Prologue:
Jack was feeling better than he did normally. Things has finally begun to show signs of progress. He earned another victory, albeit with help from Kris Ryans, but Jack wasn’t going to give that a second thought. Jack won, and that was all that mattered to him. He had cemented his spot at Violent Conduct, and Alex Jones was in his sights. He no longer needed to prove anything else, he was satisfied with a win. Well, satisfied wasn’t really the word. Content was more Jack than anything. Jack wasn’t about to become satisfied until the title was his. It was only a few weeks away but Jack was more bound and determined than ever to make this chance count.
Outside the ring, Jack was making choices that while they may have meant progress and eased some tensions, there were still many dangerous people out there that clearly didn’t mess around. Jack had to be on his toes based on the Mexicans and the car that had a woman in the trunk. They may have wanted her dead, and if Jack had not heard her making noises in the trunk, she may have been dead. It was a loose end, and if the Mexicans found out about it, it may not be good for Jack.
Elsewhere Jack with the help of his uncle Brian was able to navigate through some negotiations that were… less than on the level with the Gambling commission. More and more, Jack was becoming like his father, whether he wanted to admit it or not. Jack and Brian were running a smooth business, but there were potential landmines all over the place. Jack considered himself an honest man, but the truth was that the business world was full of dishonest people, dirty people. Folks who valued money over human life. It was a harsh lesson at 23, but Jack had always felt wise beyond his years due to hanging out with his father. But his father had the respect to command some fear from potential rivals. Jack had none of that. But over time, he would acquire that.
The problem was, it would require getting his hands dirty to do it.
--
The Grand Flamingo Plaza
Las Vegas, NV
He sat at the desk, once again mulling over paperwork. It was becoming all too common.
Jack: This shit is getting old.
Brian: It’s the price of business, Stick. Also, you probably could have picked a better time.
Jack: I had to make a move. I made one. It’s that simple.
Brian: Yeah, and right now this place is just a giant loss.
Jack: You have to spend money to make money. Isn’t that the idea?
Brian: Kid, you ain’t got anybody walking through them doors. And you may not ever get people walking through them doors if this virus shit keeps up.
Jack: But we’re close man, we’re close. We got some of this set. And the construction is coming along. We could be open really soon.
Brian: And then what? Nobody’s gonna come in here and try and gamble what little money they have. You may not even have a customer based this economy is so fucked up.
Jack: We just may have to make money other ways.
Brian: Oh, like doing that little thing for the Mexicans?
Jack: I did them a favor. Had to get them on side.
Brian: You gotta watch who you partner with kid. It really don’t work out all the time.
Jack: I’d rather have them as friends than enemies.
Brian: Yeah, you might. And they could also turn on you at the drop of a hat. One little thing doesn’t go their way and you’ll see how quickly they can become enemies.
Jack: I don’t do well with uneasy partnerships. I’d prefer it if they were one or the other.
Brian: That ain’t good business.
Jack: Sometimes it’s the only way to do business. Look, there’s a lot of reasons not to trust them. I’m fully aware of that. Hell, they asked me to torch a car that who know what they did in it. But if it appeases them, I’m all about it.
Brian: It’s going to be that way forever if you let it.
Jack: What would have me do, man? Reject them and have this place torched too? I spent money to make this place work. Mostly, out of spite, and to be my own man, but the fact remains that I did it, and now I have to smooth things over with the Mexicans.
Brian: And then what? You’ll be housing their stuff, if we get raided, it’s your ass. You can forget the wrestling shit and anything else because you’ll be in fucking prison.
Jack: It’s going to be part of negotiations.
Brian: You ain’t good at those, Stick.
Jack: Maybe not, but… that’s why you’re here.
Brian: Cute.
The buzzer sounds and Bobby is on the other end of the phone when Jack picks up.
Jack: What is it?
Bobby: Mexicans sent somebody.
Jack: Shit, alright, give me 2 minutes, then send him in.
Bobby: Got it.
Jack hangs up the phone and prepares as best he could. He checked the drawer, and his pistol was still inside the desk. After another minute or so, the door opened, and a smaller Mexican man, unfamiliar to Jack, walks in, a briefcase in his hand. Jack stands up and then stands back as the Mexican man places the briefcase on the desk.
Man: Ms…Ana Sofia rewards you.
Jack: Thank you.
Man: Open. Please.
Jack hesitantly stepped in front of the briefcase and undid the latches. He turned back to the courier who stood waiting. He stepped to the side and flipped up the briefcase, and his eyes lit up.
Jack: Holy shit.
Inside was neatly stacked and sleeved money.
Jack: What is this for?
Man: Taking care of the car, sir.
Jack: How much?
Man: 50… tho…thousand.
Jack closed the briefcase. He nodded.
