Prologue:
Jack had signed with Sin City Wrestling. He had gotten a modicum of hype and seemingly had some eyes on his debut. Other wrestlers complimented him, and he had apparently given a brash, bold new look to the company. It was no secret that Jack’s an amazing, natural athlete, and he had had success elsewhere, but this was a step up in competition. He had to make good. There weren’t going to be other opportunities like this, even with seemingly a wrestling company on every street corner nowadays. This was a shot, an instant shot at glory.
And really, that’s all Jack ever wanted. A shot.
However, he had essentially given up everything to chase this dream. He no longer lived in a home, or even an apartment. He lived out of a hotel, on the west coast, far away from Philadelphia and the troubles there.
But now, Jack was on TV. Now Jack was becoming a public figure. And now, Jack was successful. He and Tallyn were victorious in their first round match of the tournament. While most would yearn to be that type of figure and to be in the spotlight. Jack now would have a love-hate relationship with his job. Being a public figure got him the money and fame, but it made him visible to his enemies. It made him a target, both in and out of the ring.
On top of this, he about to the United States on an airplane. Meaning he had to land, hand to be at an airport which had overseas flights. The East coast was full of those. And all of them were within reach for Jack’s enemies. If they were going to move on him, they would have a shot, upon his return.
--
London Heathrow International Airport
London, England, U.K.
He was about 2 hours before boarding. The 8 hour flight wasn’t the best, and he was naturally suspicious of many on the flight, even the other wrestlers. Some were taking the same flight he had but he acted like he didn’t know them. He lost himself in his headphones and little used iPod as he tried to sleep. His rest was about 4 hours but he wasn’t really ever truly going to get a full night’s rest until he returned to California. Crazily enough, for Jack, a hotel with occupants coming in and out on a daily basis was the safest place.
At least for now.
He looked around the airport. His hat lowered so it would look like he was just looking at his phone or the ground, when his eyes darted across each seat, section, and terminal. The food stand, the book store, anywhere there could possibly be anyone. He was taking no chances in letting his guard down. No one was going to catch him slipping when he was just trying to get back home.
He stood and stretched, it was a long few weeks, and with this new life, perhaps he could eventually get a good rest. The best idea was still to blend in, so he quickly caught up to the rest of the field, trying to be just another face in the crowd. Another move to throw off anyone trying to find him. If they were looking, he was going to make it damn hard to find him.
The unfortunate reality was, that his bags were marked for LAX. He would be without any form of protection for the entire time. Not that he could being a firearm to the airport anyway, but with just a duffle bag, he felt practically naked.
He made his way to the gate, finding a coffee shop to sit down in. It was 3pm on the east coast, and his flight was at five, putting him in at roughly 7pm on the west coast. This little layover wasn’t ideal, but the hustle and bustle of airports made it an unlikely target.
But Jack was taking no chances.
He placed himself in the corner booth after ordering and receiving his coffee. No one would get past his sight, and no one could sneak up on him. He once again checked his phone, did some quick searches and otherwise killed time. He kept an eye out as he sipped his coffee, noting everyone who came even remotely close to him. He even slid over slightly, just to keep more distance. He slouched, made himself smaller in the seat. Everything to look like just another person.
He finished his coffee and began to make his way to his gate when he bumped into an older gentlemen. He tried not to make eye contact.
Jack: Sorry.
Jack moved past the older gentlemen quickly, not wanting to share the space anymore. He quickly moved on, but noticed the bustle of the airport was now seemingly at a standstill. News out the outbreak, the virus had struck, and now, there wasn’t going to be any moment until this entire thing was situated.
Jack: Fuck.
Jack pouted slightly, he knew this wasn’t good, and this it made him a target. And true to form, his suspicions were confirmed. A man with dark sunglasses approached. The shorter, salt and pepper hair and mustache telling the story of an aging man. He slapped his hand onto Jack’s shoulder. Jack closed his eyes. He knew what this was and where it was about to go. He turned, the familiar scent of Green Irish Tweed cologne filled Jack’s nose. He knew exactly who was next to him.
Jack: Danny.
Danny: Don’t make a scene kid.
Danny Noble. Nicknamed “The Matador” for as many times as he dodged death. Stabbed at least 3 times, punctured lung. Shot twice, missed his heart by less than an inch. Survived. Behind those glasses, one eyes is glass. Danny lost an eye doing what he did best, tracking down people to make people pay.
Danny: Walk with me, kid.
