Prologue:
Jack believed he was done with Sin City Wrestling. Following the loss in the tournament, Jack’s temporary deal with SCW wasn’t renewed. He was brought back to the states, and stayed at the Saxon Hotel in Vegas. As Jack waited, he spoke to the owners and they wished him the best, thanking him for his effort. It was a hollow gesture in Jack’s eyes, but the small nibble on what he could have done at least gave him a sense of pride. He knew what he was capable of, and so did everyone in Sin City Wrestling. Jack waited patiently for the payment to kick in.
But Jack also knew from the publicity of Sin City Wrestling, and the announcement that the wrestlers were staying at the Saxon hotel, that he was a target. While the hotel was basically off-limits to fans and the general public, Jack knew his enemies were creative, and they would go to extreme lengths to get him. Jack had to continue to play the waiting game, and each passing moment, he felt more and more paranoid.
--
<span style='font-family:tahoma'>Saxon Hotel
Las Vegas, NV.
Two months ago.
He laid in the king size bed, casually watching TV. It was late, past midnight. He looked over at the clock on the small nightstand, and then at his phone. That feeling of literally watching time pass and anticipation of something bad happening. Something bad always happened. Some stroke of bad luck. A reminder of his past.
Restless, and seeing his online account had not been filled, and considering it was overnight so that really wasn’t going to happen, he got up, the shorts and t-shirt he was wearing were good enough. There’s a gym. Why not? He figured he might as well use these facilities while he could. Because as soon as the transfer hit, he was going to be a ghost.
He slowly walked down. Eyes darting all over the place, head turns, always checking behind him, in case he was being followed. He made no eye contact with the staff, or any other wrestlers that may have been up, or wandering the hallways or whatever the case would be. Less is more was always his approach and this was no different.
He entered the gym and saw it was mostly empty. A few other wrestlers were there, but he placed himself in the far corner. That way they didn’t notice him, and he didn’t notice them. He put himself in the corner for another reason. No one would sneak up on him in this area. He would rarely have to turn his back with the equipment, and he could monitor the entrances and exits. Yes, despite the fact that no fans were allowed in, Jack lived like this, and always believed it served him well.
He did what he needed to do. Looking around each time he finished a set, passing it off as he blasted his music. He finished the workout and returned upstairs, almost power walking with the remaining adrenaline, and then stopping only to check his phone, knowing full well this business transaction wouldn’t be processed until normal banking hours.
He placed his bag on the floor and locked the door in addition to the electronic lock, just in case. He did this and showered, and changed into another pair of shorts and t-shirt. At least with available laundry, his clothes were clean.
He plopped himself on the bed and began to drift off to sleep, only to be awakened by his phone ringing. The room phone, not his cell. Odd. Why would any of the SCW staff or wrestlers need to talk to him? He thought twice about picking it up. Who would be calling at this hour anyway? He figured at this point maybe the staff wanted him back or something else that at least was somewhat important. Perhaps… family situations?
His curiosity got the best of him. He answered. He added a gravelly tone to his voice, an attempt to disguise it.
Jack: Hello?
There was at first, silence on the other end. Finally, a voice rang through that Jack remembered, though he hadn’t heard it in some time.
Voice: Jack. I know it’s you.
Jack looked down at his phone and sighed.
Jack: Benny.
Benny: Bingo.
Benny “Bingo” Foreman.
Book maker. Finally decided to come out to Vegas and try his hand out with the big time players. Benny was big in Philly. Made a lot of connections. It wasn’t surprising to hear his voice, but it was one Jack never really wanted to hear again.
Jack: I don’t need this right now.
Benny: Relax, relax Jack. If I was after you, you’d know it.
Jack: You know where I am. I know it now.
Benny: Come on, Saxton hotel, it really wasn’t a lot of work to figure out where you were and what room you stayed in. Just needed to ask the right people. Just thought I’d check up on ya. Ya know? See how the kid made it for himself.
Jack: I’m fine. That’s not all you’re after Benny. I know it. So why don’t you tell me what this is about.
Benny laughs. An amused but completely fake laugh.
Benny: Always straight to the point, eh Jack?
Jack: Get to it, Benny.
Benny: Whoa, hold your horse’s kid, I was getting to it. You think two guys can’t have some small talk around here. I’m just trying to be hospitable. You’re in my town, you know?
Jack: Yeah.
Benny: This kid, I tell ya. Look, I see you’re there, you’re doing the wrestling thing. I got something that maybe could help you out.
Jack: They do drug tests, Benny. Nothing you got is going to help me, no matter where the fuck you get it from.
