Never having been a morning person Goldenboy Gene Banton stifles a yawn while rummaging through the pocket of his red track suit for the key to the double doors leading into his expansive training facility. The sky above is overcast with ominous grey clouds lumbering overhead, carried by a brisk wind bringing a chill throughout the entire Las Vegas valley which propels him to forget the keys and zip the matching nylon jacket up higher. Upon his arrival he had noted the presence of a rental car indicating guests though looking across the empty, shaded parking lot and across the lush greens he did not see anybody milling about. With his thoughts turning from the chill in the air to checking the footage of his security cameras he absently reaches for the door, having forgotten about the key and draws back with a pause upon realizing that it is unlocked. Stepping inside and onto the white and gold roughage patterned marble floor he follows along a rubber tire track left behind by his daughter Cassie’s motorcycle which she has taken to parking inside. He didn’t mind having done far worse in his younger years and merely shrugged it off as leaving a challenge for the weekly cleaning crew. Looking ahead past the rows of plaques, posters, and framed championship belts with various other memorabilia accumulated over the course of a thirty plus year career he recognizes a pair of figures grappling with one another on one of the exercise mats in the center of the main room. A few steps further and the images begin to take the form of a man and a woman. He soon recognizes the woman as being his newest charge Cat Riley which sets his mind at ease over the identity of at least one of his guests; but the other, a man and considerably larger than Cat remains a mystery.
“Well son of a bitch”, he stops and mutters softly under his tongue in cognizance with the figure’s identity becoming clear. He had met Paul Riley over 20 years ago while attending a tournament in Brazil, a tournament won by Riley. Following the championship ceremony he had approached the lean, muscular competitor from England about the prospect of signing him but the man declined Gene’s sales pitch, despite the money and perks offered, preferring to continue to do his own thing. Approaching the end of the hall he leans against the edge and watches in silence as the pair trade moves and counter moves with the elder of the two offering instruction and advice during the exchanges. Shaking his head in amazement over the coincidence he smiles as the blonde man positions Cat into a side twister and carefully transitions into a leg lock; a submission hold rarely seen in combat sports due to its complexity in application and one Gene himself had only seen perhaps three times during the course of his career with the first time being performed by the same man applying it to his daughter now 20 years ago in Brazil. Once more he shakes his head in dismay; though he had remembered the man’s name he failed to make the connection to Cat. “I must be getting old”, he mutters as a smile wrinkles his face and he begins to sing his arrival, “It’s a small world after all..,”
On the mat Paul Riley looks up startled, releasing the hold in his daughter with both pairs of matching blue eyes being trained towards the hallway and the man in charge, leaning against the side of the wall with his thick arms folded across his chest. Paul immediately bolts to his feet, his eyes wide but with a smile of recognition as he starts towards him with Cat trailing behind, rubbing her right knee.
“I’ll be damned”, he says extending his right hand which is gripped by Gene. “You’re the Geno Cat has been telling me about”?
“The one and only” he laughs. “Small world isn’t it”?
“She talks about you all of the time but somehow I failed to make the connection”.
“That makes two of us, I thought I was getting old but maybe it’s both of us”.
The two men share a laugh as Cat joins them glaring at them questioningly.
“You know each other”? She asks with a bushy arched brow.
“We sure do”, he father affirms happily while snatching the towel from her hands and using it to wipe his brow. “He had approached me in Brazil about 20 years ago wanting to manage my career”.
“And you shot me down like all of those Brazilian women”, Gene smiles. “So what brings you here”?
“My wife and I are in the states visiting the kitty cat and after seeing her last match against Crystal Zdunich I wanted to go over a few things with her”.
“Like breaking my leg, chewing me out, making me perform a hundred dropkicks..,”
“With you missing over 90 percent of them,” he adds.
“Well damn, maybe I should get you to train her”, Gene quips. “It sounds like you’re more of a disciplinarian than I ever was”.
