***Sympathy For the Devil***
“Vegas is full of saucy li’le tarts flinging their traps around like it’s nothing special. It’s been a bit too long since I enjoyed the pleasures of a woman’s body. Not because I can’t, but because I realized I was never over Contessa Flannigan. We got a child together for Christ’s sake. I can’t very well just get over her like that. Or… can I?”
Inside of The King of Diamond’s strip club, one of the most premiere in Las Vegas, Mickey Carroll watches naked rears shaking in his face, barely finding one that is worth a ride despite their best efforts. Mickey holds a wad of bills between his fingers as he sips on a Budweiser. American beer is pure bollocks, but it was the most tolerable. He rubs the bills together, teasing the ladies as they come forward. Was it true? Was he really not over the blonde devil?
”Either the tart’s got me heart in a Full Nelson, or I’m starting to fancy the one eyed goblin. Either way, the bird’s gotten to me and I can’t even enjoy the sight of these flat-arsed hussies shaking the backs of their chicken legs in me mug. Sillicon snappers just aren’t me thing, let’s settle on that.”
Mickey takes another sip from his beer as he blinks his eyes, growing tired of the pencils dancing on the stage. He begins to scan the crowd for a desperate woman with some kind of meat on her bones who he could bring home for this evening’s greatest regret. He settles on a woman off to the side and winces in pain at the thought. He continues to scan hopefully with his emerald eyes.
”Turtle bumper… Taken… Taken… Probably has more STD’s than Amy Marshall… Virgin… Trash… Prostitute… And no… just no…”
Mickey closes his eyes as one of the strippers, still barely covered in a black and pink corset comes crawling across the stage toward Mickey. Her red curled locks sweeping down her back and over her shoulders as she wiggles her backside. She comes over to Mickey and turns around, opening her legs to wrap them around Mickey’s neck. She scoots in closer, running her hands over Mickey’s greased back ginger hair.
Stripper: Hey there, stud… Are you looking for a private dance?
Mickey: If by private dance, ye mean we bash our genitals together violently, followed by a visit to the clinic tomorrow… then no. Matter of fact, let me just say fuck no to ye. Get that smelly fish outta me face, bitch…
The stripper gasps at his brutal honesty, kneeing him in the side of the face on “accident” as she gets back up, giving him a view of her less than stellar backside as she walks away. Mickey pulls a cigarette out of the pocket of his red flannel shirt, flipping his Zippo lighter open and lighting it instantly. Meanwhile, he slides the bills back in his pocket as he knows that he won’t find anyone worth even one of the singles. He takes in a deep drag from the cigarette as he watches on, bored with the show. Suddenly, his phone rings and he pulls it out of his pocket to see the smarmy face of Jimmy “Real Money” Ringo flash across the screen. Mickey smirks as he quickly answers the phone.
Mickey: Money! How the fuck are ye, mate?!
Ringo: Balls, bro… Still ain’t got that date with Angelica. She didn’t respond to the flowers or the stripper gram…
Mickey takes another deep drag from his cigarette, tapping the butt end so that the ashes fall to the floor next to him. He opens his mouth, letting out some of the inhaled smoke before speaking and letting the rest of it out.
Mickey: Alright? Quit being a stinker bridge and let the benji betty go. Come out to King of Diamonds and liven this place up.
Ringo: Fuck you for that Irish… and no thanks. If I wanted to come out smelling like fish, I would go to a fish market.
Mickey: Aww let the missus take the night off, or does she got yer clackers in her claws?
Ringo: No! No bitch owns me, er, my clackers. Just because you can only get sex by throwing dollar bills at women doesn’t mean that I can’t have a little… infatuation with a girl that’s got class, alright?
Mickey: Angelica and class are not anywhere near each other, trust me. Heard stories of that one gettin’ passed around the locker room more times than a bottle of beer.
Mickey smirks at his statement as he watches a woman with skin silkier than chocolate comes onto the stage. Stacked from chest to arse, and immediately drawing Mickey’s attention in the leather get up. His suspicions of his sexuality are laid to rest as the ebony beauty walks down the stage, barely noticing him from the other men in the audience.
Ringo: Shut your fuckin’ mouth, Red! You have no room to talk since the only thing you’ve ever put it in is Tessa Flannigan. I mean…
Mickey: Shut yer trap, mate… An angel fell from heaven, and I’m gonna try to soften her blow with me pelvis…
Ringo: A stripper, really? Well, I guess you are finally upgrading from the last one… Red? Irish, hello…?
Mickey lowers the phone to the arm of his chair as he licks at his bottom lip, imagining the filthiest of activities as she flicks her whip out, tickling the tip of his nose with joyous pain. He nods his head as he chuckles and smirks in her direction. Jimmy suddenly walks in behind Mickey, catching the same view as he is. He slides his phone back into his pocket before pointing to the chair next to Mickey. A bouncer comes up and immediately yanks the man out of the chair. The man tries to argue but Ringo punches him in the stomach.
