The driveway is long and winding, snaking its way through several neatly kept rows of towering palm trees which sway gently in the afternoon breeze. The small, royal blue Mercedes SLK roadster passes through, its engine humming softly as it travels the clean, beige concrete driveway. The two-seater coupe is guided by Felony Fontana who wraps her right hand around the black leather steering wheel while draping her left over the side of the door, her fingers drumming along the side. To her right sits Rochelle ‘Rock’ Rose, her beefy tag team partner and more who gazes quietly out from the car, taking in the landscape of the massive gated property. She notes a pair of men clad in non-descript black suits patrolling the lush green grounds armed with what appears to her to be automatic assault rifles. Glancing into the rear view mirror she spies a trio of Doberman Pinschers leashed to another man wearing a similar black suit, also carrying a weapon.

The car rounds a curve and the rows of palm trees give way to open greens which lead to a large concrete fountain. The fountain is actually a statue of a woman decked out in an ancient Greek style toga holding a large bowl and pouring its contents into the fountain. Curving around the fountain and snaking past two rows of brightly colored flowers running parallel to the sidewalk which separates them, the driveway gives way to a cul de sac. Felony brings her car to a slow and backs it into a space between a pair of black Mercedes S550 models; two of at least seven or eight expensive luxury sedans. Both women unfasten their seatbelts and step from the car and onto the sidewalk. Rock Rose stretches her limbs, freeing them from the cramping brought forth of a long ride and turns to see where the sidewalk leads.

It stands out like a great white landmark, reminiscent of the Grand Trianon of Versailles. Constructed in a basic ‘H’ shape featuring brick with white terracotta tiles with a glazed arcade of arched windows and paired ionic pilasters, which increase to columns across the central loggia. A second story with a balustrade roofline conceals a setback third story containing numerous small rooms.

The women slowly walk towards the palatial home forking to the right side of the “H” and the aligned doorway. Pair of small lion statues stands guard over the ornamented double doors leading to the interior. While Rose stands in awe of the structure Felony fumbles about her purse for a set of keys which she quickly inserts into the door and flings them open. Thrusting her small bag over her shoulder the blonde steps inside with Rock Rose in tow and onto soft colored marble flooring which leads them past a pair of handsome monumental fireplaces with projecting over mantels. The subdued lighting of the hall gives way to a red carpet which guides them to the brightly illuminated entrance hall courtesy of several French Baroque style windows. In the center stands a staircase, also draped with red carpeting which climbs up a single flight before splitting into two, spiraling on either side up to the next level.

“Holy crap”, Rose mutters. “You grew up here?”

“Mmhmm,” Felony mumbles in reply. “This is my Uncle Guido’s house”.

A woman appears from the side hallway, wearing a simple black dress with nylons and matching shoes she peers at the duo entering the grand hall. Her dark brown hair cascades down her tanned cheek lines, revealing a tiny sample of wrinkles around the corner of her mouth, accentuated by a small tuft of gray hair. She adjusts her glasses and approaches them but stops short upon recognizing one of them.

“Felony..?” she gasps.

Felony and Rosie turn around to face the woman behind them and Felony’s eyes brighten into shimmering pools as she makes out the face.

“Maggie!” she cries rushing into the older woman’s arms and jumping up into an embrace.

“Oh my God, it’s been so long since I’ve seen you!” she says excitedly hugging the shorter blonde tightly. “Your Uncle Guido talks about you all the time”. Finally she pulls away from the embrace and holds Felony at arm’s length, inspecting her appearance. “My..,” she gasps. “You’ve grown into such a lovely young woman”. Her glare briefly sways onto Rock Rose for a moment before quickly diverting back to Felony.

“Oh, I’m sorry!” Felony says noticing the questioning of her eyes. “Maggie, this is my partner Rosie, Rosie this is our housekeeper Maggie”.

“Nice to meet you Rosie”, Maggie says extending her hand.

“Likewise,” Rosie answers taking it into her own.

“Maggie has been with us since before I was even born,” the blonde offers. “She practically raised me”.

“Hey I’d like to think I helped with it”, the voice is thunderous, echoing off of the walls and prompting all three women to spin on their heels and into the chest of an Incredible Hulk of a man. Standing a firm 6’5” and weighing in excess of three hundred pounds his solid physique strains against the confines of the black suit as he towers above Felony and Maggie and even an inch taller than Rosie while looking down at them from behind a pair a dark sun glasses. He removes the shades and smiles.

“Tony!” Felony exclaims, jumping into his arms and squeezing the muscular man around his beefy neck while giving him a kiss on the cheek.

He chuckles and spins her around playfully for a moment before setting her back down. He rests his hand on her shoulder and turns his attention to Rock Rose, who also locks her gaze onto him. Although the man is slightly larger than her, Rosie appears unconcerned as she approaches him, his steely gaze locking onto his as she steps up to him. Now face to face the hulking pair continues their impromptu stare down; alpha males sizing one another up. Not a word is spoken for several subtly tense moments until Felony finally breaks the silence,

“Tony is Uncle Guido’s best friend and Consigliore, they went to school together”. She turns to gesture to Rock Rose who still hasn’t taken her eyes off of him. “Tony, this is my partner Rosie”.

“Nice to meet you,” Tony says extending his hand.

“The pleasure is all mine,” Rose responds with a sinister gleam in her eyes.

The two titans lock hands, both glaring intently into the eyes of the other while channeling their strength into their respective grips. Rose pumps his hand tightly pulling Tony into her and Tony responds in kind, doing the same.

“Why don’t you two go upstairs and see your Uncle Guido,” Tony suggests, his gaze unwavering from Rock Rose.

“Yeah,” Rose adds. “That’s a good idea; give me and Tony a moment to get better acquainted”.

“Works for me,” Felony replies with a soft chuckle as she and Maggie turn to climb the stairs behind them.

The two women trot up the stairs and slowly disappear into the cavernous belly of the marble behemoth while Big Tony and Rock Rose continue with their ‘greetings’.

“Who do you think will give up first?” Maggie asks, her voice trailing off as they wind up the spiral stair casing.

“No idea, “Felony answers. “But Rosie is pretty damned strong. I imagine whoever comes upstairs wringing their hand out will be the loser”.

“Oh, I almost forgot to ask, how was your trip?”

“Ugh, don’t ask”.



“I asked you not to tell me that!” a voice exclaims; belonging to Despayre. Having donned his ridiculously powerful glasses which give his brown eyes the appearance of being three times their normal size he glances down at the cream colored teddy bear held gently in his arms. Also sporting a pair of glasses, ‘Dr. Angel’ simply stares back through beady, black glass orbs. “Don’t tell me this place is impenetrable, we have to get inside no matter what so that I can get my two dollars”.

The pair walks along the sidewalk beside the 12 foot high concrete wall, Mr. Self-Help reaching out and running his fingers along it as they pass. They pause to look up into the cheerful, blue sky and then further down the sidewalk where they notice a man in a black suit standing post outside of a steel double gated entrance. Despayre stops in his tracks, his bug-like eyes widening even further following a wry grin slithering across his face.

“I have an idea,” he announces with a snap of his fingers. “Just follow my lead and let me do the talking”.

The pair resumes their stride down the sidewalk as Mr. Self-Help reaches into the right breast pocket of his well-worn blue pinstripe suit to retrieve his bubble pipe. He ‘packs’ the pipe with a bubble mixture and approaches the guard at the gate who eyes the ‘distinguished’ gentlemen with a bemused nod.

“Pardon me old chap,” Mr. Self-Help says donning a rarely practiced English accent. He pauses for a quick puff on the pipe, watching in amusement as a series of bubbles float before his face. “I have an appointment to meet a friend here; she goes by the name of Sir Lord Rochelle Rose the 14th, a servant of the Queen’s court”.

“You’re on the wrong side of town,” the guard replies dropping the rifle to his side. “The British Embassy is about 10 miles that way”. He gestures with a jutted thumb in the direction Mr. Self-Help and Dr. Angel had been traveling down the sidewalk before stopping for a spot of gab.

“Very well, I’ll be on my way then”, he says offering a tip of his imaginary top hat before heading off down the sidewalk with his associate, “Cheerio old bean”.

“Old Bean?”

After a few moments as the concrete wall gives way to an ornamented iron fence and passing just out of site of the guard Despayre turns to his associate, holding the bear up close.

“I knew I should have brought my monocle,” he laments. “This is your fault any way, if you hadn’t insisted on interrupting me I would have..,” he pauses as if listening to the bear. “What do you mean find another way in?” he demands. “You said it yourself that this place is impenetrable!”

Suddenly he hurls the bear over the wrought iron fence and watches in astonishment as it lands on the other side, on the property to which they seek to access. He approaches the fence, nuzzling his face in between a pair of bars which he grips tightly while staring at Angel.

“How did you do that?” he asks in amazement. “I don’t remember you being in the Olympics”.

‘Listening’ to his colleague, Mr. Self-Help turns his gaze upward and notices a sturdy, overhanging tree limb. Although over the top of his head it is not out of reach and he casts a quick glance to Angel before leaping upwards to grab hold of it and pull himself up.

