”A hero is no braver than an ordinary man, but he is brave five minutes longer…” -Ralph Waldo Emerson
20.04.2014 - Runyan’s Pub; Blackpool, Lancashire, England – 3:15 PM
[The scene sets in inside of a small pub on the boardwalk in the historic city of Blackpool. The place is nearly empty, save for two men sitting at opposite ends of the bar, one at the end and the other in the corner by the wall, and the middle aged man tending it. The one man at the far end of the bar is older, probably in his seventies, and is wearing a denim jacket that looks nearly as old as him. His thick horn rimmed glasses cover most of his face and the small bit of white hair on top of his head stops the light from reflecting off the rest of his balding scalp. The man opposite him, hunched over in the corner, is wearing a dark blue rain coat with a hood pulled over his black baseball cap. You can’t make out his face as he appears to be napping at the bar. The bartender himself has salt and pepper hair and a look about him like he spent a good part of his life punching people in the face.
The waves of the Irish Sea can be heard crashing against the boardwalk just outside of the open door. The bartender stands gazing out the front door as he polishes beer glasses one after another. His dark eyes narrow in on a rather flamboyant man walking toward the bar. The man is dressed in a bright pink shirt that sits under a tan suit. His blonde hair is slicked back and tucked behind his ears in an almost slimy looking way. In one hand he holds a cigar and the other a tan leather attaché case fitting of a businessman. He walks in through the open door and sets his case down at the foot of the antique looking bar as he sits down and rather obnoxiously sits his cigar right on the top of the bar. His smile familiar, he is the agent to the stars, Barry Goldstein. He raises his hand as if sitting at a crowded bar and speaks up in his out of place New York accent.]
Barry: Can I get a drink in this place, or what?
[The bartender sets down his rag and the glass he was polishing it with and walks over with an annoyed look on his face.]
Bartender: Yeah? Go on with it.
Barry: I’ll take a Ketel One Cosmo with a lemon, not a lime. And don’t put one of them little straws in it. I don’t know what shits been sitting on them for the last twenty years.
[The bartender cracks a small smile.]
Bartender: I think yer in the wrong place, mate. We got beer, lager, and whiskey. Take yer pick.
[Barry’s smile quickly fades.]
Barry: How about vodka? Do you have vodka?
Bartender: Sure we got vodka.
Barry: Just give me some vodka. Make sure you put ice in it too. I don’t know what it is with you people and warm booze.
[The bartender drops the small glass of vodka in front of Barry as he narrows his eyes at the rude patron.]
Bartender: Six quid.
[Barry chuckles.]
Barry: I have no idea what you just said. This should be enough.
[Goldstein drops a few bills on the counter and takes a long sip of his vodka. He lets out a deep sigh and smiles as he tastes the alcohol that he seems to have been craving. He takes a long look around the tavern and then turns back to the bartender who is now picking up the money that he set down.]
Barry: Let me ask you ask you a question. I’m looking for somebody.
Old man: Aren’t we all, lad?
[The old man sitting at the far end of the bar chimes in.]
Old man: I’ve been looking for someone all me life.
[The bartender and the old man share a quick laugh at Barry’s expense.]
Barry: Fascinating. I’m looking for a guy named Knight. I was told this is his favorite place to spend an afternoon.
[The bartender and old man share another look.]
Bartender: Who’s asking?
Barry: Goldstein. Barry Goldstein.
[He proudly hands a business card to the bartender.]
Barry: Go ahead, feel the card stock and the raised lettering. Here you too.
[He hands one to the old man.]
Bartender: Talent management?
Barry: Technically I’m an agent. Look you guys know this guy? I’ve been tracking him down for two days now and my patience is wearing thin. I’m desperate for a cheeseburger and some cocaine so if you could help me out trying to find this kid I’d really appreciate it.
[The look on the bartender’s face drops as he lets the business card fall on the bar top.]
Bartender: Sorry. Don’t know him.
Old man: Me neither.
[Barry looks at both men with the knowledge that they are being less than truthful with him. He grabs his glass of vodka and downs the rest of it. He sets the glass down hard on the bar before wiping off the side of his mouth and picks up his brief case.]