Ringo: Get this trash outta my sight…
Mickey can’t seem to break his concentration as he stays focused on the woman in front of him. He slides money out of his pocket and holds it up. The Ebony Goddess rolls her eyes, waving him off as she turns away, smacking her ample behind in his direction, walking in the other direction to a much higher roller.
Ringo: Ahhh, I got you bro… Mixin’ it up is your thing? And I thought you was gay or somethin’… Makes sense why we got all them fine pieces of ass shakin’ their shit in front of us in SCW, and your dick doesn’t even flinch an inch…
Mickey: Keeping yer eyes on me junk, mate? Little bit of envy I suppose…
Ringo punches Mickey in the arm as he just laughs in response, taking down the last of his Budweiser beer, raising the bottle up in the air for the waitress to see. Ringo rubs his chin as he watches the same thing that Mickey is, paying close attention.
Ringo: Tell ya what, dawg… You need to relieve some stress, so I’m gonna buy you a private dance, back at your skeezy extended stay hotel room. Make it worth it…
Ringo whistles loudly as he waves the dancer over in his direction. She holds her hand out as if to say “Bitch please!” until she sees the wad of hundreds sticking out from Ringo’s hand. Her demeanor changes as she practically tramples the other girls to get to Jimmy. He waves her over, using the money rather than his actual hand. She leans over and Jimmy whispers into her ear. She slowly nods, looking over at Mickey, thinking it over slowly. She sighs and then whispers back into Jimmy’s ear. He shakes his head and sighs as he reaches in to pull out another two bills. She closes one eye, thinking it over carefully before nodding her head. She whispers back into his ear before walking back across the stage, all while Mickey seems oblivious to the whole thing.
Ringo: It’s done. She gets off in an hour, and then maybe again twenty minutes later?
Mickey: I thought ye was payin’ for a dance, not a bang… I don’t pay.
Ringo: I don’t either. I bought you a *air quotes* dance. What you do after the dance is ya own business, dawg. Anyway, I was close by looking for a gift for Angelica when I called to ask for your advice and…
Mickey: Me? Ye can’t be serious, mate…
Ringo: Serious as a heart attack, bro. I wanted to know what NOT to get her… Anyway, I’m going to head back out on the hunt. Have fun with your Hershey Kiss, and get that head back in the game, Irish…
Ringo firmly pat’s Mickey’s face as the waitress brings Mickey’s longneck over to him. He slides her a couple bills as a tip and nods his head in response to Ringo. Jimmy walks off and Mickey watches his girl work the other suckers out of their hard earned money. Mickey looks up at the ceiling and mutters “Thank you” as he signs the trinity, licking at his lower lip once more as we fade out…
***I Was Wrong***
We fade in to see Mickey Carroll walking down the street near an industrial district of Las Vegas. He has a cigarette tucked between his lips, puffing on it as he holds his hands inside the pockets of his black hoodie. He squints as he is facing the sun, lighting up his lightly freckle-dusted face. The background is filled with busted up brick walls and cracked sidewalks, along with the occasional bum sitting against the walls with a brown paper bag tucked between their knees, or up in their faces, tilted downward. Mickey doesn’t seem bothered by the sketchy area at all as he continues to walk ahead. He looks up to see something familiar to him and he turns toward a metal door, pulling on the handle. As he walks inside, an almost dumbfounded look on his face, he hears the sounds of Dubstep music thumping at his eardrums. His face curls in to a look of displeasure as he shakes his head.
Mickey: Really, mate? Bloody disgusting assault on me eardrums…
Mickey walks through the doorway, allowing the door to slam behind him. We turn just a bit to see the inside of a gym. Inside of the ring, we see SCW Heavyweight Champion Giani Di Luca along with Spike Staggs. Spike is wearing black and red track pants with an NXT t-shirt, while Giani is wearing black and white track pants and his white “Year of the Stallion” t-shirt (both available at the merch stand). They look over at the ballsy Irishman for a second, looking in a mixture of confusion and anger.
Mickey: Alright?! Hello to ye two, too…
Giani walks over to the ropes, ready to lean over to taunt Mickey to come his way, but Spike intervenes by holding Giani back. He soon rests his icy cold eyes on Mickey, getting out of the ring as the music continues to thump from the speakers above him. He marches right over to Mickey and grabs on to the black jacket, ready to lift the smaller, scrawnier man off of his feet when Mickey holds his hands up in surrender.
Mickey: Easy there, Spiky boy… I’m here on friendly business, I assure ye…
Spike doesn’t trust him, keeping a firm grip on Mickey’s jacket as he eases ever so slightly by backing up a few inches. Mickey continues to hold his hand up in surrender until Spike rips the cigarette from between his lips, tosses it on the ground, and stomps it into oblivion. Mickey looks down at the cigarette when a shit-eating grin comes over his face, enjoying the show.