“She doesn’t need training, just an occasional reminder, but what did you think of her last match if I might ask”?
Gene shifts his weight, leaning back against the wall, his beefy torso stretching the fabric of his jacket tightly across his thick chest. He shakes his head with a sigh, “Well, being a blindfold match I expected it to be somewhat clumsy but it turned out far more clownish than even I thought. I was mostly mad at myself to be honest for not anticipating one of those ridiculous stipulations generally attached to the Roulette championship but I slipped up figuring that since the title was not up for grabs it would be a more traditional affair. That was my fuck up; I should have never allowed Cat to compete in such a contest. On the other hand Cat forgot one of the most basic things about momentum in wrestling..,”
“And what is that”? She challenges, folding her own arms across her chest. Having been run through the ringer all morning long by her father she finds herself in no mood to be re-washed so to speak but here is her manager ready to add fabric softener to the load she has been washing since dawn. “Please enlighten me”, she rolls her eyes in disdain. “I’m dying to hear for the millionth time today how big a screw up I am”.
“Alright fine”, Gene acquiesces. “You allowed your opponent to gain the momentum and tried to play her own game instead of doing what you should have done and breaking that momentum by just tying her up. That’s all you had to do”, he shrugs. “Just tie her up. You are damned lucky Sam Marlowe knew what she was doing because you were going to lose doing what you were doing”.
“Oh come on! I was..,”
“You were behaving like a bloody baboon”, he father interrupts in a scorching vociferation. “Gene is absolutely right – you were going to cost your team the match - and you have no room to argue. Now apologize to the man”.
“Forget about it”, Gene waves him off. “My kids are a hundred times worse. I don’t mind it at all and besides, Junior won’t let her hear the end of it”.
“Junior..,” Paul’s voice trails off as his mind plays match the name to the face. He had heard the name numerous times mentioned during Cat’s matches and it quickly dawns on him that Junior is one half of his daughter’s co-managers meaning that the redhead, his sister would be Gene’s own daughter Cassie. Having put two and two together he re-engages the conversation. “What will he be doing during the next match with Crystal’s kid Brittany handcuffed to Cassie”? He asks.
“Probably flirting with the women at ringside I imagine” he shrugs. “That reminds me, I need to read him the riot act next time I see him about keeping a closer eye on what’s happening inside the ring”.
“That won’t make any difference”, Cat interjects in a decidedly more mellow inflection. “He doesn’t like my arse, he thinks it isn’t round enough”.
“Let me worry about him”, He scoffs with a dismissive twitch of his head. “I have an idea”.
“Let him run amok and hope he knocks himself out”? Cat’s impromptu suggestion elicits a snicker from her father, who chimes in,
“That lad’s reputation precedes him”.
“And his mother will recede his reputation”, tapping his temple with his index finger Gene’s face wrinkles into a wry grin. “Believe me when I tell you, that woman can put the fear of God into a great white shark, Junior doesn’t stand a chance”.
“I suppose we’ll have to take your word for it”. Paul murmurs, completely unfamiliar with the woman to whom he is referring. “I’m afraid I don’t know her”.
“I’m sorry; I’ll have to introduce you to her. She’s from Ireland and she is a classic Celt, I’m talking old school, no bullshit boil your head in castor oil for looking at her the wrong way with the temper to match. That’s why I let her discipline the kids, she’s much better at it than I am. Have no fear; Junior will walk any line she tells him to”.
“Alright, alright”, Paul can’t help but to laugh, being all too familiar with the tempers and no nonsense attitude of Celtic women with her country being adjacent to his own. He himself has run across many Irish women with the same spirit being described and had dated one prior to meeting Cat’s eventual mother Rebecca. “I believe you, but what about Cassie, can she handle being handcuffed to Brittany Williams”?