Barry: Thank you for being as helpful as the rest of this miserable city. If you see Thomas Knight tell him I want to make him a shit ton of money. He can find me back in New York where I can get a medium rare steak, a cold beer, and a prostitute with straight teeth. Have a good day gentlemen.
[Barry turns to walk out of the door but before he gets back to the boardwalk the other man, still hunched over and leaning up against the wall in the corner calls out to him.]
Man: Wait.
[Barry stops in his tracks and turns around to see the man now with his head lifted. He sports a dark, thick beard and his eyes are narrow but bright. He stands up and appears to be a small giant squeezed in to the tiny hole-in-the-wall pub. He cracks a small smile before addressing the New Yorker.]
Man: Tell me about this shit ton of money.
Barry: It’s a shit ton. Look you know this fucking guy or not?
Man: Aye.
Barry: Can you tell me where he is?
Man: Aye.
Barry: Can you say anything else besides ‘Aye’?
Man: Aye.
[The bartender, the old man, and the man in the blue raincoat share a chuckle.]
Barry: I don’t have time for this-
[The man interrupts Barry as he goes to leave again.]
Man: I’m Knight.
[Barry turns back.]
Barry: You’re Thomas Knight?
Man: Aye.
Barry: The Extreme Hero Thomas Knight is you?
Man: I thought you didn’t like it when I said ‘Aye’?
[Goldstein lets out a small laugh.]
Barry: I’m sorry. I expected someone a bit more-
[The man, who we now know is Thomas Knight, interrupts him.]
Knight: Handsome?
Barry: Intimidating.
Knight: Well this is what ya got. Just me, me pop George, and me granddad Jack.
[Barry nods to the two other men in the room.]
Knight: Now ya got one minute to tell me about all this fucking money.
Barry: Right.
[Barry drops his brief case on the bar and unsnaps it open. He pulls out a thick stack of paper with the letters ‘SCW’ on the front and a set of two plane tickets and drops them both on the bar in front of Knight.]
Barry: Boom!
Knight: What am I supposed to do with this?
Barry: That right there is a guaranteed contract from Sin City Wrestling and two first class tickets to the Ivory Coast to meet them on tour. One of them is for me for don’t get any ideas about bringing Grandpappy Jack over there.
[The old man, who we now know is Jack Knight, rolls his eyes.]
Knight: Guaranteed contract for what? I don’t know if ya know this but I retired. I’m a family man now.
Barry: A divorced family man. Look this is a great opportunity for a guy like you. I don’t just walk around saying ‘Hey want a wrestling contract?’ ok pal? This is a once in a lifetime opportunity.
Knight: How much money we talking about here?
Barry: Shitloads.
[Barry flips open the contract and points down on the paper.]
Barry: You making that kind of money now, kid?
Knight: And I work for you?
Barry: Are you listening to anything that I’m saying? I’m an agent. I work for you, for a small fee of course. I’m the best in the business kid, and I picked you. I used to rep Drake fucking Green for Christ’s sake.
[Knight stares at the contract for a moment. The bartender, who we now know is George Knight, chimes in.]
George: He’s right Tom, that’s a lot of money.
Knight: I haven’t been in the ring in nearly five years, pop.
[Barry cuts in.]
Barry: You were the Great Britain Heavyweight Champion and an Extreme World Champion. You are the Extreme Hero. I didn’t fly out to this shit hole…
[Barry nods to Jack and George.]
…for just anyone. I came out here because I believe the best professional wrestler left in the world was wasting away at some day job in Blackpool fucking England. Now are you with me or not because if not, I gotta go find a guy named Hangman.
[Knight looks around at his father and grandfather and then back down at the contract. He picks his head up and looks at Barry before smiling.]
Knight: Aye. When do we leave?
Barry: Right now.
[Barry stretches out his hand. Knight takes a moment and then grabs his hand and shakes it.]
Knight: I hope ya know what you’re doing, New York.
Barry: I always do.
[The two shake hands as the scene fades out.]