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Climbing onto the branch Despayre steadies himself while carefully inching along towards the body of the large elm tree to which it is attached. Angel looks on indifferently as Mr. Self-Help stands up slowly. He pauses, staggers for a moment and then makes a short leap, wrapping his arms tightly around the base of the tree. Looking down he grins triumphantly,

“You owe me a Coke”, he says.

He now carefully begins his descent to the ground where his friend stands by waiting. His grip is sure handed as he makes his way down, one step at a time until noticing that he is mere inches above the well-kept lawn he releases and drops down. Unfortunately his footing is not quite as sure as his grip and a misstep causes him to tumble and land on his behind. Gathering his sense he casts an annoyed glance to Angel before clamoring to his feet.

“That’s not funny”, he says.  Following a brief adjustment of his over-sized glasses he scans the territory onto which he and Angel are now trespassing. The lawn sprawls across the vast complex with its bright green, freshly mowed grass. A group of sprinklers water a section off to the right near the fence while a small flock of birds chirp from the trees spread sporadically about. Breathing deeply he takes in the scent of the manicured lawn and looks on further across, towards the gleaming white mansion and the fountain standing before it, flanked by two rows of colorful flowers. “Wow..,” he gasps. “This place is amazing; I bet the guy who owns it must have a really good job”.



“I swear I’m lucky if I can make two deals a month without being indicted”, the surly voice growls with a heavy lisp. “Ok, listen, who is the judge on this case..,” the man on the phone, a heavy set older man dressed dapperly in a black Armani suit bearing gold, gun-shaped cuff links, a red silk tie with a gold clip pauses awaiting an answer on the other end. He runs his fingers through a dark, neatly trimmed beard and then leans back in his high-back brown leather executive’s chair and continues, “Vanderschott? Good, good,” he says. “Let’s bring him over for dinner; election season is just around the corner. What’s his favorite dish..? Veal, alright, be sure to put veal on the menu and let’s invite some money as well, fill the Judge’s coffers for him”. He pauses for a moment, swinging his chair to face the front of the neatly polished desk before him and glances at Tony and his housekeeper Maggie standing in front of him, both of whom are wearing a wry grin. He notes an extremely large and muscular blonde woman standing just behind Big Tony and to the left vigorously wringing her right hand out. He nods to the trio and goes on with his discussion. “Now, as for that new hotshot Junior DA,” he says. “I’m going to ask Tony to send a couple of the boys over to teach him how to play ball”. Another pause ensues as he fields a question from the other end. “About that, let’s re-badge a few trucks and divert the mess to the southern Apex fill site, follow them with half a dozen loads of busted concrete to dump over top. It’ll be years before they figure out what we dumped”. Finally he hangs up the phone and then clasps his hands atop of the desk, gently rapping a large, diamond encrusted gold banded ring against the wood.

“What are you two grinning about?” he asks, his face slipping into a smirk of its own.

“We found the most adorable little kitten on the lawn..,” Tony offers.

“And we were wondering if we could keep her”, Maggie finishes.

“Hunh, I never pictured either of you for being the types to adopt stray animals,” he frowns. “Besides, I don’t see any kitten, where is it?”

Tony steps aside to reveal Felony who has remained hidden behind him during the course of the telephone conversation. Bearing a bright smile she charges across the office, and then leaps over the desk landing in his lap. Wrapping her arms around him she squeezes him tightly.

“Uncle Guido!” she cries, giving him a kiss on the cheek.

“Felony!”

He wraps his arms around the slender blonde, holding her tightly while returning the kiss. With a big grin Guido Fontana looks and Tony and Maggie and says, “Yes you can keep her”. He pinches his niece on the cheek, “You’re looking great Fel,” he says. “You still do that wrestling thing?”

“Yup,” Felony answers with an eager bobbing of her head. “In fact I’m one half of the SCW Bombshell tag team champions!”

“Hot damn! My girl’s a champion!” he cackles; looking up he gestures to Rosie who is standing by Big Tony and silently staring at him. “Is this your partner? When I first saw her I thought Tony had hired new muscle”.

“She’s not strong enough” the big man quips, drawing an angry glare from Rock Rose.

“Yes,” Felony replies rising to her feet. “Uncle Guido this is Rosie, Rosie this is my Uncle Guido, the head of the family”.

“Nice to meet you Mr. Fontana,” Rosie says respectfully while approaching him for the obligatory handshake. “Felony talks about you all the time”.

“Nonsense,” Guido scoffs while taking Rose’s hand into his own. “You’re among friends here, everybody calls me Guido”. He turns to Felony with a chuckle, “So what were you doing out in the yard?”



“Guards, quick, we gotta hide!” holding Angel tightly Despayre ducks behind a large row of bushes separating the parking area from the main lawn. On pins and needles the partners in crime wait with baited breath as a pair of armed guards patrol to their left. Watching the men’s eyes they note that they appear to be focused on the left wing of the house and the entrance beneath the awning. They pause for a moment exchanging brief chit chat about the televised basketball game the previous night and then continue making their rounds. Letting loose a sigh of relief, Mr. Self-Help and Dr. Angel continue their casing of the estate.

Craning their necks over top of the shrubbery to ensure that the coast is clear they dart through the parking area and approach the fountain. Frist looking up at the stone woman cradling the bowl and then down into the pool underneath, gazing upon their reflections. Despayre, with his oddball eyeglasses giving his eyes a demon-like appearance, his plastic bubble pipe and the blue pinstripe suit several sizes too large and bearing car tire marks. Angel on the other hand looks like.., well, a teddy bear.

“Ha-ha”, Despy laughs. “You look like a dork!”

Reaching into the pool Mr. Self-Help helps himself to a large handful of quarters, dimes and nickels before rising back to his feet to continue with his excursion towards the house. The dynamic duo rounds about left wing of the mansion while keeping a wary eye out for more armed guards. They tread gingerly along the side of the home, keeping a low profile which is aided by a long row of neatly trimmed shrubbery. Rounding about the rear corner of the mansion the pair notices an older Chinese man gently pruning a bush with a pair of shears. They duck down and Despayre leans closer to Angel as if being whispered by the bear.

“What kind of idea?” he asks beneath his tongue. Listening intently as the bear ‘explains’ the plan he suddenly draws back with a gasp, “That’s the dumbest idea you’ve ever had!” he says while Angel attempts to argue. “Don’t argue with me.., no, I don’t have a better idea but.., are you sure about this?”

Rising with a sigh of capitulation Despayre approaches the man clutching Angel tightly. He acknowledges their presence with a faint nod of his head, his attention still firmly fixated on the bush.

“Pardon me, good sir,” Mr. Self-Help begins, once more donning his less than stellar British accent. “We appear to be in a bit of a boggle here and would request your assistance”.

“I am not sure how much help I can be,” the man says in broken English, finally turning to face them. “I am merely the groundskeeper. What kind of help do you need?”

“My associate here..,” he begins while holding out Angel. “Dr. Angel requests to be taken to one of your residents, Felony Fontana at once”.

The man takes the bear into his hands and looks it over carefully.

“This is Felony’s bear?” he asks. “She’s inside visiting her Uncle; I will take it to her. Please, wait here”. The groundskeeper abruptly turns his back to Despayre and disappears into the house via a discreet servant’s entrance leaving Mr. Self-Help to his thoughts.

“Oh God Angel.., I hope you know what you’re doing”.



“It’s a rough business, people get hurt all the time”, Guido Fontana says. “That’s why I don’t want to go”.

The group has since retreated from Guido’s office and into a nearby family room. Maggie has excused herself to prepare lunch while Felony and her Uncle sit in the center of a long U-shaped, six-piece black leather sectional with Rosie and Big Tony seated across from them on the other side trading ‘hairy eyeballs’.

“Oh Come on Uncle Guido!” Felony pleads. “It’s our first title defense, a return match against the former champs and it’s on the Ivory Coast!”

“I don’t care if it’s being held in my own back yard,” Guido says firmly. “I’m too protective of you, and the minute I see one of those broads lay a finger on my Felony I’m liable to send Tony and his crew out to set everything straight”.

“You don’t have anything to worry about anything Guido,” Rose says. “I took care of them last time and I’ll take care of them again. I’ll show little Tony how it’s done”.

“Like you did on the foyer?” Tony asks with a wry grin.

“Pipe down Tony,” Guido admonishes him. “Next thing you know you two will be doing push-ups at ten paces. Listen Felony, I have every confidence in you to handle your business against these girls Mercedes Vargas and Traci Patterson, but you know my temper, if either of those girls so much as smacks you on the butt I’ll incite a damned turf war, and the last thing SCW needs is a bunch of Mobsters reenacting the Saint Valentine’s Day Massacre”.

“I still remember how to pout,” Felony says twisting her mouth into a practiced frown.

“Oh I love that face!” Guido laughs obnoxiously. “But I’m afraid it doesn’t work on me anymore, you’re not five years old still”. He reaches out to pinch her on the cheek. “Besides, I have business to take care of here”.

“But..,”

“Felony we don’t need his help,” Rose says sternly. I can handle those two just fine by myself”, she finishes her sentence by flexing her right bicep in front of Tony’s face.