The walk seems to take hours. It was slow, methodical. Each person they walked by, Jack didn’t know if he should actually do something. Danny wouldn’t do anything at this moment, but Danny was also a guy, who at a moment’s notice would take someone out. He had never thought twice about a person who didn’t pay, and what he had to do with them. Jack knew of him all too well.
Inside to the The London’s Pride. Seated in the corner, the table the only barrier between the two men. They sat in silence for a few moments before Danny ordered a scotch. Jack waved his hand, signaling his refusal. More silence followed. Danny too looked around, he looked calm, but he was paranoid of something going down.
His drink was delivered, and he studied the drink before taking a gulp of it. He studied Jack, and there was finally a break in the silence.
Danny: This virus thing is serious.
Jack: Yeah.
Danny: They’re going to cancel air travel pretty soon.
Jack: Probably.
Another drink.
Danny: You know why I’m here, right Jack?
Jack: Yeah.
Danny: They sent me a long way for this. Paid me half.
Jack: Gotta get your money.
A snicker from Danny.
Danny: You’re funny kid. You know, this is, not something I enjoy.
Jack: Hasn’t stopped you yet.
Danny: That’s true.
Another drink and the glass is empty. Danny signals for a second glass.
Danny: I don’t have anything right now. Nothing I can really work with.
Jack: Since when has that mattered, Danny? I know what you do, you know what you do. The only question is, when are you going to do it?
Danny took a long pause, It seemed that Jack was ready to accept what was about to happen. Danny’s mouth curled into a smile and a exhale of a chuckle.
Danny: Not one for small talk?
Jack: No, not really. How am I doing?
Danny: Fine. Just fine. You know why they sent me? Because I was good. I got the job done. I got results. Not always pretty, but results.
Second glass delivered. Now a small drink.
Danny: Now, Even with this whole virus outbreak scare bullshit, they knew you were coming here, and you’re going back to where you stay. They don’t know where that is. I don’t know where that is. And really, I don’t care. Because you, are not supposed to make it there.
Jack: That was the idea.
Danny: See, you’re catching on. That was the idea. You know me, a familiar face and all. You would trust me. I take you someplace quiet, we handle business, I get back in the car and head back to Philly. I get paid, and everything starts all over again the next time it happens. That’s the idea. Full circle.
Jack: That’s the idea.
Another large drink.
Danny: Except, it ain’t no more.
An arched brow as Jack is now curious.
Danny: You’re old man made enemies. You didn’t. They got him, and now they want you. Why? Because they’re scared that everything their going to try and build back up, another fucking Washington is going to come back and mess the whole thing up. Again.
Jack: I told them and I’ll tell you that I don’t want any part of any business. I don’t want to live in my father’s shadow, or try and recreate his past glories. It’s not what I’m after.
Danny: Hell, I already know that kid. It’s why they sent me. Bring up the legend to put an end to any possibilities. That, was the plan.
Jack: So?
Danny chugs the last few gulps down. He places the glass on the table.
Danny: No need for it. I’m getting kinda tired of that old cycle just repeating over and over. I knew what I was getting into, don’t get me wrong. But the life…. It’s boring now. Go here, talk to this guy, teach this guy a lesson, handle this, handle that, over and over and for a while there? I was good. The best. But, it’s just not the same anymore.
Jack: A killer with a conscience now?
Danny: Always had one, but the years aren’t kind to deep wounds. Surface ones, they heal. Deep ones? Nah, they remind you all the time that they’re there. A reminder that you were that to not doing this anymore.
Jack: You made the choice, Danny.
Danny: I did. I did and I’m making one now. I don’t need to do this anymore. You know, there are bigger things. God damn world’s ending, apparently.
Jack: So… what are we doing?
Danny: I’m tired, Jack. Just tired. I know, that you, aren’t your father. I know that you don’t have anything there. So, I’m just here to get a drink, and to see if I can get my own hidey-hole.
There was another pause as Danny laughed to himself. He shrugged and looked up a Jack.
Danny: You’re free to go, kid.
Jack: They’re going to come looking for you, you know that.
Danny: I’m old. I got one foot in the grave anyway. What’s it to me for them to come? They’ll find me, they’ll track me down, and somebody will claim the trophy. And then that cycle, will start all over again. I ain’t got no need for it anymore, kid. It ain’t about what I used to do anymore. It’s about what I can do. Remember that.
Jack: Yeah.
And just like that, Danny stood up, and nodded his head at Jack.
Danny: See ya around, Kid. Actually, I probably won’t. But, you know, take her easy. And uh… thanks for the drink.
And that was it. Jack watched Danny begin to walk away. He thought long and hard that perhaps that THIS was the setup. That Danny would use his age to actually complete the contract.
Jack: Danny?