21.04.2014 – Yamoussoukro Airport; Yamoussoukro, Ivory Coast – 6:00 PM
[The scene fades back in inside of Yamoussoukro Airport. Barry Goldstein, wearing a his pink shirt with the sleeves rolled up, looks a bit disheveled as he rolls his Burberry plaid suitcase around the crowded, third world airport. Thomas Knight, in a green polo shirt and khaki colored cargo shorts follows closely behind wheeling a suitcase of his own, although his is a bit rattier looking. The seem to be walking in a circle when Barry finally gets annoyed enough to speak up.]
Barry: What the fuck?! Why can’t they print these signs in English?
Knight: Because we ain’t in England anymore, boss.
Barry: In America they print everything in two languages. God bless America.
[Knight chuckles to himself.]
Knight: I think we should go this way.
Barry: I’m sure you do. But unlike you who’s never walked fifteen feet out of Blackpool…I…am a world traveler. I know what I’m doing. We go this way.
Knight: But-
[Goldstein interrupts him.]
Barry: I know what I’m doing.
Knight: I’m just trying to-
[Goldstein interrupts him again, this time getting annoyed.]
Barry: What? What are you trying to do?
Knight: To tell you to look over there.
[Knight points down the corridor to a young woman holding a sign that reads: GOLDSTEIN/KNIGHT.]
Barry: I know. Come on stop slowing me down.
[Thomas chuckles to himself as he follows behind Barry down the corridor toward the young woman. As they get closer Thomas can’t help himself but to stare at the young woman, as if drawn to her in some way. She looks sort of cliché for an African tourist, wearing khaki shorts and a tight grey t-shirt. Tacked on to her shirt is a nametag that reads ‘SCW-TV: ALLIE’. He looks her up and down a bit and notices her bright smile and her dark hair. She is beautiful, at least to him. As they get closer she recognizes them and greets them with a ton of energy.]
Allie: Hi! You must be Mr. Goldstein. I’ve heard a lot about you. It’s a real pleasure to meet you sir.
[She grabs Barry’s hand and shakes it feverishly as if overjoyed.]
Allie: And you must be Thomas Knight. I’m Allie Anderson.
[She shakes his hand in near identical fashion.]
Allie: There’s a lot of buzz about you sir. We’re all excited for your debut against Horace Jackson. Mr. Staggs told me to get you back to the hotel as soon as possible.
Knight: Is that so?
Allie: Oh yes sir. I got the taxi right out front with the engine running. Can I help you with your bags?
Knight: No I think we’re ok-
Barry: Yeah sure. Here you go.
[Barry interrupts Thomas by handing over his luggage to Allie.]
Allie: Right this way.
[Allie takes off toward the exit and as she walks away, both men watch her. Barry leans in to Thomas and makes a remark about her.]
Barry: She wants me.
[Thomas chuckles to himself as the two walk out of the airport and the scene fades out.]
”I haven’t set foot in a wrestling ring in nearly five years and the last time I did I got me head kicked in pretty good. I was a bit of a fool back then and thought I was a ton better than I was. It was a shame when you look back on it, considering how far I came without really putting the effort in.
I don’t believe in a higher being or some almighty powerful force controlling every move we make. I don’t know anything about stuff like that. I live me life like I’d be getting kicked in me arse if I stop moving. I’m not saying it’s the right way but it’s the only way I know how. It was the only way I was taught. I was a military man just like you Horace. Can’t say I did anything that impressive in me time there. I cooked the slop in the mess and carried on as a bare knuckler in me spare time. Was a ton of fun ‘til some wank knocked the piss out of me and I decided to stay in the kitchen for the rest of me military career.
I haven’t won the titles you’ve won Horace. I’m no thirteen time World Champion. I haven’t had me a hall of fame career like ya seem to have had. Not yet anyway. I’ve won two titles and between you, the wall, and me they were pretty short reigns. Don’t tell Goldstein though, I don’t wanna burst his bubble. That’s the only hope one can have in this business of ours; to be legendary. I’ve never been one to care about having his hand raised at the end. To me, it was about beating the piss out of the man in front of me and knowing I hurt the man. If he hurt me too than so be it. That’s the nature of our beast and the life we chose…so be it.