“I don’t want his help!” Felony says curtly. “I just want him to watch”.

“Look, if you want to do an interview or go to an autograph signing I’d be glad to tag along but I can’t watch anyone touch you or my boys will be earning their pay”.

“Will you at least watch the DVD when it comes out?”

“No, not unless Rosie handles all of the action while you sit on the ring apron being my pretty little niece”, Guido responds firmly.

“Hey, I can do that Fel, give you and your Uncle some time to catch up”, Rose offers.

“Like hell!” Felony barks. “I’m half of this tag team and I’m going to be in that ring too”.

Under normal circumstances Rock Rose would lash out at her partner for coming back at her in such a way, along with just about anything else but this is anything but. Guido Fontana is a man of obvious power, wealth and influence and, judging by the omnipresent guards armed with fully automatic AK-47 assault rifles not one to risk upsetting. She casts a glare of annoyance to her blonde partner but quickly drops it before it is recognized by someone other than the Princess of the Fontana crime syndicate.

“Rosie, “Felony begins softly. “I don’t care what you or anyone else says I am going to prove that I deserve to be half of the tag team champions as much as you are. And if you were to be hit on the head by a falling napkin or whatever rendering you unable to compete I will wrestle Mercedes and Traci all by myself. I wasn’t at my best the first time around and you know it. I have something to prove this Sunday and by God I am going to prove it”.

“There’s no way anything is going to take out this specimen,” Rose says while rising to her feet and flexing both of her biceps. “Do you really think Traci and Mercedes have any kind of a shot against cannons like these?”

“I don’t know..,” Big Tony says with a snicker. “That left bicep is looking a little soft”.

“Alright little man, that’s it!” Rose thunders. “You and me, arm wrestling, let’s go!”

Tony eagerly rises up, his face bearing a tell-tale smirk of satisfaction as he steps to stare Rose in the eye. He appears ready to speak but is suddenly cut off by Guido..,

“Take it down stairs you two; I want to talk to Felony”.

The pair watches as the two behemoths exit through the door and disappear into the hallway and resume their talk. Guido listens as Felony recounts her first meeting with Rock Rose at an arm wrestling event and goes on to explain how their relationship grew from their up to their chance meeting with a man who would soon become their manager Gene Banton. She tells him of the training she went through and explains why she chose such a rough and tumble profession in the first place, telling him how the ability to be able to handle her-self in such an environment would work wonders for her own self confidence. She shares memories with him of places she has traveled to and removes her cell phone from her pocket to show him pictures. Guido takes the phone into his beefy hand and thumbs through a collection of photos and pausing at a photograph of Felony wearing pink Bunny ears while clutching a small teddy bear as a knock on the door interrupts their talk.

Looking up they recognize the old groundskeeper Gordon, who bows as he is gestured in by Guido.

“My apologies Mr. Fontana,” he begins. “I was approached by someone in the back who handed me this teddy bear saying that it belonged to Felony and that he would like to return it to her”. He approaches Felony and hands her the bear, which she holds up to her face for a closer look. She furrows her brow noting the impeccably cared for cream colored fur as the image of Mr. Self-help pops into her mind, his brightly smiling face accentuated by the over-sized glasses and bubble pipe as he assists Dr. Angel in preforming an exorcism on her. Delving deeper into her thoughts she recalls pulling a note from Rosie’s pants while doing laundry, a note scrawled in crayon, an I.O.U. for $2.00 for ‘services rendered’. The images continue to pour into her mind, piece by piece and latching onto one another until finally taking shape.

“Gordon, tell me, does this guy have on a pair of glasses that give him bug eyes, a plastic bubble pipe and did he speak with a really funny accent?” Felony asks while gently stroking the bear’s fur.

Gordon nods in affirmation of her description, bringing a wicked, ear to ear grin to Felony’s face. She turns in her seat with a bounce to face her Uncle Guido.

“Uncle Guido..,” she asks wryly. “Would you and Gordon like to help me play a little prank on Rosie?”



“Man, that is no joke”, Rose says while leaning against the table. Seated across from each other, she and Tony, having finished their arm wrestling now share a beer. “Do you circuit train or go low and heavy?” she asks.

“I used to circuit train when I was in my 20s,” Tony says softly, pausing to take a swig from the can of Coors Light. "It’s good for cutting, but after a while I just wanted to focus on strength and have more time for my work so I decided to drop down to three sets with the heaviest weight I could handle at eight, ten and 12 reps. I go to failure on the last set and jump to the next. By the time I’m done – usually in about an hour – I can hardly move at all for a good ten to 15 minutes. You know, Guido built a very nice gym in this house, you should check it out with me some time”.

“Now that sounds like a plan!” Rose enthuses sticking her hand out to Tony for a fist bump. “I’ll bet I can push you real good”.

“Ha – ha I don’t doubt it after seeing how you can arm wrestle like that”.

“Before I met Felony I used to arm wrestle competitively,” Rose offers. “She was the one who got me into wrestling”.

“No shit?” Tony muses. “I helped Guido raise her but I never suspected she would choose such a profession”. He chuckles briefly while tipping his can back. “Although she did run a protection racket in the first grade, so maybe she does have it in her”.

“She ran a protection racket?” Rose exclaims. “Come on man, no way”.

“Seriously, she came home from school one day with a black eye and told us that one of the bigger girls beat her up and took her lunch money. Guido, being the overly protective sort that he is decided to send me to school with her as her chaperone. So I go to school and put the fear of God into these kids and they start leaving her alone. Felony asks Guido if I can keep going with her or maybe some of the boys could. He says yes and the next thing I see is Felony coming home from school with pockets full of cash. I ask her where she’s getting all of this money and she tells me that it’s insurance from the other kids”.

The two stop to share a hearty laugh, the images of a five year old Felony shaking down other students for protection money proves to be comical indeed. They tap the bottoms of their beer cans in a toast and tip them up taking another swig. They do not notice the groundskeeper Gordon busting into the small, private dining room until he approaches the table. His eyes are wide and the old man’s face is masked with concern.

“Gordon what’s wrong?” Tony asks, setting his beer down.

“Mr. Fontana wants to see both of you in his office right away”, he says breathlessly. “I’m not sure what it is but he seems very upset!”

Without another word the pair slides back their chairs and bolt to their feet, following Gordon out of the room and towards the office of ‘Don’ Guido.

They burst into the room to find Guido leaning against the front edge of his desk, his arms folded stoically across his chest. He is flanked by Mr. Self Help, who also leans against the desk, his hands busying themselves with a Chinese finger puzzle and Dr. Angel who is seated with Felony in the leather high-back executive’s chair to their left. Guido steps forward, the steely gaze of his cold blue eyes locked firmly onto a bemused Rock Rose. Taking Tony by the arm he gently nudges him in the ribs while leaning up to whisper into his ear and then retakes his station beside Mr. Self Help.

“Rosie, it has come to my attention..,” Guido begins with a slow drawl, accentuated by his lisp. “That you owe my associates here..,” he gestures to Angel and then to Mr. Self Help, “a rather large sum of money. This is not something I can take lying down; money, especially a king’s ransom like what you owe, is very important to us. My first inclination would be to have you fitted for a new pair of shoes, but Felony likes you for some reason, so I’m gonna give you a chance to make things right. If you can come up with the money right now we will let you live. If you fail to come up with the cash then you’re going to have a sleepover with the worms”.

“Mr. Guido.., sir..,” Rose stammers taking a step back towards the door only to have her progress halted by a pair of armed guards. “I – I meant to give him the money honestly! I’m just having trouble getting it all together! Felony, tell your Uncle I’m good for it!”

“I tried Rosie”, she says sullenly. “But if there’s one thing more important to him than me, it’s money. I can’t do anything!”

“Mr. Fontana, wait..,” Rosie continues while thrusting her hands out in mock capitulation. “You gotta give me more time! It’s not easy coming up with so much money on the drop of a hat. I just need more time..,” she pleads.

“You have two minutes,” Guido states flatly.

“How the hell do you expect me to come up with two entire dollars in two minutes? That’s 200 cents! Have you ever stacked 200 pennies up? It’s absurd. Mr. Fontana I’m begging you, just give me a little more time and I swear I’ll..,”

“You have 60 seconds,” Guido interrupts.

“I – I.., have it at home but it’s in my sock! If you’ll just let me go back home I’ll get the sock and count it out for you and..,”

“You have 30 seconds left,” Guido advises her as his voice is accompanied by the clacking of cold steel by the guards behind her.

Desperately looking for a way to make an escape Rose does not appear to notice the two crisp one dollar bills lying at her feet having been surreptitiously deposited there by Felony. The doorway is blocked by the guards, the window by Tony and there are no air ducts to crawl through, assuming she would fit. Rock Rose appears to have resigned herself to her fate, drawing a helpless sigh when Felony Rises from the chair she shared with Dr. Angel. Handing the bear back to Despayre she approaches her partner and kneels down by her feet.

“What’s this?” she asks, picking up the money.

“Oh my God that’s two dollars!” Rose cries snatching the bills from Felony’s hand and promptly thrusting them into Mr. Self-Help’s face. “Here it is I got your money! Here’s your two dollars take it!”

