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Supercard Archives / SEAN JACKSON (c) v GOTH
« on: February 12, 2016, 08:03:01 AM »
(rp is also for the World Title gauntlet match)
Some people never learn. No matter how long the odds are, they still believe the fight is winnable. They run into the fray with nothing but emotions to guide them, like a cabbage with all head and no brains. But that's the difference between everyone else and me, I introduce my brain into everything. You have to understand something Goth, a plan is always in place, you just have to be smart enough to see it.
February 8, 2016
Dallas, Texas
Setting up the plan
The plan was in place, it was just a matter of setting the trap. Now don't get it confused, because not just any trap will do. No, you have to know your opponent so well that he or she could never see it coming, until it was too late.
As the black stretch limo pulled up to the Jackson mansion, the SCW Internet Champion stood just outside the doorway, Marshall Owens at his side. In a custom made Italian suit, the champion looked every bit the successful athlete, the successful businessman.
Once the limo rolls to a stop, the uniformed driver steps out and opens the trunk while a couple of butlers pull a cart filled with luggage from the mansion. As the champion checks the solid gold Rolex on his wrist, he shakes his head, realizing that the driver is approximately five seconds late. Now as a multiple-time world champion, Sean Jackson was used to a strict schedule because time was money, and this driver had cost him five seconds worth of valuable money. So in typical Mental Rapist behavior, he opens his mouth to scold the driver.
Jackson: "Really?"
The champion checks his watch again.
Jackson: "Five seconds?"
The limo driver looks confused, almost shrugging. He isn't wearing a solid gold Rolex watch, but his Wal-Mart brand $19.99 watch was working just fine.
driver: "Mr. Jackson, according to my watch, I'm about five minutes early."
The facial expression on Sean Jackson's face goes cold, ice- cold. His eyes, dark, hollow even as his cheeks go flush with a wave of rage sweeping over him. However, with his wife Pamela close by, the Dallas native keeps from exploding.
Jackson: "Five minutes early? son, this watch is worth more money than you make in a year, so don't stand there and tell me that it has the wrong time. Matter of fact, you aren't getting paid to tell time, you're getting paid to show up on time."
The Internet Champion points to the luggage being loaded, then to the driver.
Jackson: "So how about making up those five seconds by helping with the luggage? or, I can just fire you here on the spot."
Why must he act like an ass? is the first thought which comes to the mind of the limo driver. It wasn't the best job in the world, but it wasn't the worst either. In weighing the options, the driver figured it would be easier to help load the luggage, rather than risk losing his job and being forced to walk home. But of course, that was the mentality of Sean Jackson. He could pick on the little guy, he could treat him like dirt because there was no way the driver could fight back. Just like the old saying that always held true...
The customer is always right. Especially when he is worth hundreds of millions of dollars.
So true to form, the driver begins to help with the luggage, thus saving his job.
driver: "Yes Mr. Jackson."
Now that was more like it. Extra hands on deck, making the effort to close the gap on that lost five seconds, all because everyone loves the Internet Champion. Just seeing it all taking place brings a warm and fuzzy to Marshall.
Owens: "Nice touch, which means we're right back on schedule again. However, we're right back on schedule for what?"
The cold expression on the champion's face changes to boredom as the vacant gaze accompanies the frowning lips. If he wanted Marshall to know the plan early, that information would have already been spilled. The fact Marshall didn't know was by design, because no one was going to keep this trap from being sprung....
NO ONE.
Jackson: "Marshall, you can ask about the weather, you can ask what I had for breakfast, hell you can ask me anything you want. But if you ask me any questions about this trip, I swear to God that I will leave you on the side of the road, no matter where we are. Am I understood?"
The Attorney nods his head
Jackson: "Good. Let me know when the monkeys get everything loaded."
Again, Marshall nods his head as the Mental Rapist turns and re-enters the mansion. As he does, standing in front of a mirror is his wife Pamela, dressed in a hunter-green Sofia three-button, wide-lapel jacket. The pepulm on the jacket is cut short for a chic, leg-lengthening look which quickly grabs his attention. The nipped-in waist and high stance on the top button accentuates her upper body which is where his eyes gravitate.
At first, Pamela doesn't notice him standing there, his lower jaw dropping and eyebrows raising. After adjusting her long brunette hair, Pamela turns and notices her husband in the room, wide-eyed.
Pamela: "Problems?"
She asks the question playfully. The daughter of an oil tycoon, Pamela Duke-Jackson could also be a fitness model. She works out on a daily basis, taking her body seriously, the same as her fitness. There was just something about seeing that kind of expression on her husband's face, even after all these years and well...
It made her feel good. It kept the love in the relationship strong, the feeling of emotional bliss, euphoric even. In a word, she was content, never happier.
Jackson: "You look..."
He was standing there, in awe of her beauty. Even today, after all those years, she still took his breath away. There was an effort made to keep his composure, to keep his heart from thumping out of his chest...
Jackson: "Beautiful."
But he was completely opposite of stoic, the anticipation of putting his hands on her body, pressing his lips to hers. It was...
Sean stopped himself, a prevention from drifting from the plan. No, he had a schedule to keep, a place to be, and every moment he stared in astonishment towards this beautiful woman in front of him, was an additional moment spent under an over-bearing father-in-law.
Taking the compliment in stride, Pamela smiles while making her way across the room. Once in front of her husband, she places both arms over his shoulders, her hands crossed behind his neck.
Pamela: "Thank you."
She then leans in, planting her slightly parted lips against his. The kiss, that seductive taste of her lips was what the Dallas native lived for. After the kiss ends, she embraces him further, the hair from the top of her head slightly below his nostrils. The perfume she wore, racing up his nose, infiltrating his senses, drove him totally crazy. He felt the smoothness of her skin, while also observing the way it was firm and toned, allowing the business suit to fit properly.
He was crazy, no sane person would dare walk away from a woman like this, just for a road trip. But it had to be done, he had to get this plan set up and the only way to do that was a trip to Little Rock, Arkansas.
So with that, he pulls back to arms length.
Jackson: "Pam, Marshall and I have a business meeting to attend. So we'll be away from Dallas for several days. But, we'll be back in time to pick you up and head to Long Beach."
("I want you to understand something Goth, and I want to be perfectly clear here. Your troubling night hasn't even begun yet. Much like Adam Solomon and Cameron Duke, you won't know the trap is sprung until it is too late. You want to hold onto the past, as if it is going to help you for the future, and that simply isn't the case. This is an ever evolving sport, where you either keep up, or get left behind. Your problem is that not only are you losing your eyesight, but you are also losing the ability to keep an open mind. It is closed because you are trying to grasp on to those final moments, those final visions of a wife that will leave you, while I get to see mine any time that I want...."
"Yes Goth, your troubles are just beginning. Can you imagine trying to grasp on to visions, to memories, while suffering long-term and short-term memory loss? Trust me Gerrit, after a well placed knee with evil intentions on the back of your skull, it can very well damage your brain, damaging any memories that you have after your eyesight goes...."
"And believe me, if it means beating you at My Bloody Valentine, I will do exactly that, not giving one care in the world about how it affects you or Sapphira. That's just the kind of man I'm going to be.")
February 8, 2016
Interstate 20, heading eastbound out of Dallas
As the limo heads eastbound on the Interstate, the Internet Champion is a picture of calmness. As he looks out the window, towards vehicles going by, his mind wonders to what each and every person is doing. What are they talking about? where are they going? how pathetic their lives really were compared to his. Marshall on the other hand, found himself trying to find that fine line of conversation without being thrown out on his ass. He wanted to know where they were going, and what part he was playing, while not being tossed out on his ass.
There was music playing on the radio, but that wasn't enough to break the stress he was feeling. So after scanning for something to talk about, Marshall goes with old reliable.
Owens: "So Gerrit is worried about losing his eyesight, I can fully understand that. But Jesus, if he is so worried about losing his eyesight, why in the hell would he agree to wrestle someone as dangerous as you?"
Sure it was a legitimate question, which deserved a legitimate answer, but a legitimate answer would have to come from Goth himself. The initial reaction from the Dallas native was a shrug of the shoulders and a split second of silence. Then came the response from the New Supremacy member.
Jackson: "He must not be too concerned, after all, a man concerned with living life for his wife, wouldn't dare face someone like me. But that is why Gerrit is having problems getting his life together in relation to Sapphira, as well as the Monstimals. But stress will do that to someone weak, someone unable to adapt with the surroundings."
