Post by Gerard Angelo on Nov 12, 2023 14:58:22 GMT -5
Jimmy sat at a table in the back of the bar, his back against the wall as he sipped on a glass of Yamazaki whisky. He glanced around at the rest of the patrons in the dive but they were few and far between. It was one of the reasons he liked the place. Jimmy hated a crowd when he was trying to drink. He brought the cigarette clenched between two fingers up to his lips, sucking on the end of the butt before blowing a cloud of blue-grey smoke out of his nose. He glanced to his side at his two men sitting at a table across from him, playing a card game. They were both massive men, muscle on top of muscle, and easily the two most intimidating people in the establishment called Ray’s. Jimmy liked having them around whenever he met with a potential client to make them uncomfortable. An uncomfortable client meant Jimmy was in control. When Jimmy was in control, the Ronin was in control. Jimmy sighed and drained the rest of the whisky in his glass before grabbing the bottle of Yamazaki off the table and refilling himself.
Jimmy wondered what he was doing with his life sometimes. Sure, he had more money than he knew what to do with. He had power, respect, and women. Anything he wanted was simply had to say it and it was his. But he wondered if he was happy. Sure in his twenties and early thirties, all he wanted was money, drugs, fast cars, and loose women. And the lifestyle of a contract killer lent itself to that. Not to mention the absolute rush when he saw someone’s life get snuffed out by his own hands. That was few and far between nowadays for him. The alcohol didn’t taste the same, the drugs felt different, and with the women, it seemed like he was going through the motions. Killing didn’t even give him the same pleasure it did before. He wondered if it was because with every day he was taking one step closer to forty. Maybe he was outgrowing this lifestyle. Perhaps he wanted to get out, find a good woman to marry, have a son, and live in a house by the sea. Jimmy enjoyed fishing, that’s what he would spend his days doing. He sighed and twisted the butt of the cigarette out in the ashtray. It didn’t even make sense to think like that. No one left the Ronin unless it was in a bag or a box. If he went no contact he would be constantly looking over his shoulder for the rest of his life and even then he would see the knife that slit his throat. Jimmy shook his head and pulled another cigarette out of the pack on the table and lit it. He blew a cloud of smoke out, wondering not for the first time if he should’ve just taken over his family’s restaurant in Asakusa.
He took another swallow of the whisky, glancing up every so often to watch the entrance. He checked his Rolex as he started to get annoyed. He told the client to meet him at one. It was a quarter past. He grumbled something about adding another five million when a bell jingled, signaling the rickety front door of the dive opening. A man walked in, dressed in sweats and a hoodie. Despite the clothes being on the baggy side, Jimmy could tell the man was well-built. Jimmy watched his walk, noting he walked with confidence as the man ignored the bar and walked to the back right towards him. Sunglasses covered his eyes but he seemed familiar to Jimmy. He pursed his lips as the man stopped in front of the table and removed his sunglasses.
“Oh no, not you again.”
Gerard Angelo grinned down at Jimmy as he pulled out the chair across from him.
“What’s the matter, Jimbo?” Gerry asked as he sat down across from the Ronin, giving him his cocky, shit-eating, grin, “Ain’t you happy to see me?”
“I thought you would’ve wanted to forget all about us, Angelo.”
Gerard smirked and grabbed the bottle of Japanese whisky on the table in front of him, taking a look at it. He glanced up at Jimmy and then at his two goons before setting the bottle down. Gerry placed his palms flat on the table and stared right into Jimmy’s eyes.
“I could never forget about you, bud. Not after all those cute, little, threats you made to me last time.”
Jimmy leaned back in his chair, ashing his cigarette on the floor as the two men stared at each other. Gerry noticed Jimmy’s two henchmen start to move but Jimmy waved them off. Jimmy drained his glass and set it down on the table while smoke circled above his head in a lazy halo.