You seem to live your life by a code that I don’t understand. It is a way of life that lives vicariously through something that doesn’t exist. It is a fantasy that wasn’t even yours to begin with. You’ve borrowed the mask of one of fiction’s greatest villains yet ya are a good man Horace Jackson. There ain’t an evil bone in ya body. I wonder how much ya have left in that black caped tank of yours. I wonder if ya got what it takes to swing with the Hero. I gotta be honest, I can’t wait to find out. Good luck me new friend…I’ll see you next Sunday.”
21.04.2014 – Hotel President; Yamoussoukro, Ivory Coast – 7:15 PM
[The scene fades in to a small meeting room at the Hotel President. The room itself is quite dated, looking like something out of a 1970s period piece. Gold and flower inlays line the wallpaper and a thick green carpet fills the floor. Sitting at the head of a long oak table is SCW Director of Talent Operations Erik Staggs. He is flipping through paperwork when Allie Anderson, Barry Goldstein, and Thomas Knight interrupt him. Excited to see his newest free agent acquisition Knight, Staggs jumps up from his seat eager to welcome the men.]
Erik: Gentlemen, welcome to Yamoussoukro.
Barry: More like Yamma get the fuck outta here.
Erik: Always looking at the bright side of things, Barry.
Barry: Always.
Erik: And you must be Thomas Knight.
Knight: Aye.
[Thomas sticks out his hand and Erik accepts.]
Knight: Mr. Staggs it’s a real pleasure to be here. I just wanted to say thank you for the opportunity.
Erik: Please, the pleasure is all mine. Please have a seat.
[The three men take their seats.]
Erik: That will be all, Allie. Thank you.
Allie: Of course. It was a pleasure meeting you gentlemen.
Barry: The pleasure was all mine sweet cheeks.
[Barry lets out an obnoxious laugh after Allie leaves the room.]
Barry: Jesus Erik, what are you doing to me? You’re gonna make me get a fifth ex wife sending her to pick me up.
Erik: Oh I didn’t send her. She volunteered. She’s a big fan of you, Knight.
Knight: Yeah?
Erik: Yeah hasn’t shut up about you since she heard you were coming down.
[As Thomas has a small blushed smile come over his face, Barry shoots him a bit of a dirty look.]
Erik: I’m sure you boys are tired so I’ll jump right to it. Here’s the contract, which you’ve already seen a copy but I’ll lay out the particulars one more time.
Barry: Sure.
Erik: Appearance fee is as stated and will require appearances at Sin City Wrestling events regardless of card status, including but not limited to Climax Control and all Super Cards unless otherwise informed. As stated in the client’s request two thirds of all appearance fees and merchandise royalties will be deposited in to a Barclays account in the name of Sadie Murphy in trust of Thomas Knight Jr. Is that correct?
Knight: Yes sir.
Erik: Great, if you can just sign here, here, and here.
[Erik slides the contract over to Thomas who signs it three times.]
Erik: Congratulations, you’re a member of Sin City Wrestling. Here’s your first check.
[Erik slides over an envelope across the table and Thomas scoops it up. He opens it and peers inside and wide smile comes across his face.]
Knight: Pleasure to be here, sir.
[Both men shake hands again.]
Erik: The pleasure is ours, Thomas. We have you set up to do some promotional work this weekend but for the most part you’re on vacation this week.
Knight: I can enjoy that.
Erik: Good. Make sure you rest up a bit. You’ll be making your debut in just under two weeks in a triple threat match.
Knight: I thought it was just against this Horace Jackson.
Erik: It’s gonna be Jackson and the returning Jericho Hill.
Barry: Hill? He’s back?
Erik: Yeah, just renewed his contract this morning.
[Barry cracks a smile.]
Barry: He was Drake’s debut too, that fucking guy. He’s a real twisted fuck that Hill. You make sure you watch your back, Tom.
Knight: I’m sure I can handle it.
Barry: Just trust me on this one. That sick bastard would roll his mama over if he had to.
[Erik changes the subject.]
Erik: How is Drake doing?
Barry: He’s living it up somewhere in South America.