Benny: Don’t get smart kid. I wasn’t talking about that. I’m talking about something you really want. Money.
Jack actually perked up. Money was good. Money was always good.
Jack: And what is this idea you have?
Benny: Ooooh, now the kid wants to listen? Mention money and he perks right up. I can hear ya getting a damn hard-on from here!
Jack: Shut up and just tell me what you want!
There is another period of silence, as if Benny was offended.
Benny: I’m just busting your balls a little bit kid. Take it easy. Look, you want to make some money, maybe we go into business together. You do some favors for me, I slide some extra your way.
Jack: You want to gamble? On Pro wrestling? Benny… that’s got to be the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard. You want to fix a fix? That shit makes no sense!
Benny: You haven’t even heard the proposition yet.
Jack: Benny… I got some bad news for you. I’m done with this, and I’m going back to my spot. So, you’re little scheme, whatever you were planning, it isn’t going to work anyway. Not with me at least. You can’t slide me money for messing up a place I don’t even work for anymore. I’m out of this place soon. And you know what? I hope I don’t wind up back in this town for a long time.
Benny: Whoa, whoa, kid, calm down. Yikes. Alright, so you don’t work there no more. I got it.
Jack: Good. This ain’t back in the no more Benny. I don’t want anything to do with you. Just let me live my life. You can have whatever the old man had, you can rebuild it.
Benny: Kid, that’s not how this works. You know that. Somebody has to be held accountable for your father.
Jack: Well… that’s not going to be me. I'm not my father. No matter how much you want me to be. Deal with it.
Jack slammed the phone down. He sighed, and unplugged the cord. He shook his head. He understood now that people did know where he was and he had to simply get out as quickly as possible. He stood up and double locked the door. He laid back down, and drifted off to sleep.
He awoke some time later. The sun was out. Checked his account and say the generous deposit. This was all he needed. He called a cab, and proceeded to check out of the hotel. He got into the cab with his bags, headed to rent a car, this chapter of his career, now finished.
--
Homewood Suites Hotel
San Bernardino, CA
Last Week
Jack had returned to doing many odd jobs around the small city. Finding employment was next to impossible with the virus outbreak, but Jack able to find a few places here and there, at least for a temporary paycheck. He went online and purchased a car, not too shabby, but not flashy. No need to do such a thing in such a time. He was able to deliver food in the meantime, the payment from SCW was enough for now. Not that he didn’t have money, but he knew that any transaction would be sought after. Most things had to be done cash only.
He received a check from the delivery place and held onto it, knowing that he would have to cash it sooner or later, but he couldn’t cash it where he was. But this was life for now. Until something better came up.
Jack continued to stay at the hotel, an apartment seemed like an idea, but if there was ever a need to leave quickly, an apartment wasn’t the answer. That would come in time. But Jack could never feel comfortable until things were steady. But they almost never were.
Jack began to get to know the folks that ran the hotel, handled reception, the cleaning staff, the courtesy staff, everyone who would be associated with the hotel. This wasn’t really part of the plan, but it just happened organically. At least, if there people knew him as just a guy who stayed there and just went about his business, there wouldn’t be any questions. They knew his routine, and he knew there’s. So, when a new kid joined the staff, Jack couldn’t help but ask questions.
He walked down to reception, a smile greeted him from the receptionist at the front desk.
Jack: Hello Julie.
Julie: What can I do for ya Jack?
Jack: Just need some information.
Julie: Okay, shoot.
Jack: Who’s the new kid on the maintenance crew?
Julie: I think his name is Troy.
Jack: Troy.
Julie: Yeah, hasn’t really said much, but Pablo says he works hard.
Jack: Okay.
Julie: Is something wrong?
Jack: No. Just trying to make sure I know everybody.
Julie: No problem. Uh, just let us know if you need anything.
Jack: I will.
Jack left, now taking a closer look at Troy’s movements. For the days he was on, Jack would keep tabs on him, watching him work, clock in and out and generally do his job. Jack began to notice that Troy would check the garbage, maybe looking for things to steal or hang on to. Maybe something valuable had fallen in. But with next to no new people coming into the hotel, there really could have only been a few people even in the hotel to check. This raised alarms in Jack’s head. But it would require more monitoring before Jack could really make any determination other than the kid was a possible thief.
But it was in the middle of all this, that finally, something looked to change Jack’s fortunes. A phone call. One again from Sin City Wrestling. They wanted him to return. A larger contract, this one for the long term. He agreed.