Jack: Tell her I said thank you.
Man: Gracias.
With that, the small man departed. Jack looked at Brian and shrugged.
Jack: Sometimes, you gotta get your hands dirty…
--
ON CAMERA
Click.
Jack is pacing. He is clearly not happy.
Jack: You know, I would call SCW a circus, but that would be an insult to the circus. After I whooped O’Malley’s punk ass in the ring two weeks ago, I get stuck in this poor excuse for a match, and guess what, I get stare across at O’Malley again this week. The geniuses in SCW have decided on this lame ass “Champions vs. Challengers” six man tag match. And I’m just going to be real with you, I couldn’t care less about any of these jackoffs. I can only throw my hands up and say “Fuck it” because that’s how I feel about this. If you wanted a clown show, you’re getting a clown show. We might as well all come down in the stupid clown car with the horn and shit, because this is a joke. I don’t like it, I don’t gotta like it. But, I’m getting paid to do it, so I’m going to do it.
Now, I don’t do real well with tag team matches. My partners have blown it in the past and quite frankly, I don’t see the need to trust them to do anything. This is wrestling, you look out for number one. I look out for me. You may not like the way I do it, but I get the job done. And to me, if I don’t have to rely on anyone, I know where everyone stands. Their enemies and I can deal with that. But partnerships and alliances are a whole other story. I have been burned way too many times, in and out of the ring to trust anyone outside of a few minutes. Fortunately that’s all this shit is going to take out of my time this week. Because if this goes longer than like 20 minutes we’re going to have a problem, I may just beat everyone’s ass at that point.
Because if you don’t think that they would do the same to me, you are sadly mistaken. I’ve just learned that sometimes you gotta make the move before they make a move on you. Simple. Life lessons.
Jack nods, he’s still annoyed, but slightly less.
Jack: On the plus side, I get to get my hands on Alex Jones a little early ahead of Violent Conduct. I missed what clever little jab Alex may have had for me last week, because as soon as I see him on my TV I just want to turn the damn thing off. Not even change the channel, but just turn it off. The match is signed, sealed and delivered that at Violent Conduct, Alex Jones is going to get his ass whooped and his championship taken. But at the very least, I have to get through this bullshit six-man tag match.
And let’s just face the facts here, there’s 5 pieces of trash, and there’s me. And I just don’t know if I have enough personality, charisma, and realness to turn chicken shit, into chicken salad. Not with this amount of trash in the ring at one time. I mean, this is just garbage.
Jack stops and shakes his head, he holds out his hand, counting on his fingers.
Jack: I mean, let’s just take a look at these people. Miles Casey? Who is that? Who is the hell is Miles Casey? How is he a contender for anything? I’ve never heard of this man, but he must have done something right, because he’s got a championship match. And no, I’m not going to bother to look up his wins and losses, because I don’t care that much to do it. All I want him to do is hold up his end the slack and not screw it up for me. I mean, the dude’s getting a match against O’Malley, and that’s real exciting. I can already feel myself aging thinking about this match. Maybe this chump has something, but I know damn well I ain’t gonna trust him to do anything in the ring.
And then my other partner is Senor Vinnie. I mean why not, right? Of course it’s some dude who talks to a cactus. Of course I have to have this guy on my team. Again, I don’t really give a shit who he’s beaten and what he’s done and how he’s… whatever he is. I already done whooped his ass before, so if he has any brain cells that haven’t been knocked out, he should know that I’m leading this team.
God dammit I have to lead this team don’t I?
Jack curses and kicks the dirt to show his frustration with this realization.
Jack: Shit, I’m best hope we have. Vinnie may be a former SCW world champion, but that shit’s old news. Nobody cares about that. Maybe I can like… reverse psychology his ass and tell him he sucks and then maybe he’ll actually give a shit and try. So, I don’t know, hopefully Vinnie hears this and gets mad at me, and I can sick him on these people like a dog.
And that’s just my team. Holy shit I don’t know what I did in past life to get this as a team, but I would almost be willing to apologize for it. This is terrible. I said it before, and I will say it again, you put me in the ring with a bunch of damn misfits. A bunch of losers running around thinking that they’ve really got something. But let me make this perfectly clear, I will not let this amount of suck, bring me down. I’m not about to sit here and become garbage because I’m next to garbage. No, that’s not me. I am the next SCW world heavyweight champion, and this time I don’t need to buy a replica title to make my point. This is just a preview of what’s about to happen at Violent Conduct to Alex Jones. It just so happens, there’s two other nut sacks that aren’t going to take this ass-whopping with him.
Actually, now that I think about it, when it comes to O’Malley and Teddy Steele, nut sucks need not apply.
Jack pauses his annoyance once again building.
