Prologue:
Jack was now firmly entrenched in SCW. And was now living at the Saxon hotel. The city of Las Vegas wasn’t quite as buzzing as it once was obviously, but there was still enough to make a go of it. Jack was successful three weeks ago, and had been eager to get back into the ring ever since. Jack kept to himself, but kept himself busy, trying to break the boredom. Luckily, he loved the gym facility, and many would often see him at all hours of the day or night. Jack would make the company meetings, and would occasionally leave to buy things. Luckily being masked, and being in a city full of tourists he wasn’t recognized too much. Maybe from TV, but he knew Benny would know sooner or later. Now there was little to do, besides play the waiting game.
But with Jack’s past, everything is a reason to be paranoid.
Saxon Hotel
Las Vegas, NV
1 week ago.
Jack had spent two weeks in the hotel. He still didn’t speak to too many of his wrestling co-workers or the staff unless it was a request for an amenity. He still took out his trash out even though he didn’t have to. This was more for exercise purposes. But it also gave him a look at the surroundings, and he was suspicious enough to see anything out of the ordinary. Jack would routinely watch from his window at the maintenance crew came in, and as the hotel staff changed out. He wanted to see people’s faces, know their names. If for no other reason, to see if anyone had changed or been hired randomly. But in the time he spent looking for this, nothing out of the ordinary would occur.
Until there was a knock on Jack’s door.
The knock was loud, almost pounding. Jack still had the “Do Not Disturb” sign on the door and resented the hardness of the knocking. He walked to the door quietly, peeking out of the peep hole. A man in a hotel staff outfit with the mask over his face.
Jack: Who is it?
Person: House-keeping.
Jack: Don’t need it.
Person: I’ve been told to clean this room, sir.[/color]
Jack: Don’t need it. Tell ‘em you cleaned it. Go away.
With that, the seemingly small incident passed. But Jack knew he had the sign on the door, and it had never happened before. Jack needed to investigate. Days passed and nothing, but then there was another knock. This one softer, and only a couple of knocks. Jack once again went to the peep hole. This time, a smaller woman, clearly on the cleaning staff.
Jack: Who is it?
Woman: Oh, are you in, sir? I was just seeing if you were so I could clean if you were gone.
Jack: Hang on…
Jack continued to peer out the peep hole, and just to the woman’s left, was a shadow. Clearly not hers, and the material of the hotel staff was visible, even though the person wearing them was trying to stay out of view. Jack knew what he had to do.
Jack: One second.
Jack walked away from the door, and produced a small hunting knife from his bag. He had recently purchased it, as a gun wasn’t the best idea given the circumstances. Jack kept the knife out of view as he returned to the door. He slowly opened it.
Jack: I was just about to leave.
The woman entered, and Jack stayed slightly behind the door. Through the door crack, he saw the 2nd person standing the doorway.
Jack: Can you come back in say… 5 minutes?
Woman: Sure.
Jack watched the woman walk back out, and once she was passed the doorway and had turned, Jack came from around the doorway and snatched the person who was there and pulled them into the room, taking them down and holding the knife to their throat.
Jack: I don’t like being snooped on. Who are you? You’re not staff.
Man: Whoa, hey… take it easy!
Jack: No.
Holding the knife sharply pointed at the man’s throat, Jack searched the man for weapons. He didn’t find any but didn’t ease up in any way.
Jack: Who. Are. You? If you I have to ask again, I will bleed you, really quiet. And leave you here.
Man: It’s… it’s me Jack… it’s Bobby.
Jack: Bobby…
--
25th District Police Station
Philadelphia, PA.
3 years ago.
He was dragged in. Two officers on either side holding him, moving him forward whether he wanted to or not. The doors were swung open as various cops in the building glanced in his direction, and then back to whatever it was they were doing. Officer Sharpe was on receiving that night. He took one look at Jack, the sharp glare of disappointment in his eyes and all over his face.
Officer Sharpe: Down to in-processing. Then, Interview 2.
He shook his head again in Jack’s direction as the two officers continued to usher him towards an unusually short line for in-processing. Perhaps they were having a slow night. Good for cops. The in-processing cop put on his latex gloves, like Jack had never seen this before and it was supposed to intimidate him.
In-Processing Officer: I’m Officer Hayes. Do you have any weapons, knives, guns, anything on you that’s going to hurt me during this search?
