Prologue:

This was it. Jack was finally getting what he wanted, and what he felt, among many others, that he deserved. The recent victories at both Summer XXXtreme, and against Roulette champion O’Malley had only strengthened his conviction and belief that he was the next star of the company. He had originally challenged then SCW World champion Griffin Hawkins, but Hawkins lost the championship to Alex Jones, and that changed Jack’s target to Alex. To Jack it didn’t matter who the champion was, or how long they had held the championship. Anyone could have it. All that mattered to Jack, was that he took it from them. And now, he was about to get his chance.

Jack had been positioning himself ever since challenging Griffin in the first place. He did the job backing up his boastful challenge, and Alex Jones readily agreed to take him on at Violent Conduct. Jack was getting the chance he felt earned, and the table was set. But Jack was wise beyond his years in the ring. He knew enough not to give anything away, and not to attempt to jeopardize his shot by taking an unnecessary risk, perhaps leading to injury and squandering the chance. He had done this before with Ben Jordan.

Perhaps it was this strategy on Jack’s part that he walked away from his teammates on Climax Control in the main event. Jack was playing the odds in his mind. Everything about that match was about a physical scouting of Alex Jones, and keeping himself in top shape for it. And in Jack’s own mind, there was nothing further to gain at the moment he decided to walk away. It surely cost his team the victory, but Jack’s history with people in general should have left few surprised by his actions. Jack never did well with others, and didn’t trust anyone in the company let alone that six man tag. And in his own mind, his walking away was completely justified.

Now all Jack had to focus on was the match at Violent Conduct against Alex Jones. It was now the most important thing in the world to him. From the moment he stepped through the curtain after the final bell signaled the end of the show, Jack let the result slide off his back and out of his mind. He had reasoned in his head that sometimes you have to take a step back in order to make progress. This was all he needed. He spent the next few days developing his routine and preparing for the match. The gym was necessary, but he thought about it, and didn’t want anyone watching him workout. He had a business decision to make.  Jack did what he believed to be the right move. He bought workout equipment and had it delivered to the grand flamingo plaza. He reasoned that he could workout in peace, and none of Jones’s students would be able to spy for Alex, to possibly give him information. So before the equipment was delivered on Wednesday, he did some quick workouts in the gym at the casino. He picked off hours of the night, to try and avoid most people. But it was time for a super card, so the gym usage was at its maximum. Another reason that Jack made the choice to have his own gym.

Outside the ring, Jack had completed his work for the Mexicans. Not quite everything they wanted, but they didn’t quite know that. And Jack was paid none the less. There was profit to be made working with the Mexicans, but it was dirty money. Not that money was really necessary for Jack, and he didn’t really want dirty money, but the idea of being on the bad side of Ana Sofia and the Mexicans wasn’t exactly a good idea. Considering Jack only had a few people even working with him, and no one really working FOR him, this wasn’t the time to try and make a stand for morality. But Jack did have the gambling commission at least not looking at him for the time being. He had smoothed that over and the Grand Flamingo Plaza was granted both a gambling and a liquor license. Now it was all about getting gamblers into the Casino, but there wasn’t really any way to do that with the COVID-19 still being a problem, and new cases being linked to Casinos wasn’t good for a business that just opened. Jack had a lot of work to do, and he was going to need people.

It was just a question of where those people would come from.


--

Grand Flamingo Plaza
Las Vegas, NV.


Jack watched out the window of the upstairs office as construction was nearing its completion. After all this time, with all the licenses required not in his grasp, he needed only the gambling machines and staff to start. He began to have grand visions, but the idea of doing all this was daunting. Brian soon entered the room, puffing on a cigar as he stood beside Jack admiring the progress.

Brian: You did good kid.

Jack took this compliment in stride, saying nothing, but keeping an eye on the construction and demolition.

Jack: We’re not there yet.

Brian: True. But this is a start.

Jack: Just a start.

Brian walked away from the window and found an ashtray in the desk. He turned the cigar in the ashtray to remove the ash and he watches it drop into the tray, smiling with satisfaction.

Brian: Cubans. Nothing like ‘em.

Brian continued to puff away at his cigar while Jack continued to watch. Brian walked to the small cupboard in the corner of the room and opened it to reveal a bottle of Jack Daniels. Brian smiled as he took the bottle, and two shot glasses back to the table. Brian sat on the edge of the table and poured the whiskey into the two shot glasses.

Brian: Drink?

Jack didn’t answer at first, but after a moment turned his head to see Brian with the drinks.

Jack: Why do you keep that here?

Brian: You should have this kind of stuff. Important people like a drink every now and again. And they need to know that you will partake as well. It’s simple kid. Let’s people know what kind of man you are.

Jack: That is some ‘70’s bullshit, man. I don’t give a shit if someone drinks or not.

Brian: And that’s why you aren’t going to get ahead with the negotiations when the time comes. People like familiar, Stick. They like seeing a man they know they can trust. A good man enjoys his whiskey and a cigar every now and again.

Jack: Who told you that shit?

Brian: People that got me where I am, Stick. I’m just trying to make sure you can play ball with these people. Plus, you need to lighten up anyway.

Jack: I got shit on my mind. Shit to do, man. I don’t need to be drunk doing it.

Brian: Oh yeah, I heard, big championship match. Plus all the gym shit that’s down there. Gonna open up your own Gold’s gym down there?

Jack: No. Just a place where I can work out in peace.

Jack finally walks over and sits down at his desk. Brian pushes the shot glass slowly towards him.

Brian: You ain’t gonna get drunk off a shit, Stick.

Brian says, as he places the cigar in the ashtray and swallows his shot slowly, in one gulp. He winces as he inhales.

Brian: Unless you’re a lightweight. Damn that’s a good burn.

Brian eyes the second shot, daring Jack with his eyes to drink it. Jack stares at Brian, then at the shot, before takes it and slams it back before placing the glass on the table. He too winces for a second.

Jack: Happy now?

Brian: You know, you gotta taste the whiskey now.

Brian begins to pour another two shots.

Jack: The fuck are you talking about?

Brian: Slamming shots is for frat boys in college just aiming to get shitfaced. You need to taste that whiskey. That’s what it’s made for.

Brian finishes pouring and then picks up his cigar, puffing a few times before he finished pouring the second shot. He once again turned up his glass, and slowly allowed the alcohol to pour down his throat. He swallowed and winced again.

Brian: God damn that’s good stuff.

Brian again motioned with his eyes for Jack to take a drink. Jack rolled his eyes, and took the shot glass in his hand and drank it exactly like Brian. He winced from the burn and inhaled.

Jack: Cleared the sinuses. But… I ain’t doing any more shots.

Brian chuckled and took the glasses away. He continued to puff on his cigar before returning and sitting on the edge of the desk again.

Brian: You thought about how you’re going to run this place?

Jack: I thought that’s why you were here?

Brian laughed.

Brian: I can help you, but I’m better at making the deals. You’re going to need people. A lot of people.

Jack: It ain’t exactly a big market out there.

Brian: Sure there is. You just gotta know where to look. And how to get your name out there. Sure would help if you were… the champ or whatever.

Jack: I’m working on that part. You just let me worry about that. But... Shit you’re right. All I have is Bobby and you really.

Brian: That’s a good start. But we’re gonna need more.

Jack: Hmmm…

Jack thought for a moment and he was in agreement that they would need more manpower, to get this going.

Brian: I mean… slot machines are cheap and all, but if you want the tables, the food and all that… we’re going to need staff.

Jack: Yeah… we’ll uh... we we gotta advertise.

Jack smirked to himself and picked up the office phone. He dialed out, and sure enough, Bobby was on the other line.

Bobby: What’s up man?

Jack: What do you know about websites?

Bobby: Shit man… just how to get to them. If you mean like making ‘em… I don’t know how.

Jack: Do you know anybody that does?

Bobby: I can make some calls to some of the old guys back home. Why?

Jack: We need to advertise.

Bobby:  Alright man, I’ll see what I can do.

Jack: Gonna also need you to make a couple of calls for me.

Bobby: Oh, alright. I can do that.

Jack: Good man. I need you to get a hold of Larry.

Bobby: Like… Lawyer Larry?

Jack: Yeah. Gonna need him for this.

Bobby: I can have him call you if I get a hold of him.

Jack: Perfect. That’s what I need. And I need one other thing from you, Bobby.

Bobby: Sure man, what’s up?

Jack pauses, sighing into the phone.

Jack: I’m gonna need you to get a hold of Benny.

There was a brief moment of silence on the other end.

Bobby: Benny? What for?

Jack: Business. Just have him call the hotel phone in an hour if you reach him.

Bobby: Okay man… I’ll do what I can. Anything else?

Jack: Not right now. Just make those calls for me, Bobby. I’m gonna need you on this.

Bobby: You got it, Jack.

The call was ended as Jack hung up the phone. He turned to see Brian staring at him.

Brian: What are you up to, Stick?

Jack: You said I’m gonna need staff, right?

Brian: Benny ain’t staff.

Jack: Benny’s my best shot to get staff. He knows people here. He’s been here longer than me. Plus, with what’s about to be in that basement… I need people I know, know what they’re doing.

Brian: That ain’t Benny. Otherwise Benny wouldn’t be in the spot he’s in right now.

Jack: Benny’s a bookie, I know that. But Benny’s got connections. And he’s got manpower. Something we sorely lack.

Brian: I don’t like this one bit, Stick. Benny’s always wanted to be bigger than he is. It’s why your dad -

Jack: My dad kept Benny where he could keep an eye on him. That’s exactly what I want to do. Simple as that. He can be useful. But I get where you’re coming from. I don’t trust him at all, but right now, he’s what I need to go with.

Brian: I think this is a bad idea, Stick.

Jack: Just let me handle this, if anything goes wrong, you’re in charge. It’s win-win for you.

Brian: Funny.

Jack: Just leave it to me. I’m going to go work out, and then I’m headed back to the Hotel.

Brian: More whiskey for me.

Jack: Have it all.

Brian: I’ll save some… for you know, when you’re the champ and all.

Jack smirked.

Jack: Won’t be too much longer.

With that, Jack departed the manager’s office and headed to his own gym to work out.

The gym was smaller than the Casino’s gym area, but it was private, and in addition to workout equipment, had a TV hooked up and enabled Jack to watch television, as well as access the SCW app, where he could stream matches and promos from recent events. Jack removed his normal street clothes and put on his workout gear and headphones, as he continued preparing physically as well as mentally for the match to come.


--

Saxon Hotel
Las Vegas, NV.


After his work out, Jack returned to the hotel, trying his best to be incognito. His temperature was taken at the door, a new provision for checking for the virus. Jack checked out fine, and checked into his room, where he showered up, only to hear the phone ring before he was dressed. Only people associated with SCW ever called that phone.

Except for Benny. Jack had done it purposely. Jack answered after the third ring.

Jack: Hello?

The voice on the other end, exactly who Jack thought.

Benny: Okay kid, what’s this about?

Jack: Business, Benny. Just some business.

Benny: Why the fuck would I want to do business with an ungrateful punk who stole the spot right out from under me? Why should I not send my boys to handle that for me? To take you right out?

Jack: Because you know if anything goes down… it comes back to you. I’m not stupid, Benny. This isn’t the ‘70’s and ‘80’s no more. You gotta be sophisticated if you’re going to do things these days.

Benny: Fuck you, kid. You wanna have me call you for this bullshit!? I got better things to do with my time.

Jack: That’s the whole reason I called Benny. I wanna talk business between you, and me. Because I feel like we can help each other.

Benny: Get the fuck outta here. You think I’m stupid? You wanna break my balls? Fuck you.

Jack: No, I’m not trying to break your balls. Well, maybe a little.

Benny: Fucking punk kid.

Jack: But the reason we’re talking, is I want to talk money, and opportunity.

There is a long pause where Benny says nothing. The dead air is deafening as Jack breaks the silence.

Jack: Guessing I have your attention. There’s money to be made, Benny.

Benny: What the fuck are you talking about?

Jack: Tell you what, you meet me at Dino’s. That’s your spot, you got everything there, right? I’ll meet you on your turf.

Benny: You ain’t got turf. You ain’t got shit.

Jack: But I got something I know you’re interested in. Now it all depend on whether you want to be interested. We can help each other, or you can choose to make this situation what it becomes. I’m offering you opportunity. It’s up to you.

There is another long pause with Benny simply breathing into the phone as he thinks about this. Finally he breaks the silence.

Benny: Two hours.

Jack: You won’t regret it Benny.

Jack hung up the phone and sighed. He pulled out his actual cell phone and saw that he had a missed call. He smiled and called the number back.

Jack: Larry.

Larry's voice cracked as he spoke.

Larry: Hey, uh… Bobby told me to call you, gave me this number.

Jack: That’s right Larry.

Larry: Jack, they… they know you’re out there.

Jack: I know they do. But I don’t need to worry about that now. I want to offer you a job.

Larry: What?

Jack: Yeah, I’m… into some businesses out here. I have some interests and I figure that I may need legal counsel on some matters.

Larry: I’m not really that kind of lawyer. I’m a criminal lawyer, not a business lawyer.

Jack: I just need someone to make sure that everything that I put my name to in the near future is nice and legal. I figured you were the man who could do that. You understand the law, don’t you?

Larry: Yes, in Pennsylvania.

Jack: How different can Las Vegas be?

Larry: Extremely!

Jack: Well, look at it this way, you’re head of literally everyone I have on staff.

Larry: Staff?

Jack: Okay, not so much a staff as 3 people. But I really need a fourth, Larry.

Larry: I can’t just give up my practice and come out there Jack. That’s now how this works. I have cases, obligations to clients! It could get me disbarred if I just pack up and leave and come out to where you are!

Jack: Larry, you’re a family lawyer. I’m part of the family, right?

Larry: Don’t do this to me, Jack.

Jack: Look, if you don’t want in on this, that’s fine. All I want from you, is to come out here, check out the operation and everything and if you still don’t want it, you can walk away. No questions asked, and no hard feelings.

The line was silent again.

Larry: Where are you? Las Vegas? What are you doing out there?

Jack: A little gambling.

Larry: … Shit.

Jack: I know, that’s why I need you out here.

Larry: Jack… I … alright fine. I’ll head out there and see what you’re working with.

Jack: You’re a good man Larry. I need you on this. I know in the past I may not have wanted you around, or to be bailed out and stuff and… maybe I was too hard on you. But if you come out here and you help me… trust me, there’s a lot in it for you.

Larry: I already agreed to come out, Jack. You don’t need to butter me up.

Jack: Good. I’ll see you soon. Call me when you get in to Vegas.

Larry: I will. See you soon.

Jack hung up the phone and smirked, the plan was coming together… he hoped. But Benny would not be easy to sway or deal with. Jack needed to be prepared for anything to happen during this negotiation.
--

Dino’s Bar And Grill
Las Vegas, NV.


In a matter of role reversal, this time is was Jack sitting down at the table, waiting for Benny. After a short wait, Benny, flanked by two men slowly walks into the bar. It’s entirely empty as Benny cautiously walks to the secluded back corner, out of sight of any other patrons that would be there. Jack is waiting with a nod and a point to Benny. His personal security step forward.

Jack: You can relax boys. I just want to talk.

Benny: Fuck you.

Jack: Have a seat Benny. If I was going to do something, I would have done it by now. I would have right when you walked in the door. You can send the boys out to play. All I want is to talk.

Benny: You think you’re some big shot now? This is my place.

Jack: Look, I’m here, all by myself. If you really want to end this right now, you can, but I promise you’ll have more problems than it’s worth. I’m just here for business.

Benny stands there a moment eyeing Jack up and down, before he finally relents. He motions for the two men to leave.

Benny: Outside, boys.

Jack offers a the chair across the table and Benny eyes it suspiciously as he pulls it out and sits down.

Benny: Okay, kid. You wanna talk, let’s talk.

Jack: Benny, I know you don’t like me right now.

Benny: No shit.

Jack: But, I think maybe, we got off on the wrong foot.

Benny: You came here smart mouthing me, you little punk! You didn’t want to accept my offer, and now you wanna come here and talk business? You ain’t got shit but property. And it should have been mine.

Jack leans forward

Jack: That’s what I’m here to talk to you about. I know you had your heart set on that and I get it. I just beat you to the punch. But, I was thinking about it recently and I had a thought about you and the future of the Grand Flamingo.

Benny: Just cut to the chase kid, don’t be fucking dramatic.

Jack leans back, sighs deeply.

Jack: I think we can help each other. A partnership.

Benny scoffs, laughing as he wheezes from years of smoking.

Benny: Partnership? What is this some kind of joke? You breaking my balls again, kid?

Jack: No.

Jack’s simple answer and then serious look cause Benny to take it seriously too. The table has cold waters on it and Benny takes a drink to let the moment sink in.

Benny: What kind of partnership?

Jack: I think we both can help each other Benny. We both have something the other needs. Space, and able bodies.

Benny: You… you’re trying to buy me out, aren’t you? You wanna run me off.

Jack: No, Benny. I’m not trying to buy you out. You got nothing to buy anyway.

Benny: Fuck you. I got people in this town!

Jack: And that’s why we’re talking. Benny, let’s face it, you got a small book keeping business. It’s legal here. It’s making you some money. Making you feel good. But what I got, is a space that’s destined to make more money in a week than you can in 2 months. I came to you, because you, you’re the low man here. Sonny’s got it all, the Mexicans can move their stuff, and you… you got some small time money. I have the potential for big time money. And you know that.

Benny scoffs. He doesn’t want to accept what Jack is saying, but in his heart, he knows it’s the truth. He takes another sip of the water on the table, gathering his thoughts.

Benny: So what do you suggest?

Jack: You join me. We help each other. We get the Grand Flamingo, up… together.

Benny: No… no, there’s something here, kid. I wasn’t born yesterday. I’m not stupid.

Jack: You do know what a partnership is. You help me, I help you. You come and work… for me, and I give you the platform you need. Together, we make money, and everybody wins.

Benny: You’re bullshitting me.

Jack: You have the people, you have the staff, and you have the connections. But that’s not getting you too far. I’m offering a chance to expand and make this really look good and make money. That’s what you want. I need what you have. And you need the spot to do it in.

Benny: What’s in it for you?

Jack: I get to know the same people you do. I get the staff that know how to run a casino, because let’s face it, I don’t. I got the space to work, but I need someone who knows the ins and outs of the business part. And let’s also face it, I’m not going to have the time to really run the place. I’m trying to be the world champion here. I’m not going to be able to be around. This works out for both of us.

Benny stops and shakes his head.

Benny: What’s the catch?

Jack: There isn’t one. I’m not trying to bullshit you. I don’t bullshit Benny, you’ve known me for a long time. I need you, on side. Now, you can take that offer, and I can get to work on getting all of it set up. Or, you can stand up, and walk out that door and back to what you got, and I can find another partnership and you can lag even further behind.

Jack takes a drink of his own glass of water, placing it back on the table and leaning back.

Jack: The choice is yours.

Jack and Benny look at each other for what seems like forever in silence. Benny takes another drink, finishing his water before he clears his throat.

Benny: I gotta run it my way.

Jack: I would think your way was best. You just gotta make me some money.

Benny: You drive a hell of bargin, kid.

Jack: I’m just playing the hand I’m dealt, Benny.

Jack reaches into his pocket, having received two cigars from Brian before he arrived. He reached out to hand one to Benny

Jack: What do you say?

Another moment of silence passes before Benny sighs.

Benny: Let me think about it.

Jack shrugs.

Jack: Take your time.

The two shake on it, and light their cigars before Jack holds up his hand and a couple shots are brought to the table.

Benny: A little premature, don’t you think?

Jack: Maybe. But now, it’s a guarantee. It’ll be like back home.