Sean turns his attention from the window, and to his Attorney.
Jackson: "The cracks are already forming with the Monstimals. Raab concerned about people cheering for him, Gerrit unable to explain motives without fists being thrown..."
The Mental Rapist smiles, feeling joy every time he thinks of Goth and Raab at each others throat.
Jackson: "It feels like paradise. Hell, if it is that easy, I'll just pay someone to pump in crowd noise during Raab's introductions, really drive him over the deep end."
Now that is a thought Marshall thinks to himself. A move that would certainly cause more friction between the two, trapping Samuel in the middle.
("Are you now getting a clearer picture Gerrit? Despite what anyone thinks, there is no limit to the depths I will stoop to win a match. I've used twin magic, I've hired people to collect bounties, I've been the ultimate opportunist. I have used and abused people in every aspect of my life to get to the top and Long Beach will be no different. Want to know the lengths I will go? I'm on my way to the state of Arkansas, where the bait for my master plan exists. When you have the money and power that I have, you realize early that everyone has a price. The question isn't how high will you go to get the job done? but how far you are willing to go to ensure its success."
"Believe me Gerrit, after it is all said and done, you will never question my abilities or capabilities ever again.")
That's the thing about Sean Jackson, there simply wasn't another soul out there like him. Yes there were pretenders, those that wished to mimic what he brought to the table, but didn't have the stomach to pull the trigger. But again, that was the reason Mark Ward brought him in, right?
Of course it was. But then again, Sean Jackson had something nobody else did...
Marshall Owens.
Owens: "If you want crowd noise pumped in, then I'll see about getting that done. I'm sure greasing some palms in that neck of the country isn't out the realm of possibility. After all, I hear that is common practice in California."
And who would know better than a sleazy attorney?
Just so everyone knows, the thought of pumping in crowd cheers for Raab was a joke at first. But now the Mental Rapist was seriously considering it. With everything else going wrong in Goth's life, spreading misery throughout the Monstimals would be the icing on the cake.
A smile sweeps over the champion's face, which was evident by the raised cheeks and the crescent shape of his eyes. He shows confidence in everything, but when it comes to Goth and Raab, they make even the hard things possible.
Jackson: "Make it happen Marshall, make it happen."
The Mental Rapist then turns his attention back to the window. It was a case of *let it be written, so let it be done* that he was most known for.
("Are you sensing a trend here Gerrit? of course you are. All the things I take for granted, you are grasping to either hold on, or to have. When I close my eyes? everything goes black. I'm totally helpless, until I open them again. But pretty soon, everything will go dark for you, and it won't have a damn thing to do with closing your eyes. You know, I wonder how that feels? that one day your world will go dark, that one day you will never be able to see that wife of yours again."
"I have noticed something about Sapphira. She is a woman filled with love, a woman who needs to show love. I wonder how long she can be with someone who is no longer a man? Can you imagine Gerrit, being trapped in that world of darkness and your loving wife saying that she's going to make a run to the store, to get something to eat..."
"But instead use it as a means to rendezvous with another man, a booty call if you will, because lets face it, I don't see that kind of woman being faithful to someone who is no longer a man."
"Wow, that would be devastating wouldn't it? Now granted, I already know what you are going to say. Not my woman, not my Sapphira. I'm sure she will be right there by your side, shaking her head profusely, swearing up and down that it would never happen. Well knowing that I hate to bear bad news, but women of professional athletes have cheated for far, far less. So when it happens, don't say that I didn't warn you.")
February 8, 2016
Somewhere in Texarkana, Texas
The temperature hovering around 48 degrees, but that doesn't affect the SCW Internet Champion. While Marshall is taking care of business in a nearby restroom, the Dallas native is walking up and down the sidewalk, giving his own commentary to the upcoming match with Goth.
Jackson: "Gerrit, Gerrit. How off base could you possibly be?"
There is a breeze in the air, moving his short cut hair ever so slightly. He does seem to be a bit confused, wondering how someone so in touch with the business as Goth was supposed to be, could be so wrong about everything around him.
Jackson: "Unlike the Monstimals, New Supremacy are team players. Unlike the Monstimals, New Supremacy members are working with one another, as opposed to you and Raab constantly bickering amongst yourselves."
That million dollar smirk emerges. He is proud of himself, just as he is proud of his teammates.
Jackson: "And all because of the fans."
Still a bit confused, the Internet Champion can only shake his head. Maybe Gerrit was trying too hard, an all-in effort to keep the fabric of the Monstimals together, to stay on the same page with Raab. If that was the case, he was failing miserably, and completely missing on the fortunes of New Supremacy.
Jackson: "Well that is what separates you losers from us, pretenders from those with championship pedigree. When you had the chance to have Mark Ward in your corner, you balked. When you had the opportunity to make the very best of the situation, to have the sphere of influence from Mark Ward to give you everything, again you balked."
A classic case of learning from the mistake of others. So when the same opportunity presented itself to Drake Green, Travis Nathaniel Andrews, and Sean Jackson? they didn't hesitate to grasp that golden ring.
Jackson: "But then, you want to turn around and say that we're only out here for our own chances to be the top dog. Um Gerrit, if you aren't out here to be the top dog, then you shouldn't be out here. Drake Green is a three-time winner of the SCW World Heavyweight Title, I am a two-time winner, and Travis has all the talent in the world..."
The Dallas native stops walking, his eyes directly on the camera.
Jackson: "Which is why we are a well-oiled machine, and you guys are arguing about fans. You claim that I'm not a team player, but I'm not the one who is constantly sticking my nose into a teammates business. Instead of encouraging Raab, instead of just being there for him, you want to dictate every moment, and for what?"
Turn-about his fair play.
Jackson: "Because it is you who wants the top championship in SCW, and would even sabotage Raab and Samuel to get it done. You stood there in that interview with Willow, trying desperately to make a point, while butchering your own argument with every new breath. First it is me, the guy who isn't the team player, then it is Travis."
Again, a shrug.
Jackson: "So which is it?"
Rule number one. Never get into a battle of one-upmanship with the Mental Rapist.
Jackson: "Or maybe, just maybe the point you were subconsciously trying to make, was of you and Raab. So Gerrit, with every off the wall comment made answering Willow's questions, were those comments really aimed at Raab? When you said that I needed to have people around me, did you really mean yourself?"
The Internet Champion closes his eyes, then mimics fumbling around in the dark. It is humorous to him, but the few people passing by think the gesture is tasteless, as evident by their facial expressions of anger, contempt, and sadness.
Jackson: "Because in a few years time, I won't need to be led around by a leash. I will be able to stare at my beautiful wife every day of my life, while you on the other hand, will have to hear from other men on how beautiful Sapphira is."
By this time, the eyes of the Internet Champion have opened back up and he is staring at his surroundings.
Jackson: "It is clear why you are jealous of New Supremacy. Everything we take for granted, you have either lost or are losing. As the Internet Champion, I am satisfied with having gold around my waist. However, that world heavyweight title belongs to us and if it doesn't go to Travis, then you can bet your bottom dollar that I will bring it home. Had it not been for a freak injury, that World championship as well as Roulette championship would still belong to us, Drake would still be standing on top of the mountain, and you would have nothing to talk about."
Oh wait, he would still be living in the past. That is the one thing Gerrit does better than everyone else, he falls back to the past because the present hasn't been kind to him at all.
Jackson: "Wait, I take that back. You would be harping those same tired talking points, that you beat Drake back in the day and by golly, can do it again. You live on that one moment in time, when Drake wasn't feeling well and you capitalized by the skin of your teeth. But to hear you tell the story, Drake passed out the moment you entered the ring and voila, you became champion."
As the Mental Rapist is still speaking, Marshall emerges from the building, ready to go.
Jackson: "Well you can skew the truth all you want my man, but the bottom line is always the truth...and here is the truth."
Marshall now standing next to the limo, waves his hand in order to capture Sean's attention. Once the acknowledging nod is given, Marshall steps back into the limo.
Jackson: "You were relevent back in the day, before the arrival of the Mental Rapist, but not anymore. The fact you held that world heavyweight championship once is indicative to how poor this company was, competition wise. But now that New Supremacy is together, as one unit, you will never have to concern yourself with that championship ever again. Because in case you haven't figured it out, that title belt is being targeted by Travis and myself..."