Taking the money into his hand Mr. Self Help licks his fingers and counts it out, both bills. Satisfied he folds them and slides them into his pocket turning to Guido with a smile..,

“Our business is concluded”, he says. “My associate and I thank you for your cooperation and we bid you good day!”

“It was my pleasure Mr. Help,” Guido says, shaking his hand. “Tony please escort our guest out, and tell my driver to take him anywhere he wants to go”.

With a nod Tony follows Mr. Self Help and Angel out of the office and into the hall. Holding the bear at eye level Mr. Self Help comments,

“First you get a degree in exorcism from night school and now you’re an associate of the mafia. When we get home you and I need to have a long talk”.

Back in the office a visibly relieved Rock Rose takes a seat next to Felony. She drapes her muscular arm over the blonde’s slender shoulder and leans over to whisper into her ear,

“I owe you big Felony, whatever you want, just say it”.

“I want more ring time this Sunday against Traci and Mercedes,” Felony answers, winking an eye at her Uncle.

 "While you here do snoring lie, Open-eyed conspiracy His time doth take."
- William Shakespeare, The Tempest (Ariel at II, i)

A gentle breeze flows from the Southwest and through the pit area of Melbourne Australia where a new Formula 1 race season is finally underway. The crisp air tickles Felony’s bare shoulders as she looks on from the pit stall of Mercedes team driver Nico Rosberg while he tackles the twists and turns of the racetrack winding its way through the leafy environs of Victoria Australia’s largest city. This race is the dawn of a new era for F1 racing. Gone are the gas powered engines of old, replaced with new, high tech twin turbo powered V-6 hybrid engines. Many drivers and teams complained vociferously once the new rules were announced a year before, concerned the changes would be too radical and would lead to a host of unexpected problems to be overcome. Many drivers and teams quit shortly after the ground breaking announcement, determined to seek their fortunes elsewhere while mainstays such as McLaren, Ferrari, Renault, and Mercedes elected to ‘tough’ it out.

Felony Fontana, a longtime Formula One enthusiast would not be deterred by the heavy changes wrought forth by boss Bernie Ecclestone, especially after hearing early news from various teams during development.  Competitors, spurred on by reports from their omnipresent spies were complaining that the new Mercedes team engines were far more powerful than their own. So powerful were these engines, in fact, that they were dubbed ‘the Mercedes Monster’ by the likes of Renault and even Ferrari. Wanting to show support for her favorite race team, Felony took advantage of an offer to join them in the pits and flew to Melbourne to see firsthand, the early season favorites in action. Nearly two hours into the race and Felony has not been disappointed with her team car having built a 19 second advantage and adding to it with each lap completed. A brief gust of wind brought forth in the wake of a passing Ferrari prompted Felony to don her silver and black team jacket, a light satin windbreaker bearing the famous encircled three point star. She adjusts the visor of her matching ball cap to better field the brightness of the sun and, taking in a deep breath her mouth exhales the acrid fumes of burning rubber taken in by her nostrils moments before.

So intent is she on watching the race that she fails to notice a small crew setting up behind her. A tall, wiry young man sporting curly brown locks busies himself with a television camera, balancing it on a black, metal tripod. To his right another, heavy set man sporting a mussed dark brown coif with matching five o’ clock shadow fiddles with various pieces of sound equipment and standing in front of them a tall, comely blonde decked out in a beige blazer with neatly pressed, like-colored pants stands at the ready, a microphone held firmly in her right hand. She glances at the two men and holds her gaze steady while awaiting the signal that all is ready. The wiry young man stands up, adjusting a name tag reading ‘Billy’ on the left breast of his blue and grey flannel shirt and flashes a thumbs up in her direction. She then turns her attention to the heavy set man, who also stands up, aided by a stack of tires behind him and with a breathy huff, nods and flashes a thumb to his colleague.

“Good evening, I am Diane Desmond and I am reporting to you live from the pit area of the Melbourne Grand Prix. We are here with one half of the Freakettes, Felony Fontana who, in a week’s time will be challenging for the SCW Bombshell tag team championship along with her partner, Rock Rose”. She reaches out and taps Felony on the shoulder, finally drawing her attention from the race and onto her. Felony appears startled by the sudden realization that she is about to be interviewed. “Ms. Fontana, good evening, I am..,”

“It’s afternoon here,” she interrupts, turning to face the mud slinger. “Who the hell are you anyway?” She says, quietly sizing the other woman up. Diane, sensing the smaller blonde’s intent does not move but instead looks down her nose at her. The journalist is impeccably groomed, not a strand of her silken blonde mane seems to be out of place and while the woman is a good three or four inches taller, Felony has no doubt in her ability to handle the microphone wielding intruder, confident in her athleticism and training.

“My name is Diane Desmond and I am with the National Enquirer. We are here to talk to you today about your upcoming match for the SCW Bombshell tag team championship against Mercedes Vargas and Traci Patterson and we’d like to..,”

“Wait a minute..,” Felony interrupts for a second time waving her hands. “Since when do you guys care about wrestling, and even more important, since when do you go out in the field?” she demands, inching up into Desmond’s startled face. “Shouldn’t you be chained to a typewriter or something in a boiler room making stuff up?” More than once while growing up Felony has seen members of her family featured in periodicals such as this; from the time her father was sentenced to life in San Quentin for extortion and racketeering to the time her uncle Guido Fontana stood trial for the unexplained death of a newly appointed district attorney. Tabloid journalists have long had a nasty habit of following members of her family, even going so far as to follow her to school as a child and sift through their garbage and Felony wanted none of it. “I don’t have time for this shit”, she snaps.

Diane tries to explain her position but Felony, ever suspicious refuses to allow it, interrupting her at every chance. They argue back and forth the virtues and lack thereof of Diane’s profession while the race goes on, so wrapped up in their argument they are that they fail to notice a wreck no more than a hundred yards from their pit area. They wrangle verbally throughout, even as medics and firefighters whiz by them until finally, after several minutes of arguing, Felony tires of their presence and abruptly ends the would be interview, directing them away from the pit stall with a pointed finger and even sharper words,

“Get the fuck out!” she cries.

With a grievous sigh, Diane and her crew slowly begin to pick up their equipment and allow Felony to turn her attention back to the race. Glancing over her shoulder, past the busy pit crew the reporter spies Rochelle ‘Rock’ Rose leaning against a concrete guard rail chatting with another spectator. Unable to read lips she could not determine the subject of their seemingly amicable conversation but Rose appeared at least to be in a considerably better mood than her partner. Her eyes narrow and she watches them intently, promptly thrusting her hand up to signal her desire for the crew to stop what they were doing. Taking a step closer to Rose and the tanned, muscular young man wearing a cutoff tee shirt a smile slowly inches its way across her face.

“Hold up,” she says in a hushed tone while licking her glossy red lips. “I have an idea”. Still burning from the little blonde’s rejection Diane recalls her initial impression of Rock Rose, as being relatively simple minded and gullible and then quickly hatches an idea. “If we can’t go through her then we’ll just have to go around,” she says under her breath beginning the short trek towards Felony’s beefy partner. “Let’s see how you like this, you mouthy little runt”.

Felony resumes watching the race, a smile beaming across her sunlit face as an announcement exclaims the Mercedes has stretched its lead to a jaw dropping 23 seconds and is continuing to widen the gap. Despite the focus of her eyes however; her mind cannot escape the brief confrontation with the reporter as questions poured into her conscious thoughts, since when, and more pertinently, why would a notorious publication like the National Enquirer be interested in her upcoming title match against Traci Patterson and Mercedes Vargas? Shouldn’t they be concocting fake breakup rumors and other civilly liable stories about the Hollywood elite? Has SCW grown so much and so fast that nationally syndicated publications such as this have been forced to take notice? It makes no sense to her as she withdraws from the train of thought with a shaking of her head.

“What’s next, the Weekly World News?” she muses softly beneath her breath.

Throwing a cursory glance over her left shoulder Felony notes that the reporter and her stooges have left, but a blurry visage just beyond where they stood moments ago forces her attention and she spies the same reporter with her henchmen hovering in front of her friend and partner, Rochelle ‘Rock’ Rose. Immediately she takes a step towards them, determined to give them a taut piece of her mind, but another thought stops the young blonde in her tracks. Rosie is a grown woman, overgrown in fact and if anyone could take care of themselves it would be her. The image of Rose lifting the reporter and throwing her clear of the pit area brings a smirk to her face and she decides to turn her attention back to the race. With only six laps remaining and a margin now at 24 seconds, victory is all but assured for her Mercedes team and she wanted to be there to celebrate it with them instead of feeding the media trolls. Besides, Rosie isn’t dumb enough to fall for their lines.




“What kind of investigating do you guys do?” Rose asks folding her bulging arms across her chest as her tanned young friend excuses himself. “I mean, there’s not much to investigate. We’re booked to wrestle Traci Patterson and Mercedes Vargas for the tag team belts and, after we beat their asses, Geno starts lining ‘em up for us, so what’s to investigate?” she reiterates.

“We specialize in the supernatural and the occult,” Diane says in slight exaggeration. “Do you believe in any of that?”