“Oh I guarantee it”, Gene pipes in with a quick reply, his mind wading through floating images of his daughter exhibiting her own temper, usually at the direct expense of her brother. “Cassie has her mother’s temper, no questions and to sweeten the pot she holds a black belt in kick boxing – certified by world champion Brandi Constantino - in addition to being trained by me. If Brittany tries anything stupid Cassie will kick her head into the nosebleed section”.
“I’ll be damned”, Paul sighs while shaking his head in amazement. “You said it was a small world and it’s growing smaller by the minute. My nephew Will, Cat’s cousin, wrestles in Japan and he has been training stand up with Brandi lately to supplement his wrestling. His father and I have been toying with the idea of adding some standup techniques to our curriculum”.
“Oh?” Gene arches his brow regarding the man curiously. “When we first met you said you wanted to continue to focus on your school, how is it doing”?
“Not too bad, we have 27 students at the moment so it’s not very big but it keeps our bellies full”.
“Have you ever considered opening a Snake Pit here in the US”? He asks, sensing an opportunity.
“I’m afraid we don’t have the resources or any qualified instructors”.
“Money is not a problem, and you can always certify instructors back home in England”.
“Are you suggesting a business relationship”? Paul inquires, his curiosity piqued. Cat had told him several times about the man’s connections and resources and he and his brother had openly lamented over their inability to expand the Snake Pit. But now fate is staring right back at him from behind a pair of deep blue lenses underscored with a radiating self-assurance. “I’m curious, what do you have in mind”?
Gesturing towards a closed plain, soft beige wooden door behind the wall he had been leaning against Gene opens it, flipping the light switch on and invites him in saying “Step into my office, I’ll lay it out for you”.
Paul starts to follow suit behind the man but stops just short of the threshold and turns to Cat while tossing her the towel, “Kitty cat, why don’t you work on your cardio while Gene and I talk? And remember, max elevation and no bloody dropkicks”!
With a frown she nods in agreement, turning away as the door is shut behind her with a heavy clunk. She had wanted to be privy to their conversation, inwardly anxious to see how a self-made Daddy Warbucks conducted business but by decree of her father it sadly is not to be so she plods lazily across the padded rolling mats of the sparring section to her right where a set of six treadmills are lined against the far wall, flanked on either side by a set of stair climbers and ski machines. She selects a black and purple treadmill a Life fitness branded monster that looked to weigh several hundred pounds and steps onto the 27 inch wide rubber canvass. She fiddles with the digital interface which lights up with a large yellow LED display and selects the maximum elevation as her father instructed although she had already intended to do so as it best mimicked training in the mountains and is scientifically proven to be more effective at conditioning the heart than simply running on a flat surface. Setting the speed she depresses the green start button on the lower right of the interface and with a subtle electronic chirp followed by a soft hum the machine comes to life raising itself to the desired incline setting. Waiting for the track to begin rolling she glances up to a row of flat screen televisions secured to the iron rafters and tuned to different stations. She glances past a Mexican soap opera where two alluring young women are engaged in a catfight, past CNN coverage of the stock market, past ESPN’s coverage of the Nathan’s hot dog eating ‘world’ championships which promotes a grimace to mar her soft features. Since when were competitive eaters considered athletes? Since when did stuffing 50 or 60 hot dogs down your throat in 30 seconds qualify as a sport? Only in America, she groans as her eyes settle onto a televised repeat of SCW’s Climax Control. Onscreen she recognizes her friend Dani Weston flanked by Brooke Saxon and facing off with her future opponent at Inception 3 Alicia Lukas in a contract signing ceremony. Although there is no sound from the television and it is too far away for her to be able to read the close captioning she vividly recalls the events as they unfold once more before her. Alicia starts off with a round of trash talk before being torn into by a thoroughly annoyed Dani who, despite the obvious tension between them, especially following Lukas’ unwarranted assault which left her badly bruised diligently fights the temptation to escalate matters for the sake of decorum and allows her lips to do the talking instead. A smile creases over her face as she is impressed by her friend’s self-control. Picturing herself in the same situation she knows she would be unable to restrain her inclinations which have a tendency to pull at her like a 2,000 pound shark against 20 pound test line.