The Internet Champion reaches into his pocket and retrieves a one hundred-dollar bill.
Jackson: "And you can bet your bottom dollar that one of us will bring it home, leaving you and the rest of the roster empty-handed, once again. Now if you will excuse me, we need to get back on the road."
Throwing a wink towards the camera, Sean makes his way back to the limo, where after stepping in, the limo driver closes the door and makes his way to the drivers side door.
("Jesus Christ Gerrit, you can't be that freaking brain-dead, can you? New Supremacy is vying for the championship and you want to bring up Beetlejuice? Do you honestly think this is a joke? I serve notice to the rest of the roster and you want to channel your inner Raab. Well you go ahead and cartoon your chances, just go full stupid if you want, but I'm stepping into that ring in Long Beach twice, will every intention on winning both matches, both titles."
"You want to question my integrity, like it is going to hurt my feelings, or take me out of my game. Well let me explain things so you will finally understand."
"Yes, yes I did offer five thousand dollars to anyone that takes you out. But it wasn't because I feared you, it was because I was done with you. The moment Drake went down, I knew an opportunity would present itself for the World Championship and I wanted the inside track. To explain this better, I don't get paid by the hour."
"Oh and by the way wrestling fans, the man known as Goth is basically saying that you can be bought. He is saying that if I throw enough money at you, then I can get nominated for anything. Just thought I would pass that along.")
February 9, 2016
Little Rock, Arkansas
Ask yourself, why would Sean Jackson be in Little Rock? his match with Goth was taking place in Long Beach, on the West Coast of California, in the opposite direction. A better question would be, why is he in the top floor suite of the classiest hotel in the capital city of Arkansas? after sending a quick text on his phone, he tosses it down on the desk and waits patiently by the window.
The wait is interrupted by a knock on the door. The knock prompts that million dollar smirk and after walking to the door, it is opened to reveal Marshall Owens standing in the hallway.
Jackson: "Come in and..."
It was time. After being left in the dark for an entire day, it was time for his client to spill the beans.
Owens: "Sean, I have been there for you thru thick and thin. Anytime you've ever needed anything, I've always been there with the assist. But for the love of God, you've got to tell me what's going on."
So that's what it feels like to be interrupted? mental note made.
Jackson: "Just have a seat."
Still perplexed, Marshall takes a deep breath and does as told. Once he sits down, Sean prepares to set his Attorney's mind at ease.
Jackson: "Listen, I have a plan to take over Duke Oil..."
The gasp you hear is Marshall sucking the air from the room. Now he really is confused, because if you are wanting to take a billion dollar company from an Oil Tycoon, the last place you want to be is Little Rock, Arkansas.
Jackson: "And the bait is right here in Little Rock."
Owens: "You're joking, right?"
Jackson: "Does it look like I'm joking?"
Of course he wasn't joking, the Dallas native was taking this seriously. If you wanted jokes, go pay attention to the garbage from Goth and the rest of the Monstimals.
Jackson: "Come on Marshall, get your head screwed on straight. We are here because I found Adam's kryptonite, and my way to stripping the company from that over-bearing old man."
Owens: "As your Attorney and friend, I have to tell you Sean, I have serious reservations about this. You do know that if Pamela ever discovers what you are up to, she will...."
Jackson: "Trust me Marshall, Pamela will never find out. By the time I'm done, Cameron will have stepped down without even knowing I was the one who pulled the trigger, and it all starts with his lackey Adam."
Now that was the confusing part. Marshall still didn't understand what part Adam Solomon played in this scheme. He had enough conversations with Sean to know the guy was a creep, that as Cameron's right hand man, the guy had his hands in a lot of things. But Little Rock, Arkansas?
Owens: "But why here, and why choose Adam? it, just doesn't make sense to me. It seems that this would be a job for a lackey of your own while we are making our way to Long Beach..."
Jackson: "You worry too much. Besides, I always have an ace up my sleeve. Just because I'm here, not concentrating on Goth, doesn't mean I'm not ready for him. Just look at him, he doesn't know which way is up or which direction to go. One minute I am a talentless hack, the next I'm a capable wrestler who is too chicken to prove it, even though I'm the one who walked away with all the hardware."
There was no arguing that fact, no matter how Goth tried to twist it. Again, the Mental Rapist studied Sun Tzu and the Art of War while Gerrit continued to argue with Raab over the significance of crowd noise. The difference between the two were night and day, something that Sean Jackson would harp on until the Monstimals finally saw the light....
Oh wait, pretty soon Goth wouldn't be able to see the light.
("Close your eyes Gerrit, what do you see? I know, I know, I'm running that expression into the ground. But it seems the more I repeat it, the more it goes over your head. It is like you honestly believe you can will yourself to victory in Long Beach. That if you pray to God hard enough, he will answer your prayers and assist you with the win. Well Gerrit, it doesn't work that way, it will never work that way. If it did, then Buffalo Quarterback Jim Kelly would have won at least one Superbowl, or Fran Tarkington, or even Dan Marino."
"The fact those future Hall of Famers never won the big game only proves that your prayers will go un-answered at My Bloody Valentine. But you can continue with the same old tired rhetoric to Willow, doing everything you can to convince her that you will walk out of the ring with not only my Internet Championship, but the SCW World Heavyweight Championship as well...."
"But it is a pipe dream Gerrit, a pipe dream propped up by some false reality, a high that simply doesn't last. Don't you realize that I am a win at all cost kind of guy? I will sacrifice anything and everything to win the prize, no matter how insignificant it is. Gerrit, if we were racing for a stick of bubble gum, I would knock over a little old lady. I would run over five babies in their cribs if it meant a victory for me. Hell, I'm here in Little Rock, about to destroy the lives of people I don't even know, just to win a billion dollar company in Dallas, Texas."
"What I'm trying to say is this Gerrit, I value a stick of bubble gum more than you, and won't care how much of you ends up under my shoes. Yes, you are an awesome, awesome talent or you wouldn't be here. But you lost sight of the prize a long time ago by playing around with Raab and Samuel. They used to be the weak links, but when you play with shit long enough, the smell gets on you, and now you are just as weak. I'm going to have fun here in Little Rock, just like I will in Dallas and Long Beach."
"Thank God for weak people.")
Checking his watch, the Internet Champion realizes the time.
Jackson: "Hey, we gotta go."
Picking up his phone, Sean then motions for Marshall to follow as he heads towards the door. Within moments, the two are outside the hotel and in the limo. It is night-time, approximately midnight and the temperature is dipping slightly. Now then, there's a reason why you pick certain times and certain places to execute the plan...
Because when it is cold, and late at night....
Street walkers and strippers have a different frame of mind going.
As the limo hits the down town strip, Sean really begins to look for that special person, that person capable of springing the trap. Almost immediately, he begins to spot them, prostitutes looking for that next score. You had the high society types, those who had the expensive clientele and no expectations of doing anything else. Yeah, those needed to be avoided.
Then you had the twenty-dollar whores, those missing teeth and with huge drug habits. They were also the ones with HIV, Syphilis, Hepatitis, or any number of mental disorders that could result in your throat being cut. No, he needed the perfect woman and he knew that she would be found here.
Jackson: "Okay, this is what I'm looking for. A brunette for sure, about five feet tall and shapely looking. I don't want skin and bones."
Yeah, that will narrow things down Marshall thinks to himself. But what he doesn't understand is this, why not look for someone like this in Dallas? a question that definitely deserved to be asked.
Owens: "If that's the case, we could have found someone like that in Dallas. Why did..."
Jackson: "Because Adam is a sleaze Marshall, which means the chances of us finding a prostitute he has already been with is greatly increased. No, we come to Little Rock because Adam is a lazy prick and would never come here, for business or pleasure."
("See Gerrit, I think of everything. I am not one to leave anything to chance, especially with a title belt on the line. If you wanted peace, then you should have stayed away from Drake and the rest of New Supremacy. If you wanted peace, then you should have retired and spent what little time you had left with eyesight, with your wife. But no, you couldn't do it, you just had to let that ego get in the way."
"That ego which has lied to you on a regular basis, leading you to believe there is one more title run in you, that somehow, in someway, you can pull off yet another miracle. Well I'm not going to apologize for your idiocy, because you aren't going to win, not in Long Beach, not ever. But of course, even while looking up at the lights, laid out in the middle of the ring, your ego will still convince you of that glimmer of hope, that long-shot chance of winning the World Championship, while blood pools under your body."
