Winning match after match. Taking the United States title for my own and making it one of the most coveted championships in the business. I did more for that strap in ninety days than Kidsgrove’s done in his four record-setting reigns.
Then I moved on to bigger and better things. The World title. Seven months into my run here and I was facing Dandy DiVito for the big gold strap. And I won. I sit here as the face of the company, the face of the business.
I’ve accomplished more in a fraction of your time here, Sam.
I’m sure that eats at you because you hate me. And I fucking despise you. You walk around here like you are a saint despite being one of the biggest scumbags walking. It’s the fact you hide behind this model of morality that fucking bugs me. You’re as big of an asshole as me yet you get a fucking pass. I want to know why. Why do these fans cheer for you but have the fucking nerve to boo me?
Is it because you pander to them? Is that all it takes?
This business was my first love. I was a wrestler before I was an actor. I just became so damn good that everyone outside the wrestling sphere of influence was forced to recognize my God-given talents. I wasn’t a failed child actor that leached off the business to stay relevant in pop culture. And even then you’ve done nothing but make awful movie reboots and stay stuck in the same lane you’ve been in since you got here.
=====
Gerard stopped walking and looked up at the building in front of him. He slipped his hand into his pocket and pulled out his phone, checking the address. This was it. Gerry stepped forward and opened the small iron gate, its rusty hinges groaning in protest as it moved. He walked up the uneven slabs of concrete that formed the walkway and stepped up the stairs, the awning of the building providing a slight relief from the oppressive ball of fire in the sky. Gerry gripped the brass door knob and twisted it, pushing the door open, feeling a rush of cool hair hit his face that reminded him how hot it was outside as the door shut behind him. The lady at the front desk gave him her best customer service smile.
“Hi there. Welcome to Reichert Assisted Living of Orlando. How can we help you today?”
“Hey, I’m here to see Steve Manion.”
The woman’s eyebrows go up a bit but she keeps the fake smile across her mug.
“Oh, that’s wonderful! Steve hasn’t had a visitor in God knows how long! Are you family?”
“Nah. He knew my mother though.”
“That’s nice. An old family friend. I’ll have someone take to you to his room. Connor?”
An orderly in scrubs walking past stopped and looked over at the front desk attendant.
“Can you take this gentleman to Mister Manion’s room please?”
“Sure Michelle,” he said before looking at Gerard, “Follow me please.”
Gerard nods in thanks to Michelle before following Connor the orderly down the hall. He leads Gerard o an elevator and hits the UP button. The doors slid open immediately and Connor motioned for Gerard to step in to which Gerry obliged. The lift smelt like bleach, the scent stinging at Gerry’s nose. He leaned against the wall of the car and Connor hit the button for floor two. The doors slid shut and the elevator car shook before it started to raise. Connor peered his head over a big shoulder at Gerard.
“Don’t I know you from somewhere?”
“Probably not. I get that all the time.”
The orderly shrugged and turned back around as the lift came to a stop, the doors sliding back open. Connor stepped out and Gerry followed him down the hall. They turned and entered a room. The lights were off as the blinds were drawn up to let in the mid-morning sunlight. The TV on the wall murmured as it showed a soccer game. In a recliner sat an old man. His white hair was thin and he had liver spots across his skin. He wheezed with each breath, oxygen tubes stuck in his nose as he watched the television. He turned his head and looked at the two younger men as they entered. He may have been old but his eyes were a vibrant green that sat in his skull, cold green eyes like emeralds.
“Comin’ back so soon youngster?” The old man asked in a southern drawl, “Need to force-feed me more pills?”
“No Mister Manion. You have a visitor.”
The old man's eyes flick over to Gerard. He eyes him up and down as a smirk splits his haggard, old, lips.
“I see that now. Leave us Con-Air,” the old man says with a cackle like he made the funniest joke ever. Connor rolls his eyes and leaves. Gerard watches the orderly leave before he steps over and sits on the edge of the bed. Steve’s eyes had moved back to watching the soccer match. They sat there for a bit before Steve spoke up.
“So who are ya son?”
“Just a guy looking for answers.”
“Well I can tell ya now, I ain’t ya father,” he says with a laugh, “Not ya grandfather either.”
“Trust me, I already know them and you’d probably be an upgrade.”
Steve gives another cackle.
“If ya lookin’ for money, I ain’t got much.”
“I actually want to know about your career.”
“I was a roofer for forty years.”
“I meant your far more lucrative one.”
Steve’s grin fades from his lips as he turns to look at Gerard.
“Just who’re you, boy?”
Gerry pulls off his hat and sunglasses, his hazel eyes staring intensely back at the old man.
“Someone who lost their mother because of your little group.”