“I could learn a thing or two from you Dani”, she huffs as the show breaks into a commercial. Her mind, uninterested in the unintelligible babblings of overly excited hucksters pitching breakthrough re-imaginings of products that were never broken wanders off instead down its own road of unintelligible musings twisting and turning at every flash of competing thoughts and impulses. A glance down at the digital display informs Cat that she has now been active for ten minutes and wrapping her palms around the cold chrome heart rate sensor imbedded into the rubber padded handle she sees her heart holding steady at 112 beats per minute, not enough for effective weight loss with 70 percent of your maximum rate as established by subtracting her age from 220 being the scientifically established minimum, but still good for conditioning, especially given the already impressive cardiovascular fitness of the youngster.
Cardio training on a treadmill can be a lonely endeavor with no way to occupy the mind aside from the television with its endless itinerary of mind numbingly boring – and silent - reality shows or music to distract it from the ever churning whirlpool of disconnected images splashing about. With an imaginary foot striking her on the behind Cat quietly laments leaving her phone and headset in the rental car and forcing her to contend with a tidal wave of competing thoughts; what if dad and Gene are having a fight? If I have to watch Kim Kardashian having her nails done one more time.., why are beautiful Mexican actresses always fighting on TV? Does Kobayashi even bother with condiments? Why people who have never even played sports are being paid so much to talk about them and most importantly, did I leave my underwear hanging on the shower rack again? Finally, and not a moment too soon but perhaps several moments too late the interminable litany of fragrance products, get rich tomorrow schemes and the usual running stream of ambulance chasers trying to whet people’s appetites for litigation comes to an end as Climax Control resumes. Her bushy brows tighten into a frown upon noticing that the show has jumped ahead by a good 30 minutes where she recognizes herself along with SCW Roulette champion Sam Marlowe getting set to face off against Crystal Zdunich and Mercedes Lewis. This marks Cat’s first time revisiting the match so much on her father’s mind and looking on with interest and having already forgotten her recent train of thought she settles onto the track to determine for herself if the final destination is indeed worthy of dad’s wrath. With the blindfolds being secured over the eyes of all four women the bell rings allowing the match to begin in earnest. But within seconds a grimace darkens her expression as she misses a drop kick which was not even close to her intended target and she is covered for a near fall. Closing her eyes as if ashamed she relives the incident being displayed onscreen, opening them just as she inadvertently rolls up the referee which elicits a raspy groan from the sweating blonde. Another few embarrassing moments pass as she and Crystal continue to mix it up and while both women are visibly disoriented by the blindfolds as evidenced by the pair nearly taking each other out with a single cross body block it becomes painfully obvious as they each tag in their opposing partners. Closing her eyes with another grunt, unable to watch any more Cat heaves in a deep breath of air and exhales audibly,
“Dad is right; I have no business trying dropkicks and other high spots”.
“Or perhaps you simply require proper tutelage”.
The voice, young and energetic startles Cat, spurring her to turn her head around to the source, a short man, no taller than herself, with one hand tucked behind his back, decked out in a black with red full body luchador ensemble including a matching mask bearing angled eye openings with a tuft of dark hair, nearly shoulder length protruding from beneath the hem at the base of his neck. Reaching up she depresses a large red ‘stop’ button which brings the treadmill to in instant halt and spins about while bringing the towel to her face, brushing off the steady flow of perspiration. Peering closely at the curious stranger she takes note of his fair complexion, a pasty white tone with glimmering brown eyes, wide nose and behind his back a tuft of fur..?
“Despy, is that you, how did you get in here?”
“I’m afraid you have me mixed up with someone else”, the mysterious masked man replies and returns his hand front and center allowing Cat to see a teddy bear dressed similarly but with opposing accents of red with black. “I am El Maestro de la lucha libre” he announces in a hurriedly practiced heroic resonance.