Jack simply shook his head.
Officer Hayes: Any needles, drugs?
He shook his head again. He commenced to patting Jack down checking for the same things he just denied having. Because he didn’t. He finished, and the two arresting officer grabbed Jack right up and roughly ushered him to interview two. A room with two chairs and a desk. They sat him down and un-cuffed his hands. They walked away and slammed the door behind them.
Jack: God damn it.
His arms crossed on the desk and he laid his head down between then, like a student falling asleep in school. He sighed deeply, and began the restless leg syndrome he developed. He wasn’t nervous, but anxious. For maybe the first time being in a police station, he actually had nothing to hide.
For what seemed like an eternity, Jack was alone with his thoughts. Perhaps to think about what he did, an excuse to come up with, and everything under the sun. But Jack didn’t have to make up anything. He was going to tell the truth, the bad news was that, no one was going to believe him.
The door finally opened, and Detective Galloway entered, the unmistakable One Million cologne mixed with Marlboro smokes. A cup of coffee in his hands. He gently sat it on the table, and quietly left again. He returned moments later with the police report filed earlier in the night.
Detective Galloway: You’ll have to excuse me Jack. I was just trying to finish a smoke out back when they hauled you in here. Guess I should know better when you’re not in the building.
Galloway noisily pulled the chair out from the desk and sat down, pulling out his reading glasses from the same pocket which had a pack of cigarettes in them. He began reading the police report, occasionally glancing at Jack over his glasses. He finished, sighed, and looked up at Jack.
Detective Galloway: What the fuck are you doing?
Jack: I didn’t do anything.
Detective Galloway: That’s funny, Jack. I know I’m old, but I’m not blind. I can read. I see this report, and you get chased down and picked up, walking away from two men laying beaten outside a bodega? And you didn’t do anything?
Jack: That’s right.
Detective Galloway: So why run?
Jack: Because.
Detective Galloway: Because isn’t a reason Jack. If you had nothing to do with it, you could have stayed, and you wouldn’t be here, and I wouldn’t have to deal with it.
Jack: I didn’t do it. You know why I ran.
Galloway sighed and glanced back at the report and then took a sip of his coffee.
Detective Galloway: How many times have you been here Jack?
Jack: Too many.
Detective Galloway: Exactly. Your record is a mile fucking long. Burglary. Stick up jobs. Fights. You would think, you’d be smart enough to keep yourself out of here. And yet, here you are. Fighting and resisting arrest.
Jack: I’m telling you, I didn’t do anything.
Detective Galloway: And now you’re just wasting my time, Jack. You know how many times I’ve heard that? “I didn’t do it.” Half the guys that come in here swear they’re innocent. Don’t you think that’s kind of funny?
Jack: Do you see me laughing?
Galloway took his glasses off and placed them back in his pocket. He folded his hands on the table.
Detective Galloway: I’m trying to help you, Jack. Now, you’re going to tell me that this police report isn’t telling the truth?
Jack: I ran, sure. I didn’t want to come down here. Who wants to get arrested? Your boys chased me instead of the people who did it.
Detective Galloway: Oh? And who did it?
Jack’s eye darted across the room, down and to the left, mostly.
Jack: I don’t know.
Detective Galloway: Having some trouble remembering things?
Jack: Two guys in hoodies and masks man, I don’t know could have been anybody!
There was a knock and one of the officers motioned for Galloway to leave. He turned to Jack, a stern finger pointed right at him.
Detective Galloway: This conversation isn’t over.
With that, Galloway departed. Jack rubbed his face looking around but the window was mosaic and he could only make out shapes and muffled noises. Then there was a female figure he could make out. She was moving at a rapid pace towards him. He heard muffled speak and then the door almost flung open. She took one look and sighed heavily before closing the door. Detective De La Fuente.
Jack: Jessica, I …
Detective De La Fuente: Don’t.
He opened his mouth to speak, but she raised a hand, cutting him off once again.
Detective De La Fuente: I don’t want to hear an excuse, I don’t want to hear a reason. I cannot continue to do this for you. It’s not my job to bail you out whenever you find yourself here. I made a promise to your father to look out for you.
Jack: I can take care of myself.
Detective De La Fuente: Which is why you’re here right now, right?