Jack and Benny puff on their cigars, and then raises their glasses.

Jack: A toast. If not to a partnership… to old times then.

The glasses clink together.

Benny: …. To old times.

The two toast and down their shots.
--

McCarran International Airport
Las Vegas, NV


Benny left without making the deal, but that was okay with Jack. He had driven out to pick up Larry, as he arrived from the airport. He and Jack greeted each other with a handshake.

Larry: Jack.

Jack: Welcome to Vegas.

Larry: Yeah, Nice this time of year.

Jack: it’s nice all year round. Just dry as fuck.

Larry: Yeah, feels like it.

Jack: Let me show you what we’re working with.

Larry: Alright, but no promises.

Jack: Wasn’t expecting one. Just a chance.

Larry: Alright, let’s go.

Jack and Larry got his bags from the baggage claim and Larry hoofed them to the waiting car with Bobby behind the wheel.

Larry: Bobby.

Bobby: ‘Sup.

Larry: Yes… not much I suppose.

Bobby: It’s cool man.

Once everything was loaded, Larry took his spot in the back seat while Jack rode shotgun.

Jack: I think we got a pretty good setup.

Larry: So what do you really need me for?

Jack: I told you on the phone a couple days ago. Legal issues. Should they arise.

Larry: You know, you can just call me on those type of things.

Jack: Maybe, but let’s just see how you feel after you see it.

The car drove on, Larry taking in the sights of Las Vegas and the strip, before they were able to make it to the Grand Flamingo Plaza.

--

The Grand Flamingo Plaza
Las Vegas, NV


The car pulled up and Larry looked at the building from the outside.

Jack: What do you think?

Larry: It looks… plain from out here.

Jack: We’re still… working on the advertising part.

Larry: Might wanna get on that.

Jack: Thanks for the input.

Jack, Larry, and Bobby made their way to the manager’s office inside the building. Brian was there, puffing on a cigar and a smirk appeared on his face as the other three walked through the door.

Brian: Stick, you bring the lawyer here?

Larry: Hello Mr. Washington.

Brian: We’re friends, glasses.  It’s all friendly here.

Larry: Yes, I’m sure.

Jack: Brian’s gonna help with some of the negotiations.

Larry: I see.

Jack: But, there’s some paperwork here that maybe you could take a look at, and maybe give your opinion on.

Larry: Okay.

Jack opened the drawer and produced a stack of papers, and laid them on the table.

Jack: Enjoy.

Larry: It will take me a week to go through this stuff!

Jack: Then you better get started.

Larry did indeed sit down and begin to actually start looking at the paperwork.

Larry: Well, some of this stuff is just licenses and other mandatory requirements if you’re going to run a business. So, as long as it’s filed correctly, it’ll be squared away. Again, I’m not a business lawyer, so I don’t know exactly what I’m looking for.

Jack: Anything that seems fishy, Larry. That’s all.

Larry: So, are you guys turing this into an actual casino?

Jack: That’s the plan.

Larry:  No offense but… with what?

Jack: What do you mean, with what?

Larry: Well… no offense fellas, but you got a big empty building with nothing in it and a gambling and liquor license. You have nothing that even accessible right now.

Jack: We’re trying to get staff. The advertising, remember?

Larry: I understand that but, you’re going to need a LOT of people.

Jack: Well, luckily, there’s people out there.

Larry: Not people who specialize in this kind of work. You need people for a lot of stuff to get this running at what it needs.

Jack: Well, we’re looking.

Larry: You’ll never get off the ground without people here.

Jack: We’re buying slot machines. 2,000 of them. That should get at least a few things going.

Larry: Jack, you need more than that. You need a serious staff. You need food service people if you’re serving food. Kitchen staff, chefs, front of house people. You need dealers, you need security, you need bankers and people to look after the house money. I mean, I’m sure there’s more to it than that, but that’s just off the top of my head.

Jack: That’s why we’re advertising soon. But we need to make sure all this stuff is squared away before we really get to it.

Larry: And, I should add, you’re going to need all of those people to be trustworthy. Because this is cutthroat like any business. You need top of the line people.

Jack: Look, we’re looking into it. I’ve got a guy who may be able to help us out.

Larry: You’re gonna need all the help you can get. Who is it? Someone you know?

Jack: Benny.

Larry stares at Jack and sighs, chuckling in disbelief.

Larry: Oh, yeah… that’ll work.

Jack: He’s the best shot we have right now.

Larry: Jack, you’d be better off, without relying on Benny for anything.

Jack: If he takes the offer, he takes the offer.

Brian: Trust me glasses, I said the same thing.

Larry: May I may a suggestion then?

Jack: Fire away…

Larry: Go to the Casinos around here. See how they run. Because from what any good business tells me, the owner is aware of all that goes on. And a casino probably is a very involved one. So… I would suggest a little recon as it were. Find out how someone else does it.

Jack thinks about this for a moment, nodding.

Jack: That does sound like an idea. You wanna spend a little money, Larry?

Larry: Beats staying in here.

Jack: Good, I’ll be back in an hour, and we’ll do some recon. Have some fun, this is Vegas after all.

Larry: Well… where are you going?

Jack: Got some work to do for my actual job. You look through that stuff and we’ll go when I get back.

Jack then departed, headed back down the gym he had put in, once again to prepare for his match.

--

Click

Jack is outside, sitting at one of the tables outside the casino. He wears a black a-shirt and his hat with the brim low over his eyes, but pulls it up. The perpetual annoyed look on his face.

Jack: I don’t need to explain my actions. I really don’t.

What? Are you going to judge me because I left two losers high and dry? Hey, I tried to lead that damn team. I did what I could, but the suck that was like a funk around the ring from everyone else but me, started to affect me, and I had to get out of there. I had to walk away before I was drug down to their level. But, hey, that’s all over now. I told you before I don’t do well with others. I only need to rely on one person, and that’s me. The match was bogus to begin with, so hey, I ain’t worried about a quote loss, on my record. I got out of there, and I’m feeling pretty damn good about the choices I made last Sunday.

I can be a great leader, but the fact is, I need people that are willing and actually capable of doing simple tasks. Considering our opponents… good lord, that is embarrassing. So, one of the marks of a good leader is knowing when to retreat. Knowing when the battle is lost. Sometimes you have to sacrifice a battle, to win the war. I got myself out of that situation, because it was no-win, and I don’t deal in no-win situations if I don’t have to. And I clearly didn’t in that one. So yeah, I walked away. It was the right decision.

You want a reason? You want justification? How’s this:

I’m a winner, and the rest of the people in the match were losers. Either by choice, or by birth.

There, now you have the reason I left. I’m a winner. I’ve won all my life, you don’t see me with a bad win-loss record do you? You watched me skyrocket to the top, win important matches and establish myself. I don’t need people who clearly are not on my level, dragging me down to theirs. I don’t need them, I really don't need anybody. I work best alone. I don’t need to waste time with that nonsense anyway.


Because I got bigger fish to fry.

Alex Jones.


Jack removes his hat, tossing it lightly onto the table. His eyes are now shown fully and full of intensity.

Jack: Two weeks. That’s how much time you have. Two weeks. And at the end of that time, at Violent Conduct, I will whoop your ass, and I will become the new SCW world heavyweight champion.

Now, I know what you may be thinking here. Oh, Jack’s gonna have some cool toys and props like he did for Ben Jordan. He’s gonna bust out that replica championship again and talk about how he wants the real thing. I’ve heard this all before.

And you see, that’s where you’d be wrong. Alex. I don’t need props to talk about you. I don’t need anything besides the information I dug up on you. Yeah, I’ve got this nice piece of paper handy, and really, it just has a new bullet points written on it. A sentence or two. Because that’s all I need. You’ve given me so much that it’s almost impossible to run out material on you. In just the few weeks that you’ve been important in my world I’ve sat back and watched. Just like I watched Ben Jordan.

Oh, there’s material right there for a tweet my dude. I’m sure you’ll fire those off these next two weeks because it makes you feel safe. It makes you feel like you’re going to get the last word and you’ve got some real zingers for me. A few knee slappers that will totally kill anything I can say. I mean, it took you three weeks to stop talking about Griffin Hawkins. You even changed your little twitter name there to “Griffin Hawkins is my bitch” I mean, you totally got him didn’t you? And I bet not one person noticed or cared. Hawkins walked away. But I get it, you beat the guy, and now you’re a big shot. And every chance you get, you wanna rub it in. I mean, if this were… like 2010, people would be impressed. But it’s 2020 and your material is sad.

Jack indeed pulls a piece of folded up paper out of his pocket and holds it up. He places it on the table and begins mindlessly playing with it in his hands.

Jack: Bro, I had to listen and hear you talk about me, how you think I’m on steroids. I had to laugh because I mean, is… is that the best you can come up with? Don’t answer that, I already know it’s the truth. I mean, first of all, I might just take that as a compliment. I work hard to keep and maintain the best physical shape I can. What you see is a result of that hard word. The fact that you thought that because I have a better body than you ever good, must mean I’m on the gas is hilarious. I mean come on, don’t hate on me for looking the way I do. It’s not my fault that you don’t work as hard as I do in the gym. You do crossfit or whatever. Whatever works for you man. Sure, you look sickly at times, and you try and show off that one chest hair you have, but you do you. See, I just made that up on the fly dude.  You thought long and hard about that steroids gag, and it went over like a fart in church. And you not only thought it was good, you fucking doubled down on it. If that’s the best you got son, you ain’t long for being SCW champion. I mean, shit, you ain’t long for it anyway, but you best step that insult game up. Not sure how you ever accomplished anything in wrestling if that’s the quality I’m about to get. Holy shit that was weak. You better try harder.

Jack unfolds the paper. Indeed it does have some notes scribbled on it. He reads, chuckling to himself.

Jack: I mean, I can sit here and talk about your dumb ass all day. The list of ridiculousness that you may in front of you is fucking like… what do they call it… a meme? Yeah, I think that’s right. You are a fucking meme. I mean, are you really sitting here, as a grown adult man, and calling yourself “the Black Dragon”? Or just… “The Dragon” in general? Did you come up with that all by yourself too? What, get really into Skyrim or something? You got a whole room of dragon stuff, don’t you? You got your cool dragon shirts, you got your dragon posters, you got your dragon tattoos, you got all this shit with dragons on it, don’t you? I mean, why else are you calling yourself “the Dragon” big Bruce Lee fan or something? I mean, you even named your moves after Dragon’s too? Holy shit my guy, you have to realize some utterly fucking stupid that is, right? At this point, you have to, right? You can’t really be thinking as a man that “dragons are just really cool, let me name stuff after dragons.” Do you…. Do you want to be a dragon? Like, in real life? Or do you think you ARE a dragon? Is that what we’re doing now? Is it just pretend time for Alex Jones? Like, for fucks sake man, you’re an adult. Dragons are cool when you’re like 15. I think you’re just trying way too hard. I mean, the Dragon sleeps? Sleeps? Shouldn’t it be like the Dragon’s “fire” or something cool? The Dragon Sleeps? That’s so fucking lame. The Dragon’s breath? Did you just look on a bottle of fucking hot sauce for inspiration? Were you googling fucking chili peppers and just went, “yeah, that’ll work” Holy fuck my dude. Like, how? How is that you are this fucking lame? Don’t you have any other nicknames that are less stupid?

Again, don’t answer that, I already know.

Let me see…

Holy. Shit.


Jack reads off the paper once again.

Jack: “Prince of Perfection” Alex Jones.

I’m sorry, what? Bruh, what? You really went around calling yourself that? Like…. For real? Like.. what the fuck, dude? Who came up with these nicknames? And what did they get, because it should have been 3-5 years. Prince? Were you like a medieval prince? Did you have squires and knights and shit? Did you ride a horse to the ring? Is your dad a fucking King? Is he the “King of Perfection”? Or was this just another case of you thinking that something sounded cool? Because that doesn’t sound cool at all. That couldn’t have sounded cool in your head. No fucking way. I refuse to believe that you actually sat down and thought that “Prince of Perfection” was cool. Like, you lost a bet or something, right? There’s no way you came up with that on your own. No way. I mean, are you really trying to say, you’re just so good that, you just mess up on purpose because you’re far and above everyone else in the ring? Well, this nickname is living proof of an imperfect brain. So that’s a fucking lie. That’s one of worst names I’ve ever heard in my life, man. You? Perfect? Okay buddy, you keep thinking that. You winning the SCW championship on a complete fluke against a paper champion, and all of a sudden you’re king shit? Nah, I’m gonna call bullshit on that. “Prince of Perfection.” Did you come out with like a robe and a crown and shit too? Come on dude, if you’re going to go in, you go in all the way. Own that shit. Don’t half ass it because you think it sounds cool. Wear a fucking little crown if you’re a prince. Wear a fucking like… apron with a giant crown on it. Or like chainmail? Wait, like a big “P” wearing a crown. Come on man, be original! There’s gotta be something better, right? Something. Anything?

Jesus Christ.

Another check of the paper.

Jack: “The American Nightmare”

Wow. That’s really all I can say about this one. Seriously. I have no words for who fucking terrible this one is. You’ve got to be kidding me, bruh. How? How are these nicknames so bad? Who is giving you this stuff? Look, if a friend is giving you ideas and throwing them out there, that person does not need to be your friend. They are trolling you or something. This is… this is just the worst set of nicknames I’ve ever heard. Why can’t you just be Alex Jones? Why do you have to have a really stupid cringy ass nickname my guy? This one isn’t even original. You just heard about someone talk about the “American Dream” and boom, you’ve got it don’t you? I can just see your face when the wheels turned in your head and I can almost guarantee that you just went “What about…. American Nightmare”, like out loud, to nobody in particular, and you fucking laughed to yourself because you thought it was so clever. You did, didn’t you? And then you called up your friends and said “I’m gonna be the American Nightmare Alex Jones” And you were so fucking proud of it. And again, you probably had a really shit friend, so they just agreed with you. A true friend would have told you that that wasn’t good, but they agreed, and led you to believe that you actually came up with something good. I mean, you really need to check the people you hang around with. They are leading you down a path that leads to me having to do this to you.  I mean… there’s got be… there HAS to be something here that isn’t going to make me piss myself laughing at you.

Jack makes one final check of the paper.

Jack: AJ Phoenix?

Phoenix? Like there aren’t like two thousand wrestlers who used “Phoenix” already. Let’s just add another terrible, unoriginal nickname. Like how? How are you so bad at this that you can’t come up with one nickname that isn’t a pile of garbage that no self-respecting wrestler would ever choose? AJ Phoenix sounds like a really emo character from like a fucking anime or a dude who sits on youtube and unboxes things. I mean, I’d put that nickname back in the box if I were you. Never let that shit see the light of day. AJ Phoenix is the name of some online nerdy edge-lord type dude, sitting is his parent’s basement eating his whole bag of Doritos and chugging down his fucking Fanta as he blasts terrible death metal because he’s so cool. I mean, god damn son, is it that hard to just be Alex Jones and just go off the merit you’ve earned? Is it that hard to just be Alex Jones period?

Wait for it. Don’t answer that, I know the answer. It is really hard to be Alex Jones. This was just a little fun to get your attention. The nicknames are bad. But I know why you did that. It’s just really hard to be Alex Jones.

Jack crumbles the paper and tosses it out of frame.

Jack: It’s really hard to be Alex Jones, because really… who the fuck IS Alex Jones? Who is Alex Jones as a person? A bland, snarky, jackass. Congratulations, you are every single nerd ass internet troll ever. I mean, you have to sit there and hype yourself up. “I’m a 10 time world champion.” I’m just so talented.” No, you’re just boring. You have the personality and the charisma of a pencil. That’s why people don’t talk about you, YOU have to talk about you. Before you got this random SCW championship match, who gave a flying fuck about Alex Jones outside of his students and family? Nobody. Not a god damn soul gave two pints of piss about Alex Jones. Does anyone even remember the last time Alex Jones was world champion? Wasn’t he a 9 time world champion for like 6 years? Don’t worry Alex, I’m sure you were world champion more recently in a company that either no longer exists or no longer wants you in it less than 6 years ago. It’s called hyperbole, Google that shit if you don’t know. The point still remains that nobody cares. You can claim YOU care, but again, who are you? Your students may think you’re some great thing, but you know, my mom tells me I’m handsome all the time, too.

You just have to face facts, son. You are uninspired, unoriginal, and unfunny. You are a giant piece of white bread. I look at you, and I automatically yawn. Every time you talk, it’s lame. Every time you wrestle, it’s lame. It’s so god damn boring and yet, here you are, thinking it’s somehow interesting. An audience with the “Sin City King”? Holy dog shit dude, even THAT, is lame as fuck. Your nicknames are lame. Your insults are lame. Everything about you, is bland and boring. And you’ve obviously passed it on to your students. I didn’t realize you could suck personality out of people, but damn dude, you managed to pull it off.

I mean, Johanna is an ex-cop, and she’s lame. Austin James Mercer? Some dude. Alicia Lukas? Apparently had one good year and it now that the folks who actually have personality showed up, she’s lame. The name Wolfslair is lame and unoriginal. And here you are, like a proud papa about all their success and all they’ve done. And more than happy to take fucking credit for it.

Jack simply chuckles.

Jack: I mean, coaches don’t normally take credit for their student’s success do they? I’ve never heard Bill Belichick ever say “you know, these guys are where they are because I coached them.” Never heard Eddie Futch talk about how if not for him Joe Frazier wouldn’t have a left hook. Like, holy shit. I mean, could there be any more whining going on here? “Nobody appreciates what I did.” Boo-hoo. “I trained 3 people just as bland as I am and nobody thanked me.” So, I tell you what chief, I’m going to get you a gift. No, it’s not a personality transplant, and no it’s not a nickname that isn’t terrible. I know you may have had your heart set on that, but sorry, it’s neither or those. But it is something you can use.

I’m going to buy you a big wooden cross. So that every time you feel unappreciated for all your sacrifices, you can climb up and nail yourself to it.

Jack suddenly become somber, but in a mocking tone.

Jack: We just don’t appreciate Alex Jones enough for training wrestlers. I mean, a lot of people train wrestlers. Wrestlers are popping up all over the place. There’s teeny tiny companies all over the place and wrestlers are flocking to them. No one is flocking to Wolfslair or whatever the fuck. It just feels like at this point people are over it. I mean, I know I am. Your students are lame, you’re lame, and anybody who comes to you to get trained is wasting their time and money on a dude who just can’t handle that nobody thinks that Alex Jones is anything special.

And I get it, bruh, you can totally hype up your students and tell them to all say that you’re great and they appreciate that you trained them. If you got like 5 people to say it, I guess it makes it true, doesn’t it?

Actually no. Can somebody who you didn’t train, say you’re a good trainer? Probably not, because nobody give a fuck you train people. Especially when you stomp your feet and piss and moan like the true attention whore you are. I mean, normally people do something and get attention for it, you have to beg for it. Like a dog looking for a fucking treat.

Jack once again gets serious.

Jack: So I’m going to just do the world a favor in two weeks, and I’m going to take that championship from you. Then you can run along and try to do something else to gain that attention you seek. Because after Violent Conduct, you will be in my rear view mirror, you can scream and whine and piss and moan about anything you want, and I won’t give a fuck. I will be champion, and you will be irrelevant, yet again. Until the next time you pop up like a pimple on prom night and everybody has to collectively face palm and remember you exist.

And, for the love of god, please don’t say that I remind you, of you. We are nothing alike. I’m real, you’re a poser with shitty nicknames and even shittier insults. You’re a 35 year old man-child. If you were anything else but a wrestler, people would have told you to get your shit together 10 years ago. You’re 35, and slinging mud like a 15 year old girl.  It’s embarrassing.