Jack: I used to this that O’Malley and Lachlan Kane were the two most pussy whipped wrestlers in SCW, and then along comes Teddy Steele. A dude so whipped, that he took his wife’s last name instead of the other way around. And didn’t his wife like cheat on him? And then he goes around and tries to mack on other women? Like… hey, if you’re into that kinky shit, whatever, Ya’ll got that open relationship going down, good for you, but for fucks sack Teddy Steele is a god damn joke. He spends him time calling out whoever J2H is and J2H continues to just roast his ass at every turn. Like, there comes a point where eventually you’d think you’d stop taking punches to the face and put your fucking hands up, but Teddy is just out there sticking his chin out like gimmie some more! Like… does he have like an emasculation fetish or something? Again, whatever you do on your own time son. But this dude is somehow the… Internet champion? That seems like an oxymoron at this point, the amount of times he is shut down and looks like unarmed opponent in a battle of wits on the internet should really be making the internet strip him of the title on general principle.
I shouldn’t even concern myself with this guy, but just in case he wants to feel froggy, I got something for his ass. He steps to me, I’ll beat his ass worse than his wife does.
Anyway, I should move on to O’Malley, but what more needs to be said about O’Malley? He’s a whiner, a complainer, and he still has his two precious titles and his new wife and his fucking blanket so he can sleep well all tucked in at night. I told O’Malley two weeks ago I was going to beat his ass and I did. Kris Halc running down and sticking his nose in my match wasn’t necessary. I don’t need anyone’s help to beat up O’Malley. But to me, a win, is a win. By hook, or by crook, I beat O’Malley. It has never mattered to me how I win, just that I win, and I did that. O’Malley can put on his tough guy face all he wants, I’ve already shown that he’s nothing but a fraud. He hides behind his wife’s skirt and throws out subtweets like a bitch and he thinks that’s cool and it makes him a bad ass. You want revenge, get it inside the ring, now behind a keyboard. It would be in O’Malley’s best interest to stay the hell out of my way in this match, but if he wants to put on his big boy pants and come take a shot, I ain’t gonna be hard to find. I’ll be the only person worth a damn in this match. I ain’t scared of him, or his old lady. I’ll knock the stupid look on his face just like I did two weeks ago. Come at me, O’Malley. I fucking dare you.
Jack stops himself, and shakes his head, he knows who’s last.
Jack: And so, we come to Alex Jones. The champ. How are you champ? Feeling good? I know you very generously offered me a trade, but I have to decline. Your team is perfect. 3 champions, 3 bitches. I think it’s fitting. You take your team, I’ll take mine. It does not change the fact that you, more than anyone else in this match, are the luckiest to actually be in the position you’re in. I’m really happy that you’re enjoying this time with my championship. I really want you to enjoy it. Throw all the lame ass parties you want with all the white bread you can find. But we all know the truth: You’re a warm body holding that championship. You were plucked out of a fucking hat, and the sun shined on your ass that day. Now, you’re the world champion. Good for you, bruh. You still ain’t shit to me. And there’s nothing you’re going to do to change that either. You can boast and brag all you want, but the fact remains, that not only am I going to beat your ass at Violent Conduct, you get a little preview in this match. And I’m all for it. It’s the only reason I’m even entertaining dragging these clowns to try and win this match. The simple fact that I will get a time or two to just punch you right in your face, and tell you that with the snap of my fingers, I will take you out at Violent Conduct. I will let you enjoy tonight, and the remaining days that you have with that championship because I’m going to take it from you, and there won’t be a damn thing you can do about it. That’s all that concerns me. This match? You just wanna act like you got bad partners because they don’t give a shit about you. You got two other champions in this company, and you wanna trade them away. At least Teddy has been a man about trying to fight people. At least O’Malley is doing his own thing with two championships. You? You’re having a grand old time because you know this shit doesn’t happen to you anymore. You know these are days that are as rare a leap year so you wanna act like a big shot. But hey, you keep doing you my guy. You keep changing your twitter name to something cute to make yourself feel good. You keep being that guy. Because soon enough, it’ll be over and we won’t have to deal with this shit for another 5 years or so.
Jason rubs his eyes with his fingers before finishing it up.
Jack: Sunday, all I need is for my partners to not fuck this up too badly. I hate tag matches, I don’t need to rely on anyone but myself. But if the two chumps can at least try, I think we might be able to win this match. I mean, no matter what, I’m going to be a winner, but all I’m asking is that you don’t shit yourselves on the way to the ring and can be halfway competent, we have a shot. Teddy is a bitch, O’Malley is a whiner and Alex Jones sucks. This isn’t that hard.
Whatever. I’m out, fuck everyone in this match.
Jack drives the point home with a middle finger at the camera.
Fade.
Click.
WATCH. THIS. SPACE.