“What”?
“Master of wrestling.., I think”, he translates with his voice slipping back into a child-like high pitched tone. “I am here to educate you in the art..,” he resumes, his voice reverting back to the somewhat heroic timbre, “The art of high spots. Together with the assistance of my tag team partner El Difuso we will teach you to become a master of jumping off of things”.
Seeing relief from the doldrums of her cardio training Cat bobs her glistening head energetically. “How much”? She asks and while still unsure of how or why he was even here with her she finds herself grateful for the respite, especially from the fiasco of a match on television.
“As we are world renowned aerial technicians our services do not come cheap but we believe them to commensurate with our ability to bring out the best in our students. Our fee, while somewhat lofty, is still quite the bargain. We will need to charge you two dollars”.
Cutting herself short of speak Cat rears her head back, glaring at the young man and his teddy bear in a mixture of confusion and amazement. He continues to exhibit an uncanny knack for being in the right place at the right time and offering the most useful services for the situation at hand, but at the same time, charging the exact same fee forcing her to wonder what exactly it is with Despayre and the sum of two dollars. Regardless his presence is a most welcome distraction from the tedium of cardio and she eagerly hops off of the treadmill and darts to where her scratchy brown leather purse lies in contradistinction to the mirrored wall. She reaches inside and pulls out a crisp two dollar bill handing it to her would be mentor who regards it in specie.
“This isn’t two dollars”, he whines with his voice reverting once more to its normal pitch. “I need two one dollar bills”.
“But it is..,” she cuts herself off electing not to argue and pulls out two one dollar bills, handing them to him and extending her own hand to reclaim the two dollar note, but the masked man clutches it to his chest.
“Uhh.., can I keep this since its worthless?”
With a shrug of her glistening shoulders Cat nods in agreement. “Yeah, sure”, she says. “I have a couple more”. Her face lights up in anticipation of a rousing fun time with Despayre; someone with whom she has come to like and seemingly always up for some sort of shenanigans. “So what do I have to do to learn this stuff”?
“We will begin by educating you in the history of aerial wrestling”, he begins, his voice once more taking a heroic-like tonality. “Aerial wrestling began in December of 1903 when the tag team of Orville and Wilbur Wright were involved in a tag team match against a duo known as Kitty hawk, consisting of Kitty and Hawk who were also known as the Legion of Doom. They had made several unsuccessful attempts to wrest the championship away from Kitty and Hawk prior to their fateful meeting on the 17th of December in North Carolina and although their previous attempts at aerial wrestling had failed they continued to work on their craft and on that day they managed to successfully land four drop kicks finally succeeding in taking the belts from the feared team of Kitty and Hawk”.
“Umm, it sounds like you’re narrating the history of flight”, she muses softly, not wanting to upset her sensei but unable to help herself but to point out the obvious, “with a couple of twists of course. Still I’m pretty sure that was the first flight”.
“Indeed it was and that is what aerial wrestling is, flight. You are proving to be an apt student”.
“I don’t have to have wings, do I”? She asks, hoping he replies negatively with the muffled throbbing of her left side providing a constant reminder of earlier failed attempts, “Or a ladder”.
“A cape will do”, he offers. “I have some for sale if you are interested”.
Still clutching her purse Cat fishes inside the velour lining in search of two more one dollar bills, not bothering to ask the cost and hands them to him. He snatches the George Washington’s from her hands and quickly shoves them down his pants before turning away towards the locker room area with his voice trailing behind,
“I have them in the dressing room; I’ll go and get yours now”.