“So what do you want? You need us to take care of someone?” Jimmy asked, ripping on his cig and exhaling, “Does it have to do with your mother? Or do you need us to get rid of someone in your little wrestling thing?”
Gerry just smirks.
“No, actually. The only person in wrestling already has a broken neck and I’m content with that. How are you guys on infiltration gigs?”
Jimmy raised an eyebrow.
“Infiltration huh? If we can get anywhere to take care of someone then we can get anywhere for anything. This must be something extremely well guarded if you’re willing to shell out this kind of money.”
Gerard looks around and leans closer to Jimmy.
“I need to get into a certain laboratory,” he said quietly, almost whispering, “And I need to get someone out.”
Jimmy stared at Gerry for a bit, his long, dark, hair covering one eye. He took another drag of his cigarette.
“Ten million.”
“Ten?!”
“Million.”
“Jesus Christ! Is this one gonna give me a rim job for that price?” He asked, jacking a thumb towards the mountain of muscle known as Aubery. The man built like a mountain muttered “fuck you” under his breath but stayed in his chair. Jimmy blew out a cloud of smoke and put his cigarette out with a twist.
“Ten million,” he said again. Gerard chewed his lip before letting out a groan.
“Fine,” he said, extending a hand across the table. Jimmy finally cracked a smile and clasped hands with Grard, the two shaking on it. Jimmy snapped his fingers with his other hand and Dano came over with a rocks glass, putting it down in front of Gerard. Jimmy poured himself and Gerry a glass of whisky. Jimmy raised his glass.
“To a fruitful partnership,” he said. Gerry raised his own glass and clinked it against the other.
“Kanpai,” Jimmy said and downed his glass with Gerard following his lead.
“Oh that goes down smooth,” Gerry said, looking at the bottle of Yamazaki again.
“So, tell me more about this job.”
Gerry put the bottle down and leaned across the table.
“So have you ever heard of the Phoenix Project?”
“I can’t say I have.”
“How about human cloning?”
It’s amazing what can happen in a year. A year ago I was sitting steadfast on my throne as the Action Wrestling World Champion, fighting back challenges from all comers and keeping the company afloat while the so-called “pillars” of the company went around jerking off in other places. This year I sit here as Mister All-In, waiting for the prime opportunity to save this company once again. To save it from paper champions. To save it from the old guard using this place as a way to stay relevant past their prime. To save Action Wrestling from itself.
Old faces have left for one reason or another but I look across the landscape and still see the same people complaining about the same things. Like my old pal, Odin still complaining about how things aren’t like they were back in the old days when people still gave a flying fuck about him. Back when his opinion carried weight and he wasn’t just the physical embodiment of the old man yells at cloud meme.
Odin, you’ll always have a special connection to me. Mostly as the answer to the trivia question “Who did Gerard Angelo beat for his first victory in ADub?” I beat you clean as a whistle in the middle of that fucking ring and it started my ascent to the very top of this company. It had to opposite effect on you. You went from this feared monster to a guy struggling to beat the likes of Kyrie King or Kano for a title that’s not going to exist at the end of the month. It got so bad that you had to find other people to prop you up as a crutch so you wouldn’t fall into the same obscurity you threatened others with. Even then you ran through partners like a rookie pornstar with a naturally fat ass.
And each time it didn’t work out, it was big, bad, Odin attacking them to make sure nobody could point the finger that it was actually your fucking fault you couldn’t win shit. Even with Corey fucking Black as your partner you struggled to beat two guys who can barely stay on Clash for a pay-per-view cycle. And then you won those titles and created an absolute shitstorm that we won’t talk about.
Now you’re back on a singles kick because that went so great the last time you tried it. Cue the eye roll. I seem to remember you saying in your plea to Tortolini that I didn’t work out as a top guy. Please enlighten me you old fuck what have you done in the time I been here except be Corey Black’s bitch? Spoutin’ off about the culture like you’re in the fucking Migos when you look like someone’s drunk uncle who isn’t welcome at Thanksgiving because he won’t shut the fuck up about QAnon. I liked it better when you talked about your hands, at least then you were fucking interesting and not the same cookie-cutter old vet that seems to populate this company at every level talking about what they’re owed.