"I wish you could see it for what it really is, a hollow dream, at best. I can only imagine how painful and awkward it is going to be for Sapphira, standing there and watching your condition get worse, before her eyes. To understand the horror unfolding before her, realizing the mistake of not stopping you, of allowing you to be consumed by that pipe-dream which leads nowhere. Yes Gerrit, it is going to be hilarious, standing there and watching the tears pouring from her eyes, watching her husband being decimated by a man without a care in the world."
"I want to see that bitch collapse on the floor, I want to see her very essence drained away, hope destroyed in the blink of an eye. I want to see her standing there, towel in hand, torn over whether to throw it or not. Believe me Gerrit, that ultimately is the difference between me and every other superstar in SCW. I want to beat you so badly, it makes Sapphira violently ill, forcing her to throw up on that floor, torn between doing what is right, and what you would wish her to do."
"I want to hear her shrieks of pain, to see the torment all over her face, etched in like words on steel. It isn't just about ending you Gerrit, but wiping every memory she will ever have of you. You see, that is the kind of pain I want to inflict, the kind that stabs at your very soul, bleeds your heart dry while still beating in your chest.")
A few moments pass before another text message comes over Sean's phone. In the time it takes for him to remove it, a second message chimes in, which the Internet Champion checks with a smile. He then leans forward, catching the attention of the driver.
Jackson: "Three blocks up and take a right. We're heading to a place called the Paper Moon."
The driver nods his head.
Jackson: "An old friend of mine is there."
Leaning back, relaxed, no one understands just how solid this plan is going to be. Inside the wrestling ring, inside the boardroom, a two-pronged attack that has all the earmarks of a well planned Sean Jackson setup.
Owens: "An old friend?"
Oh yes, a blast from Sean's past. But that's what it takes sometimes, extra eyes and ears from those at rock bottom, who would do anything for money.
Jackson: "Yeah, someone who needed a little extra cash. Someone who needed a little job to tide them over, you know, for a rainy day..."
As the limo takes that expected right turn, it was now only a matter of time before he would meet her, Noelle Griffith. A now twenty-one year old stripper working at the Paper Moon.
Jackson: "He approached me a few weeks ago, and I saw an opportunity to make a plan work. After a brief discussion, he knew of a girl that could get the job done, so here we are."
Owens: "But what about the prostitutes?"
Jackson: "A backup plan, just in case this girl doesn't pan out."
As the limo turns into the parking lot, the Paper Moon sign is unmistakable. Taking out his phone again, Sean types in a quick message and hits the send button. Once the limo comes to a stop, the door to the main entrance opens and out steps a man who looks much older than he really is...
Former member of the Texas Outlaws, Terry Norris. While still 6'3, his weight had gone down to around 230 and not nearly as muscular he was back as the famed member of the Texas Outlaws with Bobby Blood.
The limo driver quickly opens the door and Sean steps out. Having slipped out of the jacket a long time ago, the Internet Champion still looked like a million dollars, exactly the opposite from Terry Norris who was dressed in blue jeans, a button down shirt and boots. A brief handshake is exchanged which takes Terry by surprise.
Jackson: "So where is she?"
Wow, straight to business. For those who don't know, Sean Jackson was a long time friend of Terry's, traveling up and down the road with another guy named Bobby Blood. Back in the late 90's and early 2000's, Terry Norris and Bobby Blood were one of the greatest tag teams in the world, winning championships everywhere they went, seemingly over-shadowing the smaller Sean Jackson on a nightly basis. But Terry at least thought they would catch up on old times before heading into business...
Obviously he was mistaken.
Norris: "Uh, she's inside."
Jackson: "So, bring her out. I'm kind of on a schedule, you know, business stuff."
Norris: "Uh, yeah. Okay, I'll go get her."
Terry's feelings are definitely hurt, he tries hard to hide it, but isn't very successful. However, Sean turns his head, checks his watch, looks at a guy throwing up on the other side of the parking lot...anything to not pay further attention to a guy who was obviously butt-hurt over working some two-bit strip joint, while his so-called friend was on top of the world. But to show he wasn't entirely heartless...
Jackson: "Thanks, much appreciated."
Marshall doesn't say a word, he just stares at the entrance, just like Sean is doing. As the temperature continues to drop, the Dallas native just stands there, waiting to see if this girl was as advertised. As the door opens, it doesn't take long to understand why Terry Norris made such a fuss over this girl, this woman. At 5'0 and just over one hundred pounds, this girl was everything and more (channel Madison Ivy as a pic-base). At 34D-24-34, she knocked the socks off of everyone who saw her. As that million dollar smirk forms, Noelle isn't amused.
Noelle: "Okay Terry, I'm out here. So what is this all about?"
Without hesitation, the Internet Champion reaches into his pocket and takes out a clip of one hundred-dollar bills. As he extends it out to the buxom brunette, she isn't fazed.
Noelle: "What is that for?"
Jackson: "I have a job for you."
She looks slightly offended.
Noelle: "I am not that kind of girl."
She turns on her heels, preparing to head back to the door.
Jackson: "And I'm not paying you for that."
She continues walking.
Jackson: "One hundred thousand dollars, a year."
Noelle stops, dead in her tracks. At one hundred thousand dollars, this stranger was definitely speaking her language. But in Sean Jackson's mind, it just further supported his stance that everyone, EVERYONE has a price, it just has to be found. As she turns back around, the Mental Rapist continues with the pitch.
Jackson: And don't try to convince me you make anything close to that, working here. My guess is, you are sharing an apartment, behind on the rent, and would really love to add to the wardrobe. You are getting tired of stripping for dollar bills, in front of sexual deviants and perverts. Guys who smell like hogs and booze, with little to no class at all."
He raises an index finger.
Jackson: I would even venture to guess that you take a cab to work every night."
Noelle stands there, soaking it all in. Of course, she couldn't argue because everything he was saying, was the truth. She was stuck doing this unless she went into porn, married an old man like Anna Nicole Smith did, or....
Noelle: "One hundred thousand a year? what is the job?"
Pointing to the limo, the smile gets wider.
Jackson: "Step into my office and we will discuss the terms and conditions."
Noelle hesitates.
Jackson: "Trust me, this is a legit job."
("Gerrit, Gerrit...arrogance doesn't give me confidence, my ability does. Oh sure, you want to bitch and moan about how I get my victories, but understand something, I get paid to win, by any means necessary. Now when I came to Sin City Wrestling, I didn't paint myself as a nice guy, I didn't lie to a single person. Everyone knew I was a bad character, who would do anything to win, so why act surprised now? Or maybe, I'm directing this to the wrong person."
"Sapphira, are you really going to allow this to happen? Are you going to allow a man, clueless to what he is stepping in to, actually stand face to face with me? He has said it himself, that he wants to be destroyed, that he wants to be ended in the ring. Well, if he wishes it enough, it will most certainly happen. Like that person who wishes to commit suicide by cop, he will speed thru town or will do something to put others in danger. Then when the police shows up, he immediately goes on the offensive, forcing the officer to end his life."
"Is that what Gerrit is going? ending his life? Because if it is, then he is a coward, a low-life cheating people of air. When I give him a compliment, saying that he is good, he dis-misses it as a ploy...as me feeding my ego. But that is far from the case, and his inability to recognize the difference means that he will never be ready for me."
"The first time we faced each other, Gerrit had the night of his life, while I didn't. He gave everything he had, and then some, and could only accomplish a draw. Maybe he refuses to back out of this match because he is a gutless coward, a man too afraid of telling you the truth, that deep down inside he wants a divorce. That because of his inferiority complex, he can no longer screw you out of happiness and wants it all to end."
"Is that what is haunting him Sapphira? He is unable to make the right choice, so instead of living in the hell you can't make right, he turns to me and my art of war mentality to finally give him peace."
"Well, if that's the case, then again I say challenge accepted. I have too much respect for Gerrit to see him continue down this same doomed road, leading nowhere. So for you Sapphira, I will end his voyage down that desolate highway. I will stop the vultures from circling his career, from dragging your future into the depths of his despair."
"But I know what you really need Sapphira, and that's a man who can put talents like yours to good use. After I put Gerrit down for the rest of eternity, you will need someone to take care of you, to give those things you long for the most.")