Erik: God bless him. Thomas, Allie is waiting outside for you. We’ve got you set up at the Hotel Residence Aho where some of the other talent is staying.
[He turns to Barry.]
Erik: Would you like to have a cocktail before you head back to the States?
[Knight interrupts.]
Knight: Whoa, ya leaving me already?
Barry: Hey man I’ve done my job. I gotta back to work and make sure this money train keeps rolling. Plus I gotta find you a place in Vegas, get all your visa stuff straightened out. You just make sure you knock Jericho Hill’s fucking teeth in for me, ok?
Knight: Fair enough. See you soon. Erik…it was a pleasure to finally meet you.
Erik: The pleasure was all mine.
[The three men stand up and shake hands and Thomas leaves the two old friends chatting in the hotel boardroom. He enters the hallway and starts to make his way toward the lobby. As he walks he pays attention to the almost sad look in the eyes of the hotel employees and the look of discomfort that most of them seem to share. He takes in his surroundings as if it were the first time he was looking around today. He pays attention to the young boy mopping the hallway floor or the elderly woman pushing the maid’s cart. He feels a bit of sadness in his own eyes for these hard working yet unfortunate Ivory Coast natives. He enters the lobby to see the dark haired and beautiful Allie again, who beams with sunshine when she notices him coming toward her.]
Allie: Thomas! Over here!
[He smiles at her enthusiasm.]
Knight: Please, call me Tom.
Allie: Would it be ok if I called you Thomas?
Knight: If you prefer, love. You can call me anything ya like.
[Allie hides a quick blush before snapping out of it.]
Allie: Ok we have a tight schedule to keep today; at least I do, so I’ll have to take you over to the hotel now if that’s ok.
Knight: Smashing. Is it as dreary as this place?
Allie: More.
Knight: Again, smashing. Shall we?
Allie: We shall.
[Thomas follows Allie out of the front lobby door and out into the sun filled, busy street. As they walk down the front steps of the hotel toward the taxi still waiting for them, a small fight breaks out between a few local men. Thomas quickly grabs Allie and sticks her behind his frame to shield her from any harm. The group of men continues to scuffle for a few moments before local police run over to break up the skirmish. In their efforts, one policeman knocks down an elderly woman who spills her grocery bag all over the street. Seeing this, Thomas runs down the last few steps and grabs her by the arm. He helps her pull herself up off of the ground. He makes sure she is stable and then quickly turns his attention to the spilled groceries all over the street. One by one he picks them up and re packs the old woman’s bag. He hands it to her and wipes a bit of dirt off of her cheek.]
Knight: Are you ok?
[The woman smiles but mumbles something in French under her breath.]
Knight: Can I help you somewhere? We have a taxi…we can drive you.
[The woman smiles again at Thomas before grabbing his wrist tight. She pulls him in a bit and speaks to him in a very soft voice.]
Woman: Vous avez le visage du héros qui est venu pour nous sauver. Pour nous sauver tous.
[She releases her grip and smiles one more time. She pats him on the shoulder and then keeps moving. Knight backs up a bit to their taxi and turns to Allie.]
Knight: Any idea what she said?
Allie: I have no idea. Was that French?
[Just then the taxi driver cuts in.]
Driver: Oui. She said he has the face of the hero who has come to save us all.
Knight: Is this normal?
Driver: Oui. This is Africa.
[Thomas takes in the busy street setting for a long moment. He glares at the small mob engulfing the street and a strong somber look covers his face. He shakes his head a bit and turns toward the cab as the scene fades out again.]
”The Hero, the Beast, and the Face-painted Fool. A trio of men primed and set to steal the show in the Congo, three superstars returning to the ring and two of them for the first time in years. Horace Jackson is a fine man and good grappler. I am eager to do battle with him and show Africa what we got. The wild card here is the schizophrenic freak that carries the name Jericho.
I’m not intimidated by your threats to attack people for money, to go in to business for yourself in Sin City Wrestling and to play a game in your own mind. To threaten the well being of the masses is all in good fun for us since you’re rather harmless to begin with. You claim to be a mercenary yet you also claim to be God among men. To me you’re just a confused little boy playing dress up. Like a school boy playing pretend you claim to be the boogey man for hire.