You know what I’m owed, Odin? A fucking apology from management for having to face you again in a tournament instead of someone who didn’t get his spot by being drinking buddies with the co-presidents. The only consolation is I get to make your CTE worse by stomping your dumb fucking face into the canvas, again. I didn’t forget when you called me a pedophile when we faced off a year and some change ago. Originally I thought it was just because you were a fucking moron and saw Hollywood so that was your first MAGA-brained thought. But then I realized you were trying to do anything you could to discredit me. Anything to make sure the new guy didn’t climb the card at your fucking expense. But I did it anyway because I’m better than you. I’m better now than you’ve ever been on your best day, Odin. I’m so fucking good I changed Action Wrestling forever.
I came in and at your expense, I launched myself to the top of the card. I smashed through every ceiling and snatched every brass ring. I changed the way this company operated. I showed that new blood could be successful in ADub and put the fear of god in the same old people who won everything. I opened the door for the likes of Jill Park to not be held down by the old guard. I opened the door for people like The Sitcom and Doc Holiday to come and win titles. I changed the fact you didn’t need to know every dumb fucking WCF inside joke to be successful here.
And it scared the so-called “pillars” here so much they ran off, hoping the company would collapse upon itself. Yet here I am, standing like fucking Atlas keeping this company up on my shoulders, keeping this place successful and afloat. Because I am a fucking game changer. Because I am a fucking revolutionary. And I make you fucking afraid.
What is it you can do to me, Odin? Say the same dumb shit you say to everyone else? Honestly, watching your promos is like being stuck in fucking Groundhog’s day. Repetitive and annoying. You’re like one of those Gen X members who can’t shut the fuck up about how they played outside and drank from a hose.
There’s a reason I had a first-round bye in Wrestle of the Year. There’s a reason I sit here with a guaranteed World title match whenever I want. I’m the best damn wrestler in this company. I’m unmatched in this ring, on the mic, and cutting promos. Hell, I could be a better General Manager than Brady Bolt. If I dressed up like Odin Balfore, I’d be a better you, too.
This is my tournament to win. I’m the wrestler of the year already, and I’m gonna win this shit just to make it official. Hopefully, after the beating I give you, you do us all a favor and fucking retire.
Because that would be one hell of a Hollywood Ending.
Jimmy wondered what he was doing with his life sometimes. Sure, he had more money than he knew what to do with. He had power, respect, and women. Anything he wanted was simply had to say it and it was his. But he wondered if he was happy. Sure in his twenties and early thirties, all he wanted was money, drugs, fast cars, and loose women. And the lifestyle of a contract killer lent itself to that. Not to mention the absolute rush when he saw someone’s life get snuffed out by his own hands. That was few and far between nowadays for him. The alcohol didn’t taste the same, the drugs felt different, and with the women, it seemed like he was going through the motions. Killing didn’t even give him the same pleasure it did before. He wondered if it was because with every day he was taking one step closer to forty. Maybe he was outgrowing this lifestyle. Perhaps he wanted to get out, find a good woman to marry, have a son, and live in a house by the sea. Jimmy enjoyed fishing, that’s what he would spend his days doing. He sighed and twisted the butt of the cigarette out in the ashtray. It didn’t even make sense to think like that. No one left the Ronin unless it was in a bag or a box. If he went no contact he would be constantly looking over his shoulder for the rest of his life and even then he would see the knife that slit his throat. Jimmy shook his head and pulled another cigarette out of the pack on the table and lit it. He blew a cloud of smoke out, wondering not for the first time if he should’ve just taken over his family’s restaurant in Asakusa.