Alone with her thoughts Cat smiles, a toothy grin stretching nearly from ear to ear, grateful for the unexpected yet timely arrival of a playmate. Although she has never displayed any sort of aptitude for high spots or any form of aerial styled wrestling to which the forming bruises on the side of her body will attest she nonetheless finds herself anticipating just what the self-styled ‘master of wrestling’ has in store. Her father’s voice abruptly appears in ideation with another stern admonition of ‘No bloody drop kicks’, but she pushes it aside in favor of something decidedly more entertaining while he is safely out of sight discussing business with her manager. Casting a side glance towards one of three wrestling rings to the far right against the opposing wall she revisits the blindfold match against the team of Crystal Zdunich and Mercedes Lewis and while her performance was admittedly atrocious she cannot help but to wonder of Despayre would pick up on something she did not. And while she makes no pretentions of actually trying to learn the aerial style, she does allow her mind to take a flight of fancy, envisioning herself against Crystal at Inception 3 and shocking everyone at the Gold Coast with a repository of drop kicks, moonsaults, hurricanranas , 360 splashes and more which twists her thin lips into a grin.
“What are you smiling at, this is a good cape”.
Breaking from the reverie Cat glances at El Maestro de la lucha libre who is clutching a thin vinyl shroud of sorts and sporting a black geometric pattern on a semi-transparent frosted base with a series of holes lining the top with a handful of plastic loops and soap stains splattered about. He hands it to Cat who regards it critically, feeling the slippery remnants of the previous night’s soap and hearing the crisp ruffling sound emitted as she turns the cold plastic-like mackinaw over in her hands. Opening her mouth to speak Cat quickly steps on her own tongue squashing the idea of telling him what it really is and instead electing to play along.
“It’s uhh.., fantastic.., I suppose”.
“Good”, he beams while handing her a roll of masking tape. “Now tape your new cape to yourself and follow me to the ring, we have much to do”.
“Tape..,” she mumbles apprehensively, fiddling with the roll whilst breaking into stride behind him. “How.., clever I guess”.
The duo, or threesome should you be inclined to include El Maestro’s tag team Partner El Difuso approaches the ring with Despy climbing in first and dragging his ‘partner’ behind. Cat clutches at the bottom rope; a blue rubber encased steel cable and timorously uses it to pull her body onto the wooden planks topped with a thin foam padding and canvass cover which serves as the ring apron. Eyeing him warily through rapidly blinking blue lenses she clears her throat and asks nervously,
“Do I have to jump around in here”?
“Well duh”, he fires back with an eye roll. “This is aerial wrestling, remember”?
“Sure but..,” reaching out she slaps the less than forgiving base with her hand resulting in a muffled whump resonating through the gym. “This thing is kind of hard, and my dad did tell me not to do any drop kicks”.
“Is your dad a master of high flying techniques”?
She answers through kinesics, lifting and bunching her shoulders tightly before allowing them to drop and adding, “No, not really”.
“Well I am the premier acrobat of the fabled squared circle and if you pay attention and follow my instructions you will become one too. Just do what I do and jump off of things, it’s easy and fun”.
“Are you sure”? She hesitates while rising to her feet, tapping the toe of her right sneaker against the canvass and feeling the adamantine thump. “This thing feels like it was made out of bricks”.
“Obviously we will have to go the brick and mortar route as this is not a product you will find on Amazon”. Gesturing to a real estate investment spread sheet lying atop the burnished mahogany top Gene leans forward against the desk, the tip of his index finger drawing the attention of Paul Riley to a listing of land tracts with acreage, location and asking prices. “The problem is that it generally means leasing as there are many real estate investment companies and developers swallowing up as much land as they can get their hands on. It gives them a near monopoly and with so much land divided between only a handful of companies they can get together and effectively set their own prices. To give you an idea..,” he leans back into the luxuriously padded executive’s swivel chair clasping his hands behind his head and continues, oblivious to the muffled thumps occurring outside of his office. “A few years ago a friend of mine wanted to open a car lot. He located a patch of land commercially zoned; it was a small patch, not even a quarter of an acre but it suited his needs. So he goes to find out the terms of a potential lease and the company that owned the land said they wanted $16,000 a month”! He pauses to give added weight to his words which draws a slithering whistle of amazement from Paul Riley who continues to listen intently. “To see another example all you have to do is look around outside at the various strip malls and shopping centers and note how many are closed or being..,” flashing his fingers to pantomime quotation marks he presses on, “Re-developed”.