“You mean like ghosts, alien abductions and stuff like that? Sure I do. Hey, if it wasn’t real then nobody would be seeing that stuff right?  But every damned time I open a magazine there’s some new story about Bigfoot. But I still don’t see what that has to do with us. We’re wrestlers, and I haven’t seen any ghosts or anything you know? I just work on my pump all day and beat people up in the ring. But I do have to ask you something; did that jet from Malaysia get trapped in the Bermuda triangle?”

Diane’s face beams at the unintended confirmation of her impression by her subject, her pearly whites shining with a thousand watts of joy. She had hoped Rosie’s in ring persona was not as much of an act and that she would be more receptive to her presence and questions than her partner. With a single answer to one simple question, she has confirmed all of it and more. The imposing woman strikes the widely grinning reporter as the perfect subject; not terribly astute, gullible, and best of all, willing to speak. With a flick of her wrist she sets her crew to work. She and Rose look on as the pair hastily fall back to their previous location behind Felony, who pays them no mind as her attention is elsewhere and gather their gear. They haul the entangled mass of wires, stands and electronic devices to where their boss now stands with Rose and begin setting up. Setting her microphone down Diane turns to Rock and looks up at her.

“We’re investigating a possible connection between your opponents Traci Patterson and Mercedes Vargas and a new, worldwide cult that has sprang up in several European countries”, she tells her softly, her head bowed to feign the appearance of letting Rose in on something she was not supposed to be aware of. “I wasn’t supposed to let you know this”, she whispers. “But this could be dangerous. All I am supposed to be doing is asking you a bunch of questions about your opponents and leave it at that, but I feel you have the right to know”.

“Thanks”, Rose whispers, playing into Diane’s open hands. “I appreciate it and I won’t tell anybody”.

Suppressing an unwanted chuckle, Diane Desmond gestures for her workmen to hurry up while casting a sidelong glance warily towards Felony. Following their brief encounter Diane became certain that Felony possessed the smarts in her relationship with Rock Rose and she eyes her suspiciously, wondering if perhaps she suspected what was going on; but an announcement over the team radio indicating that the Mercedes has increased its margin even further and the ensuing cheers assures her that the little blonde is none the wiser. Regardless, it is not a chance she is willing to take. Brushing up alongside her companion Billy she leans over and whispers into his ear,

“The race will be over soon so we’re going to have to be fast,” she whispers. “Just follow my lead and keep the camera rolling no matter what. We may get some lucky bonus footage”.

Billy nods in understand and resumes his task of setting up the camera while his partner performs a quick, and a surprisingly unassuming sound check while Diane whispers into his ear. The woman stands up and nods acknowledgement of Billy’s signal that the equipment is now set up and ready to go. Taking the microphone into her hand, she pauses to adjust her coat and joins Rock Rose as Billy begins his countdown..,

“Ok, we are on in five..,

Four..,

Three..,

Two..,

And go,” he says while darting behind his camera.

“This is Diane Desmond and I am standing here with Rochelle ‘Rock’ Rose, one half of the Freakettes as she prepares to take on the team of Traci Patterson and Mercedes Vargas for the SCW Bombshell tag team championship,”

“I’m actually more than half of the Freakettes,” Rosie interrupts to say. “Look at me then look at her”.

“Alright,” Diane revises. “I am standing here with two thirds of the Freakettes Rock Rose, who, in just over a week will be challenging for the SCW tag team championship and Rock; people all over the world have been asking how you are preparing for this match under the unusual circumstances”.

“What circumstances?” Rose demands. “I haven’t heard anything”.

“The circumstances I am speaking of are in regards to the cult purported to be run by Mercedes Vargas and her tag team partner..,” she pauses as her tongue slowly licks the anticipation from her burgundy lips. “The cult of Mercedes Benz”, she finishes.

“What the hell kind of cult is that?” Rosie cries. “That’s a damned car”.

“It is a cult that has been named after its founders,” Diane replies coolly.

“What the.., ok, Mercedes I can see, but who the hell is Benz?”

“Benz is Traci Patterson’s name in German,” Diane says, clearly reaching for straws hoping that she has read the behemoth correctly.

The tabloid threesome holds their collective breath as Rose ponders Diane’s answer, their gaze sternly on the square jawed brute of a woman as she runs the proposed scenario through her mind. A rumpled brow offers clear indication of her confusion as another question pops into her mind, a question Diane manages to anticipate.

“Mercedes Vargas hails from Argentina and speaks fluent Spanish. It is through this façade that Mercedes and Traci have managed to hide their ambitions from an unsuspecting public. My team and I only learned this a few days ago and with great risk to us by entering the inner sanctum of the cult”.

“I have another question for you,” Rose says, satisfied with the answer to her previous, unasked question.

“Go ahead”, Diane nods in approval, certain in her mind of the next question having noted Rock Rose looking quizzically at the rolling cameras and microphone. She elects to allow her to ask the question while preparing a response in the back of her mind. “You can ask me anything you want”.

“If you’re not supposed to be telling me this stuff,” she leans in whispering into the reporter’s ear. “Then why are you filming it?”

“As journalists..,” Diane pauses, ostensibly to clear her throat though actually to better word her response to the anticipated query. “As journalists, our first and primary allegiance is to the truth, and what better way to ensure that the truth is properly represented than by filming it?”

With a hefty shrug Rose nods her acceptance of the explanation given by the reporter and stands at the ready, prepared to answer what she expects to be a series of questions pertaining to her upcoming title match. Diane notes the capitulation and prepares her assault, first, by flanking her target.

“Rock Rose, how concerned are you leading into this match while knowing that your partner, Felony Fontana, is being actively recruited by the cult of Mercedes Benz?”

“Recruited?” Rose cries, “Since when?”

“Surely you have noticed her choice of apparel today?” Diane retorts.

“Well yeah, but she’s a sponsor of the team, ya know? Mercedes has always been her favorite car, ever since I knew her and way before I ever heard of Mercedes Vargas and Traci Patterson”.

“So you deny that she has any affiliation with this cult?”

“Whoooo! Fear the star baby!” Felony cheers loudly as it is announced that the Mercedes team has widened its gap to 25 seconds and is comfortably in control of the race. Rose and Diane look on as Felony holds a large sign aloft bearing the classic, sans circle three pointed star emblem of the manufacturer, an unexpected gift from the Gods.

“Well, no..,” Rose stammers. “I mean wait a minute! That’s not her team logo; it doesn’t even have the circle around it! Just what the hell is going on here, is that the symbol of that cult?”

Bowing her head to hide an ear to ear grin, Diane nods softly. Fish, meet the hook.

“Son of a..,” Rosie’s voice trails off as she stares through small eyes at her friend, jumping up and down and happily waving the sign before a trio of faltering Ferraris. Suddenly, Rose grips Diane’s shoulders firmly and shakes her into attention. “You gotta tell me everything ya know about this cult! You have to help me so I can save her!”

With the massive fish securely on the line Diane slowly reels it in with a story of her team’s infiltration into the cult’s headquarters where they spied ‘Mercedes Vargas’ and ‘Traci Patterson’ engaging in ritualistic gatherings, ostensibly for the purpose of brainwashing, incessant sermons coupled with forced meditation, humming and the prolific use of mystical altered states where subjective experiences are accepted more quickly than traditional constructive teaching. With each prevarication Rose appears to grow more and more in a stew; a chum line for a voracious shark. The journalist spreads the chum about, feeding Rose’s unease and secretly delighting in the mix-up mystification her story brings. Responsibility be damned, her job has nothing to do with the truth, as her editor once explained to her. Diane and her henchmen’s jobs is simply to draw in readers, in any way possible; to sell advertising space as Felony had not so delicately put it. Although she is astute and aware of how tabloid reporters operate, not even Felony can protect her blindside when the door is left open.

The victorious Nico Rosberg pulls his Mercedes Formula car into victory lane where he is promptly swamped by team members, press and track officials. Felony joins the group in helping to douse the winner in champagne unaware of the ‘interview’ taking place mere feet behind her, her attention fully absorbed by the triumph of her team in the race. Diane casts a sidelong glance past Rock Rose towards victory lane where she notes to commencement of the victory celebration and elects to close up shop before Felony has a chance to notice her presence and intervene.

“Rock Rose, I’m afraid that’s all the time we have for today, but if you..,”

“Wait a minute..,” Rose interrupts. “I need to know what I should do next.”

“My advice to you is..,” She leans forward into the behemoth’s chest with a whisper as her crew hastily packs up and says, “Do whatever it takes to save Felony”.

“Umm.., how?”

For the first time during the length of the interview Diane is unable to anticipate Rose’s question and is caught off guard. Although it is a simple enough question to anticipate, so wrapped up is the reporter in her goldmine of misinformation that she neglects to consider it and now finds herself at a loss on how to respond. Pausing while her mind races for a suitable answer she cannot help but to think of the story at hand and how she intends to approach the writing and, anxious for a reprieve she elects to go with the first thing to cross her mind, no matter how absurd. She breaks into a trot and begins pursuit of her crew while calling out to the thoroughly befuddled Rock Rose left standing in her wake,

“Find an exorcist”, she says. Pulling out her telephone Diane dials her cameraman Billy. “Billy,” she says in between huffs. “Get the editing truck ready, this can’t wait until we get home”.