Maybe Sean can use a man like Terry Norris after all.
fin.
Some people never learn. No matter how long the odds are, they still believe the fight is winnable. They run into the fray with nothing but emotions to guide them, like a cabbage with all head and no brains. But that's the difference between everyone else and me, I introduce my brain into everything. You have to understand something Goth, a plan is always in place, you just have to be smart enough to see it.
February 8, 2016
Dallas, Texas
Setting up the plan
The plan was in place, it was just a matter of setting the trap. Now don't get it confused, because not just any trap will do. No, you have to know your opponent so well that he or she could never see it coming, until it was too late.
As the black stretch limo pulled up to the Jackson mansion, the SCW Internet Champion stood just outside the doorway, Marshall Owens at his side. In a custom made Italian suit, the champion looked every bit the successful athlete, the successful businessman.
Once the limo rolls to a stop, the uniformed driver steps out and opens the trunk while a couple of butlers pull a cart filled with luggage from the mansion. As the champion checks the solid gold Rolex on his wrist, he shakes his head, realizing that the driver is approximately five seconds late. Now as a multiple-time world champion, Sean Jackson was used to a strict schedule because time was money, and this driver had cost him five seconds worth of valuable money. So in typical Mental Rapist behavior, he opens his mouth to scold the driver.
Jackson: "Really?"
The champion checks his watch again.
Jackson: "Five seconds?"
The limo driver looks confused, almost shrugging. He isn't wearing a solid gold Rolex watch, but his Wal-Mart brand $19.99 watch was working just fine.
driver: "Mr. Jackson, according to my watch, I'm about five minutes early."
The facial expression on Sean Jackson's face goes cold, ice- cold. His eyes, dark, hollow even as his cheeks go flush with a wave of rage sweeping over him. However, with his wife Pamela close by, the Dallas native keeps from exploding.
Jackson: "Five minutes early? son, this watch is worth more money than you make in a year, so don't stand there and tell me that it has the wrong time. Matter of fact, you aren't getting paid to tell time, you're getting paid to show up on time."
The Internet Champion points to the luggage being loaded, then to the driver.
Jackson: "So how about making up those five seconds by helping with the luggage? or, I can just fire you here on the spot."
Why must he act like an ass? is the first thought which comes to the mind of the limo driver. It wasn't the best job in the world, but it wasn't the worst either. In weighing the options, the driver figured it would be easier to help load the luggage, rather than risk losing his job and being forced to walk home. But of course, that was the mentality of Sean Jackson. He could pick on the little guy, he could treat him like dirt because there was no way the driver could fight back. Just like the old saying that always held true...
The customer is always right. Especially when he is worth hundreds of millions of dollars.
So true to form, the driver begins to help with the luggage, thus saving his job.
driver: "Yes Mr. Jackson."
Now that was more like it. Extra hands on deck, making the effort to close the gap on that lost five seconds, all because everyone loves the Internet Champion. Just seeing it all taking place brings a warm and fuzzy to Marshall.
Owens: "Nice touch, which means we're right back on schedule again. However, we're right back on schedule for what?"
The cold expression on the champion's face changes to boredom as the vacant gaze accompanies the frowning lips. If he wanted Marshall to know the plan early, that information would have already been spilled. The fact Marshall didn't know was by design, because no one was going to keep this trap from being sprung....
NO ONE.
Jackson: "Marshall, you can ask about the weather, you can ask what I had for breakfast, hell you can ask me anything you want. But if you ask me any questions about this trip, I swear to God that I will leave you on the side of the road, no matter where we are. Am I understood?"
The Attorney nods his head
Jackson: "Good. Let me know when the monkeys get everything loaded."
Again, Marshall nods his head as the Mental Rapist turns and re-enters the mansion. As he does, standing in front of a mirror is his wife Pamela, dressed in a hunter-green Sofia three-button, wide-lapel jacket. The pepulm on the jacket is cut short for a chic, leg-lengthening look which quickly grabs his attention. The nipped-in waist and high stance on the top button accentuates her upper body which is where his eyes gravitate.
At first, Pamela doesn't notice him standing there, his lower jaw dropping and eyebrows raising. After adjusting her long brunette hair, Pamela turns and notices her husband in the room, wide-eyed.
Pamela: "Problems?"
She asks the question playfully. The daughter of an oil tycoon, Pamela Duke-Jackson could also be a fitness model. She works out on a daily basis, taking her body seriously, the same as her fitness. There was just something about seeing that kind of expression on her husband's face, even after all these years and well...
It made her feel good. It kept the love in the relationship strong, the feeling of emotional bliss, euphoric even. In a word, she was content, never happier.
Jackson: "You look..."
He was standing there, in awe of her beauty. Even today, after all those years, she still took his breath away. There was an effort made to keep his composure, to keep his heart from thumping out of his chest...
Jackson: "Beautiful."
But he was completely opposite of stoic, the anticipation of putting his hands on her body, pressing his lips to hers. It was...
Sean stopped himself, a prevention from drifting from the plan. No, he had a schedule to keep, a place to be, and every moment he stared in astonishment towards this beautiful woman in front of him, was an additional moment spent under an over-bearing father-in-law.
Taking the compliment in stride, Pamela smiles while making her way across the room. Once in front of her husband, she places both arms over his shoulders, her hands crossed behind his neck.
Pamela: "Thank you."
She then leans in, planting her slightly parted lips against his. The kiss, that seductive taste of her lips was what the Dallas native lived for. After the kiss ends, she embraces him further, the hair from the top of her head slightly below his nostrils. The perfume she wore, racing up his nose, infiltrating his senses, drove him totally crazy. He felt the smoothness of her skin, while also observing the way it was firm and toned, allowing the business suit to fit properly.
He was crazy, no sane person would dare walk away from a woman like this, just for a road trip. But it had to be done, he had to get this plan set up and the only way to do that was a trip to Little Rock, Arkansas.
So with that, he pulls back to arms length.
Jackson: "Pam, Marshall and I have a business meeting to attend. So we'll be away from Dallas for several days. But, we'll be back in time to pick you up and head to Long Beach."
("I want you to understand something Goth, and I want to be perfectly clear here. Your troubling night hasn't even begun yet. Much like Adam Solomon and Cameron Duke, you won't know the trap is sprung until it is too late. You want to hold onto the past, as if it is going to help you for the future, and that simply isn't the case. This is an ever evolving sport, where you either keep up, or get left behind. Your problem is that not only are you losing your eyesight, but you are also losing the ability to keep an open mind. It is closed because you are trying to grasp on to those final moments, those final visions of a wife that will leave you, while I get to see mine any time that I want...."
"Yes Goth, your troubles are just beginning. Can you imagine trying to grasp on to visions, to memories, while suffering long-term and short-term memory loss? Trust me Gerrit, after a well placed knee with evil intentions on the back of your skull, it can very well damage your brain, damaging any memories that you have after your eyesight goes...."
"And believe me, if it means beating you at My Bloody Valentine, I will do exactly that, not giving one care in the world about how it affects you or Sapphira. That's just the kind of man I'm going to be.")
February 8, 2016
Interstate 20, heading eastbound out of Dallas
As the limo heads eastbound on the Interstate, the Internet Champion is a picture of calmness. As he looks out the window, towards vehicles going by, his mind wonders to what each and every person is doing. What are they talking about? where are they going? how pathetic their lives really were compared to his. Marshall on the other hand, found himself trying to find that fine line of conversation without being thrown out on his ass. He wanted to know where they were going, and what part he was playing, while not being tossed out on his ass.
There was music playing on the radio, but that wasn't enough to break the stress he was feeling. So after scanning for something to talk about, Marshall goes with old reliable.
Owens: "So Gerrit is worried about losing his eyesight, I can fully understand that. But Jesus, if he is so worried about losing his eyesight, why in the hell would he agree to wrestle someone as dangerous as you?"
Sure it was a legitimate question, which deserved a legitimate answer, but a legitimate answer would have to come from Goth himself. The initial reaction from the Dallas native was a shrug of the shoulders and a split second of silence. Then came the response from the New Supremacy member.
Jackson: "He must not be too concerned, after all, a man concerned with living life for his wife, wouldn't dare face someone like me. But that is why Gerrit is having problems getting his life together in relation to Sapphira, as well as the Monstimals. But stress will do that to someone weak, someone unable to adapt with the surroundings."