And I get it, I know you think you got me because of the match last Sunday right? You got my number. You’re probably going to say I’m a coward or I’m a pussy for leaving to not take the loss. Well, here’s the thing, the team lost anyway. So technically, you got a win over me. Great job. And this of course give you the right to the whole “mountain top” speech I got just last week. I’ve never climbed the mountain, I’ve never had to work for a world championship, I don’t know what it’s like.

You got me Alex. Stone cold dead.

Jack pretends he has been shot in the head and slumps over, before rising up again and shaking his head.

Jack: I’ve never been a world champion. I only won a championship my first professional match ever. I only walked into this company in February and demolished pretty much everybody in my path. But I don’t know about hard work or working for my shot, right? I only won the King for A Day, and as a 23 year old, I beat the hell out of Ben Jordan, a dude whose jock you couldn’t hold, and I was a cunt hair away from being the World champion before you were plucked from obscurity. And let’s just call it what it was: Ben Jordan ESCAPED with his championship. I didn’t tap out, I never quit. My body gave out. That’s the truth. So no, motherfucker, I was AT the top of the mountain, and I slipped off. I just missed planting my stake in. You? You fell off and you had to climb back up, and then take a fucking ski lift to the top. And now, I’m going to finish my climb, and knock you off, and plant my stake in, as the future of the company.

So you can keep listing your accolades and all your accomplishments and talk about how great you were. It’s only going to make what happens at Violent Conduct mean all that much more. It will add to my growing legend. It will increase my stock tenfold. I’m getting in the ring with a legend in his own mind, but you? You’re getting into the ring with the future.

And please, save me the old man experience speeches. It’s a waste of my time and yours. You know what the deal is, Alex. You are keeping that championship warm. You can try and deny it, you can try and pump yourself up, or have your students pump you up, it doesn’t matter. It will not change this beating you have coming at Violent Conduct.

Jack rubs his face, and cracks his neck.

Jack: I don’t know how to be anything else but real with you Alex, you are getting into the ring with a dude that gives no fucks about you, your legacy, your career or quite frankly your well-being. If I have to cripple you, I will do it. And I will do it with a smile on my face. You see my goal, is to be the world champion. And I will stop at nothing to win it. Because that’s all that matters. I don’t care what happens to you. You can break your neck doing some dumbass dive, or I can drop you on your head. You can blow out a knee, or I can break your leg. That part doesn’t matter to me, but it should matter to you.

After all, you got a family.

You gotta provide right? I don’t have those commitments. You do. So I want you think about that, long and hard. Get big mad about me talking about it too. Oh wait, I forgot, you said I wasn’t going to get in your head, right? Well, shit. I guess I can bring up the names Sonya and Dylan all I want and you aren’t going to do shit about it.

Or maybe you will. I don’t know. All I know is, that at Violent Conduct, I’m going to win the SCW world championship, and I’m taking my rightful place at the top of this company, and getting all the accolades and respect that comes with it.

And you will be there to witness it firsthand.

The rise of Jack Washington.

You got two weeks, Bitch.

Come. The fuck. At me.

With that, Jack simply stands up and the scene cuts to black.

Click.

[/color]

 <span style=\'font-family:arial\'>Prologue:

Jack returned from the Summer XXXtreme cruise a satisfied man. He felt that after all this, he was on his way to an SCW championship match after a great performance against Ben Jordan. His continued ability to impress people in high positions was getting him noticed and he enjoyed that, more so on the inside. He was confident in his ability and that when he decided to go for broke. He appeared on Climax Control and challenged the new SCW Champion Griffin Hawkins. Jack was in firm belief that he had done enough to deserve this opportunity.

Griffin Hawkins accepted this, and Jack now had set his sights on defeating him and becoming the SCW world champion at Violent Conduct.

However, Hawkins lost the SCW championship to Alex Jones in his first defense, complicating the championship picture. Jack was annoyed by this, because now he would have to answer more questions about if he was still in the championship picture and what the future held. To Jack, it didn’t matter who was champion, just so long as he received what he believed he had earned.

Outside the ring, Jack still had some projects under construction on the Flamingo that he had left in the hands of his uncle Brian while he was away. Jack knew that while it was in good hands from a business perspective, it was still his, and Brian couldn’t always be trusted. Jack knew that he needed to be a stable voice in this endeavor, because otherwise it could all go downhill, there were still people breathing down his neck, and people who wanted him to fail, and some who may have been wanted him dead and out of the way. Jack still had to be on his toes, but he still needed to be savvy when it came to what he needed to do to get the business actually up and running.
--

<span style=\'font-family:tahoma\'>The Flamingo Grand Plaza
Las Vegas, NV
Two weeks ago</span>

Jack had returned and sat at his desk looking over papers and checking to see what happened while he was away. His uncle Brian stood, looking out at the newly renovated casino floor, a pleased look on his face.

Jack: Is this all in order?

Brian: It will be. Just gotta meet with the licensing commissioner.

Jack: Well… shit… things are going well.

Brian: I told you that you could trust me, Stick.

Jack: About as far as I can throw you.

Brian: You’ve got big muscles, bet you could throw me far.

Jack: Not far enough.

Brian: Cut me deep, Stick.

Jack: Not deep enough.

Jack continued to look at the papers, and then finally there was a knock at the door, and the new office phones were in working order as the phone rang.

Jack: Yeah.

Bobby: Jack, the commissioner is here.

Jack: Send him in.

There is a click on the phone and the door opened. A man in a large white cowboy hat entered, his teenage son right along with him. His face greying with age, but he still had pep in his step. He smiled widely as Jack stood up and the two shook hands. Jack looked at the man’s attire and realized he had plenty of money. Jack looked at the soon who appeared to be staring off into space. Jack was puzzled by this, but still needed to continue to be a professional.

Jack: I’m Jack Washington.

Man: Oh, I know that Mr. Washington, lots of paperwork coming from here with your name on it. I’m Ted Anderson.

Jack: It’s good to meet you.

Ted: I appreciate you taking the time to see me when you’re trying to get all this taken care of.

Jack: It’s my pleasure, So… what can I do for you?

Jack looked over at Brian, and cleared his throat.

Jack: Sorry, this is my uncle Brian, he was looking over the place while I was out of town. So you may have dealt with him on the phone.

Ted: I did, how are you sir?

Brian: I’m well. Good day to make some good business happen.

Ted: Yes, sir, I believe so.

Ted finally did sit down, his giant gold belt buckle not prominent.

Ted: Thank you both kindly for this. Now, you’ve got a nice little place here, and I am a man who values the American dream. I don’t want to deny you any licenses or permits or anything like that. But there are some people around here who seems to be not too friendly when it comes to you getting this here business off the ground.

Brian: Competition breeds some less than happy competitors when you win.

Jack: We were just quicker on the draw with the purchase and renovation of this place. Just a side effect of progress.

Ted: Very much so. Now, I’m obviously going to have do an inspection of your facility once you get everything squared away. I trust that there’s not going to be anything that’s going to be prevent this place from passing from the guidelines?

Jack: There shouldn’t be. We don’t have anything to hide here, Mr. Anderson.

Ted:  That’s good to hear, now. I can of course make this an easier time for you. People around here do a lot of business, and we want business to be good. So, I was thinking that, maybe, we could talk about something that’s near and dear to my heart, and that’s my son here.

Jack: What about him?

Ted: My son could use a job. You know, give me a little experience doing something that he wants to do. He’s always been interested in the family business.

Jack: And how does that pertain to me? You want me to hire him?

Ted: I would consider it a personal favor.

Jack looked at Ted’s son with a suspicious eye. The boy hadn’t moved a muscle since he entered the room. He had sat quietly, staring at the wall, completely oblivious to his surroundings.

Jack: What can he do?

Ted: He can do anything you ask.

Jack: Is… uh… is something wrong with him?

Ted: What do you mean?

Ted had straighten up in his chair. Now it was getting tense. Jack had to choose his next words carefully.

Jack: He doesn’t seem to talk much. He just seem preoccupied.

Ted: Well, yes, he isn’t much of a talker, but if you give him an order, he’ll do it.

Jack: I don’t know about this. I mean, I intend to run a tight ship here, Mr. Anderson. All within the rules and regulations obviously. But communication is key. I need to know that he can be trusted not just to carry out orders, but to be part of a team. I intend to build a team.

Ted: I consider little Danny here to be… independent. He can do that kind of work.

Jack pondered this, all the while noticing that Danny still wasn’t moving, or speaking.

Jack: I don’t know if that’s really a fit here, Mr. Anderson. Look, I’m not trying to be offensive, or disrespectful, I very much would like to do business with you, and get this place up and running without a hitch. I am just not sure that Danny here is really the type I am looking for.

Ted again straightened himself out. He cleared his throat and fixed his suit jacket to straighten it out.

Ted: Now, before we go dismissing the idea of Danny, let me just let it be known that I would consider it a personal favor, and means to expedite things through to get you on your way.

Jack: I appreciate who you are, and who he is. I like to do favors for people, and I’d like to help you, but the facts of the matter are, I don’t know your son well enough to trust him, and I have to know that in times that require it that he can be trusted to make the right decision. I’m sure he’s a great listener and all, but the idea that he just needs to be left alone after being given orders isn’t a smart business move.

Jack could see Brian licking his lips and giving sutble head movements in Jack’s direction. Jack tried to keep his gaze on Ted, as he sighs and removed his hat.

Ted: Before we… completely go off track, Do you maybe think that down the line, you could maybe find something for him.

Jack: It’s…

Brian finally stepped in, placing his hands on the desk.

Brian: That’s a fine boy you got there. I’m sure we’ll have something down the road. It’s just that what Jack here really means is that we’ve got a lot of things that are yet to be…completed, let’s say. Once everything is in place, I’m sure we’ll be able to find something for Danny there to do, that he can excel at. Jack’s just not thinking about long term, that’s the hesitation.

Ted arches a brow and nods.

Jack: It’s really about the lack of positions that could fit his skill set. At the moment, but in the future, we may have just the spot for him.

Ted: Well… I appreciate you’re going to take that into consideration. I look forward to a long and healthy relationship. I think that can wrap up our business for now, I’ll have my office schedule an inspection real soon. I’ll let you gentlemen to it.

Ted stands up and shakes hands with Brian and Jack, before simply taking Danny by the hand and guiding him out of the room. After a few minutes, the door closes and Brian sighs, running his fingers through his hair and shaking his head.

Brian: You gotta be smarter than that, Stick.

Jack: What are you talking about?

Brian: You gotta read between the lines. That man spelled it out for you, and you always messed it up.

Jack: What, by not hiring his kid? You saw that kid right? Kid looked like a psycho.

Brian: That kid could save you a lot of trouble. This is about the long run of this, not the short term.

Jack: I’m just saying hiring the kid isn’t going to make people want to come here.

Brian: It will make plenty of people you want here, to come here. Kid, I’m doing you a favor.

Jack:  That kid’s gonna murder somebody. He’s a freak.

Brian: Yeah… but he’s someone we need. Having the commish on our side… it’ll pay off.

Jack: I don’t know man.

Brian:  Trust me, Stick. That’s a favor, you’re going to want to have down the road.

Jack shrugs.

Jack: If you say so..
--
<span style=\'font-family:tahoma\'>The Flamingo Grand Plaza
Las Vegas, NV
Monday</span>



Jack once again sat at his desk, and his office phone rang again. He pushed the intercom.

Jack: Yeah?

Bobby: Yo, Jack… the lady and the Mexicans are back.

Jack closed his eyes and sighed.

Jack: Send Ms. Ana Sofia in.

It isn’t two seconds before Ana Sofia has entered the room. Jack stood up and greeted Ana, who was accompanied by her body guards.

Jack: Well… Mrs. Medina, what can I do for you today.

Ana Sofia: You have made progress, si?

Jack: Yes, we have.

Ana Sofia: Then you are ready to make a deal, si?

Jack: Whoa, whoa, Mrs. Medina, we’ve made progress, yes. But if you’re boys start coming around and the people see that, they might get a little suspicious. Nobody wants that. We want to make sure that having a deal, means that we can have a deal without a problem. Smooth.

Ana Sofia: We need a location to move our product from.

Jack: I understand that. I want to accommodate you. I do. I would love to do business with you, but right now, we simply don’t have the space.

Ana Sofia: Then perhaps we take our business elsewhere, no?

Jack: Now, now… you came to me, and I agreed after we made progress we would talk about a deal. But there’s too many eyes right now. It would be bad for you, and bad for me. Progress sometimes is a slow process. But I assure you, we are making progress. Now, if you want to go somewhere else, where maybe people have some progress, and maybe they’ve got somewhere to host you, but they’ve also got some people who will ruin your business, and maybe try and take some business from you… you can do that. You can walk right out that door and never come back, and we can go our separate ways.

Ana Sofia eyes Jack suspiciously.

Jack: But, you know a good thing when you see it. You know that I am willing to help you. You just have to let me get the people I don’t know if I can trust out of the way, and we can progress to the point where we don’t need to worry about anything getting in the way. That’s guaranteed here. Nowhere else. The choice is really yours, Mrs. Medina.

Ana Sofia stands there for a few moments, pondering and thinking about her decision. She eventually smirks.

Ana Sofia: Okay Mr. Jack, I believe you. We can do business, but I need to know that you are true in what you say.

Jack: You can believe that.

Ana Sofia: I need you to do us a favor.

Jack:  Oh really?

Ana Sofia: Si. We have a problem that needs to be … how do you say it… taken care of?

Jack: What kind of problem?

Ana Sofia: There is a car. Parked in a garage not far from here. It needs to… disappear.

Jack: So just… have it crushed or something.

Ana Sofia: The perros, they are looking for this car. They know my men, they drive it. You drive the car, and get rid of it, and what’s inside.

Jack: What’s inside?

Ana Sofia: Basura.

Jack: And what am I supposed to do to get rid of it?

Ana Sofia: I don’t know, but I do hear a lot of things get lost in the desert, Mr. Jack. 

Jack: … I see.

Ana Sofia: You do this for us, you tell us when you’re ready, and… maybe there is more in it for you.

Jack sat back and gave it thought. He knew what the Mexicans were capable of and really, it wouldn’t be smart to have them as enemies.

Jack: I’ll look into the car.

Ana Sofia: Here is photo.

Ana Sofia pulls out a phone and displays the picture of a green Dodge Stratus. Jack nods.

Jack: I’ll take care of it.

Ana Sofia hands Jack a slip of paper.
Ana Sofia:  This is the address, and the number. Call this number when you are finished. We will verify.

Jack: Of course.

Jack takes the slip of paper and places it in his pocket. Ana Sofia then hands him a single car key.

Ana Sofia: Do this favor for us. We will speak again soon.

With that, Ana Sofia takes her leave, her bodyguards follow her out and Jack is left alone. He sits back down at the desk ponders his choice, and exactly what he has gotten himself into.
--
<span style=\'font-family:tahoma\'>
Freemont Street Experience Parking Garage
Las Vegas, NV
The Next Day</span>

Jack didn’t want to do this, but he knew that entrusting someone else to do it, could be seen as a bad move. He was also aware this could be a set up. He pulled out his phone once he was in the garage and texted Bobby

In the garage. Green Stratus, follow me.

Jack quickly placed his phone back in his pocket and looked around the car. He saw nothing out of the ordinary that would make him think that was anything other than a car. Trying not to look too suspicious, he was satisfied entered the car. It was mostly empty aside from some wrappers and other garbage that had no use. In the back were two shovels, and a gas can along with some cloth. He was curious as what they were for, but he wasn’t about to call and ask. Honestly, if he wasn’t getting rid of this car, he saw that it could have uses. It made him more suspicious that this was a setup of some kind. He used the key and turned the car on, holding his breath.

Nothing. It didn’t explode,

Jack was again suspicious but pulled the car out of the spot, and looked around. Nothing. This was getting weirder by the moment. Jack drove the car out of the lot, paying the $5 and driving the car onto the Las Vegas streets. Jack was told this needed to disappear in the desert, so, he headed for the Mojave.

It took a little bit, but eventually, he was on the lonely highway, and there weren’t many cars in sight. He drove along at a hurried pace, but not rapid. He didn’t want to attract any unwanted attention.

That’s when he heard the thumps.

Jack: Fuck.

Jack closed his eyes, angry that perhaps this was their plan. Get Jack out of town, and leave him stranded. Reception would be terrible in the desert. He pulled off to the side of the road. He put the car in park and slowly got out. He examined all four tires, but found that none of them were flat. Bobby was trailing in his Chevy pickup and pulled off as well.

Bobby: What is it?

Jack: I don’t know. Heard some thumps. Thought it might be a flat. Doesn’t look like it though. Maybe I just hit a speed bump. Whatever. Keep close.

Jack made it back to the car and started it up. He drove on a little more and then the bump started again. Jack looked around and decided that this would was as good as any other place. He pulled off and drove into the desert, a few miles off the road. It was out of site, and no one aside from Bobby was around. He continued to hear the thuds against the car, and now his suspicions were high. He stopped the car, and Bobby soon appears after him. He exited the car and looked around. Nothing was out of the ordinary.

Bobby: Is that it?

Jack: Yeah…

Bobby: What now?

Jack: You got your piece?

Bobby: Yeah.

Jack: Stay close.

Jack had to know what the thumps were and there was only one place he hadn’t checked. The trunk. He felt dumb for not doing it earlier. He slowly inched towards the trunk and placed the key in, and turned it. He lifted it up, and the source of the thumps was revealed.

Jack: Mother fucker.

Inside the trunk was a woman, duct tape over her mouth and bound. Her eyes pleaded for mercy as Bobby held back with the gun. Jack reached in and removed the duct tape from her mouth.

Woman: Please! Please sir! Mercy!  Dios Mio! Mercy!

Jack: Whoa, whoa! Calm down.  Who are you?

Woman: Marta. Marta Jimenez.

Jack: You wanna explain why you’re in this trunk?

Marta: They want to kill me! Please don’t kill me! I am sorry! I am so sorry!

Jack: CALM DOWN.

Marta: Please!

Jack: Look, I don’t know why you’re in this trunk, but I’m going to get rid of this car. Now, I don’t want to kill you. I just want to know that leaving you alive isn’t a bad move.

Marta: They… they just want me gone. I will go. Far away. Never come back here! Please just don’t kill me!

Jack: Let’s get you out of there.

Jack helped Marta out of the car, and untied her.

Jack: Bobby, get the gas, torch the car.

Bobby: Right.

Jack: Stay here.

Jack motioned to Marta and she complied. Jack and Bobby soon lit the car on fire, and then let it burn as they headed back to the Bobby’s pickup. Jack sat in the truck for a moment and then dialed the number.

Voice: Hello?

Jack: The car is gone.

Voice: Si… and the Basura?

Jack: Gone as well.

Voice: Si.

With that, there was an audible click and Jack shook his head.
Jack: Let’s go.

The pickup roared out of the desert and back into the highway without a scene. Jack pointed as the truck passed a rest stop.

Jack: Let her out here.

Marta: What? Here?

Jack: You wanted to live, right? Get out of here.

The truck pulled into the rest stop and Jack got out, leaving the door open for Marta.

Jack: Come on.

Marta eased her way out and hugged Jack.

Marta: Thank you. I won’t come back. I won’t. Ever.

Jack: Good.

Jack simply got back in the truck, and the chevy drove off, leaving Marta behind. They drove on, back to towards the city.

Bobby: What was that about?

Jack: It was a test.

Bobby: Shit man, what happens if they find her?

Jack: Hopefully they don’t, and she’s smart enoght to stay the fuck out of Vegas.

Bobby: I don’t know man, maybe they were looking for her.