Spike: There’s no smoking on the premises… Now you have all of ten second to tell me why you are here, or that cigarette won’t be the only thing getting waffle stomped… 10, 9, 8…
Mickey: Come on now, mate… Ye wouldn’t really expect me to…
Spike: Six, five…
Mickey: Fine, I’ll nudge yer uncle for the number to one of his finest lawyers. I’m sure the kind Mr. Staggs wouldn’t mind helping to fund a lawsuit…
Spike stops at the count of two and narrows his eyes at Mickey. He keeps a firm grip on the collar of his jacket, but he does ease up just a little bit otherwise. He studies Mickey’s expression carefully, noting the glimmer of joy he is getting from all of this until… *HEADBUTT* Right between the eyes, and Mickey is seeing stars. Spike lets him go as he stumbles back several feet, dropping a manila envelope from under his hoodie as papers sprawl out all over the place. Mickey gets a grip on himself as he turns away, holding his nose and shouting…
Mickey: MOTHER…FUCK! That really hurt, ye stinkbridge…
Spike: No blood? I guess I need to work on my aim a little better then. Why don’t you talk about this supposed lawsuit or else I will nudge my uncle for a good lawyer to deal with you wasting my precious time, you no good peckerwood piece of shit…
Mickey: Easy, easy now… No need to get nasty there, mate.
Spike: No, stop right there for a second. You lost the right to call me that when you shit all over the New X-Tremes and your friend Ben Jordan, inside of the SCW ring, and then again on Twitter where you made an enormous ASS of yourself…
Mickey again holds his hands up in surrender as Giani has had enough of watching this from the sidelines. He climbs out of the ring quickly and walks over toward Mickey who simply holds out his left arm and then flings his right arm under in a cross shape, telling him where to stick it. Giani sucks at his teeth as a cocky smirk comes over his face.
Giani: C’mon, Spike… the boy obviously realized that Jimmy “Real Sorry” Ringo is as useless as he is. He wants back in our good graces, bro…
Mickey: Oh right, because I didn’t Jersey Turnpike ye in the middle of the ring a year ago, I’m not good enough to be forgiven for me mistakes? Piss off, Itie…
Spike: There is a huge difference there, Mickey, and you know it. Giani showed remorse, and he’s been proving since he came back that he really is sorry for what he did. You are out there, hamming it up with your heel flag, getting shitfaced and acting like you’ve lost all common sense.
Mickey: Oh, I’m sorry mate… Let me kiss yer arse and play Santa Claus and donate money to orphans and beer gut pieces of shite who feed me ego… Then will I be good enough to come back?
Giani: Why you little sonuvabitch!
Giani grits his teeth as he lunges forward. Mickey takes a few steps backward, holding his hands up innocently again. This time, he smiles, side stepping Giani’s attempts at violence, blocked by Spike.
Spike: Giani, don’t let this little punk distract you. He isn’t worth it. I’ll deal with him, so let’s just call it a day…
Giani bites at the inside of his lip as his fiery Italian eyes follow Mickey as he dances around in celebration. Giani slowly nods his head and turns to walk away. Spike sees this and then turns to Mickey once again, until Giani bull rushes Mickey, checking him into the brick wall near the entrance. He smiles smugly before turning for the showers once more. Spike can’t help but chuckle as Mickey dusts himself up, trying to regain his breath after it was completely knocked out of him.
Spike: So, if you’re up for it, you might want to clarify why you are here, or I will throw you through the fucking door, Michael…
Mickey: Ep… Eh… Huhhhhh… Ye told Ben that once yer NXT, yer always NXT. And so long as he was willing to carry the name, he was willing to train with ye. Well…
Mickey unzips his hooded jacket to reveal his own NXT shirt underneath. He pulls off the jacket to show the sleeves ripped off, and the NXT armband on his right arm. Spike’s jaw nearly drops as Mickey shrugs his shoulders.
Mickey: And I found transcripts of the promo where you offered me and Ben to join NXT, as well as the one where ye told Ben that we had a standard NXT contract… both me and Ben the same one… and with the verbal contract added, I believe I could sue ye, especially if I was denied training from ye, and went on to lose against Ben and Jordan at My Bloody Valentine…
Spike grits his teeth as he listens, waiting for some sort of error in Mickey’s logic. It’s nearly iron clad, except…
Spike: But you left NXT, so your contract is nullified. Ben never left, he just said he needed a break, and expressed interest in returning one day.
Mickey: First off, so did Giani, yet he’s headed to the shower after one of many training sessions… Secondly, I said that I don’t need ye lot of losers. I said that your leadership is as useless as tits on a bore. I said that NXT is shite. Those are facts, but I never said I quit. So, how about ye throw on some “Holidays in the Sun” over this dial up modem bollocks, and we get to training, yeah?