He took another swallow of the whisky, glancing up every so often to watch the entrance. He checked his Rolex as he started to get annoyed. He told the client to meet him at one. It was a quarter past. He grumbled something about adding another five million when a bell jingled, signaling the rickety front door of the dive opening. A man walked in, dressed in sweats and a hoodie. Despite the clothes being on the baggy side, Jimmy could tell the man was well-built. Jimmy watched his walk, noting he walked with confidence as the man ignored the bar and walked to the back right towards him. Sunglasses covered his eyes but he seemed familiar to Jimmy. He pursed his lips as the man stopped in front of the table and removed his sunglasses.
“Oh no, not you again.”
Gerard Angelo grinned down at Jimmy as he pulled out the chair across from him.
“What’s the matter, Jimbo?” Gerry asked as he sat down across from the Ronin, giving him his cocky, shit-eating, grin, “Ain’t you happy to see me?”
“I thought you would’ve wanted to forget all about us, Angelo.”
Gerard smirked and grabbed the bottle of Japanese whisky on the table in front of him, taking a look at it. He glanced up at Jimmy and then at his two goons before setting the bottle down. Gerry placed his palms flat on the table and stared right into Jimmy’s eyes.
“I could never forget about you, bud. Not after all those cute, little, threats you made to me last time.”
Jimmy leaned back in his chair, ashing his cigarette on the floor as the two men stared at each other. Gerry noticed Jimmy’s two henchmen start to move but Jimmy waved them off. Jimmy drained his glass and set it down on the table while smoke circled above his head in a lazy halo.
“So what do you want? You need us to take care of someone?” Jimmy asked, ripping on his cig and exhaling, “Does it have to do with your mother? Or do you need us to get rid of someone in your little wrestling thing?”
Gerry just smirks.
“No, actually. The only person in wrestling already has a broken neck and I’m content with that. How are you guys on infiltration gigs?”
Jimmy raised an eyebrow.
“Infiltration huh? If we can get anywhere to take care of someone then we can get anywhere for anything. This must be something extremely well guarded if you’re willing to shell out this kind of money.”
Gerard looks around and leans closer to Jimmy.
“I need to get into a certain laboratory,” he said quietly, almost whispering, “And I need to get someone out.”
Jimmy stared at Gerry for a bit, his long, dark, hair covering one eye. He took another drag of his cigarette.
“Ten million.”
“Ten?!”
“Million.”
“Jesus Christ! Is this one gonna give me a rim job for that price?” He asked, jacking a thumb towards the mountain of muscle known as Aubery. The man built like a mountain muttered “fuck you” under his breath but stayed in his chair. Jimmy blew out a cloud of smoke and put his cigarette out with a twist.
“Ten million,” he said again. Gerard chewed his lip before letting out a groan.
“Fine,” he said, extending a hand across the table. Jimmy finally cracked a smile and clasped hands with Grard, the two shaking on it. Jimmy snapped his fingers with his other hand and Dano came over with a rocks glass, putting it down in front of Gerard. Jimmy poured himself and Gerry a glass of whisky. Jimmy raised his glass.
“To a fruitful partnership,” he said. Gerry raised his own glass and clinked it against the other.
“Kanpai,” Jimmy said and downed his glass with Gerard following his lead.
“Oh that goes down smooth,” Gerry said, looking at the bottle of Yamazaki again.
“So, tell me more about this job.”
Gerry put the bottle down and leaned across the table.
“So have you ever heard of the Phoenix Project?”
“I can’t say I have.”
“How about human cloning?”
It’s amazing what can happen in a year. A year ago I was sitting steadfast on my throne as the Action Wrestling World Champion, fighting back challenges from all comers and keeping the company afloat while the so-called “pillars” of the company went around jerking off in other places. This year I sit here as Mister All-In, waiting for the prime opportunity to save this company once again. To save it from paper champions. To save it from the old guard using this place as a way to stay relevant past their prime. To save Action Wrestling from itself.