Jack: Somebody probably, was, and somebody probably didn’t want her to be found.

Bobby: That’s a big fucking risk, man.

Jack: I know. I fucking know.

Bobby: If they find her and they put two and two together…

Jack: Looks, as far as we knew, there wasn’t a bitch in the trunk. We torched the car. End of story. That’s what I’m saying, and that’s what you’re going to say if it ever comes up.

Bobby: Yeah… yeah man, I got you.

Jack: The price of progress…. Fuck.

The pickup continued to drive, headed back to Vegas, where now Jack had done a favor for the Mexicans and the gambling commission. The question was… would it all pay off in the end?

--

Click.

Jack is sitting in his hotel chair, rubbing his face. The look of frustration is plastered all over his face, but there is a large dash of annoyance on his face as well.

Jack: I don’t get it. I’m not going to complain about Alex Jones winning the SCW world championship. Why does anyone think I give a rat’s ass about Alex Jones doing anything? Good for Alex Jones beating a paper champion. Griffin Hawkins proved he doesn’t have what it takes to be a good world champion. If Alex Jones is proud of that, then so be it. I don’t give a shit. Alex Jones is just happy that he’s relevant again. He can jizz all over himself for winning a championship he had no business getting a shot at in the first place. The sun shines on a dog’s ass sometimes.

Alex Jones was handed a chance, and he made the most of it. Good for him. Does he want a fucking cookie? At the end of the day, Alex Jones is simply keeping the title warm until I beat him. Or I beat Hawkins, or I beat them both. If Griffin Hawkins wants to stop crying and having his mascara run, he can get off his ass and ask for his precious rematch or whatever he wants to do. It makes no difference to me. If he wants to sit at home crying in his cherrio’s, then that’s fine to. At Violent Conduct, that’s where I am going after my title match. That’s where I made my challenge. And that’s where I want shot. That’s all there is to it. You want me give Alex Jones a round of applause? You want me to give Griffin Hawkins a crying towel? Nah. I’m good.

Jack simply shakes his head and sits up from his chair.

Jack: But that’s not-too-distant-future, not what’s up coming. What’s upcoming is the old Irish prick, O’Malley.

Jack almost smiles, but it turns into a look of mock pride

Jack: How about that? O’Malley headed my advice and now he’s done something. He finally took his balls out of his girlfriend’s purse and made a stand. He cashed in that briefcase or whatever and won a title, and then he managed to win another one. Ho-ly shit, son. The man has finally taken control of a situation rather than he be pussy-whipped his entire life. He’s actually got some personality too. God damn I think I’m a miracle worker sometimes. Still a little sensitive though. I mean, Why bother letting  Kris Halc get to you? Who cares who he fucking subtweets? That’s a pussy move and if he’s cool with that, so what? Let him do his pussy move. But instead O’Malley wants to subtweet back and they both wanna be internet tough guys and keyboard warriors. I halfway expect when they wrestle they’ll start fucking slap fighting.

And that’s just the bad part of this whole deal.  No O’Malley is tough guy. But that seems to be a running theme here doesn’t it? Alex Jones is god now or some shit, and O’Malley’s two title Charlie and he’s just cock of the fucking walk. Is it just championship’s go to everybody’s head or something? I mean, these jackoffs act like it gives them fucking superpowers. So, once again, I gotta be the guy who is real about the whole thing, don’t I?

Okay, here goes. O’Malley is still a chump who gets triggered that people don’t respect the way he won SCU championship, and think him winning some goofy pool match isn’t legit. And here’s out here crying about it. Whaa, these people don’t respect me, whaa, they don’t think I’m good. Whaa. This guy’s mean to me, whaa. Jesus Christ son, all you have to do is tell ‘em to fuck off and move on with the rest of your day. You have two titles, they don’t. That’s it, the end. What is this stick up your ass, gotta reply to the keyboard warriors and act tough in front of people bullshit? You are the fucking guy with two titles. Fucking act like it. Does it matter how you won? No. You do the fucking dirt to get results. That’s the truth, that’s reality, my guy.

An while I’m glad that my words finally reached you and you proved you at least have a little bit of a backbone, it’s not going to save you from this ass whooping that coming your way on Sunday.

Jack finally stands up from his chair, leaning forward on the desk in front of the camera.

Jack:  You may be a double champion, but you’re still the same old crybaby that you’ve always been. Nothing is ever good enough because you worry about what Ben Jordan says about you. You worry about what Kris Halc says about you. Why? Because you’re still an insecure little bitch. I’ve tried to get you to stand up and be a man. Own the shit you do. But you still wanna act like a bigger bitch than your wife. Seriously man, I asked you to take your balls of your wife’s purse, but you put ‘em right back in there once you actually did something.

So you know what you are now, O’Malley? Just a target. You got two titles, well what’s the going to do for me, when I beat your ass right in the middle of the damn ring. You’re lucky this isn’t a championship match in any way, because I’d take both of them from you at the snap of my fingers. But then again, you ain’t done shit with them anyway, and I got much bigger fish to fry. I have a damn world championship that I’ve set my sights on. I’ve already proven that I can hang with the most skilled champions in this company, and all you are, is a stepping stone for my on my path to being the damn world champion. That’s it. That’s your role. Accept it.

Jack smirks slightly moving away from the camera.

Jack: Because I know right now in the pit of your stomach, you’re dreading this match. You’re tore up with the fact that you’re going to get your ass beat and embarrassed and look like a chump, being a double champion and losing to me. I mean, I’m a rookie in SCW, my dude. You have two titles, and you’re the one biting your fucking fingernails and trying to think of some perfect comeback or cute little quote that you think I’ll bite on. You’re the only thinking about how to just get out of this without looking like a fool. I’ll tell you exactly how to do it O’Malley.

You show up, and you stand in that ring like a man. You take your ass whooping, like a man. You stand back up, and you walk away with the L, and move on with your day. I’d respect that more than anything. But those phony tough guy bullshit ain’t it, chief. You’re a lame ass dude and the evidence clearly shows it. So what you’re going to be, is simply my stepping stone. You will be the proof that I deserve what I already know I deserve and you can just accept it, and be in some garbage gimmick match while the real cream rises to the top. I mean, you call yourself the future of Sin City? Nah dude, you’re not the future of anything. I am the future, and I will prove it when I beat the hell out of you, and leaving you laying in the middle of the ring. It’s not personal son, it’s just business. You’re standing in the way of progress. And in life, you have three choices: Lead, follow, or get out of the way.

And let’s be honest, son, you’re not a leader, and no one wants you to follow them anywhere. So the best option you have, is to get out of the way.

But if you don’t want to get out of the way on your own, I will be more than happy to move you.

With that, Jack simply turns the camera off.

Cut to black.

Click.

 Prologue:

This was it. The match Jack had been planning for at least a month. The ultimate goal of his time in Sin City Wrestling. He had worked to make it a reality, and now here it was. It was, unquestionably, the biggest match is Jack’s short career. A match that maybe some had expected, but no one would say they expected to happen this fast. Jack was determined that this would be his moment to shine, and that make this week unlike any other before it. All other matches paled in comparison to this one. Nothing would be bigger, as far as Jack was concerned.

The mood was different. The training was different. Nothing gets a wrestler more prepared than a chance like this. The entire week had this insane energy and feeling to it. Jack almost felt like his heart would explode from his chest he was feeling so anxious. Numerous times he had to stop his training to settle himself down. Sleep was a luxury. It came in waves, and hours upon hours of restlessness. And it didn’t seem to bother Jack with all the adrenaline flowing through him. He tried to sit down and think about a game plan, he tried to focus himself, and at times, he was successful. But most of the time, he felt like he was about to run through a wall he had so much energy. He tried to trick himself into thinking that this would be just like any other week, but his mind wouldn’t allow for it. Nothing was going to be as important at this. Timing needed to be there, execution needed to as well. He needed his wind, he needed his muscle, he needed the things he always thought he could rely on, but as the days grew closer, he realized that they may, in fact, fail him if he didn’t keep them up to speed.

All really, the catalyst was his purchase of the Flamingo.

It has given him confidence. The idea of being on the offensive in life and no longer running from what he knew was inescapable. Now, he was going to be in charge of that. No need to run, or hide. If people were coming, he would let them come. If they wanted what he was building, they would have to take it from him. Jack was being extremely bold in how he lived now, but he figured that winning this SCW world championship would do things for him. Would it make all his problems go away? No. Jack wasn’t stupid. He knew that, in fact, more problems would be on the way. But being the champion, would mean success. It would mean an accomplishment he could hang his hat on. It would silence Jack’s bigger doubter: Himself.

Jack was smart enough to know that he could finally say he did it, and he did it on his own. Out of his father’s shadow, away from his watch, and his own personal search for accomplishment. That he had actually done something, and was good enough to be called champion.

But there was no harm in using what got him here, and what his reputation in his home city had branded him. Was he a low-life? Probably. Was he a thug? Maybe. Jack had tried, for some time in his life to avoid all of this. He tried to erase that stigma and essentially go legit. Just make his living and be happy. But he realized there was no escape from that, so why not embrace what everyone things. A thug, a low-life, a criminal, an asshole, a cheater. Yes. Jack was all of that, and then some. Now with the flamingo, Jack had made multiple enemies. And he longer cared. It was now him, against the world. This would be how it would have to be, but he would face them all down and not think twice about it. The Flamingo was the start of bigger and better things. He would rise to the top in more ways than one, and take down his enemies.

Benny knew about the Flamingo, it was only going to be a matter of time before Sonny knew. He didn’t know how much the Mexicans knew, but no doubt, they wanted a piece too. And that was fine with Jack. Jack knew how this life would work, and now he was going to use it. He was becoming more and more life his father, and the sins never would die. Instead, Jack had to wear them, embrace them and become the person people always believed he was.

Things were going to be different, and most likely, rough. But if Jack was able to win the SCW world championship? It would make everything that was about to happen… worth it.

--

The Flamingo Grand Plaza
Las Vegas, NV

It had been a week since Jack’s purchase. He really didn’t know what exactly was going to go in this place. There was a lot of floor space, office space, and really, it was, exactly what Jack needed. Space. A spot away from the confines of the Saxon Hotel. Here, it felt wide open. Not cramped or stuffy. He found what was to him, a place to build. Jack finalized the deal the day after his match with Senor Vinnie. And as soon as the keys were his, he set to work on remodeling the entire building.

He had carved out a corner on the upper floor to make it his place. His office. And despite his past, that actually sounded good to Jack. Something was his. All his. Even if he had opened the flood gates to get that was.

He admired his office, and now he needed a staff. People to run this. It wasn’t much now, but it would later. After everything was done, and the virus was taken care of and there wasn’t a pandemic going on, Jack would be open for business. He had the money to wait. His father had left quite a bit of money, but he had finally touched it. Finally let himself, be himself.

Like a proud father, he watched as his office was constructed. He watched the glass be installed. He watched the office chairs be put in. He the progress. He saw a staff come together. People hired, people put to work. To him, it was almost like a family. And he was proud of that.

Of course, Jack knew that nothing good, ever lasted forever.

He sat at his desk, actually unsure of what he needed to be doing. There wasn’t a business to run just yet, and he really didn’t even know how to run the business. He was really just checking on things, and seeing how the construction was going. But, as always, there was a commotion.

Jack: What the fuck is this now?

Jack’s hired security brought a scruffy looking man towards Jack. His spiked blonde-but-graying hair stood out. An affliction t-shirt and some faded blue jeans, with dark shades. Jack looked at the man, studying him for only a moment before making the realization.

Jack: Brian?

Brian: Hello, Stick.

Brian Washington. Jack’s uncle. Brian was older than Jack’s father. Brian had been the one to steer Jack towards supporting his father and family business since Jack was little. To Jack, Brian was the devil on his shoulder, and he had no angel on the other side. Brian was a shit-stirer in his younger and adult life. But he was pushing his mid ‘50’s now and wasn’t as active. In fact, before everything went down, Brian had left and gone to Florida. But now… there he was, standing in front of Jack.

Jack: Things has changed Brian.

Brian: I know they have, but you will always be Stick to me.

Jack was incredibly skinny as a kid. It wasn’t until high school that he actually began to gain weight and muscle mass. Brian thought it was amusing to simply call him stick, until he gained weight.

There is a moment where Brian sticks his hand out to Jack for a handshake. Jack looks down at it, and he doesn’t shake it right away. He ponders what Brian’s intentions are, but he does indeed shake Brian’s hand. This turns to an embrace. Brian was family. Actual blood. Something that Jack absolutely needed at this point too.

Brian: It’s been a long time. Nice place you got here. What the hell are you doing with it?

Jack: Yeah, it has. And uh… I don’t know what I’m going to do just yet. Where have you been?

Brian: Florida. But I didn’t want to sit around a bunch of old people on a beach waiting to die. I got away from the life. But you know what they say, just when you think you’re out, they pull you back in. And so, I’m back in.

Jack: You don’t need to do that.

Brian: Sure I do, stick. Word travels fast that you’re moving up in the world. Two worlds as a matter of fact. Now, I’m not going to pretend I know anything about wrestling. But I do know about business. I know how to make it work, and I feel like I can help you.

Jack: It’s not necessary. I can handle this.

Brian: Don’t bullshit me, stick. You don’t know anything about the business side of life, you know about the street part. And you know enough to know that you don’t know.

Jack: I can learn.

Brian: That’s why I’m here to help. Look, it’s simple, you let me help you with this place. I came all the way from Florida, and god knows that people are looking for you, and they know you’re here.

Jack: I don’t need protection from the rest of the world, man. They need protection from me.

Brian chuckled at Jack. He shook his head, placing a hand on Jack’s shoulder.

Brian: Brother taught you well, kid. Sometimes you have to talk life by the balls and make it do what you want. But don’t kid yourself and anyone here, you ain’t cut out for the business side. If this was a side hustle, I know you could do it. I watched you do it well. But the thing is, you can’t have life by the balls doing this all the time. You have to know when to take a step back. Some shit, it doesn’t get solved by fists, or guns. Sometimes, you need words.

Jack thought about it, and Brian made a lot of sense. He could concentrate on being in the ring instead of trying to tackle it, and the business he was starting at the same time, dividing his attention, energy, and resources.

Brian: And hey, who better than family, right?

Jack: Family notwithstanding, How do I know I can trust you?

Brian: Me? Stick, come on now. You know me. I haven’t ever steered you wrong, have I?

Jack: Plenty of times. There’s a reason you’re called the Snake.

Brian: Because of the silver tongue. I’m good at diplomacy, Stick. And that’s what you need. Word is you made an old friend very unhappy.

Jack: Benny is a dick. He’s the reason I’m in this place anyway.

Brian: You did it to piss him off, didn’t you?

Jack: I’m tired of running, man. I’m tired of just standing around and hoping my problems will go away. I’m tired of trying to hide who I am, and what I’ve done. The wrestling is my escape from that, but the moment I walk back through the curtain and people tell me good job and all that other shit, I know I’m back to being me. I’m back to being Jack. Back to a shitty past, and back to all the bullshit that comes with it. This is it for me, man. I can be somebody here too.

Brian: And I’ll give you everything you need. Together, we can pick up right where your father left off. Before all the bullshit. Clean slate, Stick. Clean slate.

Jack was deep in thought, and sighed, laying his hands on the table and his head lowering between his shoulders. He looked up and shook Brian’s hand again.

Jack: Clean slate.

Brian: That a boy, Stick. Now, let’s figure out what the hell we’re going to do with this place.

--
Saxon Hotel
Las Vegas, NV

Jack continued to train, continued to put all he could into his match preparation. He ran laps around the hotel. He was more visible than he was at any other time. People wanted interviews, he had to speak. The closer the match drew, the more he had to do. There were radio interviews, podcasts, Zoom and Skype meetings that he had to take part in. He had never been at this level of media hype for anything in his life and he was losing track of what he had to do and where he had to be. Everything was moving so fast, and all Jack really wanted to do was keep a low profile and go about his business. But he was learning quite quickly that being the champion meant that this type of thing would be normal, even in this environment. Everyone would want a piece of you. Jack was beginning to understand what was happening, he would need to figure it out even faster as the hype and anticipation grew.

While Jack was visible more in the hotel, he still kept to himself, and avoided the other wrestlers as much as possible. He needed moments alone and even when his day was done. Night time offered very little solace as well. His room phone rang.

The only person who ever called him on his hotel phone, was Benny.

Jack: Benny.

Benny: You proud of yourself yet?

Jack: I am, Benny. It’s not my fault you didn’t have the funds to make the deal. I did, and that’s just the way it goes. Don’t be bitter.

Benny: I offered you the world, kid, and you turned me down.

Jack: I did. You gonna keep talking in the scary voice, Benny, or are actually going to start a war. Because the way I see it, you got 3 groups to contend, with and not just two, and it looks like you, are in last place. You got nothing.

Benny: There’s a lot more I can do than you right now, ya little prick.

Jack: Benny, be a bookie. That’s what you do. You run numbers and swindle some poor schmucks out of their money. It’s not my fault that this time, you got swindled. Blame yourself for being too slow on the draw.

Benny: You beat me to the punch kid, I’ll give you that. But that ain’t the only property in town.

Jack: You wanna go that route Benny? I’m pretty sure I got more money than you do.

Benny: Maybe, maybe not. You know, I could take a lesson from you old man.

Jack: … Fuck you Benny. I got one over on you. I’m allowing you to stay here and make your living. You don’t have to enter this.

Benny: Fuck you! You think you can tell me what to do?! This is MY City! I took the business out here. You think you’re some kind of hot shot for doing this shit?! You ain’t nothing but a punk kid. You’re just daddy’s boy!

Jack was triggered. His face turned a bright red.

Jack: You don’t mention the old man ever again! You hear me you old cocksucker?! This is young man’s game now, and you need to just step aside, otherwise, you got tossed aside.

Benny: Oh, trust me kid, you got a lot to learn about how business really works around here. You don’t run shit. I have a million ways to take you down. More than you ever dreamed of.

Jack: Is that why you called, Benny? You called to threaten me?

Benny: No, actually, I called to warn you that whatever business you’re thinking about running from the Flamingo, I ain’t the only one who wanted a piece of that property.

Jack: Sucks to be them, and it sucks to be you.

Benny: Nah, kid, you got it all wrong. It’s going to really suck to be you. I will make sure that shit never gets off the ground! You understand that!? I will make sure shit never goes right for you ever again. I will put you back on the fucking streets, living out of a goddamn car! You will BEG me to cut you in on this shit!

Jack: No, Benny. I’m not. Not ever again. You wanna try some shit, try it. All this shit is being recorded you fucking clown. Don’t come at me Benny. I tried to stay out of your way, and you better stay out of mine.

Benny: Too late, kid. Too late.

Jack: What?

There was the audible click on the other end and Jack knew that something was about to go down.  He had to figure out what it was. And there was only one thing Benny would come for…
--

The Flamingo Grand Plaza
Las Vegas, NV

Jack had to make it look like he wasn’t rushing to leave when he left, hurrying over to the Flamingo as fast as he could. Jack pulled towards the building, and found several cars lined up outside. The cars were filled with people, however, no one made a move. Jack creeped towards the door, his security guards were armed, and prepared for war.

Guard: On your word, Mr. Washington.

Jack: Don’t… don’t do a thing until I tell you.

Jack hurried to the office, where Brian was there, leaning back in the chair, nodding at Jack.

Brian: Fine mess you got us into, Stick.

Jack: It was FUCKING BENNY. He set us up for a god damn war!

Brian: Looks that way.

Jack: Fuck… who are these people?

Brian: Don’t know. But there’s a lot of them.

Jack: What do we do?

Brian: That depends.