“An exorcist”? Rosie muses, “What the hell do I need an exorcist for?”

As Diane disappears into the parking lot Rose frowns while turning her attention back to Felony. Her mind becomes entangled in a web of imagery courtesy of Diane Desmond; Imagery which depicts her partner walking towards her with a blank eyed stare while mumbling some incomprehensible foreign dialect, completely unaware of her predicament.

“I’ll save you Felony”.

 "I said I don't like the water damn it!" Rock Rose thunders, her bass laden voice echoing off the walls of the cabin. She leans against the wall clutching a small Barney teddy bear tightly to her chest. "Shit scares the hell out of me".

"What is so horribly wrong with the water?" Felony demands. "You told me yourself that you could swim, so what's the big deal?"

"Hey, they got man eating sharks in there that might be able to bench more than me!"

"Ok, fine", Felony relents only slightly while scooting towards the edge of her bunk. Decked out in a gleaming black one piece with a towel draped around her neck it is readily apparent that she has ideas her partner finds disagreeable. "You do realize that we're onboard a cruise ship, right? 60,000 tons of steel with 47 operational life boats. I don't think we'll be dropping into the drink any time soon, and besides, sharks have fins, not arms, I doubt they can bench press anything".

"Since when did you become an admiral? Rosie challenges.

"I read the brochure, dummy", Felony replies in a soft yet unmistakeably sarcastic tone.

"What the hell did you just say?"

"I said I read the brochure honey".

A gentle rapping on the door draws their attention away from one another and onto the smiling face of their manager Goldenboy Gene Banton who pokes his head in. "Hey, it's almost time let's go!"

"Go where Geno?" Rosie asks.

"Up to the main deck, they're having a swimsuit contest and Felony is in it!"

"You mean like, babes in bikinis?"

"Yep!"

"What about beer?"

"Free beer until the kegs run dry!"

"Felony you dumb broad! Why didn't you tell me they had beer and babes? You sit there yakking about damned man eating sharks trying to get me scared so I'd stay down here and cuddle instead of up top doing man stuff! Thefuxwrongwitchu?"

Felony angrily bolts to her feet, "You..," but she is quickly cut off by the muscular behemoth Rosie who steps directly in front of her, almost standing on her toes forcing the diminutive blonde to look up and up and up some more. Her scowl flees from the towering figure and is replaced by a sheepish grin. "Heh..,"

"You what? What am I?"

"Well uhh.., heh, you're big". Felony stammers while reaching out to feel Rosie's rock like bicep being flexed in front of her face. "Very big."

"Damn right. Now let's go before I put you over my knee", Rosie says, tossing her teddy bear into the bed and grabbing hold of Fel's silken blonde mane leading her towards the door. "That beer ain't gonna drink itself and while you're busy making those broads look like road kill, me and Geno are gonna be checking out the scenery".



The scene is a lively one on the main deck of the Royal Monarch as passengers meander about the hardwood floor between fold out beach chairs to and from several kegs attended by swimsuit clad young men and women serving free booze to anyone who asks. The energetic thumping of hip hop music filtering throughout is provided by a quartet of large, concert speakers, two of them stationed on each side of a makeshift platform dead center in front of the chairs and beer stand nestled snugly against the wall of the ship with a ruffled black curtain serving as a backdrop. A young man, perhaps in his mid twenties with curly red hair, and fair skin wearing a floppy beach hat and a nauseating Hawaiian shirt stands in front of it holding onto a microphone tightly.

"Alright ladies and gentlemen, I hope you're ready for some fun because it's time for the swimsuit contest!" He drops the mic to his waist allowing for a pause which is quickly filled by a rowdy round of cheers, whistles and cat calls. "Ok are we ready to get started?"

Before he can introduce the first contestant Rock Rose, beer in hand stumbles up the hefty flight of (two) steps and up to the emcee from whom she jerks away the microphone. "I'll handle this little man!", she slurs while struggling to remain upright. "Before we... hic... get started... I wanna talk to you about needs..,"

Hushed whispers abound as the stunned crowd looks on in confusion. Behind them, off to the right standing near a beer vendor, Gene Banton stands by, pulling himself from a conversation with a dazzling young, bikini clad brunette and gawking at the podium having been commandeered by his protege. "Really Rosie, two beers?"

"You see, a man has needs, and that's why God created women like these babes in the crowd, to fulfill those needs". A handful of snorted cheers ring out as Rosie attempts to find her balance. "Yeah! You guys know what I'm talkin' about! Any way, what happens when those needs aren't taken care of?" Another pause preludes a short round of boos before she continues. "That's right, the shit sucks and it ain't right! So picture this, a big, fat blob of humanity decides to hurt your bitch and she can't take care of your needs. That happened to me a month ago. I had to go an entire month with no sex and I'm fucking pissed off!"

"A hearty round of jeering ensues as Rosie pulls the intimidated emcee close enough to lean against him for support by placing a beefy arm around his shoulder. "Yeah, I'm talkin' about man stuff here! This fat piece of crap named Cookie sat her fat ass on my piece and hurt her. Yo Fel..," she turns to face the curtain calling the name of her significant other. "Come on out here babe".
Sporting a timid smile, Felony steps onto the platform to join Rosie, who immediately leans down to plant a kiss on her. "Look at this," she barks. Ya see that tight ass little body on Felony? Put yourself in my shoes, what would you do if you couldn't knock the bottom out of this for an entire month?"

Another chorus of boos erupt, this time louder as Rock Rose spins Felony around showing her off to the crowd. "Ya damn right! But it's... hic... it's all good. It's all good cuz Sunday I'ma go take care of this. I got me a rematch with the broad that did it, Cookie S'mores, Brandi Shits, Jessie Salco and Miss Evangelist or whatever are gonna find out what happens when you fuck with a man's needs! I don't really care about the others, but somebody saw fit to give Cookie some bodyguards..,"

"I think we need to put you to bed", Felony whispers. "You've had enough fun for the... brief evening".

"We ain't puttin' nothin' nowhere ya screwy broad! "cept you over my knee if you interrupt me again!" Rosie snaps defiantly. "Now, where was I? Oh yeah, Cookie's bodyguards. Any way, I've had a whole month of no sex with this little Barbie doll of mine and it's time for some payback! So Brandi Shits, Jessie Salco and Evangelist or whatever the fuck you bible thumper types call yourselves my advice to you is to stay your scrawny little asses out of the damned ring and just leave it to me and fatso cuz I'm gonna... hic... I'm gonna.., I think I'm gonna throw up. Fuck that, let's get some bitches up here in some bikinis..," Rosie takes her arm from around the emcee's shoulder and pumps a clenched fist into the air. Yeah!" She cries and then suddenly falls face first towards the floor, her 265 pound frame thumping harshly against the wood.

 A small Black convertible BMW Z4 responds to the green light at Bonanza Rd by making a left hand turn onto the Interstate 15 on-ramp leading from Las Vegas west towards Los Angeles. The little car picks up speed briskly as noted by the flowing blonde hair of its driver flapping playfully in the wind. Seated to the right, a hulking figure clutches onto the sides of the doors as the car accelerates, her muscular arms straining tightly against the plastic inner panel of the passenger side door and the center console. Felony Fontana and Rock Rose are enroute to their first match as professional wrestlers.

Traffic is moderate as the little sports couple merges into the lane, the healthy whine of its engine exhaust purring in content as the vehicle is shifted into gear. The driver, Felony, checks her rearview mirror while throwing a quick glance over her left shoulder, preparing to change lanes. Seeing nothing in her blind spot she slides the car over smoothly and safely.

"Damn it, you crazy broad! Let me know next time you wanna play Kyle Busch!"

With an arched eyebrow Felony casts a sidelong glance at her friend and partner, Rochelle "Rock" Rose and bemusedly demands, "huh? What did I do?"

"You coulda hit that truck up ahead, watch where you're going!"

Peering ahead, Felony can make out the shape of a pickup truck rumbling roughly 300 meters in front of them and holding steady, matching their speed of 65 mph. "That truck?", she asks. "Rosie, that truck is a quarter mile in front of us".

"Shut up and watch the damned road! Let me worry about traffic".

With a heavy sigh, Felony shrugs and retreats into her private thoughts, away from the screeching tires, rumbling exhaust notes, blaring horn, thumping stereos and the overbearing thunder of her partner's voice. She wraps her hands tightly around the leather clad steering wheel and settles deeply into the plush driver's seat, appreciative of the comfort it provided. The car, a 2006 BMW Z4 with black paint and a grey interior with a six speed manual transmission was a sweet 16 gift from her uncle Guido Fontana. She immediately fell in love with the car and swore to never get rid of it and so she drove the car every day, caring for it as if it were a member of the family. The Fontana crime family that is, now run by her uncle Guido following the incarceration of both her parents. Although Felony herself was the heir apparent to the family business, she deferred control over to her uncle, having never developed a taste for the 'industry'. Instead she became determined to strike out on her own and make her own way, a decision that was surprisingly embraced by her uncle with a hug and a reminder, "Just remember, your uncle Guido will always look out for you, no matter what", he had told her.