Jack: I don’t need a lecture. I didn’t do anything this time!
Detective De La Fuente: You ran from the police!
Jack: And you know why!
A period of silence.
It is broken by another knock at the door. A balding man with glasses and a briefcase and a sharp suit enters. It seems both Jack and Jessica recognize him.
Detective De La Fuente: Berkowitz?
Jack: Larry?
Larry: I’m glad we can skip the formal introductions.
He sat down and cleared his throat. He looked up at Jessica as she just looked puzzled as to his appearance.
Larry: What’s the charge, Detective?
A brief pause as Jessica came to her senses.
Detective De La Fuente: Fleeing the scene of a crime.
Larry: Anything else?
Detective De La Fuente: We’re trying to see if Jack was involved in the assault of a man outside a convenient store.
Jack: I wasn’t.
Larry: It’s alright, Jack. I’m going to take care of this.
Detective De La Fuente: Don’t make me the bad guy here, Larry.
Larry: I’m not trying to. I’m actually glad you intercepted this before it got out of hand.
He reached into his jacket, producing a small notepad and a pen. He looked as Jessica, almost trying to speak to her without doing so.
Larry: Sorry Detective, but this is attorney-client privilege.
Jessica could only roll her eyes and scoff. The loud clicking of her heels echoed as she exited the room. Larry turned to Jack with a smile. Jack was less than impressed.
Larry: Alright Jack, you need to be straight with me here.
Jack: I already was.
Larry: So, you didn’t do anything?
Jack: No. I didn’t. Wrong place, wrong time is all. Next thing I know, one time is coming after me instead of the guys who did it.
Larry: And you don’t know who they were?
A period of deafening silence.
Jack: No.
Larry: Jack?
Jack: I just told you, no.
Larry: Jack, you gotta help me out, just a little.
Jack: I never asked for your help. I’m here because they chased me.
Larry: And… you had no part in it?
Jack: No. I didn’t.
He placed the pen and notepad on the table in front of Jack. He cleared his throat.
Larry: Jack, let me explain this to you. You’re sitting here, having fled from the scene of a crime. That’s not a lot, but it could really hurt you if they can tie you to this. You need to give me the facts so that I can use them to help you.
Jack: Don’t, Larry. Just don’t. I don’t know who the people were. I only saw two guys in black hoodies. Didn’t see their faces, didn’t have anything to do with it. I was just going to store, myself.
Larry: What were you buying?
Jack: Some snacks. A mountain dew. At least, I was, until they started chasing me.
He just shook his head.
Larry: You know how hard it is to buy that, Jack?
Jack: It’s not my fault you assholes will hang me at the first chance you get.
Larry: Hey, hey, I’m not the enemy here. I’m trying to help you. We need to get the story straight.
Jack: The only story, is the one I just told you. Period.
He closed his eyes, and sighed. After a moment, he shrugged.
Larry: I promised your father I would looks after you. I intend to keep that promise. If you say that’s the story, then that’s the story. Just don’t make me look like an ass for trying to help you.
Jack: I never asked for help, Larry. I’m not my father. You know, and everyone else involved in this knows. They want me, because I’m the link. They want revenge on him, through me. Any little slip up, is the end. You think I was going to rob somebody or beat up some person for shits and giggles?
He receives a message on his phone. He nods as he checks it, and places the phone back in his pocket.
Larry: No. I don’t. I’m here to defend you. So, strings have been pulled. Let’s get you home.
He signaled and Jessica came back into the room. She and Jack made eye contact if only for a moment. Larry stood up and placed the notepad and pen back in his pocket as well.
Larry: I assume everything is in order?
Detective De La Fuente: Yes. Come on, I’m taking you home.
Jack: I’m –
Detective De La Fuente: Don’t. Let’s go. Now.
Larry: I will give you a call in the morning once I’ve reviewed everything. But this should be pretty much a foregone conclusion.
Larry moved in front and exited. A power walk, body scrunched up and avoiding eye contact. He looked like a shady lawyer, even if he wasn’t one. Jessica walked with Jack, quickly down the hall and passing by receiving.
Detective De La Fuente: I got this one.
Officer Sharpe: You got it, Detective.
They walked out, and Jessica reached for her keys, and unlocked the doors. Jack hesitated for a moment, but he did enter the Corolla. There was a long period of the awkward silence as neither said a word. It was one of the most uncomfortable car rides Jack had ever taken. He had to break the ice.[/color]
Jack: You didn’t have to do this.