Jack looked at Brian like he had three heads. He was playing games when this was a serious situation.

Jack: The fuck is that supposed to mean?

Brian: Well, it depends on what you want to do. You can have this fight, or you can see what the problem is to begin with. All depends on if you want more blood on your hands or not.

Jack shook his head and sighed. He knew, despite his calm demeanor, that Brian had a good point. This was Jack’s first real test. His street mentality always told him to never let anyone intimidate you, show your strength. But this wasn’t the streets situation. It could devolve into that, but it didn’t need to. Jack calmly straightened his jacket and walked back outside where Bobby was waiting for him.

Bobby: Yo, Jack, this is serious shit man!

Jack: I know.

Jack marched past Bobby and towards the cars parked near the entrance. Car doors opened. Many men, weapons in clear view were standing there. Masks over their faces, hiding their identities. Jack raised his arms, trying to be as calm as possible.

Jack: Gentlemen… I know that right now we’re sitting on a powder keg. I don’t want trouble and I don’t think you do either. Whatever the issue is… we can discuss it, like adults.

There were murmurs between the men, until finally one went to a nicer car. The window was rolled down he spoke to whomever was in the back seat. Jack overheard some Spanish. He knew it was the Mexicans. There was a moment of tense silence, and then the nicer car’s back door opened, and a tall woman, in a red hat and black coat exited. Mask over her face as well. She was flanked by two body guards and another man in a nice suit. They walked forward and met Jack.

Jack: I’m sure we can clear up this misunderstanding. We don’t need people getting hurt. Please… come to my office.

Jack motioned for the two, and the guards to follow him.

Jack: Security, stand down.

Jack’s security took a step back, allowing everyone passage through. Jack led them to the elevator, and it was an intense tension-filled ride. The elevator now seemed to take forever to reach Jack’s office, where the four representing the Mexicans were brought in. Two chair were pulled up, and the bodyguard followed into the office. Jack walked around his desk and sat down. Brian was off in the corner, observing.

Jack: Well, is there anything I can get you? Water? Coffee?

The two silently shake their heads.

Jack: Well, I take it you guys are the Mexicans.

The woman puts her hand up to stop Jack, turning to her male counterpart and shaking her head.

Woman: You are new at this, si?

Jack: A bit, yes.

Woman: They call us, the Mexicans si. My name is Ana Sofia Medina. This is my husband, Ernesto.

Jack: Pleasure. I’m Jack. Now, what can I do for you?

Ana Sofia:We hear you are making this place into something.

Jack: You heard right.

Ana Sofia: But we also hear you would push los drogas out of this place as well.

Jack: Excuse me?

Ana Sofia: Your friend, this Benny, he spreads word you move in on our business with this business.

Jack: I’m not moving in on anybody’s business, Mrs. Medina. I’m here to do my own thing.

Ana Sofia: Then this Benny is a lair?

Jack: I’m afraid he got you all worked up for nothing. I don’t want to do what you do. I don’t need my people, or your people, getting hurt, when there’s clearly, bigger things going on.

Ana Sofia leaned back in her chair. She leaned over and whispered to Ernesto, who silently nodded.

Ana Sofia: Well then. We will have to deal with this Benny. He is your friend?

Jack: No, he isn’t. Benny is small time. He only wants to be big.

Ana Sofia: Hmmm… My people, they say you see the Sonny man too.

Jack: Sonny? No. I don’t have any dealings with Sonny. I met him, yes. He offered me work, and I turned it down. I want to do this on my own.

Ana Sofia nodded.

Ana Sofia: Perhaps then… we can do business, Mr. Jack.

Jack: What kind of business?

Ana Sofia: You help us, we help you.

Jack: What kind of help, do you want?

Ana Sofia: This place. It would be good for our product. We can move it from here.

Jack: Oh.

Ana Sofia: We can give you 20% for letting my people store it here. You have to do nothing but provide this place to use. You say you wish to  make the money… we can make you… el rey.

Jack nodded, folding his hands on the desk. Brian finally moved to interject. He tapped Jack on the shoulder to pull him back.

Jack: Excuse me one moment.

Jack and Brian backed up away from anyone listening.

Brian: I don’t think it’s a good idea.

Jack: Do you want to have a war, then? We can’t just disrespect them.

Brian: Use your head, Stick. They need you, for a reason. They’re hot. And they want security. But you can’t be part of it. Not you.

Jack: You wanna take this over then?

Brian: No. But you don’t even have anything here. The business needs to start first.

Jack thought about it. Brian made sense. He nodded, pacing a couple of seconds before sitting back down at the desk, clearing his throat.

Jack: Mrs. Medina, while that sounds good, we don’t even have anything yet. This is just a piece of property that we haven’t done anything with yet. It’s a work in progress. Now, while I could take this… very generous offer, I can’t offer the privacy that you would need. There’s going to be a lot of people in and out around here. A lot of people who may not be on board with what you want to do. And then, that makes problems for all of us. And nobody wants that. Not me, and least of all, you. So, let me say this. Give me some time. Let me get this to good spot, and then, we can talk again. Maybe we can work something out. I don’t want you, or your business, to have any trouble. I just want both of us to be secure.

Ana Sofia turned and whispered again to her husband. He stood up, helping Ana Sofia out of her chair.

Ana Sofia: This is progress, I think. We will return at a different time, and then… we will make a deal, si?

Jack: I certainly hope so.

Ana Sofia tossed her business card in front of Jack.

Ana Sofia: We will speak again.

Ana Sofia snapped her fingers and they entourage soon departed. Jack watched from the office as the men all piled back in their cars and drove away. Jack let out a sigh of relief before Brian patted him on the back.

Brian: Ya did good, Stick. Now, the real question is, how you going to convince her to move elsewhere?

Jack: What do you mean?

Brian: You bought time. And soon enough, she will be back, and I don’t think she’s going to take no for an answer the next time. And you know damn well you can’t have that shit around you given what you’re doing now.

Jack: I’ll figure something out. I have some time.

Brian: The only question is… how much?

Jack: I don’t know. But I know I bought some time. I’ll have to think about it, but for now, I think we averted disaster.

Brian: For now, yeah. Not bad for your first time, Stick. Not bad at all. Just understand the world you are about to get into. It’s only gonna end a few ways.

Jack: Maybe I can change that.

Brian: I wouldn’t count on it if I were you. While I respect what you want to do with this shit, the point I’m trying to make here is that… when all was said and done, your old man, my brother… he died alone, with nobody around him. No family, no friends, no priest, nothing. He died alone, because of what he got himself into and how he played the game. If you keep playing it that way, it’s how you’re going to end up.

Jack closed his eyes and his head lowered. He knew that Brian was correct that for everything his father did for everyone he came into contact with, he was reviled at the time of his death. No one was sorry to see his father go. He had ruined a good thing, and left them to pick up the pieces, because of his choices. He was the one that left Jack basically in the up and down world he’s in now, with the enemies, still holding the grudge. And yet, he had the money. Was it worth him dying alone like that? Would it be Jack’s fate too?

Jack: My father, your brother, did what he thought he could do to help me. Maybe it was right, maybe it wasn’t. That, I can’t tell you. What I do know, is that this is life, and we have to make of it what we can. I ain’t an angel, but then again, who the fuck is, right? My father tried to leave it a little better than he left it. Did he? Dunno. Made a lot of mother fucker’s rich. Maybe that was his mistake. But I can be different. Maybe not much, but I can make my own mark.

Brian: Shit’s cutthroat. I hope you’re ready for that.

Jack: As much as I can be. This wrestling thing is pretty cutthroat too.

Jack checked his watch.

Jack: Shit, I gotta get back. I have to get this work in for the match.

Brian: You do what you gotta do, Stick. I’ll keep the seat warm for ya.

Jack just shook his head and departed. He headed back to the hotel. He needed to check in, and resume the training. He had a title match to win.

--

Saxon Hotel
Las Vegas, NV

He sat alone in his hotel room. The lights off, the only glare from a computer monitor his only light source. He watched the videos of Ben Jordan in the ring. Anything and everything he could find. He took meticulous notes. Old school, pen and paper. He had to know everything he could about Ben Jordan, so that at the end of the day, no stone was left unturned. He wanted no surprises, nothing to be left to be exposed. He wasn’t going to be taken advantage of because of something he missed. His eyes were thin slits he was focusing so hard. He would not take a break, except to eat. Maybe.

It was only a text from Bobby that would break him of the cycle. Jack had to get a new phone, and only Bobby had the number. This was another way to test Bobby. If some other people started calling him, then he would know that Bobby wasn’t a true as he said he was. And if texts came his way from Bobby, Bobby had something important to say.

Yo. I’m outside.

Jack was now annoyed. Bobby knew better than to just text him stupid things like that. Though, it was always a rule to not discuss things over text or email or really even the phone. Face to face ensured that the message would be delivered properly and it got to the right people.

Jack looked over at his laptop after checking the phone. He paused the video of Ben and exited the room with his key. He walked down to the elevator, hat on his head to avoid too much recognition. He walked outside the hotel, and met Bobby by the fence, in their usual spot.

Jack: What is it?

Bobby: I’m just seeing how you’re doing man. Things are fucking intense these past few days, and you know, just… checking on my friend.

Jack: Really?

Bobby: Yeah man. I figure it’s gotta be intense with the Mexicans and your uncle and Benny, and not to mention that you got a big match this week and all that. Gotta be weighing you down.

Jack: I’ll manage.

Bobby: I’m just saying bro, sometimes you gotta just chill out. You know? Take a break or stress will get to you.

Jack: You know, that’s good advice. Maybe I do need to chill. This shit is getting to me.

Bobby: For real, I mean, cooped up in there having to train, then coming out here and people trying to fuck with you, I don’t know how you made this far, my dude.

Jack: My motivation has always been internal man. I’ve been trying to do something like this for years. Something for me. Something I can call my own, you know? Not have to live in the old man’s shadow, or let anybody say that it was my dad that made sure I can do this or that. I need to do this shit, for me, and me alone.

Bobby: I feel that. But bruh, I can look at your face and I can tell you, you’re cooked. You need to chill out, get away from all this shit before it becomes the worst part of you. I mean, back in the day we didn’t run the streets every night, we didn’t look out for the po-po and just bomb out every night. We needed a break. Hell, even when he got offered the shit we didn’t always take it. You know what I’m saying?

Jack: Yeah, I do. But this shit is important, man. This is my shot, I gotta make this shit count. I can’t be going out there and getting embarrassed by the champ.

Bobby pulled a cigarette out of his pocket and lit it up. He took a long drag and inhaled. He released, and nodded.

Bobby: Sometimes, you just gotta say “fuck it”, my dude.

Jack: What?

Bobby: Sometimes, you just gotta say “Fuck it” Like just, “fuck all that other shit, I’m doing this right now. Everything else can wait. Bro you have had a whirlwind of shit coming at you. You don’t even talk about it no more. It used to be that when they wanted to talk to you that you used to tell me. Now it’s like every day you’re just used to it. You’ve become like a robot or some shit.

Jack turned away, looking into the distance as Bobby took another drag.

Bobby: I mean, I get this shit is important, and you can do something really special and all that, but you can’t let that shit just turn you into a zombie. Don’t get… what’s that shit from like Star wars… nah, Star Trek?

Jack: I don’t know.

Bobby: It had them robot dudes that like, turned you into one of them.

Jack: I know you what you mean.

Bobby: But, for real. That ain’t you, man. So, that why I say, you gotta just say “fuck it.”

Bobby shrugs and continues to smoke. Jack actually takes Bobby’s words into account and thinks. He was pushing himself, and maybe too hard, but that was the only way he really know how to attack anything He knew to hit it full speed, and as hard as he could. But as he learned with Brian, sometimes you have to take a step back and figure things out different. A different way.

Jack: You know, I appreciate you saying that. I think you’re right. Sometimes, you just gotta say… “Fuck it.”

Bobby: Feels good, right? Feels good to just all that shit?

Jack: It does. I need to let off some steam, finally just chill for a little bit. I think I’ve earned it after the week I’ve had.

Bobby: For real. I mean, not for nothing Jack, but bruh, I thought we were about to go to war with them Mexicans. They are deep.

Jack: They are. But there was another way.

Bobby: Thank god for that man. I mean, I’m ready to go to war if he have to, but I don’t want to.

Jack: Neither do I, man. But let’s not worry about that anymore. That’s taken care off, training will take care of itself. I think we just need to chill.

Bobby smiles, the two slap each other up.

Bobby: That’s what I’m talking about, bro. What are we doing?

Jack leans back and thinks a little more. A small smile crosses his face as he looks at Bobby.

Jack: Let’s go shopping. I got some things I need…

Bobby: Right on.

Jack and Bobby head off to let off some steam. Jack clearly had an idea… he leaves us in wonder what exactly it is.
--
On Camera

Click.

We’re outside for a change. Jack has his back to the camera, a black hooded sweatshirt, jeans and a Philadelphia Eagles cap on backwards.

Jack: So here we are. Only days away from the biggest match of my life. And here I am, totally ready. For one of the few times in my entire life, I feel ready for anything that’s about to come my way. Life if full of surprises, and I surprised the world when I won, but what shouldn’t have shocked anybody is that I’m doing what I said I was going to do. I made that card because they told me I had to. People are just in any old matches I threw together, and they are complaining. And I don’t give a shit. It’s not different from any other week for everybody else. As it should be. You’re in a match, stop fucking whining about what I said about you. It’s really just the truth, and a lot of the time the truth hurts. If you’re surprised by it, big deal. But there is one person who shouldn’t be surprised at all. One person who should have known this was coming.

Ben Jordan.

Yeah, what’s happening Ben Jordan? You know, I could get used this whole winning thing. I don’t know if you heard, or you’ve seen me lately, but I’ve done a little splurging after I won King for a Day. It’s not like me, but you know, I feel like I’ve earned it. I fought and scratched and clawed my way to victory for this moment. For what’s in front of me right now. The chance of a lifetime. A chance to dance with the champ. It’s what I said I was going to do, and I made my dream a reality. And now, the clock is ticking. The clock will strike midnight for one of us on Sunday, Ben. So in effort to really seize the moment, I did some spending, I bought some things.

Jack slowly turns around, and we can see a replica SCW world championship cradled in his arms.

Jack: I know this is good for a laugh from you, right Ben? This silly championship. It’s fake. It’s not real at all. It’s just not the genuine article. I know you’re looking at it, and wondering what the hell I bought a toy for. Well, it’s funny, to be honest, I bought this championship, just to see how it looked. I was like a small child. I wrapped this thing around my waist. I tossed it over my shoulder. I marched around in my room, blasting my own theme song and I envisioned the looks on all the people’s faces when I held this damn thing over my head. It was something I did, to amuse myself, and get a feel for what it would be like.

But then a funny thing happened, Ben. This championship looked great around my waist. It fit perfectly. It looked natural to have this over my shoulder. I checked myself out in the mirror holding it up and it just looked right. So man, I got caught up in the moment. It wasn’t something to amuse myself anyone. I became drunk on the exhilaration. That all felt so good. I mean, I had goosebumps up and down my arms, it felt like lightning shooting through my body man. Up and down my back, it was everywhere. And then I took this toy, and I cradled it like I am now. I laid the thing down and I slept, leaving it sitting there, so when I woke up and looked over, it would be there. And when I woke up, I picked this toy up again, and that feeling, it wasn’t there anymore.

So, I looked at it, after all that feeling didn’t happen… I did exactly, what I’m going to do right now.


With that, Jack tosses the fake championship away, like it was garbage.


Jack: It’s not doing it for me anymore Ben. Not cutting it. I don’t need to play with the toy anymore. It’s not working. I need something…stronger. I’m like a junkie now, Ben. I can’t get enough of that feeling I had that first night. I need my fix. I need that feeling shot into my god damn veins, man. It was euphoric and I need to feel that again. And there’s only one thing that will give that to me. Nothing but the real deal will do the trick, Ben. I want what you have. I want the actual SCW heavyweight championship. The real one. I want that. And I’m jonesing for it, man. I need to have it. So I have to take it from you. It’s not personal, you could be anybody Ben. I just need to get mine.

Now, I’ve been straight up with you from the jump. I told you, and Mark Cross, that if I won, I was making this match happen. I told both of you that all that matters to me, is getting a shot at that championship. And I won, Ben. And so did you. So from the end of May, you have plenty of warning this was coming. There shouldn’t be any excuses. I’m not about to make any excuses, or apologies. I’m just going to continue to be honest with you.

I’m not O’Malley. I don’t have any problem with how I do things or how I attain things. So while you can shame O’Malley because he did X or Y and didn’t beat you fairly and he came in like a thief and stole your SCU championship, I’ll tell you now, I would have done the exact same thing if winning the briefcase meant I could. Wouldn’t have thought twice about it, either. I am out for mine. To me, the end completely justifies the means. I don’t have any reservations about the how’s and whys. This, to me, is about results. And then end result I want, is beating you and taking your championship.

Jack casually shrugs.

Jack: But as they say, “A goal, without a plan, is just a wish.” I heard that from a former Eagles player and NFL head coach Herm Edwards. You should look him up. He can give some damn motivating speeches. But that quote, it really got to me. It struck a chord with me. I’ve had goals and dreams all my life, but the plan, that hasn’t always been there. I wanted to be an astronaut as a kid, Ben. But I didn’t have a plan. I wanted to be rich and famous, but at that point, I didn’t have a plan. Sure, I have money, I have possessions, I’m doing pretty damn well for myself and obviously, you are too. You have that championship. It makes you a success. Now, my goal is to take it from you. And my plan… is simple.

I’m going to do, whatever I have to do to win.

You may think I’m stupid for telling you my plan, or cocky or arrogant for saying it here and now. I don’t care. I shoot straight my man. I will tell you, like it is. I told you this match was coming. I made it happen. So now, the next part, the hard part is beating you. I’m not stupid. I know you’re the best in the company right now. At least on paper. You have the title to prove it. So I know, I have to do anything and everything to beat you. So, if I have to gouge your eyes, fishhook your face, choke you, hit you from behind, pull your hair, pull your tights, or bite you, I will do it. If I have to kick you square in your nuts behind the referee’s back I’ll do it. If I have to take a chair, the steps, the post, doesn’t matter. Hell, if I have to take your championship, from the timekeeper, and take it upside your god damn head, I will do it.

And I will do it, with a smile on my face.

No shame, no remorse. I will sleep like a mother fuckin’ baby that night Ben. You can take that to the bank.

Jack actually smirks a tiny bit, but his face does turn back to the scowl he’s worn most of his life.


Jack: I consider that, a nod of respect to you Ben, you may not think so, but it is. I know I have a fight on my hands on Sunday. But, things lately, have me wondering if you feel the same. Because I’m just saying, it’s not like you have been saying my name or mentioning me lately. You aren’t talking about me. You’re more concerned with talking about wrestling Kris Ryans or day drinking with your wife. You ain’t slick mother fucker. I see how it is. You’ve known this match was coming and you’re choosing to ignore me like I don’t exist. I’m just out here, getting disrespected. I’m just a fly on your shirt, is that it? Okay, I see how we’re playing this, Ben.

You think I’m just some punk kid that you can take lightly. Like I’m just some scrub that fluked his way into this match. You don’t even have the balls to say it out loud, so you just ignore me. That is the most disrespectful shit I can think of. That is more disrespectful to me as man, than anything that will ever come out of the Cockney hole on your face.

I mean, I tell you I’m making this match if I win. Nothing.

I win. Nothing.

I come out and tell you in front of the viewing world that this is happening. Nothing.

I give you the finger. Nothing.