"Oh shit, LOOK OUT!"

Blinking her eyes rapidly Felony's thoughts wash away to reveal Rock Rose gripping the edge of seat even tighter than before, her eyes wide and frightened as she nearly stands up in the car. Easing back down she lifts her meaty paws to the edge of the windshield, gripping that instead of the seat. Breathing a sigh of relief.

"What the hell was that all about?" Felony demands.

"You damned blonde, another six feet and you would have crossed the stripes!"

"You're kidding?" Looking about Felony could see no traffic within half a dozen car lengths on any side of them. "There's nobody near us".

"Hey, who's driving here?"

"Well gee..," Felony muses in a sarcastic tone. "The car is in my name, my hands are on the wheel and you're in the passenger seat".

"Shut up and watch the road!"

Rolling her eyes Felony mutters under her breath, "Oh for chrissakes..,"

"... and slow your ass down damn it!"

"But... we're at the speed limit..,"

"I said slow the damned thing down! Don't make me put you over my knee in the middle of traffic".

"Ok, fine," Felony complies with a gentle tap of the brakes, gently slowing the car to 55 mph, a good ten miles per hour below the speed limit. "How's that?"

"Slow it down some more!" Rosie barks. "You're gonna mess around and get us killed, dumb broad".

"Dumb broad? Hey, I..,"

"Shut up and slow the car down!"

Without a word, Felony angrily slams on the brakes prompting the wheels to screech and skid as the vehicle slows to a pedestrian-like 35 mph. Horns immediately begin to blare as tires squeel in protest after being forced to an abrupt slowdown. Other vehicles swerve into the opposite lane to speed on by as Rosie settles in comfortably.

"Ah, much better. I feel safer already!"

Another car, a battered green mid 70's Ford F 150 zooms by with the driver leaning out to flip off the the pair in the Z4. "Ya stupid broads, learn how to drive!"

"Yeah Fel, learn to drive!" Rock Rose parrots.

"Umm Rosie, he said broads, plural".

"What?"

"Nevermind".

More cars zip by, eagerly swapping lanes to get around the little black BMW as quickly as possibly, their horns making their displeasure loud and clear. Well, that and a few choice epithets.

"Fucking idiots!"

"Get the hell off the road ya morons!"

"Where'd you get your license, a Cracker Jack box?"

"Stupid tourists, go back home!"

Rochelle shakes her head in amazement as the cars continue to scream past them. "Man, I had no idea Las Vegas was such an angry city! Makes Brooklyn look like Mr. Rogers' neighborhood. What the hell has gotten into people these days?"

"Maybe they don't like people driving 35 in a 65 zone?" Felony shrugs.

Leaning her bulky frame over, Rock Rose peers over Felony's shoulder at the digital speedometer and reads it aloud, "We're doing 35?!" She exclaims. "Thefuckswrongwitchu? Are you trying to get us run over? Pick up the pace woman!"

"But you said to..,"

"Shut up and hit the gas!"

"Fine!" Felony cries in exasperation. "You want me to hit the gas, I'll hit the freaking gas."

"Stop talking like you're gonna do it and do it already. We're gonna be late and it'll be your fault".

"My fault? You're the one who said slow down!"

"Dammit girl, do I have to explain everything? Pick up the pace already!"

Without another word, Felony reaches over to turn on the MP3 player, she puts the device in shuffle mode as it comes to life blinking twice as it bring up the first song on its' list. While the music loads she reaches into the center console to remove a pair of pink and white leather driving gloves which she deftly applies to her hands mumbling beneath her breath, "You want speed? I'll give you a ride you will never forget". Just as the opening chords of Lynard Skynard's Saturday Night Special filter in through the Bose speakers she downshifts the car into third gear and brings the engine to a high pitched whine placing it in it's power band. Hammering the throttle with her right foot the car's rear wheels chirp loudly against the surface of the highway as they catch a grip and suddenly, violently propel the 3,000 pound roadster forward, picking up speed at an alarming rate.

To the right Rock Rose's eyes bulge in terror at the alarming acceleration of the vehicle prompting her to grip the edge of the windshield tightly as Felony maneuvers around a pair of slower moving cars. Shifting into fourth gear the engine's whine slows down but quickly begins to pick back up as the gas continues to be fed to the engine. Surprisingly, Rosie says nothing while the car careens down the highway weaving between cars and trucks which now appear to be standing still. Instead, she clutches onto the edge of the windshield with her whitened knuckles, bulging eyes staring ahead in abject fright. Noticing the sudden silence of her partner Felony spikes the ball gleefully, "Whooooo! I love this song!"

For all of the fear and images pouring into Rock Rose's mind, not once did she remember a little tidbit that Felony had shared with her long ago, that she was a graduate of the Bob Bondurant school of high performance driving. A school that teaches students to drive cars similar to her own far beyond the limits imposed by typical driving habits. In short, prior to becoming a wrestler, Felony held a brief dream of becoming a race car driver, a dream born of her appreciation for the design and performance of her own car.

Shifting into fifth gear, the surrounding buildings and homes become a blurred visage as the little black roadster continues to gain momentum. Now moving into sixth, the buildings and homes are replaced by rocks and trees as the pair exit the confines of the city entering into the winding spaghetti bowl leading south east towards McCarren International airport at breakneck speeds approaching a rocketing 140 mph. Rock Rose appears not to notice, her eyes now closed with trembling arms clinging desperately onto the Feloniously guided missile. Felony herself enjoys the moment, reveling in the peace and quiet, the freedom from the never ending sonic boom of her partner's voice. She expertly guides the car through the twisted turns and corners of the highway leading towards the airport merging onto Sunset drive,  turning what would be a 30 minute drive under normal circumstances into a 15 minute sprint. Before you know it, or at least before Rock Rose knows it, the car is pulling into the long term parking garage area. Felony stops at one of the booths to retrieve a ticket and proceeds to a suitable parking space, close to the crosswalk leading to the baggage handling area.

Bringing the car to a stop she shuts the engine off, unfastens her seatbelt and hops up, cheerily exclaiming, "We're here!" Rose remains silent, her arms still straining against the edge of the windshield. "Rosie, are you ok?" She asks with a light snicker.

"Huh? Oh! We're here! I uhh.., must have dozed off. My... err.., my workout must have taken more out of me than I thought".

"Aww, poor baby," Felony coos while reaching over to pinch her cheek. "Don't go so hard next time".

"Yeah, right", she says, opening the door and rising shakily to her feet. "I gotta go get ready".

"Get ready for for what?" Felony asks.

"Ready for the TSA patdown, I gotta make sure I got my pump". Rochelle suddenly breaks into a jog heading towards the crosswalk, yelling out behind her "I gotta go warm up, get our bags.., and be quick about it, pumps don't last forever!"

"But I thought you were tired..?" Felony's voice trails off as her partner disappears into the confines of the baggage area. "Shit!" She spits, planting her hands on her hips in disgust. With a helpless sigh she pops open the trunk to reveal the pairs' baggage. Pulling out her own first, a small Hello Kitty themed bag in pink and white she sets it down by her feet and the reaches for the next, a large, bulky, red and gold "Golds Gym" bag. She grabs it by the handle straps and tugs, but it doesn't move. Grabbing it again, this time with both hands, she pulls a bit harder, "Unngh!" but again, the bag does not budge. "What the hell?" One more time, the old college try as she climbs up onto the edges of the trunk, planting her feet firmly, bending at the knees and grabbing the bag straps with both hands. Again, the bag stays put, but the straps do not and the unexpected release brought from the tearing handles sends Felony flailing out of the car where she lands on her behind with a yelp. "Son of a..," clamoring back to her feet, Felony brushes herself off while peering into the trunk at the immovable object. "What the hell does she have in this thing?" she mutters while fumbling for the zipper. Finding it, she pulls it open to reveal the contents of the bag, a bottle of pill form amino acids, a bag of protein powder, a weight lifting belt, a pair of lifting gloves, an autographed picture of Barney the Purple Dinosaur.., "Seriously?", and two, solid steel 150 pound dumbbells. "Oh you've gotta be kidding me!" she mutters, reaching for one of the dumbbells, by itself outweighing her by a good 50 pounds.

With a grimace she shuts the trunk lid closed and paces about the little car mumbling angrily, "Of all the stupid, idiotic, lame brained.., how the hell does she expect me to carry a 300 pound bag! Besides, who in hell carries gym equipment onto a freaking airplane? I bet the dumbass wants to take it carry on too! I can't believe anybody would be so possessed as to want to lift weights in coach seating of a 45 minute flight...," her voice trails off as an idea pops into her mind. The scowl on her face slowly bends into a grin, her blue eyes gleaming wickedly. "Ok honey bun, I'll bring your weights", she says softly to herself. Moving around to the driver's side of the car she pulls the front seat forward and reaches behind it, pulling out a small, pink 2 and a half pound Shake Weight. Felony snatches up her bag and with the Shake Weight in the other hand makes her way into the baggage area of the airport.