Old faces have left for one reason or another but I look across the landscape and still see the same people complaining about the same things. Like my old pal, Odin still complaining about how things aren’t like they were back in the old days when people still gave a flying fuck about him. Back when his opinion carried weight and he wasn’t just the physical embodiment of the old man yells at cloud meme.
Odin, you’ll always have a special connection to me. Mostly as the answer to the trivia question “Who did Gerard Angelo beat for his first victory in ADub?” I beat you clean as a whistle in the middle of that fucking ring and it started my ascent to the very top of this company. It had to opposite effect on you. You went from this feared monster to a guy struggling to beat the likes of Kyrie King or Kano for a title that’s not going to exist at the end of the month. It got so bad that you had to find other people to prop you up as a crutch so you wouldn’t fall into the same obscurity you threatened others with. Even then you ran through partners like a rookie pornstar with a naturally fat ass.
And each time it didn’t work out, it was big, bad, Odin attacking them to make sure nobody could point the finger that it was actually your fucking fault you couldn’t win shit. Even with Corey fucking Black as your partner you struggled to beat two guys who can barely stay on Clash for a pay-per-view cycle. And then you won those titles and created an absolute shitstorm that we won’t talk about.
Now you’re back on a singles kick because that went so great the last time you tried it. Cue the eye roll. I seem to remember you saying in your plea to Tortolini that I didn’t work out as a top guy. Please enlighten me you old fuck what have you done in the time I been here except be Corey Black’s bitch? Spoutin’ off about the culture like you’re in the fucking Migos when you look like someone’s drunk uncle who isn’t welcome at Thanksgiving because he won’t shut the fuck up about QAnon. I liked it better when you talked about your hands, at least then you were fucking interesting and not the same cookie-cutter old vet that seems to populate this company at every level talking about what they’re owed.
You know what I’m owed, Odin? A fucking apology from management for having to face you again in a tournament instead of someone who didn’t get his spot by being drinking buddies with the co-presidents. The only consolation is I get to make your CTE worse by stomping your dumb fucking face into the canvas, again. I didn’t forget when you called me a pedophile when we faced off a year and some change ago. Originally I thought it was just because you were a fucking moron and saw Hollywood so that was your first MAGA-brained thought. But then I realized you were trying to do anything you could to discredit me. Anything to make sure the new guy didn’t climb the card at your fucking expense. But I did it anyway because I’m better than you. I’m better now than you’ve ever been on your best day, Odin. I’m so fucking good I changed Action Wrestling forever.
I came in and at your expense, I launched myself to the top of the card. I smashed through every ceiling and snatched every brass ring. I changed the way this company operated. I showed that new blood could be successful in ADub and put the fear of god in the same old people who won everything. I opened the door for the likes of Jill Park to not be held down by the old guard. I opened the door for people like The Sitcom and Doc Holiday to come and win titles. I changed the fact you didn’t need to know every dumb fucking WCF inside joke to be successful here.
And it scared the so-called “pillars” here so much they ran off, hoping the company would collapse upon itself. Yet here I am, standing like fucking Atlas keeping this company up on my shoulders, keeping this place successful and afloat. Because I am a fucking game changer. Because I am a fucking revolutionary. And I make you fucking afraid.
What is it you can do to me, Odin? Say the same dumb shit you say to everyone else? Honestly, watching your promos is like being stuck in fucking Groundhog’s day. Repetitive and annoying. You’re like one of those Gen X members who can’t shut the fuck up about how they played outside and drank from a hose.
There’s a reason I had a first-round bye in Wrestle of the Year. There’s a reason I sit here with a guaranteed World title match whenever I want. I’m the best damn wrestler in this company. I’m unmatched in this ring, on the mic, and cutting promos. Hell, I could be a better General Manager than Brady Bolt. If I dressed up like Odin Balfore, I’d be a better you, too.
This is my tournament to win. I’m the wrestler of the year already, and I’m gonna win this shit just to make it official. Hopefully, after the beating I give you, you do us all a favor and fucking retire.
Because that would be one hell of a Hollywood Ending.