Jack knew the risks now with Benny knowing everything and still with enemies. But this was money. This was opportunity. One too good to pass up. He packed his bags, checking out of the hotel, finally. Perhaps this one was for good. He loaded everything into his car, and the drive was on, back to Vegas. It was there he would cash the delivery check, before quitting.
This chapter wasn’t over just yet, it seemed.
--
On-Camera
Click.
Jack paces. A almost incredulous chuckle escape him as he holds up his pointer finger to the camera.
Jack: Can you believe it? They wanted me back. I feel like I’m back home in Philly, living that life again, man. You want to get out, you want to escape, and then you wake up one day and you realize that you’re not going to be able to get away. No, you’re stuck. So I don’t know if I’m crazy, or just stupid. Blast From the Past was supposed to be it. The ticket to stardom, and low and behold, nothing comes of it. I remember both Mark and Christian told me to keep my phone on, and hey, you never know. And I treated it, exactly like I treat everyone and anyone who makes that kind of remark:
I don’t get my hopes up. If you set your expectations low, you’re rarely surprised.
So anytime somebody says “Hey, you got something there, keep plugging along and eventually something good will happen.” I let that shit go in one ear and out the other. Because it’s those type of sayings that truly mean “Yeah, we got nothing, but here’s some sunshine up your ass so you feel inspired and I feel like I did my job.” That’s what it is, that’s what it always is. So after Blast from the Past, I finally got my ass out of that goddamn hotel, and Ii went back to where I stay. I went to what I’m calling home and I sat there, wondering what the hell I was going to do. But I never expected them to call me back. They can have the bunch of scrubs that infest the place, and I will be just fine, on my own. It’s how I’ve been for a long time, so why should I start trying anything different now?
But then a funny thing happened.
I answered a damn phone call from a Las Vegas number. And I will be damned if Sin City Wrestling didn’t come with the big offer to bring me back.
Sure, I could have went other places. I could have tried to stay where I was and make a go of it. I could have, but when you come to me with opportunity, and more importantly, money… Let’s just say I become a little more interested.
Jack takes a seat at the make-shift office desk, placing a stack of papers on it. We can all see the SCW logo on the top sheet. Jack pets the stack a few times before taking a seat, letting out a satisfied sigh.
Jack: So here it is. My contact. Back in Sin City Wrestling. All T’s crossed and I’s dotted. I had some good people look into this before my name ever was on it, because fuck if I’m aware on how promoters and owners try to dick you out of things. And when they are satisfied with it, so I was as well. So, I get to continue where I left off. Tallyn and I should have handled Mark Cross and Evie Jordan easily. Given another crack at it, we might of. We let that slip through our fingers, but you know what, at least they won the whole fucking thing anyway, so I guess that helps ease the level of annoyance I have for that situation.
But whatever, I get to face the NEW Roulette champion Jack Russow.
I bet the suits are really slapping their damn knees thinking about Jack vs. Jack and 2 Jack’s and all that stupid shit. Easily amused I guess.
The kid goes and beats Griffin Hawkins and ends a historic reign, and then, he gets to get his ass handed to him by me, upon my return to the SCW ring.
Jack holds his hand up and stops, holding up a finger again to indicate he has a point to make.
Jack: Yes, I know what I just said, and I know what I said immediately before that. Jack Russow is the new champion, and I’m going to beat him in my return match. You may wonder how I am so confident, but the fact is, Jack Russow is just a punk kid who got lucky. Yes, I said it. I’ll say it again. Jack Russow is a punk who got lucky. I just want to be sure lesser Jack actually heard me. He knows it’s the truth, despite having a championship on his shoulder and having the biggest win of his career. But let’s face it, his career spans like 3 matches. The dude would be parking cars somewhere if he wasn’t a wrestler.
In fact, he should be.
So, let me just go ahead and speak to Jack Russow right now, in case there’s any confusion. I know sometimes with a match like this, people think I might be talking about the wrong person.
Here’s the deal, Jack. The suits want to protect you and not have you lose that championship you worked ever so hard for in your first defense. Because you know and I know that all you are right now, is a kid who is trying live up to a reputation he can’t hope to attain, and keep on a legacy that nobody outside of your immediate family will give a rat’s ass about. Nobody cares about Levi Russow, or the Russow legacy of being bit players in pro wrestling. I’ve never heard of your old man, and I don’t think many other have either. So obviously, your old man sucked and he couldn’t cut the mustard, so the wrestling world got rid of him. And you’re really trying to keep that shit afloat? I just find this so… what’s the word I’m looking for here? It’s uh…
Jack snaps his fingers and points at the camera.