The Baggage claim area is wide and well lit by the various neon signs promoting everything from jackpots offered by slot machines to local shows and other high priced endorsements. An escalator stand imposingly before just beyond the entrance and beside it, a small kiosk offering gifts ranging from magazine to cards to batteries. Felony scans the spacious floor looking for another escalator leading towards the check point for departing flights on the second level. She finds it off in the distance to her left, past a dozen rows of baggage racks and a smattering of kiosks like the first one she encountered. She turns and trots down the wide, carpeted path towards the escalator where she sees her partner, Rock Rose standing on the second level by a row of chairs chatting with their manager, Goldenboy Gene Banton, who had beaten them there. She tucks the shake weight into her bag and steps onto the escalator, riding it to the second level. At the top she notes the roped off check in line with a couple dozen travelers already waiting in line to go through the security check and to the left a few paces Gene and Rosie, who weren't chatting at all, but were instead arguing.

"For the last time Rock, if he didn't have a certifiable genius like John Fox for a coach who knew exactly how to use the option in a pro game, Tebow would never have gotten as far as he did! It just annoys the hell out of me that nobody is giving coach Fox any credit. Tebow this! Tebow that!" He sneers with a grimace. "Give me a break! Who do you think drew those plays up?"

"Tim Tebow has the heart and desire to win man! You can't say that was drawn up by Fox too. That was pure Tebow!"

"It was also Tebow who only completed 46% of his passes!"

"Yeah, until the third quarter, then he turned up the heat all the way to 70%!"

"Umm, hi guys..," a small voice squeaks, attempting to interject.

"I'll give him him that much, the kid has heart, but how do you think they managed to keep opposing teams from focusing him? That's right, it was Fox's game planning!"

"I'm here!"

"Oh cut it out man! Fox went 2-14 the year before. Where was his coaching genius then?"

"I'll tell you were it was, in the padlocked wallet of a cheapskate owner who didn't want to get any good players!"

"Ahem, Hi Gene! Hi Rosie!"

"Oh sure, blame the owner for not signing enough checks. C'mon Geno, money don't buy championships!"

"Tell that to Steinbrenner!"

HEY FUCKWITS! I'M HERE!

"Bi**h, what the hell did you call me?" Rose demands, turning angrily at Felony.

"I said I got your weights".

"Oh good, I'm losing my pump, where are they?"

Reaching into her carry all, Felony pulls out the little pink Shake Weight and hands it to a puzzled looking Rock Rose. "Here you go!"

Rochelle takes the weight, holding it up by the tips of her fingers as if she were inspecting a piece of meat and frowns. "What the hell is this thing?", she demands.

"It's a Shake Weight, it tones you up".

Gene can not help but to snicker in the background as Rock Rose inspects the dainty little device and even gives it a try, gripping it tightly six inches in front of her chest and shaking it back and forth as she was directed by Felony.

"Keep it six inches away from your face, in case it pops," she says.

"How am I supposed to get pumped with this little thing?" Rose muses aloud.

"I thought size didn't matter, that it was all about technique?" Gene chimes in with a snort.

Unimpressed, Rosie drops one hand to her side and lowers the other holding the exercise device turned television parody at torso level and begins to shake it with and underhanded grip back and forth in a rapid motion.

"Hunh", Gene smirks, "I can do that without the weight. In fact, I have been for years!"

"You dumb broad!" Rock thunders as the weight is dropped to the floor. "How the hell am I supposed to get pumped with this little thing? You can't do anything right!" In an instant Felony is grabbed by the arm as Rose seats herself on one of the chairs behind them and places the little blonde over her knee. Extending her arm she opens her palm and brings it down squarely on Felony's bottom with a loud slapping sound.

"But I..,"

"OWW!"

"couldn't..,"

"OWWW!"

"lift that..,"

"OWWWW!"

"heavy ass..,"

"OWWWWW!"

Suddenly she is dropped onto the floor as Rose stands up and reaches for the small pink bag. She fumbles about the bag for a moment as Felony returns to her feet, her hands gently rubbing her sore tush, and emerges with a set of keys.

"Dumb broad," Rosie grumbles, holding the keys tightly. "Making me do everything. I'll be back in a minute". She departs in a huff, her heavy gait thumping against the tiled floor as the crowd of onlookers having gathered to watch the unexpected show anxiously cut a path for the hulking woman.

Felony looks on as the rampaging she-hulk disappears into the crowded airport and then turns to her manager, who has taken a seat beside the one she was just dumped from. "Gene, I need to talk to you, I'm worried about something".

"Shouldn't you go to the Police instead of me?"

"Not that, I'm used to that, it's something else".

"Oh, alright sure," he nods with a furrowed gazed directed at her. "What's on your mind?"



"This is our first match as pros," she begins, wincing while gingerly setting herself down in the seat beside Gene, "but we really don't know much of anything about our opponents, except what we've seen on video".

"That puts you at an advantage", Gene offers. "They have absolutely no video on you and Rosie. They have nothing to go on to prepare for you other than your biographies. Meanwhile, both Raynin and Gothika have been at this for a little while, so we have plenty of video, scouting reports and firsthand information on them to use".

"Maybe, but what about their experience? Isn't Raynin the Bombshell champion?"

"Former Bombshell champion," Gene corrects. "She lost it a couple weeks ago, but to be honest that is something you need to be careful with because wrestlers can be at their most dangerous the match following a title loss. She will likely be angry and have a chip on her shoulder the size of Manhattan. Raynin is going to have something to prove against you two".

"Oh great, "Felony mutters. "My first match as a pro and I'm booked against She Ra and Wonder Woman".

"Relax Kiddo," Gene chuckles and pats her softly on the back. "I'm in your corner and I can guarantee you that they have nothing that I haven't seen ten times over. I've been in this game a long time and managed a lot of champions. If you want to match experience, I can promise you that mine puts us over the top".

"Alright, so how do we match up with them? I mean, put yourself in our shoes, how would you game plan this match?"

"That's a fair question, "Gene concedes settling back into his seat. "This first thing I would do is take note of their styles. Gothika is more of a ground and pound type, she's gonna try to get you off your feet where she can lock you up in some sort of submission hold. Obviously you want to stay vertical against her. On the flip side, Raynin is more of a risk taker. She's what we refer to as a flyer, meaning she takes risks, sometimes unnecessarily for the high spot. With her, you want to take the match to the ground and while upright you want to be on constant lookout for the high spot, which could come at any time. The thing about these high flyer types is that if their high spot fails, they can often take themselves out of a match. One miss and it could be all over with, so it's a good idea to learn how to make them miss. Erika will be meeting us in Reno to go into more detail and help you with that".

"Now, looking at our own styles we have you who has no choice but to keep on the move. You've heard of catch as catch can?"

Felony nods.

"Well, I like to refer to your style as catch me if you can, meaning they are going to get a workout against you. You make them chase you around until they make a mistake that you can capitalize on. Hit and move, jab and run, always on the go. You probably have, by far, the best cardio of anyone in that ring so you take advantage of that and hope that they can't keep pace. Rosie, on the other hand, is a bulldozer. She's gonna stand there and dare you to do something. The chances are, with her power, there isn't much you can do to hurt her".

Felony listens intently, a dry sponge absorbing every droplet of information offered by her manager's fountain of experience.

"So what I would do is match them as close to their opposite as we can get. Now, obviously Rosie isn't a mat technician, but it's safe to say she won't be looking for any high spots so if Raynin starts the match for them, I would have Rosie start it for us. Raynin is gonna be running all over the ring looking for that spot but with Rosie's size and power I would bet the rent that she underestimates it on her first try. Rosie would then be in a position to use her strength to wear her down. If Gothika starts it on the other hand, I would suggest you start it for us..,"

"Why me?" Felony interrupts.

"Because Gothika needs to be able to get a good hold of her opponent to do what she does and Rosie won't be moving much. But you, my dimple faced little dumpling, are damn near impossible to catch. She is gonna have to chase you, and if my guess is correct, she will get frustrated. It's like trying to catch a cat that doesn't want to be caught. It will run circles around you and piss you off".

"But suppose she doesn't chase me, but just stands there and makes me come after her?"

"Don't fall for it, simple as that", Gene advises. "Look, Gothika is a competitor and if she tries that tactic, then I want you to keep your distance and not initiate contact. You can tease her, taunt her, do whatever as long as you don't go after her. She's expecting you to go after her because in her mind, you want to win as badly as she does. While it's true that you do want to win as badly as she does, that doesn't mean you can't go about it in a different way. Being the competitor she is, she will get quite aggravated and eventually give up on that idea and start in for you again. Also, I would strongly advise you to stay away from their corner during the match and to make frequent trips towards your own. If you can draw her in, Rosie can deliver a shot while I distract the referee. The first rule of tag team wrestling; keep it on your side of the ring. Your partner is there for a reason..,"

"Yeah, to spank my ass!"

"And your opponent's asses, don't forget". Looking up Gene notices the hulking form of Rock Rose lumbering through the crowd at the top of the escalator and making her ways towards them carrying the burdensome Red and Gold Gym bag in her right hand while curling one of the dumbbells in her left. "We'll go over some more on the plane", he says, rising to his feet.

"Welcome back Rock, I think it's about time we got in line".

"Alright, but I got the aisle seat so I can do my pushups in between sets".