Steve stares back at Gerard for a few moments before his brows raise as he has a realization.
“Aren’t you that actor? Gerard Angelo.”
“I am.”
“You were in that movie Under the Oak Tree.”
“You saw that one?”
“Yeah, they showed it here one movie night. Was a big piece a shit.”
“Says the guy sitting in his own shit.”
“You got me there, boy,” Steve says with another cackle. Gerry isn’t laughing as he continues to stare at Steve.
“I have no idea what ya talkin’ bout anyway.”
“Yes you do,” Gerry said, leaning over so his face was closer to Steve, “I know exactly who you are.”
“And what makes ya so sure that I’m who you think I’m?” The old man can’t help but smirk. Gerard returns it this time.
“Because no self-respecting southerner would be watching the English Premier League on a fall Saturday.”
Steve looks at the TV then back at Gerard and lets out another cackle.
“You got me there,” Steve said, dropping the accent completely.
“Good because you’re going to tell me all about the Ronin.”
“And why would I do that?”
“Maybe you’d like to atone for your sins.”
Steve gives another cackle at that and shakes his head.
“I know where I’m going. Nothing will ever wash my sins away.”
“Maybe I can make you tell me,” Gerry says, staring intently at Steve who just grins back.
“A big Hollywood type like you? Nah. You know the type of bad press you would get for beating up an old geezer like me? What do they call it now? Canceled? Deleted?”
“I’m at a point where I don’t give a shit.”
“So why are you asking about the exalted brotherhood? Poking around could make you and the ones you love… disappear.”
“You fuckers already did that to me when you killed my mother.”
They just stared at each other until Gerard stood up. Steve wondered for a moment if Gerard would attempt to strike him but Gerry just reached into his back pocket and produced a plastic half-pint bottle of cheap whiskey. Steve stared longingly at it.
“Is that…”
“Yeah, it’s your favorite. I know they don’t let you all drink here so I’ll give this to you.”
Steve reached for the bottle but Gerard moved it from his reach.
“But you have to tell me about the Ronin. Not everything. Just whatever I ask while you’re drinking. Once it’s done I’ll leave and you’ll never see me again.”
Steve looked from the bottle to Gerard and back again, chewing his bottom lip. In the end, old addiction won out over old loyalties as Steve nodded.
“Fine. Fine. I’d rather take the sweet embrace of death over being stuck in this chair all day, everyday.”
Gerard hands him the bottle which he snatches quickly, his old finger cracking the cap open as if they’ve done it a thousand times before. He brought the pint to his lips and tilted the bottle up, sucking down the whiskey so fast Gerry feared he would chug the whole thing. Steve didn’t and brought the bottle back down, a look of euphoria spreading across his face.
“Sorry, my boy. It’s been fifteen years,” Steve said, staring at the bottle for a long while before looking up at Gerard, “But I am a man of my word. What do you want to know?”
“Who put out the hit on my mother?”
“None of the people who carry out the removal know. That is discussed with the Masters. The Masters then relay the order to us. We ask no questions, just follow orders.”
Gerard sucks his teeth in annoyance. Steve takes another swig of booze.
“Who are the Masters?”
“The ones we swore obedience to. The ones who kept the exalted brotherhood alive for generations. But they are nameless and faceless.”
“Listen motherfucker,” Gerard growls through gritted teeth, “I came here for straight answers. Not to get fucked around by an old piece of shit talking like he’s Sun Tzu.”
“I can only tell you what I know,” The old man says before suckling from the bottle again. Gerard rubbed his chin as he thought.
“Is there anything you can tell me that can help me?”
Steve ponders as he takes another sip of cheap Kentucky whiskey.
“We are not cheap. The best never is. I would look into what your mother was doing around the time of the removal. That should tell how she made a powerful enemy. That’s honestly the best I can give you for that.”
Gerard nodded and stood up.
“Well thank you for that. I have a jet to catch.”
“I thought you said until the bottle was empty.”
“Keep it. Enjoy your soccer,” Gerry said as he exited the room. Steve’s eyes flicked back over to the television and sipped from the bottle.
=====
You can have your greatest United States champion of all time. I’m striving for the greatest ever. You can’t do that without winning the Action Wrestling World Championship. Something you’ve never done.
You’re punching above your weight class here, Sammy boy. This isn’t what you’re used to with your B-movies and US title matches. This is the top of the card, baby. This is where the lights are the brightest and the fakes wilt under pressure.
Though you know something about that, Sam. I could pick a few examples throughout but let’s go back a couple of months to Glory. You won that fourth United States championship, beating a once again apathetic Cassidy Adler. You cemented yourself as one of the best US champions of all time.