Mickey brushes past Spike as he tosses his jacket on to a weight bench nearby. His toothy grin seems to be the thing that gets Spike. He simply nods his head and picks up an iPod nearby. He fumbles around with it before switching it over to “No Feelings” by The Sex Pistols. Mickey climbs inside of the ring, feeling the song as he readies himself for a much needed training session to knock off the ring rust. Spike rolls inside of the ring. Mickey gets ready for a tie up, but receives a knee to the gut, followed by an Irish Whip into the corner. Spike charges him like a bull, knocking the wind out of him once more as he crumbles to the mat.
Spike: Is that what you expected “mate”?
Mickey: *gasp* No… admittedly not…
Spike lifts Mickey up and sends him flying into the ropes where Mickey stops himself. Spike charges forward, but Mickey drops down and Spike skids to a stop. Mickey hits a knee block that brings Spike down to one knee. Mickey steps back as he tries to catch his breath.
Mickey: Maybe we could settle for some old school advice, mate… Ye know, explain some weaknesses of Ben and Has Been…?
Spike smirks as he gets back up to his feet, slowly shaking his head in the negative. Mickey nods his head as he catches his breath once more.
Mickey: Yeah, it’s quite obvious. Jordan will throw a hip out, and Ben will crack under the pressure anyway. His days of running supreme in ACW have long passed, so he wouldn’t know what to do. It’s a no brainer…
Spike comes forward, ready to latch on to Mickey, but the squirrely Irishman ducks out of the way and steps back several feet.
Mickey: I don’t mind the training, but ye really have gotten worse with yer pep talks, bruv… Can’t ye offer me a little bit of advice? Anything to help me shake the rust?
Spike: Cut down on the smoking and drinking, and the whole being an ass hat thing… It will work… wonders!
Spike lunges at Mickey, catching him by the back of the shirt and pulling him in for a headlock. Mickey tries to worm his way out of it for a moment, but realizes that he can’t break free so easily. He flails his arms out toward the ropes for a break, but Spike jerks him backward several steps. Mickey pats Spike’s arm once, trying to push it off of his throat.
Mickey: WAIT! What if I… argh… told ye that I was just playing… gah… games with Ringo?!
Spike looks down at Mickey as if he were telling the funniest joke in the entire world. Mickey tries his best to nod his head. Spike loosens up just enough so Mickey can elaborate.
Mickey: Sounds like somethin’ ye would do, doesn’t it? I mean, ye was the Most Sadistic Bastard, and the Original Mind Fuck… Now, I’m not saying anything, ye know, officially or anything, but… Maybe I’m not such a shity friend after all… I mean, Ben and me was best friends since we was knee high. Maybe I saw this tosser taunt me mate, and I had to embarrass him, and I had to do it good? Wouldn’t be too big of a surprise, would it?
Spike seems intrigued as he slowly loosens up the hold. Mickey finally slips out of the hold and backs up into the corner, leaning on it as he once again tries to catch his breath. Spike folds his arms across his chest as he stares at Mickey.
Mickey: Like I said… I’m not making any sort of promises, but just imagine seeing Ben Jordan, Jordan Williams, and Mickey Carroll putting Ringo in his place in front of thousands of fans in attendance, and then the possible millions streaming from home… Wouldn’t that be some bloody awesome ratings, not just for me to be a part of, but to have NXT represented in this?
Spike: Not that I’m making any promises, but wouldn’t I… I don’t know… not be me if I jumped on board with this? You already proved that you can’t be trusted.
Mickey: But how many times did ye do the same in yer career? I seen tapes of what a ruthless bastard ye was back in GCW… GXW… yet the fans seem to have forgiven ye. Don’t I get the same respect, or even just an bit of trust?
Spike rubs his chin, thinking over the possibilities. He hums a bit under his breath before looking Mickey directly in the eye.
Spike: Yeah, no… You can’t bullshit a bullshitter, Mickey…
Mickey: How can I prove it to ye, mate? Just keep a close eye on our match then, and ye will see it. I will make things right. I will show ye that I’ve learned a lot from ye since joining NXT, and I will prove that I’m not useless.
Spike sighs and nods his head, but there is a good chance that it is to make Mickey be quiet. Spike rubs at his temples and walks over to the ropes, ready to give Mickey the “pep talk” that he’s asked for. Mickey follows after him, but rolls him back with a pin that surprises Spike. Mickey slaps the mat three times and then lets it go, springing up to his feet in celebration. Spike sits on the ground, in a mixture of embarrassment and shock. He simply shakes his head as Mickey hoops and hollers around the ring, laughing and celebrating as “I Was Wrong” by Social Distortion plays in the background and we fade out… to black!