Sean turns his attention from the window, and to his Attorney.
Jackson: "The cracks are already forming with the Monstimals. Raab concerned about people cheering for him, Gerrit unable to explain motives without fists being thrown..."
The Mental Rapist smiles, feeling joy every time he thinks of Goth and Raab at each others throat.
Jackson: "It feels like paradise. Hell, if it is that easy, I'll just pay someone to pump in crowd noise during Raab's introductions, really drive him over the deep end."
Now that is a thought Marshall thinks to himself. A move that would certainly cause more friction between the two, trapping Samuel in the middle.
("Are you now getting a clearer picture Gerrit? Despite what anyone thinks, there is no limit to the depths I will stoop to win a match. I've used twin magic, I've hired people to collect bounties, I've been the ultimate opportunist. I have used and abused people in every aspect of my life to get to the top and Long Beach will be no different. Want to know the lengths I will go? I'm on my way to the state of Arkansas, where the bait for my master plan exists. When you have the money and power that I have, you realize early that everyone has a price. The question isn't how high will you go to get the job done? but how far you are willing to go to ensure its success."
"Believe me Gerrit, after it is all said and done, you will never question my abilities or capabilities ever again.")
That's the thing about Sean Jackson, there simply wasn't another soul out there like him. Yes there were pretenders, those that wished to mimic what he brought to the table, but didn't have the stomach to pull the trigger. But again, that was the reason Mark Ward brought him in, right?
Of course it was. But then again, Sean Jackson had something nobody else did...
Marshall Owens.
Owens: "If you want crowd noise pumped in, then I'll see about getting that done. I'm sure greasing some palms in that neck of the country isn't out the realm of possibility. After all, I hear that is common practice in California."
And who would know better than a sleazy attorney?
Just so everyone knows, the thought of pumping in crowd cheers for Raab was a joke at first. But now the Mental Rapist was seriously considering it. With everything else going wrong in Goth's life, spreading misery throughout the Monstimals would be the icing on the cake.
A smile sweeps over the champion's face, which was evident by the raised cheeks and the crescent shape of his eyes. He shows confidence in everything, but when it comes to Goth and Raab, they make even the hard things possible.
Jackson: "Make it happen Marshall, make it happen."
The Mental Rapist then turns his attention back to the window. It was a case of *let it be written, so let it be done* that he was most known for.
("Are you sensing a trend here Gerrit? of course you are. All the things I take for granted, you are grasping to either hold on, or to have. When I close my eyes? everything goes black. I'm totally helpless, until I open them again. But pretty soon, everything will go dark for you, and it won't have a damn thing to do with closing your eyes. You know, I wonder how that feels? that one day your world will go dark, that one day you will never be able to see that wife of yours again."
"I have noticed something about Sapphira. She is a woman filled with love, a woman who needs to show love. I wonder how long she can be with someone who is no longer a man? Can you imagine Gerrit, being trapped in that world of darkness and your loving wife saying that she's going to make a run to the store, to get something to eat..."
"But instead use it as a means to rendezvous with another man, a booty call if you will, because lets face it, I don't see that kind of woman being faithful to someone who is no longer a man."
"Wow, that would be devastating wouldn't it? Now granted, I already know what you are going to say. Not my woman, not my Sapphira. I'm sure she will be right there by your side, shaking her head profusely, swearing up and down that it would never happen. Well knowing that I hate to bear bad news, but women of professional athletes have cheated for far, far less. So when it happens, don't say that I didn't warn you.")
February 8, 2016
Somewhere in Texarkana, Texas
The temperature hovering around 48 degrees, but that doesn't affect the SCW Internet Champion. While Marshall is taking care of business in a nearby restroom, the Dallas native is walking up and down the sidewalk, giving his own commentary to the upcoming match with Goth.
Jackson: "Gerrit, Gerrit. How off base could you possibly be?"
There is a breeze in the air, moving his short cut hair ever so slightly. He does seem to be a bit confused, wondering how someone so in touch with the business as Goth was supposed to be, could be so wrong about everything around him.
Jackson: "Unlike the Monstimals, New Supremacy are team players. Unlike the Monstimals, New Supremacy members are working with one another, as opposed to you and Raab constantly bickering amongst yourselves."
That million dollar smirk emerges. He is proud of himself, just as he is proud of his teammates.
Jackson: "And all because of the fans."
Still a bit confused, the Internet Champion can only shake his head. Maybe Gerrit was trying too hard, an all-in effort to keep the fabric of the Monstimals together, to stay on the same page with Raab. If that was the case, he was failing miserably, and completely missing on the fortunes of New Supremacy.
Jackson: "Well that is what separates you losers from us, pretenders from those with championship pedigree. When you had the chance to have Mark Ward in your corner, you balked. When you had the opportunity to make the very best of the situation, to have the sphere of influence from Mark Ward to give you everything, again you balked."
A classic case of learning from the mistake of others. So when the same opportunity presented itself to Drake Green, Travis Nathaniel Andrews, and Sean Jackson? they didn't hesitate to grasp that golden ring.
Jackson: "But then, you want to turn around and say that we're only out here for our own chances to be the top dog. Um Gerrit, if you aren't out here to be the top dog, then you shouldn't be out here. Drake Green is a three-time winner of the SCW World Heavyweight Title, I am a two-time winner, and Travis has all the talent in the world..."
The Dallas native stops walking, his eyes directly on the camera.
Jackson: "Which is why we are a well-oiled machine, and you guys are arguing about fans. You claim that I'm not a team player, but I'm not the one who is constantly sticking my nose into a teammates business. Instead of encouraging Raab, instead of just being there for him, you want to dictate every moment, and for what?"
Turn-about his fair play.
Jackson: "Because it is you who wants the top championship in SCW, and would even sabotage Raab and Samuel to get it done. You stood there in that interview with Willow, trying desperately to make a point, while butchering your own argument with every new breath. First it is me, the guy who isn't the team player, then it is Travis."
Again, a shrug.
Jackson: "So which is it?"
Rule number one. Never get into a battle of one-upmanship with the Mental Rapist.
Jackson: "Or maybe, just maybe the point you were subconsciously trying to make, was of you and Raab. So Gerrit, with every off the wall comment made answering Willow's questions, were those comments really aimed at Raab? When you said that I needed to have people around me, did you really mean yourself?"
The Internet Champion closes his eyes, then mimics fumbling around in the dark. It is humorous to him, but the few people passing by think the gesture is tasteless, as evident by their facial expressions of anger, contempt, and sadness.
Jackson: "Because in a few years time, I won't need to be led around by a leash. I will be able to stare at my beautiful wife every day of my life, while you on the other hand, will have to hear from other men on how beautiful Sapphira is."
By this time, the eyes of the Internet Champion have opened back up and he is staring at his surroundings.
Jackson: "It is clear why you are jealous of New Supremacy. Everything we take for granted, you have either lost or are losing. As the Internet Champion, I am satisfied with having gold around my waist. However, that world heavyweight title belongs to us and if it doesn't go to Travis, then you can bet your bottom dollar that I will bring it home. Had it not been for a freak injury, that World championship as well as Roulette championship would still belong to us, Drake would still be standing on top of the mountain, and you would have nothing to talk about."
Oh wait, he would still be living in the past. That is the one thing Gerrit does better than everyone else, he falls back to the past because the present hasn't been kind to him at all.
Jackson: "Wait, I take that back. You would be harping those same tired talking points, that you beat Drake back in the day and by golly, can do it again. You live on that one moment in time, when Drake wasn't feeling well and you capitalized by the skin of your teeth. But to hear you tell the story, Drake passed out the moment you entered the ring and voila, you became champion."
As the Mental Rapist is still speaking, Marshall emerges from the building, ready to go.
Jackson: "Well you can skew the truth all you want my man, but the bottom line is always the truth...and here is the truth."
Marshall now standing next to the limo, waves his hand in order to capture Sean's attention. Once the acknowledging nod is given, Marshall steps back into the limo.
Jackson: "You were relevent back in the day, before the arrival of the Mental Rapist, but not anymore. The fact you held that world heavyweight championship once is indicative to how poor this company was, competition wise. But now that New Supremacy is together, as one unit, you will never have to concern yourself with that championship ever again. Because in case you haven't figured it out, that title belt is being targeted by Travis and myself..."