Detective De La Fuente: I am. You really need to stop getting yourself in trouble, John.
Jessica was the only one outside of family to ever refer to Jack by “John”, His given name.
Jack: I don’t like it any more than you do.
Detective De La Fuente: And yet, you’re here.
Jack: It wasn’t my fault this time.
Detective De La Fuente: I’ve heard it before. It never ends with you.
Jack: You’re not a saint either, Jess.
Jessica shot a glare that it looks could kill, would have turned Jack to jelly.
Detective De La Fuente: It was a mistake. You know that. There’s a lot things that happened.
Jack: I know. I was there.
Detective De La Fuente: So we don’t need to bring that up.
They pulled up to Jack’s apartment and Jessica yanked on the emergency brake, not looking at Jack and keeping her eyes focused on the road. Jack instead of leaving, turned his head.
Jack: Thanks. For the ride.
Detective De La Fuente: Go.
Jack: I.. I do appreciate you.
Detective De La Fuente: Your father, was good to me. He gave me and my family a lot. But let’s just understand something, John. What happened between us, was a moment and a bad decision. It was wrong. But doesn’t change what I have to do. What I’m telling you now… is to get your shit together. Get out of town. You know what’s going to happen, sooner or later, you’ll run out of favors and there won’t be enough strings to pull. And then you’re in jail, and they’ll do to you, what they’re gunning for. And you won’t have anyone to watch out for you. Get out of this cycle, before it kills you.
There is a moment of silence. Jack knew Jessica was right.
Jack: … Yeah.
Detective De La Fuente: Go home, Jack.
Jack stared, a small chuckle escaped him
Jack: For the record… It didn’t feel wrong.
Detective De La Fuente: Go. Now.
Jack took the hint, and exited the car. It sped off just as quick as that. Jack had dodged another bullet, but he knew Jessica was correct and he needed to get out. He just didn’t know the lengths he would be followed. He pulled his phone out and he had a missed text message. One from his friend Bobby. He opened it.
“Saved our ass bro. We got what we needed. Thx.”
Jack sighed and closed out the message, and the phone.
--
Saxon Hotel
Las Vegas, NV
1 week ago
Jack eased up only slightly.
Jack: You mother fucker. I should just bleed you right now!
Bobby: Come on man! I ain’t got nothing!
Jack: Who sent you?
Bobby: You know I… can’t.
Jack: Then I guess we have a problem.
Bobby: They just wanted to try and keep you in town.
Jack: Why?
Bobby: Keep tabs on you.
Jack: … mother fuckers.
Jack eased up a little more, sitting in his office chair, still pointing the knife at Bobby.
Jack: Don’t fucking move. If this was Benny, then I’ll have to pay him a visit. These fucks won’t leave me alone. Alright, alright, I need to think.
Jack stood up and paced, the rapid, manic footsteps pounded the floor and Jack still held the knife pointed at Bobby. He finally stopped, and stared at Bobby.
Jack: We’re gonna turn this shit around, Bobby.
Bobby: What?
Jack: You work for me now. Bobby. You wanna keep tabs on me. Then you never fucking saw me.
Bobby: What? They’re gonna see you on TV!
Jack: Exactly. You just tell ‘em that you can’t find me. I’m not in this room. I leave every week. Go somewhere else. You don’t know where I am. And then, you’re going to come back, and report back to me.
Bobby: They’re never going to believe that. Plus… they know about San Bernardino.
Jack: Well fuck… Troy.
Bobby: Yeah.
Jack: Well, You better make ‘em believe then, Bobby. Otherwise, there’s about to be a report filed and you’ll be in jail, and let me tell you, that I don’t think the power will reach all the way out here. And these assholes will let you fry for a long, long time. Two choices Bobby. Make it quick.
Jack pointed the knife at Bobby. Bobby slowly raised his hands.[/color]
Bobby: Alright, you win. I’ll talk to ‘em. See what I can do.
Jack: That’s good. And Bobby…
Bobby: Yeah?
Jack: You left me high and dry once, don’t do it again. If I find out you double cross me on this… I will find out, and our past won’t mean shit. Believe me.
Bobby: Alright, man, ease up. I’m on it.