Then you lost it in less than an hour to Sociopath Barbie and started this whole Jill Park problem for everyone.
Don’t think I forgot about you, Jilly. I know you’re still lurking in the shadows, awkwardly standing there like a scarecrow left out in a storm, holding that briefcase over my head like a proverbial guillotine. Your hubris pushes you along to add another twenty pounds of gold to your admittedly impressive collection.
Remember what they say though, “Eww” Jill. Pride comes before a fall. You could walk away with three titles after Clash. You could walk away with just one. Who knows which Kyle Kemp is coming for your US title? Just remember if you come for me, Jill, put me down when you get the chance because you won’t get more than one. Go All-In at your own risk. You’ll have to end me to take my crown.
That goes for you too, Kidsgrove. You’ll take my World title from me over my dead body. I would rather die than let someone like you knock me from the top of my mountain.
Not that you could, Sam. I’m just better than you. I had the best of you in January if it wasn’t for an archaic time limit rule. I had the best of you at Evolution until Adler butted in. I know I can beat you. I just need to do it officially. Like I’ve done to every single person that has faced me head-to-head. Do you think you can be the one to end the single hottest streak in the business, Sam?
You’re on the back nine of your career. You’re burnt out and bitter, snapping at everyone from hotel clerks to that bug-eyed, talentless, hack that lets you poke around in her naughty bits once a fortnight. AW didn’t even extend your contract when they had the chance as we’ve heard you bitch about for months. That’s because they have me. A man that can do everything you can do and more. That’s why you hate me. I not only took your spot, but I also took the spot you think you deserve.
You have a chance to prove them all wrong though, Sam. You get your chance at the biggest prize in the game against the best in the business. If you manage to rip the title from my death grip, you get the biggest contract extension you can imagine. You get to go do all the sports and talk shows, and they will be interested in what you have to say this time. You get to shove it in everyone's face and make us all look like clowns.
=====
Gerard stepped back out into the oppressive humidity of the sunshine state. He stuck his hands back into his pocket as he walked down the sidewalk. It was so simple, so obvious. It’s where he should’ve started in the first place. But this would have to wait. He still had other, pressing responsibilities to attend to. He had to catch a flight to Seattle. He had a throne to protect.
=====
Speaking of clowns. What do you want Bozo? Do you want Torture or do you want me and what I have? Do you want the World title Bozo? Why don’t you come face me like a man sometime instead of running around half-peeking out of the shadows like a B-movie horror villain? I’ll be at Clash obviously. Come face me if you have the fucking balls, Krusty.
Back to you though Sam, I didn’t forget about you. The thing is, you won’t prove anything. You’re not going to beat me. It’s that simple. I’m operating at a whole different level right now. I’ve been so hot that beating me by count out is considered a career-defining moment.
What have you done lately? Aside from your forty-eight minutes of Glory, you’ve been a punching bag for half the roster. Before that, your last title was only because Dandy picked you to team with. You’re washed, Kidsgrove. This title match isn’t a comeback, it’s a swan song. I’m going to be the one to end your Action Wrestling tenure.
At Clash I’m going to beat you so bad you’re going to be collecting the rest of your paychecks of this contract on your couch. It’ll be a good thing because you won’t even want to show yourself in public for a while. Maybe after you recover you can land a role in season two of House of the Dragon. Maybe CBS will give you your own show on Paramount plus.
I’ll still be here. Setting records, defending my title, and putting myself in the Hall of Fame. Establishing myself as the best to ever grace the hallowed halls of Action Wrestling.
We are not the same. You broke, I’m up.
I got clowns to the left of me and Jill Park’s to the right.
And I’m stuck in the middle with you, Sam.
That’s perfectly fine with me. I thrive under pressure.
I’m a goddamn diamond.
I want you to bring your very best, Kidsgrove. I want the A game. The best shot you’ve got left in the tank, Sam. That’s why I didn’t lay a hand on you since you became the number one contender. I don't want any excuses from you when I finally scrub that blemish all those months ago from my record when I prove without a shadow of a doubt that I am superior to you. I want to show you that no matter how hard you try, I’m just better than you.
This isn’t your Hollywood Ending, Sam.
It’s mine.
=====
Steve was still in his chair past nightfall, his eyes closed as one liver-spotted hand curled around the plastic half-pint. He snored heavily, his mouth hanging open slightly as drool fell down his chin. The door to his room pushed open silently, darkness moving in quiet. It crept slowly towards the sleeping old man. The darkness, silent as it was, crept up behind the chair. A black glove hand curled gently under his chin as a needle pressed into his neck. Steve's eyes opened and he smiled slightly.
"I knew you'd come."
Steve's eyes closed once more for the final time.