“That makes sense” the Englishman muses oblivious to the thumping taking place just outside behind the walls; his attention focused squarely on the man in front of him and the discussion at hand. “I see it all of the time and not just here, but back home as well”.
“Capitalism”, Gene quips with a raspy hint of annoyance. “Buy everything in sight and set your own price. The idiots are so blinded by the quick buck, the instant gratification that they can’t see the long term effects”.
“Small businesses going broke because they can’t afford such exorbitant rates, but somehow I get the impression that you have a way around it”?
Nodding with a wry grin the former wrestler turned businessman gestures to the charcoal gray Cisco Ethernet video phone. “When I first decided to start working for myself I made it a point to network with every player in this city one at a time. It was tough going at first but I toughed it out and ten years and ten thousand phone calls later I have managed to do it. This phone has a rolodex with more than 2,500 numbers including doctors, lawyers, a couple of sheriffs, judges, politicians and various businessmen including..,” he allows his voice to trail off and points to his guest to finish the sentence.
“Real estate developers”, Paul answers obligingly.
“Bingo! In fact the particular developer I have in mind is actually the father of a wrestler I used to manage, Monica Stark. He’s based out of state but has developed a number of big projects here and knows pretty much everybody. If Cat thinks I’m ridiculously rich this guy would blow her mind with the amount of money he throws..,” Another succession of whumps and heavy thumps resonates from behind the crème colored brick walls, this time loud enough to catch the attention of both men and prevent Gene from finishing his sentence.
“… The bloody hell is going on”? Paul Riley wonders aloud craning his neck in the direction of the disturbance but unable to see through the soft copper tasseled waterfall valance tie up shades. “Please tell me it’s not Cat again. That girl has an alarming knack for breaking things”.
“Hmm..,” Rubbing his chin thoughtfully for a moment, the bulky man in charge shrugs and turns his gaze upon his desk calendar noting that he had circled today’s date and wrote in a message. “I don’t think so. I just remembered that I hired a construction crew to come in today to build an oxygen bar, it’s probably them”.
“That’s good to hear”, Paul mutters softly and adjusts his position in his chair to resume the business at hand. “Alright, I like your idea, it is something my brother and I have discussed in the past and your financing options are among the most agreeable I have ever seen but please understand that this is a very large step for us..,” he drops his gaze fixing it on the senior Goldenboy who nods in acknowledgement. “So we can’t be hasty and rush into this. I will need to go over everything with my brother who is also my partner and he can be quite meticulous”.
“That’s fine”, he nods, reaching into the top right drawer of his desk and pulling out a handful of business cards. Placing them into Paul’s outstretched hand he adds, “These cards have my home, cell, office and training center numbers as well as my email address. Feel free to call me at any time should you have any questions and reverse the charges of you need to, I don’t mind”.
With a nod of his head Paul deposits the tripled layered laminated luxe cards sporting raised print into the right side pockets of his track pants and is startled by another succession of burdensome pounding, this time even more emphatic but a glance back to the desk shows his host shrugging it off and he elects to follow suit.
“I would like to ask you a question”, he says, turning his attention from the heightened noise outside back to the nodding man in front of him. “Give me your honest impression of Cat’s work in the ring”.
“Honestly? I think she’s dynamite”, he replies. “And I’m not just saying that because you’re her father. Like you I have been in this game a long time and being a manager I’ve seen many talented wrestlers grace that ring over the years; wrestlers of all styles from Luchadore to brawler, to spot monkey, to kickboxer and of course submission wrestling. What I like about Cat is that she keeps a cool head and tends to work well under pressure. She’s patient and not inclined to take unnecessary risks. I don’t need to teach her anything really, she already has the tools and her technique is text book. I just have to offer her some guidance from time to time”.