Jack: Good.
Bobby picked himself up and slowly moved towards the door, before he exited the room. Jack dropped the knife on the floor and held his head in his hands. [/color]
Jack: God damn it.
Jack knew now that no matter where he went, he wasn’t assure safety. They would continue to hunt him, and keep tabs on him. His only assurance now, was Bobby would do right by him. He needed to stay one step ahead and continue to wrestle, but it seemed that even now, things were still as complicated as ever before.
--
On Camera
Click.
Once again we’re in the hotel room. He is leaned back in his office chair, feet up on the office table in front of the camera, arms back behind his head. He isn’t even looking at the camera.
Jack: You know, I could get used to this. Three weeks ago, I came back to SCW, and they put me in the ring with Jack Russow. And they protected his title reign from me, and that’s okay. I will earn my championship opportunity sooner or later, that part has never been in doubt. But we all know that they had Jack Russow picked. They though that Jack Russow would stop me cold and they would have every reason to tell me that I had a lot left to prove. They were going to say, well, good effort out there against the champion, but obviously he’s the champion for a reason and now you know. They had everything prepared to give that whole life lesson speech about working hard and keeping your head up after a tough loss.
But then something funny happened. I beat Jack Russow.
Yeah, I beat Jack Russow right in the middle of the ring, no questions asked. In my very first singles match in SCW, I beat the Roulette champion. So the higher up had no choice but save their speeches the doubters and haters could only eat the slice of humble pie because despite their best efforts, they had zero to do with the outcome. A man who holds a championship with a lot of history, and I took him down. I mean, did you see this kid try to save face? Oh, you barely beat me! You barely got the win! I’m still good! I’m still the champion!
The only reason lesser Jack is still the champion is because the match was non-title. And I have just a small news flash for lesser Jack: It doesn’t matter if you win by an inch, or a mile. 2nd place is just the first loser, kid. Nobody is going to sit here and talk about how they “almost” won anything. You know what that is? Loser talk. That’s excuses and you only hurt yourself talking about how you came so close, but didn’t get the prize at the end. Nobody gives a shit how you get it done, just that you do. This is results based. And right now, Jack Russow can lick his wounds and set himself up to fail yet again this week.
But, that was three weeks ago. We’re done with that. I just want lesser Jack to understand that what he got back then, he can get again anytime he wants to step up. But until then, I got bigger fish to fry, and he is in my rear view mirror.
Jack eases forward, taking his feet of the table, slowly and deliberately. He adjusts himself in the chair and closes his eyes and sighs before continuing.
Jack: And now? They want to go ahead and put me in the ring with Kris Ryans. Kris Halc. Whatever he wants to go by these days. I did find it funny that they shower this dipshit with the most generic phrases anyone can get. He marches to his own drum, he doesn’t care what anyone thinks. He is his own man. I mean, those couldn’t be any more vague and non-descript if they said out loud by the fucking Oracle from the Matrix. But apparently, I should be so intimidated because Kris at one point was a big deal around these parts. He’s a grand slam champion. My god, show the man respect!
You know who’s showing him any respect? Nobody. You know why? Because nobody likes the asshole.
Nobody really wants to sit back and relive the Kris Ryan days. Like he’s fucking Brett Favre returning to Green Bay or some shit. No fan is saying to themselves “Boy, I’d really like to watch some Kris Ryan matches”. Literally, no one. And apparently, this just eats Kris up. It’s just another reason not to pay him any attention. Because he’s seeking it like a god damn puppy, waiting for someone to mention his name, waiting for someone to acknowledge his existence. And he’s all up in his feelings because people aren’t showering him with compliments.
Oh, boo-hoo, I was a grand slam champion.
Boo-hoo, I did some things and nobody remembers!
Boo hoo, nobody likes me.
Boo-hoo please pay attention to me.
Grow the fuck up, buddy.
Jack just shakes his head, and gives an exasperated scoff.
Jack: Understand that nobody is interested anymore in an uninteresting person. Kris Ryans name has not been relevant for two years, after he took his ball and went home. He fucked off somewhere and now he just shows back up like nothing happened. I mean, are you kidding me? Whose balls did he have to swallow to show up back in SCW? And then you want to start acting like you’re owed something. Like everyone show know, or care, who you were two years ago. You’re stuck in the past and it chaps your ass that you became an obscure reference. A trivia piece, rather than being remembered as an all-time great.