The Internet Champion reaches into his pocket and retrieves a one hundred-dollar bill.
Jackson: "And you can bet your bottom dollar that one of us will bring it home, leaving you and the rest of the roster empty-handed, once again. Now if you will excuse me, we need to get back on the road."
Throwing a wink towards the camera, Sean makes his way back to the limo, where after stepping in, the limo driver closes the door and makes his way to the drivers side door.
("Jesus Christ Gerrit, you can't be that freaking brain-dead, can you? New Supremacy is vying for the championship and you want to bring up Beetlejuice? Do you honestly think this is a joke? I serve notice to the rest of the roster and you want to channel your inner Raab. Well you go ahead and cartoon your chances, just go full stupid if you want, but I'm stepping into that ring in Long Beach twice, will every intention on winning both matches, both titles."
"You want to question my integrity, like it is going to hurt my feelings, or take me out of my game. Well let me explain things so you will finally understand."
"Yes, yes I did offer five thousand dollars to anyone that takes you out. But it wasn't because I feared you, it was because I was done with you. The moment Drake went down, I knew an opportunity would present itself for the World Championship and I wanted the inside track. To explain this better, I don't get paid by the hour."
"Oh and by the way wrestling fans, the man known as Goth is basically saying that you can be bought. He is saying that if I throw enough money at you, then I can get nominated for anything. Just thought I would pass that along.")
February 9, 2016
Little Rock, Arkansas
Ask yourself, why would Sean Jackson be in Little Rock? his match with Goth was taking place in Long Beach, on the West Coast of California, in the opposite direction. A better question would be, why is he in the top floor suite of the classiest hotel in the capital city of Arkansas? after sending a quick text on his phone, he tosses it down on the desk and waits patiently by the window.
The wait is interrupted by a knock on the door. The knock prompts that million dollar smirk and after walking to the door, it is opened to reveal Marshall Owens standing in the hallway.
Jackson: "Come in and..."
It was time. After being left in the dark for an entire day, it was time for his client to spill the beans.
Owens: "Sean, I have been there for you thru thick and thin. Anytime you've ever needed anything, I've always been there with the assist. But for the love of God, you've got to tell me what's going on."
So that's what it feels like to be interrupted? mental note made.
Jackson: "Just have a seat."
Still perplexed, Marshall takes a deep breath and does as told. Once he sits down, Sean prepares to set his Attorney's mind at ease.
Jackson: "Listen, I have a plan to take over Duke Oil..."
The gasp you hear is Marshall sucking the air from the room. Now he really is confused, because if you are wanting to take a billion dollar company from an Oil Tycoon, the last place you want to be is Little Rock, Arkansas.
Jackson: "And the bait is right here in Little Rock."
Owens: "You're joking, right?"
Jackson: "Does it look like I'm joking?"
Of course he wasn't joking, the Dallas native was taking this seriously. If you wanted jokes, go pay attention to the garbage from Goth and the rest of the Monstimals.
Jackson: "Come on Marshall, get your head screwed on straight. We are here because I found Adam's kryptonite, and my way to stripping the company from that over-bearing old man."
Owens: "As your Attorney and friend, I have to tell you Sean, I have serious reservations about this. You do know that if Pamela ever discovers what you are up to, she will...."
Jackson: "Trust me Marshall, Pamela will never find out. By the time I'm done, Cameron will have stepped down without even knowing I was the one who pulled the trigger, and it all starts with his lackey Adam."
Now that was the confusing part. Marshall still didn't understand what part Adam Solomon played in this scheme. He had enough conversations with Sean to know the guy was a creep, that as Cameron's right hand man, the guy had his hands in a lot of things. But Little Rock, Arkansas?
Owens: "But why here, and why choose Adam? it, just doesn't make sense to me. It seems that this would be a job for a lackey of your own while we are making our way to Long Beach..."
Jackson: "You worry too much. Besides, I always have an ace up my sleeve. Just because I'm here, not concentrating on Goth, doesn't mean I'm not ready for him. Just look at him, he doesn't know which way is up or which direction to go. One minute I am a talentless hack, the next I'm a capable wrestler who is too chicken to prove it, even though I'm the one who walked away with all the hardware."
There was no arguing that fact, no matter how Goth tried to twist it. Again, the Mental Rapist studied Sun Tzu and the Art of War while Gerrit continued to argue with Raab over the significance of crowd noise. The difference between the two were night and day, something that Sean Jackson would harp on until the Monstimals finally saw the light....
Oh wait, pretty soon Goth wouldn't be able to see the light.
("Close your eyes Gerrit, what do you see? I know, I know, I'm running that expression into the ground. But it seems the more I repeat it, the more it goes over your head. It is like you honestly believe you can will yourself to victory in Long Beach. That if you pray to God hard enough, he will answer your prayers and assist you with the win. Well Gerrit, it doesn't work that way, it will never work that way. If it did, then Buffalo Quarterback Jim Kelly would have won at least one Superbowl, or Fran Tarkington, or even Dan Marino."
"The fact those future Hall of Famers never won the big game only proves that your prayers will go un-answered at My Bloody Valentine. But you can continue with the same old tired rhetoric to Willow, doing everything you can to convince her that you will walk out of the ring with not only my Internet Championship, but the SCW World Heavyweight Championship as well...."
"But it is a pipe dream Gerrit, a pipe dream propped up by some false reality, a high that simply doesn't last. Don't you realize that I am a win at all cost kind of guy? I will sacrifice anything and everything to win the prize, no matter how insignificant it is. Gerrit, if we were racing for a stick of bubble gum, I would knock over a little old lady. I would run over five babies in their cribs if it meant a victory for me. Hell, I'm here in Little Rock, about to destroy the lives of people I don't even know, just to win a billion dollar company in Dallas, Texas."
"What I'm trying to say is this Gerrit, I value a stick of bubble gum more than you, and won't care how much of you ends up under my shoes. Yes, you are an awesome, awesome talent or you wouldn't be here. But you lost sight of the prize a long time ago by playing around with Raab and Samuel. They used to be the weak links, but when you play with shit long enough, the smell gets on you, and now you are just as weak. I'm going to have fun here in Little Rock, just like I will in Dallas and Long Beach."
"Thank God for weak people.")
Checking his watch, the Internet Champion realizes the time.
Jackson: "Hey, we gotta go."
Picking up his phone, Sean then motions for Marshall to follow as he heads towards the door. Within moments, the two are outside the hotel and in the limo. It is night-time, approximately midnight and the temperature is dipping slightly. Now then, there's a reason why you pick certain times and certain places to execute the plan...
Because when it is cold, and late at night....
Street walkers and strippers have a different frame of mind going.
As the limo hits the down town strip, Sean really begins to look for that special person, that person capable of springing the trap. Almost immediately, he begins to spot them, prostitutes looking for that next score. You had the high society types, those who had the expensive clientele and no expectations of doing anything else. Yeah, those needed to be avoided.
Then you had the twenty-dollar whores, those missing teeth and with huge drug habits. They were also the ones with HIV, Syphilis, Hepatitis, or any number of mental disorders that could result in your throat being cut. No, he needed the perfect woman and he knew that she would be found here.
Jackson: "Okay, this is what I'm looking for. A brunette for sure, about five feet tall and shapely looking. I don't want skin and bones."
Yeah, that will narrow things down Marshall thinks to himself. But what he doesn't understand is this, why not look for someone like this in Dallas? a question that definitely deserved to be asked.
Owens: "If that's the case, we could have found someone like that in Dallas. Why did..."
Jackson: "Because Adam is a sleaze Marshall, which means the chances of us finding a prostitute he has already been with is greatly increased. No, we come to Little Rock because Adam is a lazy prick and would never come here, for business or pleasure."
("See Gerrit, I think of everything. I am not one to leave anything to chance, especially with a title belt on the line. If you wanted peace, then you should have stayed away from Drake and the rest of New Supremacy. If you wanted peace, then you should have retired and spent what little time you had left with eyesight, with your wife. But no, you couldn't do it, you just had to let that ego get in the way."
"That ego which has lied to you on a regular basis, leading you to believe there is one more title run in you, that somehow, in someway, you can pull off yet another miracle. Well I'm not going to apologize for your idiocy, because you aren't going to win, not in Long Beach, not ever. But of course, even while looking up at the lights, laid out in the middle of the ring, your ego will still convince you of that glimmer of hope, that long-shot chance of winning the World Championship, while blood pools under your body."