“Like the blindfold match”, her father observes trying to ignore the ongoing cacophony outside and focus on the discussion in front of him.
“Yeah, like the blindfold match”, Gene repeats with an uneasy laugh. “Again, I take the blame for that, I should never have let it happen but I failed to read the stipulations more closely and well, hell came home to roost. I can assure you that it will not happen at Inception 3”.
“On the bright side of the matter you won’t need to offer her any guidance leading into this next match with Crystal as that is precisely what I was doing with her when you arrived”.
Drumming his fingers along the desk the elder Goldenboy listens intently while trying to envision what exactly the construction crew is doing having noted the rapidly escalating thunder taking place outside of his office. Unable to envision anything that does not involve the use of a large hammer he reaches down to a metallic brown portable refrigerator plugged into the wall behind the desk. Reaching inside he pulls out two bottles of Dasani water, handing one to his guest and twisting off the blue cap to take a swig.
“Between you and me”, he continues, setting the bottle down with a muted thump against the desk calendar. “I think she’s going to be fine in her next outing. This match we have lined up for her is a basic, no frills encounter against someone she has already shown that she can beat. It’s right up her alley so to speak, a standard match against an opponent she doesn’t particularly care for and has already beaten. I mean, if you’ll pardon the vernacular all Cat has to do really is just arrive and drive”.
“Hopefully we won’t see any more of those ridiculous drop kicks and other tom foolery”, Paul adds in an even tone inwardly confident in his ability to get through to his daughter. “I’ve given her a good dressing down”.
Picking up his bottle Gene extends his arms with a smile offering a toast which Paul accepts as the two briefly bounce the hardened bottoms against one another. “Here’s to fatherly advice”.
The toast however is cut short by a deafening crash accompanied by the whistling of ropes, the weighty clang of steel docking harshly on concrete, the sharp crack of breaking glass and the snapping of wood and is followed by an unmistakable and agonized groan. The two men bolt to their feet exchanging bewildered glances and start to the door. Reaching for the knob Paul opines, “Whatever that was it sounded expensive”.
Stepping over the threshold expecting to see a construction crew perhaps attempting to correct a rather calamitous mistake; they are unprepared for the site which greets them instead. There are no signs of a construction crew. However the middle of three wrestling rings has collapsed under the force of a substantial impact. The four eight inch steel posts have fallen to the wayside and lie horizontally on the concrete floor, their weight digging an indentation. The ropes having broken free of their bonds have whipped away with one landing in the adjacent ring on the right and another now hanging from an overhead rafter after knocking off a flat screen television which has disintegrated upon landing. The plywood layered canvass has fallen and sits folded on the floor with a torn piece of turnbuckle padding and the prone, grousing body of Cat Riley lying atop the rubble with a plastic shower curtain fastened around her neck via masking tape. To the left a shadowy figure scurries from the scene, quickly disappearing from sight leaving nothing more than the rapid succession of footsteps subdued by the carpeting lining the hallway. Speechless the two men gawk at the off kilter scene with their mouths agape and exchanging a perplexed gander. Following several addled moments the men are shaken from their daze by another bruised groan and step forward through the debris to help Cat to her feet. Unable to stand however she merely collapses back to the floor until her father cradles the misbegotten young woman in his arms and carries her to a nearby table lined up against the wall.
Shaking his flummoxed head Paul tends to Cat, gently running his hand over her scalp for signs of bleeding or blunt force trauma. He exhales a relieved sigh upon finding none and proceeds to check her limbs which also pass visual and he straightens his body stammering,
“I.., I.., Gene, words fail me”.
“I may need to rethink Cat’s chances at Inception this weekend”, the owner of the center responds in a muddled modulation. “Did you happen to catch that guy in the dark outfit running out through the hall”?
“I did, but he was gone too quickly for me to make out, who was that masked man”?
“Unnnnghh..,”