He turned his head, slightly
Jack: I almost fell for it.
Danny gave a knowing smile and nod, waving off Jack until he disappeared into the crowd of people. Jack had dodged the matador, but Danny’s words hung in the air. If Danny was walking away, he would be a target too. And not doing what he was there to do would mean they would know that Jack was still there. And that the hunt would continue. Now Jack had to wonder if Danny was actually telling the truth that they didn’t know where Jack called home. Perhaps they did know, and Danny was playing the long con to get someone else to complete his contract. All the talk about being old and slow and reliving past glories and how everything goes in a circle.
If Danny was good at one thing, it was mind games.
Jack got up and quietly walked eyeing the news and the spread of the coronavirus. The last few remaining flights departed but Jack was stuck. He saw the writing on the wall. He had to use his phone to cancel his stay in California. Once again, Jack would be a nomad, living where he could. This time, not because of enemies, but because of a virus.
His bags were brought to baggage claim, as he canceled his flight. He was at least fortunate in that respect. He wouldn’t have to start completely over, yet again.
First, he was taken to Hillingdon Hospital , 10 minutes away from the airport. He had to be checked in case he himself was exposed. A small, isolated, but heavily populated area to be tested.
It may have been some sort of miracle, but at the end, Jack tested negative. He was now more eager to get the hell out of here, and away from anyone, who may have been contagious.
He rented a car, plopped his bags in and drove. He was lost in England. Stuck more or less, there weren’t going to returns back to the states. Maybe a private plane of some sort might be making travel, but outside of this, it wasn’t going to be possible.
--
Radisson Blu Edwardian, Heathrow
London, England, UK
He checked in once again, but he knew now from the news that facilities like a gym, would be closed. And amazon wasn’t going to ship anything soon enough. Improvisation would need to occur once again. He plopped his bags down. He looked at the mini fridge and realized it wasn’t going to be enough. He had the money, but the idea of just sitting down some place, it had to be the right place. He had lived a few places, but there was only one home. And that home no longer wanted him.
He cleaned out what we wanted from the local stores, kettlebells and workout mats as best he could. Food was purchased. The essentials so he could survive, until he would pick a new place. He sat on his bed, arms folded, watching the TV in his room. Danny’s words still rung in his ears. He couldn’t live in the past, it was about the future. This was the start, and now, he needed to continue it.
He would once again wait for the instructions from SCW brass on what the next move would be. Where he would be next, if there was a next time, and how everything was going to work.
“Social distancing” they called it.
That suit Jack just fine.
--
On Camera
Click.
The shiny, polished now defunct “New Blood” championship rests in a table, spread out in all it’s glory.
Pan back, there’s Jack. Seated in a chair, half-spinning back and forth, hands folded. A half smile adorns his face.
Jack: I don’t want to be the guy who says “I told you so” Nobody like that guy. But, I’ll be that guy and I will proudly say, I told you so. I told you that Tallyn and I would walk into the first round last week, and make short work of Bobbie Dahl and Casey Williams. And low and behold, we did. This really shouldn’t come as a shock to anyone, but apparently there are some people who thought that I was just full of shit and I couldn’t back up what I said.
But don’t kid yourselves. Everything I said about Casey Williams, was true, and rang true and you know it. The guy was big for nothing, gave his partner even less, and was left flat on his back and pinned. Now, he can crawl back into his hole, and hopefully, never, ever be seen again in any sort of wrestling capacity. He’s a loser, and he was treated like a loser. It’s just that simple. He didn’t say anything then, and he won’t say anything about it now if he knows what’s good for him. And nobody in the home will tell him unless they want to see this man get embarrassed again.
But enough about that. Now, there are bigger and better things to move on to, as Tallyn and I will continue to bulldoze through every single team there is in order to become the winners of this tournament. It doesn’t matter to me who the opponents are, what their status is, or how we have to do it. We are already shown, despite that we didn’t get together and strategize like some people thought we would, despite not really sharing any sort of communication outside of social media, Tallyn and I are already a goddamn team. It would be shocking to me, but we share a common bond of simply being… rookies. Rookies eager to make a point, and rookies eager to shock the world and do what we were trained to do.
Win.
He places his hand on either side of the championship on the table. He studies it, focuses in, another small half-smile crosses his face.
Jack: I look at this championship that I won a couple of years ago, and normally, the thoughts and feelings in my head would be one of pride, it’s something I accomplished. I did this, on my own, I didn’t need anyone’s help. But today? After all this shit that’s gone on and how things have changed. My thought process has changed. Changed to one of realization that despite it, who really gives a shit if Ii won a championship in a company that fucking went under? This is about one simple phrase nowadays:
“What have you done for me lately?”