]Jack: Oh yeah… I got it now…
Stupid.
That’s the word. I mean, do you seriously want to be compared to your washed up old man? You want to carry on that legacy instead or forging your own? Don’t be your own man, don’t stand on your own two feet. Just continue to be propped up by your family. I mean, I do find it somewhat funny that you’re here, where the legacy is unknown, trying to keep it going. Like, that’s is just… precious isn’t it? Little Jack Russow trying to defend his family name. Well, precious is one word…
Pathetic is another.
It’s almost sad how pathetic this really is, Jack. You should be trying to do something with your life that makes you stand out, not be compared to your loser father. Oh, and don’t bother with the explaining that he’s won this championship and that championship. No one cares. My brother was that Texas State Syndicated Television champion! Whew boy that sure is something to be proud of isn’t it?
The answer is no.
But, I suppose that is how you and I differ, lesser Jack.
Jack pushes his contract off screen, and folds his hands on the desk.
Jack: I had to get away from my father’s legacy. Do something different because without doing something different, I could never have made it out his shadow. I never wanted to be “Ethan’s son” after the age of 12. Why? Because I needed to be Jack. I needed to be me. Not just being known for being his kid. Because nothing good comes of that. People expected me to do that, and I didn’t. People wanted me to follow in his footsteps and I knew then and there that no way was I ever going to wind up like my father and live off his name.
You, of course, went the opposite way.
I mean, did it not occur to you that all this was going to do was lead to comparisons? This is like the last thing anyone wants to do, and with the track record of kids in pro wrestling, you are literally doomed, no matter what you do. Any success, will be because of your last name. All the incoming failures? You’re clearly not as good as your dad. Do you not see how this is an exercise in futility? Nothing you will ever do will help you get away from your old man’s shadow.
How does it feel, to be trapped? And how does it feel to know that you did it to yourself?
These are questions, the people want to know the answers to. The questions only you can answer, Jack.
But there are more questions that I’m going to get to answer this Sunday. Because I am curious just how much of a beating you can take. I’m curious to know how good you are at taking an ass-kicking. How many shots until you bleed? How many blows until you’re crying in agony? Because that’s something worth exploring. And yes, I know, you just wrestled in a parking lot to win that Roulette championship. You survived a grueling match. I mean, I guess you did, not really sure. Because let’s just be honest here, lesser Jack, Griffin Hawkins, the guy wasn’t out to hurt you. He wasn’t out to really try and put you down for a lot longer than a 3 count. He was trying to retain a championship. He was trying to keep the title around his waist. So in my eyes? You got off easy.
You will not be so fortunate come Sunday.
No, I’m coming into this match, to not only beat you, but to do so as painfully as possible. I wanna see if you are as tough as you think you are. I want to know that after one solid shot to the face, what your response is. And judging by the look of you, you will fold. I can see it on your face. I can feel it in my bones. You don’t really want to get hurt. And that’s too bad, because you’re going to get hurt. And then lose.
After hearing about this match, and doing my obligatory research, the only thing I wish, is that we could wrestle live in front of your old man, so I can see the look of disappointment on his face, when you’re lying there, covering up, shrinking and crumbling at my hands. I wanted very much to see you crying out for him to come and save you when you know you’re beaten.
And then I could have kicked his ass too.
So you can continue to be stuck in your old man’s shadow, and doing everything you can to make him happy and try desperately to share the father-son moment, but I’m not interested in that, Jack. I’m not. I don’t give a rat’s ass about who likes me, who hates me, who wants to see me succeed or fail. Unlike you, I don’t need anyone’s approval to feel like a success. No, because in this business, you have to TAKE things because nobody should be giving you an inch. This business is about getting ahead. And you have to do by hook, or by crook. If you have stab someone in the back, you do it. If you have to step on toes, offend people, you do it.
Jack stands up again, and pulls the camera lens to square up on his eyes and the top part of his head.
Jack: I want you to look into my eyes right now, Russow.
I want you to really think about what I said here. Because right now, you’re living high on the euphoria of winning a championship and making daddy proud. You’re still caught up trying to prove you’re a good as your old man. You know it, I know it. But you look into my eyes right now, and you understand that I fully intend to tear you apart this Sunday. You take all of that into account, and you look me in my face and tell me, you’re better than me.
I didn’t think so.
I’m coming to beat your ass champ, better be ready. You’re going to learn that unlike many… I don’t waste my opportunities.
The camera feed drops. Nothing but black.
Watch. This. Space.</span>