I just suggest you get over it. Powder your vag and man the hell up. Because all you are doing, is making people remember why they forgot about you. People blocked you out and moved on. People come and go in this game, Kris. Wrestlers are forgotten more often than not and you are struggling with the idea that despite doing some shit two years ago, that people aren’t interested in you. By all accounts, you’re lucky to be standing anywhere near an SCW ring, but instead of being grateful, you’re being an insufferable prick. I would actually commend you for being yourself, but you’re expected roses to be thrown at your feet because you decided to grace up with your presence again?
Nah, we were all better off with you hidden in obscurity.
You won some championships? Good for you. You don’t stand out. You’re another face in the crowd. You’re snap finger famous. And until you stop bitching about what used to be, you’re going to stay that way.
Jack slowly lurches forward in his chair, arms now holding up his head under his chin. He stares at the camera.
Jack: And maybe, after I kick your ass, you’ll finally figure it out.
Because that’s what’s going to happen this Sunday.
And I’m going to beat you, because you’re weak.
You’re weak mentally, and physically. You were riding high and then you let it all come crashing down because you dropped the ball. You got injured and then you walked off into the sunset. And a grand total of nobody gave a shit. But not only are you injury prone, you ended up in rehab, because you’re weak. And time moved forward, but you’re so weak mentally that you couldn’t handle the fact that this company moved on without you. Some dude makes a list and you’re not on it and it chapped your ass. And then you wanted to come back, make this big impact, and what happened? You blew that too. And now you realize that this isn’t 2017 or whatever anymore. So now, NOW you wanna buckle down and get your shit together? Give me a break. All I’ve heard from you is excuses and that’s probably the most pathetic thing you can do.
You see Kris, I’m like a lot of other people in the sense that I really don’t care about you making some big comeback to prove that you’re not a flash in the pan. But unlike other people, I’m not here to just beat you in the ring. I’m here, to hurt you. Because I’m hungry Kris. I want to achieve everything you’ve ever achieved and do it faster and better. I’m here to stake my claim as great. And if that means I have to put you right back on the shelf, I will do it, without ANY hesitation. By any means necessary, Kris. That’s what I’m about. I’m a mystery to you, an unknown. And that makes me far more dangerous to you, than you are to me. You barely scraped by two weeks ago with a lucky victory. You think that is going to get the job done this week?
If you do, you are in for a rude, painful surprise.
I’m out to get mine Kris. I’m out to get mine, and if it’s at your expense, it doesn’t matter to me. You don’t matter to me. As far as I’m concerned, you’re an overhyped flash in the pan who is still trying to relive his past, and continues to be stuck in it by choice. My past? It won’t leave me alone. I’ve wanted to get rid of it for years, and it won’t go away. But I’m taking my past, and learning and evolving, while you want recognition for some shit that happened 2 years ago. This game is about what you’ve done lately. And all you’ve done is show you’re insecure and bitter. Still rambling on about what you used to be.
I don’t care who you are, or were, or what you’ve accomplished. All I care about is beating you, and how good it looks on my resume. But this is about winners and losers. I’ve been winner for the vast majority of my life. And winning fills pockets, and that’s what this is about for me. The money, the fame, the prestige that comes with it. All it takes is the right motivation and I will handle the problem that is in front of me. You may not like the way I do it. You may not like the way I said the things I’ve said…
But we all do things differently. There is more than one way to reach the goal.
Jack eases back in his chair, the bemused smile crosses his face as it did in the beginning.
Jack: As I said, I’m hungry Kris. I’m telling you again so that you fully understand that Sunday, after you get beat that you know why. It’s not because of anything you did, or didn’t do. It’s because I want this more than you. It’s because I’m driven, the rewards may be simplistic, but so far, you can’t argue with results. You show up and with what I’m after, this isn’t going to be a match, it’s going to me, chewing you up and spitting you out. I’m going to be the shark, the ring will be the Ocean, and you will be the blood pouring into the water that kicks off the feeding frenzy. You are being fed to me. And after a couple of weeks…. I’m STARVING.
Just remember that. You’re next in line. Nothing more, but a whole lot less.
See you Sunday.
Cut to black.
Click.
Watch. This. Space.