Your silence, speaks volumes, Ben. You have cut me to my core, without a single word. So now, not only are you holding what I’m craving, not only are you dangling it in front of me to taunt me, you’re acting like I’m not even there, man. So if that’s how we’re doing it, cool. I’m all for it. You have given me all the more motivation to take you down. You’re making me feel it necessary to really hurt you, to drive the point home. You really are about to just sit there and wait until it’s time and trash talk me and then, that’s it, right? You aren’t going to give me the same respect I’m giving you.

You think you’re better than me Ben? You think you don’t need to worry about me? You think that this is just another chance to show how great you are and treat me like I don’t matter? YOU’RE NOT BETTER THAN ME BEN?! You give me that superior British bullshit attitude like I’m a punk? You take that attitude and stick it up your ass because all you’re doing is pissing me off. And let me tell you something Ben Jordan: That is a dangerous combination.

You don’t ignore someone like me, Ben. I’ll fuck up any plans you have. I’ve got the talent, skill, and motivation to make me the single most dangerous opponent you will have ever faced in the ring. You may have had wars with many wrestlers, and that’s all well and good, but right now, I am here, and in your personal space two middle fingers right in your face. I’m hungry, and I’m driven. Money, power, wealth, fame, fortune, I want it all. And I am willing to do whatever it takes to get it. And you, are ignoring me. So you have to face the consequences for that choice. I’m not like anybody else Ben, you may think I am, you may think you’ve seen people like me come and go, but you haven’t. I am not trying to have a debate, or civil conversation about the match. This isn’t really a point-counter point thing. You’re the champ, you’re the good guy, and I, for this match, will play the bad guy. I’m the guy in the movie that pushes an old lady down and kicks a dog to make sure you know who I am. But you don’t want to listen, do you? Nah, it’s all good for Ben Jordan. Well, let me introduce myself then, I’m Jack. I’m not just going to rain on your parade, I’m gonna be a god damn thunderstorm. I am heading into this match on Sunday to do things to you that in any other profession on this planet, would put me back in jail! That’s my mentality after this shit!

Jack has begun pacing angrily, he’s so riled up, heavy stomps, almost like a child. Finally, after a few seconds, he calms himself down just enough to continue.


Jack: This may be some typical Sunday for you, but it ain’t like that for me. It my entire world. I am consumed by it. It why I bought some of the things I bought during my splurge after becoming the king.

Jack tosses his hat aside and takes off the hoodie to reveal a Ben Jordan “square letter” t-shirt.

Jack: Yeah, I bought this t-shirt. I wanted to see what it felt like to wear a shirt you’ve worn. To be a man respected by so many, with a wife and little dog or whatever the fuck. I tried it out in the mirror too. Just trying to be Ben Jordan. But then I realized that I have no desire to be like you. I don’t want to have anything to do with you Ben. So, you may call it a waste of money but, I don’t give a damn.

With that, Jack tears the shirt off of himself, shredding the shirt and tossing it aside, now in his black “A shirt” instead.

Jack: Since you don’t want to respect me, I don’t need to respect you. I don’t need to wear this bullshit merchandise. I don’t need to respect anything you’ve done or anything you will ever do. But you know, that’s not all I bought, Ben. Nah, I bought some more stuff.

Jack walks forward, and on the luggage rack from the hotel itself, Jack has several fancy, and highly expensive clothes on the racks, some tailored and draped in plastic. Designer clothing to be sure.

Jack: I bought all this. This cost a lot of money. We have some really fancy, high dollar shit here Ben. Who made this coat? Let’s see… Givenchy? Yeah, what’s this price tag say? 3 grand, Ben. 3 grand for this jacket. What about this polo? Gucci? $700. What about this? Valentino, $700 as well. This is expensive shit. We got some shoes down here… Alexander McQueen. $1200 large. We’ve got a Gucci belt? $500. I’ve bought a lot of expensive stuff, and you know why I did it? Because I can. But also to make sure that you understand where I’m coming from Ben.

I got all this right there, all this money I spent up, and you know what any of it means to me? Nothing. Not a damn thing. All I care about right now, is that championship you have around your waist. All this shit here? The belts, the shirts, the pants, the shoes, all of it just fucking props. As useless to me as a screen door on a submarine. I don’t need any of this shit. All I want is what you have. Because all of this shit right here? It can be replaced. I can buy it all again if I wanted to. In fact, I can do it after I beat you. But if you don’t believe me, let me make it perfectly clear to you, Ben.

Jack begins violently ripping the clothing off the rack, tossing it on the ground, before pulling out his pocket knife and cutting into the clothes, ripping and shredding them like a lunatic. Holes are ripped, belts cut, shoes ruined. There is just material, expensive material going everywhere. Jack finally stops, with all the clothing torn to pieces.

Jack: Do you get it now, Ben? Do you fully understand what you have done, and what I’m aiming to do? I don’t care about these possessions. I don’t care about the money I spent because I know that by beating you, I can get more. I can get that championship money. I can spend the money three times over as a champion. I can do so much more as the champion. And I’m hungry for it man. I am more than ready for this match. It’s what I’ve been dreaming of ever since I set foot in this company. I got this far, and I will be damned if I’m going to take it easy now. I’ve made it my mission to run rough shot through this company, and its wrestlers, like a hot knife through fucking butter. And now I’m here. Now I get what I want, and there is not stopping me, and nothing I won’t do.

This is it for me, Ben. I arrived at this point probably faster than anybody, including you, could have possibly imagined. I earned this match and you can bet your ass that I am pulling out all stops. Yeah, I may get another championship match in the future, but I’m not… how would you put it… a “wait and see” type of person. I’m a “here and now” type. I got this match, I ain’t about to let it go to waste by taking this match as serious at a heart attack. Because I got big plans for that championship. No more sitting in the hotel room like a schmuck. No more being like everybody else and waiting and hoping for an opportunity. No, that’s not me anymore, Ben. This briefcase offered me a chance of a lifetime. I’m not about to let it go to waste. You will get everything I have Ben, I will kick your ass and take your title because I have this opportunity right now. I want you at your best, I want you to stand across from me on Sunday as the best Ben Jordan possible. I want that feeling of knowing I beat you at your best. I want you to get up every single time I knock you down because you can bet your ass I’m going to knock you down. And if you want to take your time getting up, I will kick you square in the ass to make sure you get up. I want to beat you so badly that everyone that doubts me, and everyone who still thinks that I am a fluke or a flash in the pan to be in shock and to cheer for you. I want them to give you the resolve to fight on over and over until I beat you until you can’t physically get up without assistance. I want them to cheer for you and feel that feeling of disappointment when you lose. You need them to do that for you. I don’t. My motivation comes from within. You can say it’s selfish, and you’d be 100% correct. That changes nothing. Cheer, boo, whatever. It doesn’t matter to me. All that matter is that I get what I want.

Hell, Even if you don’t do that, even if I barely scrape by and take your title, it won’t change the result. An inch or a mile, Ben. Don’t care about how it gets done. All that anyone is going to remember about July 5th, is that I beat you. By hook, or by crook Ben, you’ve heard me say it a bunch of times. It will never be truer than it will be on the 5th.

Jack gives us a silent stare, panning back to the debris all around him.

Jack: Take a good look Ben. All this… will be nothing compared to what happens on Sunday.

Jack makes the “belt” motion at his waist.

Jack: I’m coming for you Ben. You are ALL looking, at the next SCW World heavyweight champion.

Jack leaves us with a silent stare. We fades.

Click.

Watch. This. Space.

 Prologue:

Jack was feeling better about his chances at the briefcase in the upcoming match. Jack actually felt more confident than anything. He was always sure of himself, but the loss has weighed on him. But this was his chance. It was going to be a struggle, but it was something Jack was used to. But Jack also had to deal with another issue that clouded his mind when he knew he needed to focus on winning the briefcase.

The meeting with Benny, as far as Jack was concerned, was a successful one. There wasn’t any bloodshed and Jack walked away with information. Maybe it would have been wise to work with Benny as he suggested. But Jack had spent his entire life in the shadow of this line of work, and despite only falling into it for a brief time, he knew that once you were in, you were in for life. Jack was in fact fighting a losing battle trying to escape this way of life. And now, he knew, that more people were tracking him. Benny already knew, and since Jack was on TV, it was easy for them to track him.

Being stuck in the hotel was a gift, and a curse. No one could get in, but he had to step out at some time. And now… there was a clear and present danger in doing so.

But Jack had to be ready to go.

--

Saxon Hotel
Las Vegas, NV

He stood outside the hotel. He felt at a certain point like some kind of hermit or vampire. Never going out in the sun if he could help it. But everyone needs to just get outside every once in a while. And now, he was basically a citizen of Las Vegas. He could, if he needed to, leave and get out of the hotel and cruise around, go to the store, things that he would normally do, but Jack really hadn’t done that in some time. Even in public, people would come for you. Just one shot in a crowd, no one sees anything. Jack knew all about that as well.

He leaned against the building and looked at his phone. He made a few clicks, and began to run around the building. The app on his phone and the heart rate monitor watch he wore would keep track of distance. Headphones in to block out the noise. A risk, no doubt, but one that was fine to take. The hotel had security, and people were always watching.

He took his laps, running at a solid pace. Training outdoor and running on the pavement felt different as opposed to the constant of the treadmill. His eyes quickly moved from one object to the next. Areas he was unfamiliar with. Nooks and crannies than someone could be hiding in wait. He passed people, other wrestlers and staff. He passed the outdoor bar, pool, and recreation areas. And the vehicles on the side of the road or driving past. He had to take all of this into account and do it without making it look like he was doing it. Las Vegas is a town full of tourists, so no one ever really stands out.

Until they do.

Jack continued to run, and each time he made the loop, the same two Ford F-150 trucks were parked back to back. Both trucks had a passenger and driver. Fans? Possible. But Jack watched them closer with each pass. They stared at him, and only him. When he would pass, their heads would follow. Once he was out of their sight, they turned back, looking at each other and talk. Jack knew he was once again, a target.

He calmly finished his rub, walking back and forth with his arms over his head. Once he regained his breath, he logged his workout and then shot a text to Bobby.

Two pickups, right off the road. Never took their eyes off me. Take a look for me. Keep your distance.

It wasn’t long before Bobby shot back his response.

On it.

Jack couldn’t risk losing these men, and so he stayed around outside, within their line of sight. He took a spot in a longue chair outside, so he could keep them in his eye sight, but try not make it obvious. He sat himself down in the sun, sunglasses on, and now, earbuds. He wasn’t listening to anything, but trying to make it appear he was. He sat, looking up at them through his sunglasses, but had his phone resting on his stomach upright. He texted Bobby.

Where are you?

It was a few seconds, Jack spotted Bobby leaning against the chain link fence about 20 feet from the two trucks. Bobby was being as inconspicuous as he could. Smoking a cigarette and watching. He saw from the back of the trucks that both trucks were at least two deep. The men were only watching, occasionally pointing at Jack and seemingly getting ready to do something. Bobby saw this and texted.

They are about to move.

It is then, that Bobby turned and bumped into another seemingly ordinary passer-by, but the man looked at Bobby and then placed a hand on his shoulder. It was then the men got out of the trucks and walked towards Bobby.

They too, had a lookout. A lookout for lookouts.

Jack: Mother fucker.

Jack didn’t make any sudden moves or even really try to react. He still just looked at the men, and now, Bobby was getting crowded, and was ushered into one of the trucks. Jack kept watching and trying to think of whatever these men wanted it was with him, and possibly Bobby. Jack eventually got up and walked out of their line of sight, and had to trying to think of a plan of action. He looked around and realized that without Bobby, he didn’t even half a player on the field. It was then, his phone rang.

The call was from Bobby’s number.

Jack had to pretend that he didn’t know what was going on.

Jack: Bobby.

The voice on the other end, clear wasn’t Bobby’s. Southern, perhaps Texas drawl.

Man: Hello Mr. Washington. I was beginning to think you weren’t going to ever talk to us.

Jack: Who is this?

Man: Don’t worry, we saw, that you saw, and we want to have a word with you. We know you sent him out here for us. We wanted you to see us.

Jack: What do you want?

Man: Just a few minutes of your time. The boss, wants to see you.

Jack: Boss? I don’t know what you’re talking about.

Man: Just step out here, and we’ll let your friend here go.

Jack: Fuck. Give me 5 minutes.

Jack hung up the phone. He knew what this meant, but he also couldn’t just let Bobby hang. Despite their past, they were friends, and he also needed Bobby. Another choice to be made.

Jack hurriedly went to his room, dropping off everything important, and then sticking his knife in his leg sheath. He put on pants to conceal it, and went downstairs and off the property. He made his way to the trucks. He waited until all 5 men exited, and Bobby was used as a shield in front of the tallest one.

Jack: So… what can I do for you gentlemen?

Man: Well… you can come with us, and we’ll let your boy go, or… we can just end this right here.

Jack: Alright, alright. Let him go, and I’ll be more than happy to come with you.

Man: Smart boy.

The tall one released Bobby and held up his phone. He was chewing and spit the juice all over the phone before tossing back. Jack entered the truck crowded on either side by a large redneck as the other two drove the trucks away.

Jack: Who is your boss?

Man: Don’t worry, you’ll mean him… real soon.

Jack tried to look at the neighborhood to see where they were possibly going. And tried to think exactly how he was going to get out of this. But, if they were going to take him out, they would have done it by now. He was now thinking about who this boss was, and what the hell he wanted with Jack.

--

Harrah’s Hotel & Casino
Las Vegas, NV

The two trucks pulled up to Harrah and everyone got out. Jack saw the men had guns so making any sudden moves would be dumb. He was taken and escorted to the elevator and up to the penthouse. He was then walked to a large door leading to the manager’s office. It was opened and Jack was more or less pushed in. He was greeted with two massive body guards, both had to be over 6’5” and well over 300 pounds. They looked like they were bodybuilders in their spare time. They stood menacingly close as Jack stared at them, and then noticed the man staring out the window of the balcony, puffing away on a cigar. He turned and spotted Jack, and then placed his cigar in an ashtray on the balcony, and entered, rubbing his hands together.

Man #2: How are ya, son?

Jack: Do I know you?

The man chuckled, and wiped his hands, extending it for a handshake[/color]

Man #2: The name is Sonny. Sonny Atkinson.

Jack looked at the man’s hand and did not extend his. Sonny shrugged.

Sonny: I see you’re not very friendly.

Jack: I was just kidnapped.

Sonny: Hopefully my boys didn’t do anything too rough with you.

Jack: No. Now, what is you want from me?

Sonny sat himself down and folded his hands over the desk.

Sonny: Well, actually there’s a lot you can do for me. See, we got wind you were in town for the foreseeable future, what with this pandemic and all. I figured that maybe, we could help each other.

Jack: Not interested.

Sonny: You haven’t even heard my proposal.

Jack: Don’t need to. Not in the business of anything going on around here.

Sonny chuckled slightly, he wet his lips and pointed at Jack, amused.

Sonny: That is where you are wrong. You see, there’s a little… competition going on around here now for what happens when all this comes back. I know you know Benny, right?

Jack: A little.

Sonny: Right. Well, see, he’s the competition, and normally, competition is good in the workplace. I’m sure you understand that. But, for me, competition is a bad thing. It drives customers to other things. See, there’s laws about monopolies. Burger King, McDonald’s and all that. And my business, and Benny’s business are not working well together.

Jack: I don’t see how that’s my problem. I’m not part of Benny’s crew, nor would I want to be.

Sonny: But he offered you work, didn’t he?

Jack: …

Sonny: Yeah. See, Benny should just stick to making the books. He’s good at that. But you know what Benny’s been plotting to do for a long time? Walk into my world. Benny is from your part of the world, isn’t he?

Jack: That he is.

Sonny: Yeah. He’s your people. And your people don’t understand how it works out here. You are our guests. And yet, you act like you own the place. This line of work I’m in, it’s mine. I don’t appreciate people trying to move in, on my territory. I’m sure you understand that.

Jack: I do, but let me just say this: I don’t work for Benny. I don’t want to work for Benny. Whatever the fuck Benny’s doing is none of my business. If you want to take care of Benny, take care of Benny. No skin of my back. And then him, and you, and everyone else in this town, can leave me alone.

Sonny looked at Jack for a few seconds in silence. He sighed deeply, removing the cowboy hat from his head and standing up, bent over the desk with his arms pushing up.

Sonny: That boy… Bobby is his name, right?

Jack: He’s not part of this.

Sonny: But he works for Benny. Or… does he work for you?

Jack: What does it matter?

Sonny: Without him, we would have never found you. And we learned about you, from him. I get it, you’re new in town and you need eyes in places you don’t have eyes. Every man & woman in this town will clean you out in a heartbeat and not think twice about it. Everyone’s here to make a dollar. Well… significantly more than a dollar, but you get my point. But if you think that one man is enough to put you in any position, you’re wrong.

Jack: Bobby is my eyes and nothing more. Whatever he does with Benny… is not my concern either.

Sonny: I don’t think you get it, kid. Bobby is the reason you’re even in this mess right now.

Jack: Bullshit.

Sonny chuckles again. He drops his head for a second and then raises it, shaking it at Jack.

Sonny: Okay kid, don’t say that you weren’t warned. But look, let’s just cut to the chase, shall we? I need you, to do for me, what Bobby does for you, and Benny.

Jack: You want me to spy on Benny?

Sonny: Yeah. Because the quicker we shut him down, the quicker I can take those fucking Mexicans out.

Jack: Mexicans? What the fuck are you talking about? What Mexicans?

Sonny: The ones moving in and putting fucking white in my city.

Jack: What? What does that have to do with me?

Sonny: It doesn’t. Yet. But they are everywhere. They’re at the hotel you’re staying at. They probably watched us pick you up. And soon, there’s gonna be an even bigger war on the streets.

Jack: All the more reason to keep out of it.

Sonny: Oh no, kid. It’s all the more reason for you to step up and prevent it.

Jack shrugged, unable to process what he had to do with this.[/color]

Jack: I have no power, no stroke, no pull. I have no plans to stay here, and to be part of any war or issue. I’m here, to do my job, and as soon as it’s possible, I am getting the hell out of this state and back on my own.

Sonny: Where somebody else, will track you down, and then this starts all over again. Benny and Bobby?  They’re just the start. But, you do this for me… then there’s no need to run.

Jack: I’m gonna have to pass.

Sonny sighed, sitting back down. His finger tapped the table over and over as he remained deep in thought. He looked up at Jack and shook his head again. He reached under the table, pulling out a pistol and taking aim.

Sonny: I don’t think you understand the circumstances kid. It’s not really an option here. I’m just gonna have to make the choice for you. You help me get rid of Benny’s operation, and then you’re free to go. Otherwise, we’re just gonna have to end things right here and now.

Jack: Easy man… what the fuck…

Sonny: You need to –

Sonny is cut off by his office phone ringing. He picks it up.

Sonny: Yeah…. What? Slow down… who?... Oh….

Sonny’s facial expression changes, and he growls and the look of anger and rage covers his face. He slams the phone down and his eyes go all over the place. He can’t settle himself into doing one thing at a time. He looked back at Jack, focused.

Sonny: Take the kid home. We got shit to do. FUCK! NO GOOD RAT BASTARDS!

The door to the office opens and the same armed men escort Jack out of the office, save for one man who gets instructions. He takes the wheel when they enter the truck, and a short drive later, the same spot, Jack is dropped off. A gun again pointed at his face.

Man: We’ll be in touch. It’ll be good working with you.

Jack is roughly shoved out of the truck, and the truck speeds off. Bobby sprints out from some distance away and gets up close to Jack, trying to comfort him.

Bobby: I’m sorry man… I-

Jack: Shut up. You have a lot of shit to explain.

Bobby: What? Look man, I didn’t say anything to anybody.