I just destroyed a 7 foot monster. But what have I done lately? Nothing really. So the reality of the situation surround this championship on the table is that it’s fucking worthless. Who cares? The company is gone, and sure it’s a reminder that in my first professional match ever, I won it. But there’s no reason to continue to live in the past. No reason to keep up this charade that you are defined by your past. No, you are defined by your future. So this?
The championship is launched across the room fiercely. It clangs against the wall to illustrate the point.
Jack: Tossed it out the window. I’m not here to talk about what I did 2 years ago. I’m here to talk about what I’m about to do.
Which brings me to one Mark Cross.
You know, I read the whole “Killing Joke” story and there’s like a line about the Joker’s past. And that if he was going to have a past, he wanted to be multiple choice. And apparently Mark Cross has taken that shit to heart. Hey, I used to play football, I played for the Raiders! I played in a fucking Super bowl! I mean, where do I start with this happy horseshit? The fucking Raiders haven’t been in a Super bowl since 2003. Mark Cross is 38. Meaning he was what? 17? What, were you the goddam towel boy?! And honestly, “Play” is nonsense. A person with your physique would be practice squad at best. Soft, doughy. Nobody in the NFL would ever say they know who you are, or ever saw you play at any level. So either you’re lying, or you were just a scrub.
Probably both. You never played in the NFL. You can stop lying to everyone.
But then I see that you actually live the lie. You’ve spread this story to other people. I mean fuck dude, I give you at least a little bit of props for taking “fake it til you make it” to its most extreme lengths. Maybe because they saw through your horseshit that they told you that the whole “ex-football player” thing doesn’t work for anybody besides people who were actually good at the game. I guess I could say thank goodness, but somehow, you managed to be ever fucking lamer than I thought possible.
You go to Japan. Because everybody who is all about the “style” and “work rate” and that other bullshit will sing Japan’s praises like a goddamn fan. You wanna wow the crowd with kicks and forearms with your stupid kickpads and go all “strong style” on me? You do that. I couldn’t care less about the crowd cheering or booing. I care about winning. Not trying to make myself more interesting by pandering and making up a backstory that just sucks. I mean you walk around, and call yourself “The Dragon” holy shit, he’s going to go all Bruce Lee on me, aren’t you Mark? Nobody should openly call themselves “The Dragon” un-ironically. And yet, here you are. I mean, at this point, it’s like you’ve just picked bits and pieces of American culture from anything you caught on TV in England.
And now, you’re in Sin City Wrestling, and what? You’ve won a couple of matches here and there, and you did some shit back in Japan, so you’ve got it all figured out?
The long and short answer is no. Of course you fucking don’t.
He stares at the camera. He stares THROUGH the camera.
Jack: You look into my eyes right now Mark, and you tell me who’s really being honest with themselves. You know deep down you are not only making shit up to make yourself sound more interesting, but you’re clinging to Japan like a crutch. You’re just trying, so desperately to make that a big deal. Like because you did something in Japan, and people know you in Japan, that it makes you something special. You’re a Japanese legend, right? Might as well put that down on your resume of imaginary accomplishments.
You wanna play legend? Okay then. You and Evie can be the legends that get wiped out by the “new kids”
Because we’re rookies, right? Inexperienced. We don’t have what it takes. No, it’s about to be a walk in the park for you guys right? I got news for you, chief, this isn’t what you want. This isn’t where you want to be. No, Tallyn and I are about to come to Climax Control and use two “legends” as stepping stones. You don’t cling to the past, Mark. Real or imaginary. This isn’t about fading glory, or fade glory. You partner won this shit and you think that it’s just going to be easy based on that?
That’s the thing Mark. Tallyn and I? We’re unknowns. You think that you know either one of us, you think you know me? You know me from TV, and every word that has come out of my mouth in an SCW promotional video has been the truth. You can make with the laughs and treat my “inexperience” as a weakness. In reality, I will turn it into a strength. I was damn good two weeks ago. So you think about how much better I am now, than I was then. Because I’ve been watching you, studying you. I did my homework. Oh yeah.
You, and Evie are just a couple of wrestlers who had their day in the sun, well, in Evie’s case that’s true, but I assume if we’re asking Mark himself, he’s had 20 years in the sun. But the point is, that time, is now over. Tallyn and I will not only beat you and Evie, we will leave no doubt that we were the better team.
By hook or by crook. We’re going to get it done.
Breathe fire now, Bitch.
Cut to black.
Click.
Watch. This. Space.
