[Mac]

“I was never trying, necessarily, to be an outlaw. It was just the place in which I found myself.” - Hunter S. Thompson

Outlaw Shit

Las Vegas, Nevada - Bane’s House

/Scene Opens\
/Off-Camera\

Even after days since the event, too many showers to count, and a neti pot. The stench of stagnant water was still in my nose. I couldn’t decide what was worse, the smell, or the not a no but not a yes either from Amber when I proposed. It’s hard to describe, the feeling of bearing your soul to the one person who means the most to you in this world. To get an “I don’t know if I can.”, it’s a difficult pill to swallow. It certainly wasn’t about pride, no pride and ego got decimated in that fucking cess pool of a “match” that they put us in.

What in the actual fuck was that?

I shake my head in dismay at the thought of the Bayou match that we had to participate in as our debut as a team. Losing to those two stung, more than just a little bit.

Fucking Black Sheep…

I take a deep breath, hoping to not smell stagnant water again, but there it is.

[/color=limegreen] eh, could have been worse. Could have been a loss against someone like Augustino or Calloway.[/color]

I shake my head, hoping I never have to see that day. I take the ring box out of my blue jean pocket. I open the box and stare at the ring. Only for a moment before closing it again and putting it back in my pocket. The mornings in Vegas were cool but hadn’t quite gotten to crisp, as they had in Baltimore, or Atlantic City yet. I hadn’t seen much of Amber since the proposal, only short periods of time, like prepping for our match against the black sheep. I still got the occasional text from her, probably checking on me to make sure I’m okay. We’re still together, her rejecting my proposal or was it really a rejection? I push the thought out of my mind as my phone begins to buzz. The text message is from booking.

[You are booked against Calloway for the upcoming show.]

I think disgust is the best I can use to describe how I feel after seeing that.

Well, fuck. Mr. I can’t cash in on an opportunity at a title shot eh? That’s fine.

I send the confirmation back to booking.

Fade

Outlaw Shit

Las Vegas, Nevada -”Undisclosed Bar”

/Scene Opens\
/Off-Camera\

I’m the type of man that doesn’t have to go looking for trouble. It seems to have me on speed dial and GPS location services cranked up to eleven. Two wheels, and the road beneath me was what I had felt would be good for my soul. I had taken a long assed ride, with no particular direction in mind. The cool air at eighty miles an hour on a hog had helped to flush the majority of the stagnant water smell from my nose. I’d eased off the highway and pulled into a spot where I could get a drink. It was a hole in the wall dive, far from Las Vegas. I parked far from the other bike’s that were here, a courtesy in my way of thinking. In addition to the fact that I didn’t want anyone to confuse me as part of something I hadn’t been a part of in a long time.

It wasn’t until I went to reach for my everyday carry that I noticed the decal on the gixxer. I knew that logo, I prayed that it was either a former member or a pretender. I loosen the pistol in my shoulder holster, just in case.

[/color=limegreen] You better be playing pretend kids, if the knights find out your in town they’ll be pissed.[/color]

Despite my better judgement screaming at me to get on my bike and take my ass home, I turned the collar of my jacket up and opened the door to the bar. Unfortunately, it was not some pretender, there were half a dozen members of the “Bandidos”, all sitting at the bar. The bartender, an elderly man, probably in his early sixties looked terrified. I took my riding gloves off as I walked towards the bar, slapping them against my right thigh as I made my way. The dust from my jeans flew off, looking like a cloud in the few rays of sunlight that came cascading through the nearby window. The noise they made garnered some attention from the men at the bar.

We don’t serve your kind here.

The big man said to me flatly and without amusement or mirth. I looked over at the bartender who was trying his best to wave me off and get me to leave and I just smiled at him and at the guy sitting at the bar. I sauntered up to the bar, doing my best John Wayne stride. I leaned up next to the bar.

My kind huh. You own this bar?

When he smiled I thought it was a trick of the light, you really don’t expect perfectly straight teeth or a brilliant smile when dealing with folks like this.

Somethin like that.

Again I smiled at the man, see, when you’re trying to pick a fight with someone, the last thing you really want to do is remain seated.

Well then, perhaps I can serve you, buy you a drink.

The man glared at me as I smiled at him.

Bartender another round for these fine, upstanding gentlemen. Johnny Walker Blue for me.

The man sneered at me over his beer, then he said something stupid.

Want me number too sweetheart? Maybe you want me to fuck you later?

I looked down at the man who was still seated. I smiled at him as I took out my phone, his buddies started to laugh.

No princess, I’ve already got your number.

He was struck dumb in that moment. He just looked at me like a doe does before it gets hit by a car.

See, you already violated the golden rule my friend. If you’re going to start shit with someone you don’t know. The last thing you should do is remain seated.

That’s when he tried to stand up.