Jack: Yeah, then how did Sonny Atkinson know about me?

Bobby: I… I don’t know who –

Jack: Don’t give me that shit, Bobby. Sonny told me you told them about me, and you know how Benny works! You know! I swear to god… if you set me up.

Bobby: I… I.. didn’t man! You know me! I wouldn’t do that to you.

Jack: If you’re lying to me, right now… we’re gonna have fucking problems. I will find out Bobby, and if you are the one that I’m really after… I will not spare anything to see you go down. You understand me?

Bobby nods, holding his hands up, not wanting any further problems.

Jack: Fuck.

Bobby: What even happened?

Jack: I don’t know. Something happened and they let me go. Something more important. And you are going to find out. And you’re not going to tell a soul. This is a loyalty test Bobby. You fuck this up, and next time, I’m going to fucking leave you to let the fucking cowboy mother fuckers do whatever they were going to. You got that?

Bobby: I got it Jack, I got it.

Jack: Get lost. Go find some shit to do. I need to think.

Bobby: Alright man.

Bobby begins to leave, and then Jack turns and stops him.

Jack: Wait… wait a minute. I got a job for you to do.

Bobby did stop, turning and walking back.

Bobby: Sure man… anything you need. I got you.

Jack: Find out what you can about the Mexicans. Supposedly they are moving some coke around here.

Bobby’s face told a different story as he seemed to lose color in his face.

Bobby: Man… I ain’t messing with the Montana crew. Those fucking dudes are insane.

Jack: Is that the name of the crew? They are named after Scarface?

Bobby: Maybe, I don’t know. All I know… is that it’s bad fucking business to get messed up with them. We need to avoid them at all costs, Jack. I’m telling you.

Jack: You’re going to tell me everything you know, because as of right now, it’s you and me Bobby. We don’t have anybody. Well… maybe you got somebody, but I don’t. You need to work with me, because I don’t know who’s coming for my head anymore! It’s the wild fucking west out here!

Bobby: I know man, but… like Montana is not some shit I’m trying to get into. Their boss is ruthless man. She’ll have us cut up and won’t think twice about it. They’re fucking crazy.

Jack: All the more reason to know your potential enemies.

Bobby: …

Jack: Get to work.

--

Saxon Hotel
Las Vegas, NV

Jack sat in his room. He had no idea what the hell was going on and why he was being dragged into all this mess. The only connection was Bobby. And Sonny did finger Bobby right away and his reasoning made sense. Was Bobby planning to make a move? He was the one closer than anyone to Jack. Although Jack kept him at a safe distance, he had more access to Jack than anyone else, and all signs pointed to Bobby being an agent. But who was he working for? Was it Sonny? Benny? Both? Neither? The Mexicans? There was so much that Jack had to process, and with this match coming up, he needed to take his mind of his situation, and focus on his opportunity.


--

On Camera


Click


Jack was actually outside, leaning against the chain link fence. It was at night, and the camera view was a darkened area, illuminated by the outside lights of the hotel, but mostly it was black. Jack walked into frame, and stood silent for a moment. He then began.

Jack: You know, I gotta admit something to you, that, I don't want to, because it makes me look bad. It makes me look like a fool. I don't want that, you don't either, but the sad truth is right in front of our eyes. You saw it just like I did. It's embarrassing. It's humiliating, but I guess I have to come clean with all of you.

I lied.

I did. And I am ashamed to admit it. I pride myself on speaking the truth, and letting the real world's reality shine through in my words. I tell you people like it is. I live by those morals and I abide by them. Now, by no means and I going to plaster them on a multitude of t-shirts, but it's the way it is. And when I spoke to you, I told you something that wasn't true. Really, it’s not even my fault. It’s my opponents. They did this. My opponents, well, they made me out to be a liar.

I know, some of you might be out there saying things like "But Jack, you've never lied to us before, and I looked up what you said, and you were right." See, that's what I thought at first. I did my homework on my opponents, I studied them, I began to know their ins and outs. And then, they just made me look bad with what they did. They made me become something I hate.

You see, I told you that I was going to beat all of my opponents in the King for a Day match and become the King. And that, ladies and gentlemen just isn't true. It's not. I can admit that. I am not going to beat all 5 of my opponents and become the King...

I am going to FUCKING DESTROY my opponents and become King for A Day

There. Now I feel better.

Jack breathes a sigh of relief, albeit in jest.

Jack: You know, I was wondering when everyone was going to actually get serious about this match. I was hoping that at least one person would actually care enough to try. And you know what, I honestly thought they did. Until I saw some of them spitting our line and line of contrived garbage like they're just going through the motions. They had nothing. There was hardly a mention of my name. It was embarrassing as shit. I mean, I've seen weak, but this was weaker than usual. Seriously, what person made the most noise? Me. What person made the biggest impact? Me. I didn’t think that this was going to be a walk in the park but… if I was a betting man in Vegas, I’d be better on one person. Me. These guys were drearily droning on and on about they they're going to win, and "I’m so cool” sitting here and rambling. It sounded like a bunch of 4th graders giving a book report on a book they didn't even read. It's truly the end times if this is what passes for world championship level talent.

This is by far the most pathetic group of "superstars" I've ever seen amassed in one match. It's painfully obvious that this match needed and injection of life in it, and I have clearly provided that. Why? Because I’m real. I’m not sitting talking to a cactus, or pretending to be dark and mysterious or an old man wanting the old good times back. I told you all that I was going to do it, and exactly how. By hook or by crook. I don’t care how it gets done, just that it does. Does anyone think that O’Malley or Senior Vinnie has a shot? Seriously? Are you kidding me? These jackoffs couldn't get wet in a thunderstorm, much less showing that they really deserve anything.

Jack walks forward, further into the light and finds himself staring at 3 mannequins. They are naked, and have pieces of paper with “O’Malley”, “Finn Whelan”, and “Lachlan Kane” written on them.

Jack: I feel like this represents these three perfect. Ball-less, blank slates. They don’t do anything for anybody. I mean, come on now.

Finn Whelan? Ha. Ha. Ha. Please. Let's not insult anyone's intelligence here. I won't waste my time and yours talking about a man who never could cut it. He’s not worth it and I’d like to use my time on more…important things that this fuck nugget. Oh, you’ve won championships Finn? Great. At this point, there’s 1500 companies running all around the world, in every nook and cranny just waiting to give someone a shot so that they can get off the ground. You won this championship and that championship, and you’re proud? All you’ve done is dilute the whole pool. Everybody’s a world champion these days. Everyone is a 143 time champion or whatever. You think it matters at this point? There’s only one championship that really matters, and that’s the SCW world championship. A history, a lineage. And it makes what you’ve won, insignificant. Just like you.

Jack rips the paper off the first mannequin and moves to the next.

Jack: Lachlan Kane? At least he married or whatever. Good on him for settling down, I guess. I guess when you’re taking the time to get married and stuff that you don’t have time to really speak on the most important match you’re probably ever going to be in. And you know, part of me is happy that he did that, because seriously, who gives a fuck what Finn and his abs have to say, but the other half is almost pissed that someone who could actually be something just didn’t care enough to try. Ah well, what am I saying? I don’t really care about that? No. not at all. If Lachlan wants to do nothing and make it easier for me? I’m all for it. He may be the smartest person in this whole match. He knew enough that he had no chance and was going to waste everyone’s time, so he just did something that is an excuse for when he loses. Something else to hang his hat on. I may have gotten my ass whooped in this ladder match, but dammit, I got married. So, who really wins?

Yeah, that would be me. I win. You lose. You got stuck with one vag the rest of your life and I’m about to get the biggest prize in the game. Who really wins? Me. You can walk around and enjoy the time of your life wasting a bunch of money and time for some chick who will quit on you like she quit on SCW. But you do you buddy. I’ll be trying to make money and become a great at this job. You can focus on being husband of the year. I’ll take wrestler of the year, the championship and the money, thank you very much.

Good choice Lachlan. No really… good choice. Glad you’re choosing to stay out of the way.

Jack rips down the picture of Lachlan and moves onto the third Mannequin. He shakes his head.

Jack: O’Malley. The guys who has been in wrestling what two, three years? The old man who got in the game way too late is going to tell me that I haven’t found my footing? Let’s just understand something here O’Malley, you don’t get to tell me dick. You have less training that I do. You got one foot in the retirement home and you’re coming at me like I don’t know the ways of the world? Dude, I don’t know what you thought, but the life I lived taught me how to deal with life and what happens. I’m wise beyond my years, and you are proving wisdom does not come with age.

You’re an older guy in a young man’s sport. You’re just trying old man tricks to cover up from the fact that you just are skilled enough to really accomplish anything. Your ex-wife is in the hall of fame, and you continue to embarrass her and yourself by trying to be something you’re not. This shit isn’t for you. It’s not for everybody. You just need to accept that and stop trying to redeem yourself or live up to someone’s expectations who doesn’t care. Maybe you’re seeking redemption, I don’t know, but you are barking up the wrong tree if that’s what you’re after. There is no white whale at the end of this match for you. Just failure. Just the cold steel that I will more than happily bounce your body off of. I will just as soon step on your neck than look you O’Malley, your journey means nothing to me. You are an obstacle. Something I am going to run through. Whatever quest you think you’re on, or whatever your mistress of whoever is leading you in, is only going to result in your failure. It’s not bad luck, it’s not fate. It’s a simple lack of actual ability.

I mean, you have shown you don’t even have the heart to do this. You’re weak. You don’t have the killer instinct you should. Maybe that’s what your girl is trying to bring out of you. But you’ve failed to show anybody that you are nothing more than a broken man, in search of approval and whatever your life is now. I almost pity you, but that would mean I give two shits about what you’ve gone through. O’Malley will fight me. Cool, I’ve been in fights before. You need to show me that you actually want to fight, rather than just saying it out loud. Do you really want to fight, O’Malley? You want to throw hands? I’ll throw down with you, gladly, maybe when I’m done I’ll have knocked some sense into your dumb ass and you’ll find out where your balls went and take ‘em back like a man.

Until then… step up or step off.


Jack moves on.  Away from the mannequins, and to two jars, sitting on a bench. Inside one jar, appears to be rotten fruit. And the other, is a bug. Jack picks up the rotten fruit and holds it up.

Jack: This is Stephen Callaway. Just a dried up thing that just keeps hanging on and hanging on and it just won’t take the hint that its usefulness, has ended. He’s yet another old man, trying to relive past glory and capture lightning, in a bottle. A bottle much like this. But this is what Stephen Calloway has become. A shriveled, rotten thing that nobody want to look at. It’s like he’s just forcing himself to go out into the ring and keep being a dancing monkey for the people. Despite that nobody wants to see him anymore.

Am I getting through to you, Stephen? Do you really, fully understand now that this is not where you want to be, right now? This is a sport for young men, not sickly old fools. If you don’t get that, that’s really your fault, for being a stubborn old man who refuses to accept reality. But I will, without a second thought, break those brittle old bones as I slam you on the ladder, knock you off the ladder, send you plummeting to the ground below as I ascend. If I need to Stephen, I will literally use you as a stepping stone to get that briefcase. Because I’m not going to open this jar, and let your stench permeate through the air, Stephen, we’re keeping the lid on tight, so you cannot contaminate the rest of us. And then, we’re going to throw you away. Into the trash, and we’re never going to think about you after the trash is taken out. You’re just going to be gone, out of everyone’s hair, and out of the way.

Just take a look into my eyes, Stephen, took a good, hard look, and think about it. You better realize that you don’t have a snowball’s chance in hell at winning. You are out of your element, you are out of your league, and I will prove it to you, and to everyone watching.

You should have stayed home, Stephen. But, since you want to try and stick around, I will dispose of your rotten carcass at Into the Void.

Jack simply places the jar in the trash can, and moves on to the bug in the jar.

Jack: You ever wonder what it’s like to be like this bug here? You ever wonder if that whole thing from the Matrix is true? That we are all part of a simulation and nothing we do is by choice, but we’re so unaware that nothing exists but our own little world? It’s how I look at Senior Vinnie. A dude stuck in his own little world that he, and he alone cares about. That’s… that’s this bug right here. I don’t know what kind of bug it is… a beetle I think, but that’s not important. What’s important is that this bunch of dirt scooped in here. This grass and some sticks and whatever else is in here…. This is the bug’s whole world now. He used to literally have the whole world and then it got taken from him. But this bug… it doesn’t know the different. You just put him in here, punch some air holes and boom, this bug doesn’t even know the different.

You think that Vinnie even knows he’s not the World champion anymore? You think he cares? I mean, then again, he thinks that I care that he talks to a plant. I always heard you were supposed to talk to plants. Doesn’t that help them grow or something? Although, I don’t pay enough attention to see if that Cactus actually does grow. Dude probably doesn’t even water it, but that’s neither here nor there. But he thinks, I think he’s crazy because he talks to a plant.

Honestly, I’ve seen crazier shit than that on a Saturday night in Philly. I’ve seen people walk around with toilet seat on their heads. I’ve seen people drive backwards down the road into traffic. I’ve seen a dude walk down the street wearing Angel wings, for no reason. I have seen dudes wheel a fucking couch on and off the subway. So don’t come at me, thinking I think you’re crazy. You don’t know crazy, Vinnie. You don’t know crazy.

All you are, is this guy right here. A bug, stuck in a jar. A dude trapped in his own little world. But just like with Stephen, I’m going to leave you in this jar. Leave you in your own little world. Because I don’t need you, or anyone else getting in my way, as I win this damn briefcase.  And you, can stay in your little world, free of responsibility and care. Just live your life Vinnie. I got bigger plans than that.

Jack simply pushes the jar off the table and stares at the camera.

Jack: And there you have it. The choice is simple people. It's not hard. It's plain to see that I want this more than any of these other idiots. This mismash of jokes, chumps, and losers will simply be more names added to my list of victories. You and I both know it. So, let me save you the trouble. I will raise my arms in victory right now. See it? I'm used to holding them like this anyway. It’s what you will remember from Into the Void. Me, winning, my arms raised. My music playing. If for whatever reason you don't watch the show, and I highly recommend you should, because it’s going to be a historic night in many, many ways… I will save you the trouble too.

The quick results of this match will be: Jack Washington defeated Stephen Callaway, Lachlan Kane, Senior Vinnie, Finn Whelan, and O’Malley to win and become King for A Day.

And then… I’m coming for the champ.

Fade out.

Click.

Watch. This. Space.

 Prologue:

Jack was now firmly entrenched in SCW. And was now living at the Saxon hotel. The city of Las Vegas wasn’t quite as buzzing as it once was obviously, but there was still enough to make a go of it. Jack was successful three weeks ago, and had been eager to get back into the ring ever since. Jack kept to himself, but kept himself busy, trying to break the boredom. Luckily, he loved the gym facility, and many would often see him at all hours of the day or night. Jack would make the company meetings, and would occasionally leave to buy things. Luckily being masked, and being in a city full of tourists he wasn’t recognized too much. Maybe from TV, but he knew Benny would know sooner or later. Now there was little to do, besides play the waiting game.

But with Jack’s past, everything is a reason to be paranoid.


Saxon Hotel
Las Vegas, NV
1 week ago.

Jack had spent two weeks in the hotel. He still didn’t speak to too many of his wrestling co-workers or the staff unless it was a request for an amenity. He still took out his trash out even though he didn’t have to. This was more for exercise purposes. But it also gave him a look at the surroundings, and he was suspicious enough to see anything out of the ordinary. Jack would routinely watch from his window at the maintenance crew came in, and as the hotel staff changed out. He wanted to see people’s faces, know their names. If for no other reason, to see if anyone had changed or been hired randomly. But in the time he spent looking for this, nothing out of the ordinary would occur.

Until there was a knock on Jack’s door.

The knock was loud, almost pounding. Jack still had the “Do Not Disturb” sign on the door and resented the hardness of the knocking. He walked to the door quietly, peeking out of the peep hole. A man in a hotel staff outfit with the mask over his face.

Jack: Who is it?

Person: House-keeping.

Jack: Don’t need it.

Person: I’ve been told to clean this room, sir.[/color]

Jack: Don’t need it. Tell ‘em you cleaned it. Go away.

With that, the seemingly small incident passed. But Jack knew he had the sign on the door, and it had never happened before. Jack needed to investigate. Days passed and nothing, but then there was another knock. This one softer, and only a couple of knocks. Jack once again went to the peep hole. This time, a smaller woman, clearly on the cleaning staff.

Jack: Who is it?

Woman: Oh, are you in, sir? I was just seeing if you were so I could clean if you were gone.

Jack: Hang on…

Jack continued to peer out the peep hole, and just to the woman’s left, was a shadow. Clearly not hers, and the material of the hotel staff was visible, even though the person wearing them was trying to stay out of view. Jack knew what he had to do.

Jack: One second.

Jack walked away from the door, and produced a small hunting knife from his bag. He had recently purchased it, as a gun wasn’t the best idea given the circumstances. Jack kept the knife out of view as he returned to the door. He slowly opened it.

Jack: I was just about to leave.

The woman entered, and Jack stayed slightly behind the door. Through the door crack, he saw the 2nd person standing the doorway.

Jack: Can you come back in say… 5 minutes?

Woman: Sure.

Jack watched the woman walk back out, and once she was passed the doorway and had turned, Jack came from around the doorway and snatched the person who was there and pulled them into the room, taking them down and holding the knife to their throat.

Jack: I don’t like being snooped on. Who are you? You’re not staff.

Man: Whoa, hey… take it easy!

Jack: No.

Holding the knife sharply pointed at the man’s throat, Jack searched the man for weapons. He didn’t find any but didn’t ease up in any way.

Jack: Who. Are. You? If you I have to ask again, I will bleed you, really quiet.  And leave you here.

Man: It’s… it’s me Jack… it’s Bobby.

Jack: Bobby…



--


25th District Police Station
Philadelphia, PA.
3 years ago.

He was dragged in. Two officers on either side holding him, moving him forward whether he wanted to or not. The doors were swung open as various cops in the building glanced in his direction, and then back to whatever it was they were doing. Officer Sharpe was on receiving that night. He took one look at Jack, the sharp glare of disappointment in his eyes and all over his face.

Officer Sharpe: Down to in-processing. Then, Interview 2.

He shook his head again in Jack’s direction as the two officers continued to usher him towards an unusually short line for in-processing. Perhaps they were having a slow night. Good for cops.  The in-processing cop put on his latex gloves, like Jack had never seen this before and it was supposed to intimidate him.

In-Processing Officer: I’m Officer Hayes. Do you have any weapons, knives, guns, anything on you that’s going to hurt me during this search?

Jack simply shook his head.

Officer Hayes: Any needles, drugs?

He shook his head again. He commenced to patting Jack down checking for the same things he just denied having. Because he didn’t. He finished, and the two arresting officer grabbed Jack right up and roughly ushered him to interview two. A room with two chairs and a desk. They sat him down and un-cuffed his hands. They walked away and slammed the door behind them.

Jack: God damn it.

His arms crossed on the desk and he laid his head down between then, like a student falling asleep in school. He sighed deeply, and began the restless leg syndrome he developed. He wasn’t nervous, but anxious. For maybe the first time being in a police station, he actually had nothing to hide.
For what seemed like an eternity, Jack was alone with his thoughts. Perhaps to think about what he did, an excuse to come up with, and everything under the sun. But Jack didn’t have to make up anything. He was going to tell the truth, the bad news was that, no one was going to believe him.
The door finally opened, and Detective Galloway entered, the unmistakable One Million cologne mixed with Marlboro smokes. A cup of coffee in his hands. He gently sat it on the table, and quietly left again. He returned moments later with the police report filed earlier in the night.