"I wish you could see it for what it really is, a hollow dream, at best. I can only imagine how painful and awkward it is going to be for Sapphira, standing there and watching your condition get worse, before her eyes. To understand the horror unfolding before her, realizing the mistake of not stopping you, of allowing you to be consumed by that pipe-dream which leads nowhere. Yes Gerrit, it is going to be hilarious, standing there and watching the tears pouring from her eyes, watching her husband being decimated by a man without a care in the world."
"I want to see that bitch collapse on the floor, I want to see her very essence drained away, hope destroyed in the blink of an eye. I want to see her standing there, towel in hand, torn over whether to throw it or not. Believe me Gerrit, that ultimately is the difference between me and every other superstar in SCW. I want to beat you so badly, it makes Sapphira violently ill, forcing her to throw up on that floor, torn between doing what is right, and what you would wish her to do."
"I want to hear her shrieks of pain, to see the torment all over her face, etched in like words on steel. It isn't just about ending you Gerrit, but wiping every memory she will ever have of you. You see, that is the kind of pain I want to inflict, the kind that stabs at your very soul, bleeds your heart dry while still beating in your chest.")
A few moments pass before another text message comes over Sean's phone. In the time it takes for him to remove it, a second message chimes in, which the Internet Champion checks with a smile. He then leans forward, catching the attention of the driver.
Jackson: "Three blocks up and take a right. We're heading to a place called the Paper Moon."
The driver nods his head.
Jackson: "An old friend of mine is there."
Leaning back, relaxed, no one understands just how solid this plan is going to be. Inside the wrestling ring, inside the boardroom, a two-pronged attack that has all the earmarks of a well planned Sean Jackson setup.
Owens: "An old friend?"
Oh yes, a blast from Sean's past. But that's what it takes sometimes, extra eyes and ears from those at rock bottom, who would do anything for money.
Jackson: "Yeah, someone who needed a little extra cash. Someone who needed a little job to tide them over, you know, for a rainy day..."
As the limo takes that expected right turn, it was now only a matter of time before he would meet her, Noelle Griffith. A now twenty-one year old stripper working at the Paper Moon.
Jackson: "He approached me a few weeks ago, and I saw an opportunity to make a plan work. After a brief discussion, he knew of a girl that could get the job done, so here we are."
Owens: "But what about the prostitutes?"
Jackson: "A backup plan, just in case this girl doesn't pan out."
As the limo turns into the parking lot, the Paper Moon sign is unmistakable. Taking out his phone again, Sean types in a quick message and hits the send button. Once the limo comes to a stop, the door to the main entrance opens and out steps a man who looks much older than he really is...
Former member of the Texas Outlaws, Terry Norris. While still 6'3, his weight had gone down to around 230 and not nearly as muscular he was back as the famed member of the Texas Outlaws with Bobby Blood.
The limo driver quickly opens the door and Sean steps out. Having slipped out of the jacket a long time ago, the Internet Champion still looked like a million dollars, exactly the opposite from Terry Norris who was dressed in blue jeans, a button down shirt and boots. A brief handshake is exchanged which takes Terry by surprise.
Jackson: "So where is she?"
Wow, straight to business. For those who don't know, Sean Jackson was a long time friend of Terry's, traveling up and down the road with another guy named Bobby Blood. Back in the late 90's and early 2000's, Terry Norris and Bobby Blood were one of the greatest tag teams in the world, winning championships everywhere they went, seemingly over-shadowing the smaller Sean Jackson on a nightly basis. But Terry at least thought they would catch up on old times before heading into business...
Obviously he was mistaken.
Norris: "Uh, she's inside."
Jackson: "So, bring her out. I'm kind of on a schedule, you know, business stuff."
Norris: "Uh, yeah. Okay, I'll go get her."
Terry's feelings are definitely hurt, he tries hard to hide it, but isn't very successful. However, Sean turns his head, checks his watch, looks at a guy throwing up on the other side of the parking lot...anything to not pay further attention to a guy who was obviously butt-hurt over working some two-bit strip joint, while his so-called friend was on top of the world. But to show he wasn't entirely heartless...
Jackson: "Thanks, much appreciated."
Marshall doesn't say a word, he just stares at the entrance, just like Sean is doing. As the temperature continues to drop, the Dallas native just stands there, waiting to see if this girl was as advertised. As the door opens, it doesn't take long to understand why Terry Norris made such a fuss over this girl, this woman. At 5'0 and just over one hundred pounds, this girl was everything and more (channel Madison Ivy as a pic-base). At 34D-24-34, she knocked the socks off of everyone who saw her. As that million dollar smirk forms, Noelle isn't amused.
Noelle: "Okay Terry, I'm out here. So what is this all about?"
Without hesitation, the Internet Champion reaches into his pocket and takes out a clip of one hundred-dollar bills. As he extends it out to the buxom brunette, she isn't fazed.
Noelle: "What is that for?"
Jackson: "I have a job for you."
She looks slightly offended.
Noelle: "I am not that kind of girl."
She turns on her heels, preparing to head back to the door.
Jackson: "And I'm not paying you for that."
She continues walking.
Jackson: "One hundred thousand dollars, a year."
Noelle stops, dead in her tracks. At one hundred thousand dollars, this stranger was definitely speaking her language. But in Sean Jackson's mind, it just further supported his stance that everyone, EVERYONE has a price, it just has to be found. As she turns back around, the Mental Rapist continues with the pitch.
Jackson: And don't try to convince me you make anything close to that, working here. My guess is, you are sharing an apartment, behind on the rent, and would really love to add to the wardrobe. You are getting tired of stripping for dollar bills, in front of sexual deviants and perverts. Guys who smell like hogs and booze, with little to no class at all."
He raises an index finger.
Jackson: I would even venture to guess that you take a cab to work every night."
Noelle stands there, soaking it all in. Of course, she couldn't argue because everything he was saying, was the truth. She was stuck doing this unless she went into porn, married an old man like Anna Nicole Smith did, or....
Noelle: "One hundred thousand a year? what is the job?"
Pointing to the limo, the smile gets wider.
Jackson: "Step into my office and we will discuss the terms and conditions."
Noelle hesitates.
Jackson: "Trust me, this is a legit job."
("Gerrit, Gerrit...arrogance doesn't give me confidence, my ability does. Oh sure, you want to bitch and moan about how I get my victories, but understand something, I get paid to win, by any means necessary. Now when I came to Sin City Wrestling, I didn't paint myself as a nice guy, I didn't lie to a single person. Everyone knew I was a bad character, who would do anything to win, so why act surprised now? Or maybe, I'm directing this to the wrong person."
"Sapphira, are you really going to allow this to happen? Are you going to allow a man, clueless to what he is stepping in to, actually stand face to face with me? He has said it himself, that he wants to be destroyed, that he wants to be ended in the ring. Well, if he wishes it enough, it will most certainly happen. Like that person who wishes to commit suicide by cop, he will speed thru town or will do something to put others in danger. Then when the police shows up, he immediately goes on the offensive, forcing the officer to end his life."
"Is that what Gerrit is going? ending his life? Because if it is, then he is a coward, a low-life cheating people of air. When I give him a compliment, saying that he is good, he dis-misses it as a ploy...as me feeding my ego. But that is far from the case, and his inability to recognize the difference means that he will never be ready for me."
"The first time we faced each other, Gerrit had the night of his life, while I didn't. He gave everything he had, and then some, and could only accomplish a draw. Maybe he refuses to back out of this match because he is a gutless coward, a man too afraid of telling you the truth, that deep down inside he wants a divorce. That because of his inferiority complex, he can no longer screw you out of happiness and wants it all to end."
"Is that what is haunting him Sapphira? He is unable to make the right choice, so instead of living in the hell you can't make right, he turns to me and my art of war mentality to finally give him peace."
"Well, if that's the case, then again I say challenge accepted. I have too much respect for Gerrit to see him continue down this same doomed road, leading nowhere. So for you Sapphira, I will end his voyage down that desolate highway. I will stop the vultures from circling his career, from dragging your future into the depths of his despair."
"But I know what you really need Sapphira, and that's a man who can put talents like yours to good use. After I put Gerrit down for the rest of eternity, you will need someone to take care of you, to give those things you long for the most.")
Maybe Sean can use a man like Terry Norris after all.
fin.