We ain’t….arg….god...that...hurt

As soon as he had tried to stand, I buried the heel of my cowboy boot on the side of his knee. It folded up nicely. Then I slammed his face into the bar on his way to the floor. The other five were drunkenly trying to get out of the chairs at the bar. They were doing a bad job of it as well. I just shoved the closest one and down they went like a drunken domino tower.

Barkeep, now would be a good time to call the cops.

With the commotion, that was all the barkeep needed as he ducked down behind the bar and called nine one one. They were all ready to fight, all six of them until my .45 cleared its holster. Evidently a few of these boys were ex-military and immediately recognized the nineteen eleven A that I was carrying. Once they settled down, I put my pistol back in it’s holster. The cops showed up to find all six of them seated on the floor.

The bartender told the police about the harassment by the group and what I’d done in order to get them calmed down. He kept saying…

“Damndest thing I’ve ever seen…”

I did finally get my drink though. The poor barkeep offered me the entire bottle of Johnny Walker Blue for what I’d done.

Thanks, I appreciate it.

If he had money to throw away like that, I mean who am I to argue. They began leading the group out of the bar.

Maybe you ain’t cut out for this outlaw shit boys. You should probably find another means of making money. I hear Walmart is hiring.

I say with sarcasm dripping from my voice. A string of profanity by the group as they were being forced out of the bar by the local police. I laughed, and so did the bartender.

Fade.

The Promo

In-Studio

/Scene Opens\
/On-Camera\

Leaning back in the mesh-backed office chair, I roll up my sleeves as I prepare to cut my promo for Sin City Wrestling. My shoulder length hair hangs loosely as I look down at my ripped jeans and cowboy boots. I finally finish rolling my sleeves up and I stand up to my full height.

When I beat...oh...what the hell was his name….guess it doesn’t matter. When I became the number one contender for the Roulette Championship. O’mally had the balls to walk out there and tell me that I had to earn my shot. To make matters worse, I don’t even get to face that jackass for the belt. All that flappin your gums and you can’t even defend the title?

Dafuq is wrong with you.

It’s rhetorical

If you’re keeping score at home, that means it requires no answer.

Thinking to myself, I really need to send Amber a text, I need to talk to her.

None of that matters now. The tag team loss to the black sheet? Ancient history. This week, go home show, it’s me and you Calloway.

I scratch at my beard for a moment, then smoothing it out I continue.

See, Stevo is one of those people who likes to think of himself as a contender for the Sin City Title. That’s what he said prior to the last match he was in, isn’t it? A ladder match. All you had to do was keep Austin Mercer or Augustino off that ladder in order to secure a prize for yourself. A shot at the title. You simply couldn’t manage that. So, now, It’s Mercer with the title shot and you get to be my warm up.

I smile at the camera knowing how much he hates hearing that. No man wants to be regarded as nothing more than a tune up for another guy getting a title shot.

You were so focused on the Covid outbreak, I think you spent more time on that than talking about your opponents. I suppose it’s understandable, being so far from home and missing the comforts of home. I would say I feel your pain but I don’t.

I maintain my smile as I sit back down. I lean forward slightly, resting my elbows on my knees.

I refuse to live in constant fear, of course, when you’ve died twice in your life it kind of goes without saying. I fear nothing Calloway. I have no reason to.

I allow the smile to fade from my face. Drawing my hair back into a ponytail, I rub the scar that shows on the display.

Kandahar, Afghanistan in nineteen ninety four. The navy medic who patched me up thought I was dead, they say I had no pulse.

I undo the top three snaps on my shirt. Moving the left side of the shirt further to the left. The start of a scar shows on the camera.

Dallas, Texas in nineteen ninety six. I’ll spare the details but that scar runs from my collar bone down to my navel. A maniac with a machete tried to end my life over a poker hand.

I move it back and refasten my shirt.

[/color=limegreen] So, if you don’t like the fact that I don’t think much of you or your ability to talk the talk  and walk the walk. Maybe that will shed a little light on it. Those men who tried to kill me, told me they were going to do just that. They failed.[/color]

My smile is completely gone now, replaced by nothing that would indicate any kind of good nature. My face hardens around my eyes and I set my jaw.
When I watched your promo for that last match...I thought...wow. I don’t mean wow, like I was blown away. I mean wow, what a pathetic piece of garbage you are. Six month plan? Fucks sake dude. I don’t think you’ll last six minutes in the ring with me. How the hell will you ever challenge for a Sin City title match?

I shake my head in disgust.

The mighty Stevie Calloway trying to turn over a new leaf by eliciting sympathy from the Sin City faithful? Hey Steve, you can find “Sympathy” in the dictionary, somewhere between shit and syphilis. Seriously broh, be a man, fight the fight. If you want to go home, go the fuck home.

Fade