Detective Galloway: You’ll have to excuse me Jack. I was just trying to finish a smoke out back when they hauled you in here. Guess I should know better when you’re not in the building.

Galloway noisily pulled the chair out from the desk and sat down, pulling out his reading glasses from the same pocket which had a pack of cigarettes in them. He began reading the police report, occasionally glancing at Jack over his glasses. He finished, sighed, and looked up at Jack.

Detective Galloway: What the fuck are you doing?

Jack: I didn’t do anything.

Detective Galloway: That’s funny, Jack. I know I’m old, but I’m not blind. I can read. I see this report, and you get chased down and picked up, walking away from two men laying beaten outside a bodega? And you didn’t do anything?

Jack: That’s right.

Detective Galloway: So why run?

Jack: Because.

Detective Galloway: Because isn’t a reason Jack. If you had nothing to do with it, you could have stayed, and you wouldn’t be here, and I wouldn’t have to deal with it.

Jack: I didn’t do it. You know why I ran.

Galloway sighed and glanced back at the report and then took a sip of his coffee.

Detective Galloway: How many times have you been here Jack?

Jack: Too many.

Detective Galloway: Exactly. Your record is a mile fucking long. Burglary. Stick up jobs. Fights. You would think, you’d be smart enough to keep yourself out of here. And yet, here you are. Fighting and resisting arrest.

Jack: I’m telling you, I didn’t do anything.

Detective Galloway: And now you’re just wasting my time, Jack. You know how many times I’ve heard that? “I didn’t do it.”  Half the guys that come in here swear they’re innocent. Don’t you think that’s kind of funny?

Jack: Do you see me laughing?

Galloway took his glasses off and placed them back in his pocket. He folded his hands on the table.

Detective Galloway: I’m trying to help you, Jack. Now, you’re going to tell me that this police report isn’t telling the truth?

Jack: I ran, sure. I didn’t want to come down here. Who wants to get arrested? Your boys chased me instead of the people who did it.

Detective Galloway: Oh? And who did it?

Jack’s eye darted across the room, down and to the left, mostly.

Jack: I don’t know.

Detective Galloway: Having some trouble remembering things?

Jack: Two guys in hoodies and masks man, I don’t know could have been anybody!

There was a knock and one of the officers motioned for Galloway to leave. He turned to Jack, a stern finger pointed right at him.

Detective Galloway: This conversation isn’t over.

With that, Galloway departed. Jack rubbed his face looking around but the window was mosaic and he could only make out shapes and muffled noises. Then there was a female figure he could make out. She was moving at a rapid pace towards him. He heard muffled speak and then the door almost flung open. She took one look and sighed heavily before closing the door. Detective De La Fuente.

Jack: Jessica, I …

Detective De La Fuente: Don’t.

He opened his mouth to speak, but she raised a hand, cutting him off once again.

Detective De La Fuente: I don’t want to hear an excuse, I don’t want to hear a reason. I cannot continue to do this for you. It’s not my job to bail you out whenever you find yourself here. I made a promise to your father to look out for you.

Jack: I can take care of myself.

Detective De La Fuente: Which is why you’re here right now, right?

Jack: I don’t need a lecture. I didn’t do anything this time!

Detective De La Fuente: You ran from the police!

Jack: And you know why!

A period of silence.

It is broken by another knock at the door. A balding man with glasses and a briefcase and a sharp suit enters. It seems both Jack and Jessica recognize him.

Detective De La Fuente: Berkowitz?

Jack: Larry?

Larry: I’m glad we can skip the formal introductions.

He sat down and cleared his throat. He looked up at Jessica as she just looked puzzled as to his appearance.

Larry: What’s the charge, Detective?

A brief pause as Jessica came to her senses.

Detective De La Fuente: Fleeing the scene of a crime.

Larry: Anything else?

Detective De La Fuente: We’re trying to see if Jack was involved in the assault of a man outside a convenient store.

Jack: I wasn’t.

Larry: It’s alright, Jack. I’m going to take care of this.

Detective De La Fuente: Don’t make me the bad guy here, Larry.

Larry: I’m not trying to. I’m actually glad you intercepted this before it got out of hand.

He reached into his jacket, producing a small notepad and a pen. He looked as Jessica, almost trying to speak to her without doing so.

Larry: Sorry Detective, but this is attorney-client privilege.

Jessica could only roll her eyes and scoff. The loud clicking of her heels echoed as she exited the room. Larry turned to Jack with a smile. Jack was less than impressed.

Larry: Alright Jack, you need to be straight with me here.

Jack: I already was.

Larry: So, you didn’t do anything?

Jack: No. I didn’t. Wrong place, wrong time is all. Next thing I know, one time is coming after me instead of the guys who did it.

Larry: And you don’t know who they were?

A period of deafening silence.

Jack: No.

Larry: Jack?

Jack: I just told you, no.

Larry: Jack, you gotta help me out, just a little.

Jack: I never asked for your help. I’m here because they chased me.

Larry: And… you had no part in it?

Jack: No. I didn’t.

He placed the pen and notepad on the table in front of Jack. He cleared his throat.

Larry: Jack, let me explain this to you. You’re sitting here, having fled from the scene of a crime. That’s not a lot, but it could really hurt you if they can tie you to this. You need to give me the facts so that I can use them to help you.

Jack: Don’t, Larry. Just don’t. I don’t know who the people were. I only saw two guys in black hoodies. Didn’t see their faces, didn’t have anything to do with it. I was just going to store, myself.

Larry: What were you buying?

Jack: Some snacks. A mountain dew. At least, I was, until they started chasing me.

He just shook his head.

Larry: You know how hard it is to buy that, Jack?

Jack: It’s not my fault you assholes will hang me at the first chance you get.

Larry: Hey, hey, I’m not the enemy here. I’m trying to help you.  We need to get the story straight.

Jack: The only story, is the one I just told you. Period.

He closed his eyes, and sighed. After a moment, he shrugged.

Larry: I promised your father I would looks after you. I intend to keep that promise. If you say that’s the story, then that’s the story. Just don’t make me look like an ass for trying to help you.

Jack: I never asked for help, Larry. I’m not my father. You know, and everyone else involved in this knows. They want me, because I’m the link. They want revenge on him, through me. Any little slip up, is the end. You think I was going to rob somebody or beat up some person for shits and giggles?

He receives a message on his phone. He nods as he checks it, and places the phone back in his pocket.

Larry: No. I don’t. I’m here to defend you. So, strings have been pulled. Let’s get you home.

He signaled and Jessica came back into the room. She and Jack made eye contact if only for a moment. Larry stood up and placed the notepad and pen back in his pocket as well.

Larry: I assume everything is in order?

Detective De La Fuente: Yes. Come on, I’m taking you home.

Jack:  I’m –

Detective De La Fuente: Don’t. Let’s go. Now.

Larry: I will give you a call in the morning once I’ve reviewed everything. But this should be pretty much a foregone conclusion.

Larry moved in front and exited. A power walk, body scrunched up and avoiding eye contact. He looked like a shady lawyer, even if he wasn’t one. Jessica walked with Jack, quickly down the hall and passing by receiving.

Detective De La Fuente: I got this one.

Officer Sharpe: You got it, Detective.

They walked out, and Jessica reached for her keys, and unlocked the doors. Jack hesitated for a moment, but he did enter the Corolla. There was a long period of the awkward silence as neither said a word. It was one of the most uncomfortable car rides Jack had ever taken. He had to break the ice.[/color]

Jack: You didn’t have to do this.

Detective De La Fuente: I am. You really need to stop getting yourself in trouble, John.

Jessica was the only one outside of family to ever refer to Jack by “John”, His given name.

Jack: I don’t like it any more than you do.

Detective De La Fuente: And yet, you’re here.

Jack: It wasn’t my fault this time.

Detective De La Fuente: I’ve heard it before. It never ends with you.

Jack: You’re not a saint either, Jess.

Jessica shot a glare that it looks could kill, would have turned Jack to jelly.

Detective De La Fuente: It was a mistake. You know that. There’s a lot things that happened.

Jack: I know. I was there.

Detective De La Fuente: So we don’t need to bring that up.

They pulled up to Jack’s apartment and Jessica yanked on the emergency brake, not looking at Jack and keeping her eyes focused on the road. Jack instead of leaving, turned his head.

Jack: Thanks. For the ride.

Detective De La Fuente: Go.

Jack: I.. I do appreciate you.

Detective De La Fuente: Your father, was good to me. He gave me and my family a lot. But let’s just understand something, John. What happened between us, was a moment and a bad decision. It was wrong. But doesn’t change what I have to do. What I’m telling you now… is to get your shit together. Get out of town. You know what’s going to happen, sooner or later, you’ll run out of favors and there won’t be enough strings to pull. And then you’re in jail, and they’ll do to you, what they’re gunning for. And you won’t have anyone to watch out for you. Get out of this cycle, before it kills you.

There is a moment of silence. Jack knew Jessica was right.

Jack: … Yeah.

Detective De La Fuente: Go home, Jack.

Jack stared, a small chuckle escaped him

Jack: For the record… It didn’t feel wrong.

Detective De La Fuente: Go. Now.

Jack took the hint, and exited the car. It sped off just as quick as that. Jack had dodged another bullet, but he knew Jessica was correct and he needed to get out. He just didn’t know the lengths he would be followed. He pulled his phone out and he had a missed text message. One from his friend Bobby. He opened it.

“Saved our ass bro. We got what we needed. Thx.”

Jack sighed and closed out the message, and the phone.

--

Saxon Hotel
Las Vegas, NV
1 week ago

Jack eased up only slightly.

Jack: You mother fucker. I should just bleed you right now!

Bobby: Come on man! I ain’t got nothing!

Jack: Who sent you?

Bobby: You know I… can’t.

Jack: Then I guess we have a problem.

Bobby: They just wanted to try and keep you in town.

Jack: Why?

Bobby: Keep tabs on you.

Jack: … mother fuckers.

Jack eased up a little more, sitting in his office chair, still pointing the knife at Bobby.

Jack: Don’t fucking move. If this was Benny, then I’ll have to pay him a visit. These fucks won’t leave me alone. Alright, alright, I need to think.

Jack stood up and paced, the rapid, manic footsteps pounded the floor and Jack still held the knife pointed at Bobby. He finally stopped, and stared at Bobby.

Jack: We’re gonna turn this shit around, Bobby.

Bobby: What?

Jack: You work for me now. Bobby. You wanna keep tabs on me. Then you never fucking saw me.

Bobby: What? They’re gonna see you on TV!

Jack: Exactly. You just tell ‘em that you can’t find me. I’m not in this room. I leave every week. Go somewhere else. You don’t know where I am. And then, you’re going to come back, and report back to me.

Bobby: They’re never going to believe that. Plus… they know about San Bernardino.

Jack: Well fuck… Troy.

Bobby: Yeah.

Jack: Well, You better make ‘em believe then, Bobby. Otherwise, there’s about to be a report filed and you’ll be in jail, and let me tell you, that I don’t think the power will reach all the way out here. And these assholes will let you fry for a long, long time. Two choices Bobby. Make it quick.

Jack pointed the knife at Bobby. Bobby slowly raised his hands.[/color]

Bobby: Alright, you win. I’ll talk to ‘em. See what I can do.

Jack: That’s good. And Bobby…

Bobby: Yeah?

Jack: You left me high and dry once, don’t do it again. If I find out you double cross me on this… I will find out, and our past won’t mean shit. Believe me.

Bobby: Alright, man, ease up. I’m on it.

Jack: Good.

Bobby picked himself up and slowly moved towards the door, before he exited the room. Jack dropped the knife on the floor and held his head in his hands. [/color]

Jack: God damn it.

Jack knew now that no matter where he went, he wasn’t assure safety. They would continue to hunt him, and keep tabs on him. His only assurance now, was Bobby would do right by him. He needed to stay one step ahead and continue to wrestle, but it seemed that even now, things were still as complicated as ever before.

--

On Camera



Click.

Once again we’re in the hotel room. He is leaned back in his office chair, feet up on the office table in front of the camera, arms back behind his head. He isn’t even looking at the camera.

Jack: You know, I could get used to this. Three weeks ago, I came back to SCW, and they put me in the ring with Jack Russow. And they protected his title reign from me, and that’s okay. I will earn my championship opportunity sooner or later, that part has never been in doubt. But we all know that they had Jack Russow picked. They though that Jack Russow would stop me cold and they would have every reason to tell me that I had a lot left to prove. They were going to say, well, good effort out there against the champion, but obviously he’s the champion for a reason and now you know. They had everything prepared to give that whole life lesson speech about working hard and keeping your head up after a tough loss.

But then something funny happened. I beat Jack Russow.

Yeah, I beat Jack Russow right in the middle of the ring, no questions asked. In my very first singles match in SCW, I beat the Roulette champion. So the higher up had no choice but save their speeches the doubters and haters could only eat the slice of humble pie because despite their best efforts, they had zero to do with the outcome. A man who holds a championship with a lot of history, and I took him down. I mean, did you see this kid try to save face? Oh, you barely beat me! You barely got the win! I’m still good! I’m still the champion!

The only reason lesser Jack is still the champion is because the match was non-title. And I have just a small news flash for lesser Jack: It doesn’t matter if you win by an inch, or a mile. 2nd place is just the first loser, kid. Nobody is going to sit here and talk about how they “almost” won anything. You know what that is? Loser talk. That’s excuses and you only hurt yourself talking about how you came so close, but didn’t get the prize at the end. Nobody gives a shit how you get it done, just that you do. This is results based. And right now, Jack Russow can lick his wounds and set himself up to fail yet again this week.

But, that was three weeks ago. We’re done with that. I just want lesser Jack to understand that what he got back then, he can get again anytime he wants to step up. But until then, I got bigger fish to fry, and he is in my rear view mirror.

Jack eases forward, taking his feet of the table, slowly and deliberately. He adjusts himself in the chair and closes his eyes and sighs before continuing.

Jack: And now?  They want to go ahead and put me in the ring with Kris Ryans. Kris Halc. Whatever he wants to go by these days. I did find it funny that they shower this dipshit with the most generic phrases anyone can get. He marches to his own drum, he doesn’t care what anyone thinks. He is his own man. I mean, those couldn’t be any more vague and non-descript if they said out loud by the fucking Oracle from the Matrix. But apparently, I should be so intimidated because Kris at one point was a big deal around these parts. He’s a grand slam champion. My god, show the man respect!

You know who’s showing him any respect? Nobody. You know why? Because nobody likes the asshole.

Nobody really wants to sit back and relive the Kris Ryan days. Like he’s fucking Brett Favre returning to Green Bay or some shit. No fan is saying to themselves “Boy, I’d really like to watch some Kris Ryan matches”. Literally, no one. And apparently, this just eats Kris up. It’s just another reason not to pay him any attention. Because he’s seeking it like a god damn puppy, waiting for someone to mention his name, waiting for someone to acknowledge his existence. And he’s all up in his feelings because people aren’t showering him with compliments.

Oh, boo-hoo, I was a grand slam champion.

Boo-hoo, I did some things and nobody remembers!

Boo hoo, nobody likes me.

Boo-hoo please pay attention to me.

Grow the fuck up, buddy.

Jack just shakes his head, and gives an exasperated scoff.

Jack:  Understand that nobody is interested anymore in an uninteresting person. Kris Ryans name has not been relevant for two years, after he took his ball and went home. He fucked off somewhere and now he just shows back up like nothing happened. I mean, are you kidding me? Whose balls did he have to swallow to show up back in SCW? And then you want to start acting like you’re owed something. Like everyone show know, or care, who you were two years ago. You’re stuck in the past and it chaps your ass that you became an obscure reference. A trivia piece, rather than being remembered as an all-time great.

I just suggest you get over it. Powder your vag and man the hell up. Because all you are doing, is making people remember why they forgot about you. People blocked you out and moved on. People come and go in this game, Kris. Wrestlers are forgotten more often than not and you are struggling with the idea that despite doing some shit two years ago, that people aren’t interested in you. By all accounts, you’re lucky to be standing anywhere near an SCW ring, but instead of being grateful, you’re being an insufferable prick. I would actually commend you for being yourself, but you’re expected roses to be thrown at your feet because you decided to grace up with your presence again?

Nah, we were all better off with you hidden in obscurity.  

You won some championships? Good for you. You don’t stand out. You’re another face in the crowd. You’re snap finger famous. And until you stop bitching about what used to be, you’re going to stay that way.

Jack slowly lurches forward in his chair, arms now holding up his head under his chin. He stares at the camera.

Jack: And maybe, after I kick your ass, you’ll finally figure it out.

Because that’s what’s going to happen this Sunday.

And I’m going to beat you, because you’re weak.

You’re weak mentally, and physically. You were riding high and then you let it all come crashing down because you dropped the ball. You got injured and then you walked off into the sunset. And a grand total of nobody gave a shit. But not only are you injury prone, you ended up in rehab, because you’re weak. And time moved forward, but you’re so weak mentally that you couldn’t handle the fact that this company moved on without you. Some dude makes a list and you’re not on it and it chapped your ass. And then you wanted to come back, make this big impact, and what happened? You blew that too. And now you realize that this isn’t 2017 or whatever anymore. So now, NOW you wanna buckle down and get your shit together? Give me a break. All I’ve heard from you is excuses and that’s probably the most pathetic thing you can do.

You see Kris, I’m like a lot of other people in the sense that I really don’t care about you making some big comeback to prove that you’re not a flash in the pan. But unlike other people, I’m not here to just beat you in the ring. I’m here, to hurt you. Because I’m hungry Kris. I want to achieve everything you’ve ever achieved and do it faster and better. I’m here to stake my claim as great. And if that means I have to put you right back on the shelf, I will do it, without ANY hesitation. By any means necessary, Kris. That’s what I’m about. I’m a mystery to you, an unknown. And that makes me far more dangerous to you, than you are to me. You barely scraped by two weeks ago with a lucky victory. You think that is going to get the job done this week?

If you do, you are in for a rude, painful surprise.

I’m out to get mine Kris. I’m out to get mine, and if it’s at your expense, it doesn’t matter to me. You don’t matter to me. As far as I’m concerned, you’re an overhyped flash in the pan who is still trying to relive his past, and continues to be stuck in it by choice. My past? It won’t leave me alone. I’ve wanted to get rid of it for years, and it won’t go away. But I’m taking my past, and learning and evolving, while you want recognition for some shit that happened 2 years ago. This game is about what you’ve done lately. And all you’ve done is show you’re insecure and bitter. Still rambling on about what you used to be.

I don’t care who you are, or were, or what you’ve accomplished. All I care about is beating you, and how good it looks on my resume. But this is about winners and losers. I’ve been winner for the vast majority of my life. And winning fills pockets, and that’s what this is about for me. The money, the fame, the prestige that comes with it. All it takes is the right motivation and I will handle the problem that is in front of me. You may not like the way I do it. You may not like the way I said the things I’ve said…

But we all do things differently.  There is more than one way to reach the goal.

Jack eases back in his chair, the bemused smile crosses his face as it did in the beginning.

Jack: As I said, I’m hungry Kris. I’m telling you again so that you fully understand that Sunday, after you get beat that you know why. It’s not because of anything you did, or didn’t do. It’s because I want this more than you. It’s because I’m driven, the rewards may be simplistic, but so far, you can’t argue with results. You show up and with what I’m after, this isn’t going to be a match, it’s going to me, chewing you up and spitting you out. I’m going to be the shark, the ring will be the Ocean, and you will be the blood pouring into the water that kicks off the feeding frenzy. You are being fed to me. And after a couple of weeks…. I’m STARVING.

Just remember that. You’re next in line. Nothing more, but a whole lot less.

See you Sunday.

Cut to black.

Click.

Watch. This. Space.