I agree with ya on one thing Hill, ya got more than a few screws loose behind that 1990’s face paint of yours. But not the kind of loose screw that’s gonna make me bar me windows and nail down me doors. Not the kind of loose marbles that keep me up at night or run toward a light switch in a dark room. You me sorry little friend are the kind of crazy that ya laugh at in the train car. The type of insanity that makes you laugh more than shiver. The kind of nuts that ya post on your friend’s Facebook wall so we could all have a laugh. You’re not creepy at all Jericho, ya just a bit sad.
I feel for you a bit. I too was an outsider growing up. I too was a lost soul along the outside lines of popular living. The difference between the two of us is that I didn’t dream up a fantasy life to get me out of the one I was given. I simply toughed it out and became a man. You just never grew up. You still play dress up. Ya still the evil cowboy looking for his Indian in the land of make believe. You never found ya way out of that make believe land you created and now you live on the fringe of reality; a place where you’re relevant. A fantasy island where people fear you like they fear death himself. The truth is Jericho, ya sooner to find a straight jacket than a paying customer. You’re more likely to be carted off in the padded wagon than for anyone to take you seriously.
You may beat me on Sunday, Jericho. It wouldn’t be the first nor the last time I lost me match. It won’t be a crowning moment for either one of us, my man Horace included, to pick up a win on Sunday. So I say this…let’s just beat the living shite out of each other. May the best man…or in your case boy…win.”
21.04.2014 – Hotel Residence Aho; Yamoussoukro, Ivory Coast – 10:00 PM
[The scene fades back in to a dimly lit, somewhat dirty, hotel room. Pink carpet covers the floors and the walls are matching rose color. Sitting on the worn out full sized bed is Thomas Knight. Dripping wet, he sits half naked covered only by the towel wrapped around his waist. He holds the receiver to the phone next to his head and stares a bit impatiently at the bottle of rum sitting next to the phone. He cups his face in his free hand as the phone rings.]
RING…RING…RING…
[A voice answers.]
”Hello?”
[He sits up with a bit of energy when he hears the woman’s voice.]
Knight: Sadie? It’s Tom.
”What do you want, Tom? It’s nearly eleven o’clock."
Knight: Aye. I just wanted to say hi to Tommy.
”No, Tom. We’re not gonna do this again.”
Knight: He’s my boy too ya know, Sadie. I have a right-
[She interrupts him.]
”Ya had a right, Tom. Ya drank that right away just like ya did yer career. Now don’t call here this late again. If ya want to see Tommy ya can come by like we discussed but I need two days notice. Ya can come over this Friday if ya like.”
Knight: No, no. Not this week. I’m…er…I went back ya know…to wrestling. It was good money in the offer and I set up some money for you and Tommy.
”Tom…I thought you were done?”
Knight: Yeah well things don’t always work out like ya think. You taught me that one, Sadie.
”Are you ok, Tom? Do you need anything?”
Knight: No, no. All is well. I’ll call when I get back to Blackpool and come take Tommy for some pie. Tell him I love him, will ya?
”Ok. Be careful.”
Knight: I always am.
[He hangs up the phone and drops his head in his hands, rubbing his eyes. He looks up again and stares at the bottle of rum. He thinks about the last time he was on tour with a wrestling company. He thinks about all the mistakes he had made along the way. A scowl comes over the face as he stands up in a fury and grabs the bottle of rum. He walks feverishly over to the bathroom and in a swift motion uncorks the bottle and dumps the contents in to the stained porcelain bowl. He drops the empty bottle in the garbage pale to the left of the toilet and then flushes the rum away. He lets out a long and thunderous sigh as if he is shedding an enormous amount of weight off of his shoulders. His eyes move over to the mirror and he stands there for a moment, staring into his own hazel eyes. He looks over the worn out scars on his arms and his chest. He looks over the small missing part of his left ear and the small, almost unnoticeable, sag of his right eye. He looks over all of the imperfections that his profession has left imprinted on to his body and he smiles. He was home.]
[Fade to black.]
