“When change cometh, she will bring peace at her back. She will not bend to your will; you must bend to hers.”
― Adriana Mather, How to Hang a Witch
Preamble
I take my customary place in front of the microphone stand, pressing the button on the remote, I wait for the light to begin flashing red and then I begin.
“Welcome to my preamble for the Roulette Championship match.” I say with a smile on my face as I spread my arms out in a welcoming gesture.
“My introduction if you will, for those unaware of what a preamble is.”I bring my arms back in, and place my hands in front of me, casually in front of my belt buckle.
“I felt it only fair to do this in order for my intentions to be made clear. So, there are no misunderstandings between myself and the so-called roulette champion. As is normally the case when I speak, I begin using my hands as I speak, slamming one hand into the other for emphasis.
”My intentions at this point should be clear. I will do everything in my power to liberate that championship from the man who doesn’t deserve it or want it. He’s made his opinions of me clear, but that’s all about to change. Not only am I going to change your opinion of who I am and what I’m about. I’m about to change your perspective on a great many things.” I stop with my hands, my right hand still balled in a fist and covered by my left hand. Inhaling slowly, I elect to impart a little wisdom.
“It is said that the only constant in this world, especially now, is change.” I open both hands, steepling my fingers, I lean towards the camera.
”Things constantly shift and change around us. Unlike my opponent at High Stakes Ten, I’m aware that nothing is etched in stone.” Leaning back to my original position, I allow my hands to fall back by my sides.
“I’m aware that there is a constant state of flux in this world in general and in this business to be more specific.” I give the camera a crooked smile,
“Nothing is forever, especially not title holders.” I cross my arms in a defensive gesture,
The champions of our sport are supposed to be stewards of the company they work for. Making sure that the championships they carry are represented in a professional manner. With my arms still crossed I shake my head in disgust,
“That they make the title they carry mean something, no matter where in the pecking order it falls.It’s not the championship that’s supposed to make the man. It’s the man who carries that championship that’s supposed to make it mean something more than what it is. That’s why those who manage to do that prosper, and those who can't….?With arms still crossed I simply shrug my shoulders,
“They simply go away, they don’t matter and they don’t put asses in seats. The reason I’ve always said...Champions come and champions go, there is but one constant...
The fight.
That’s what I represent and that’s who I am at my core.”Uncrossing my arms, I continue.
“People like you are always the same, you live in past glories, so full of yourself and so sure that none can stand against you. You talk about past wars with people as if they are relevant to our match. You know nothing of me but what you’ve seen here in Sin City, too fearful to see past your own window. A man of the world, but you show no knowledge of it. I would expect such a seasoned professional to acknowledge life outside of his own fishbowl. That would be a bit outside of your own comfort zone though wouldn’t it? Too much effort to make sure you know what you’re talking about when you start flapping your gums.” I shrug my shoulders again,
“There is only one person within Sin City that can halt the momentum I’ve started with. His name is not Kedron Williams. You keep right on talking about me like I don’t matter and I’ll show you how much I do matter. Not just to this division but to this company. I may be new to you, but I’m certainly not new to this sport or this industry.” I allow a genuine smile to come to my face as I lean towards the camera again.
“Funny thing about the way you approached me in your previous promo. You started trying to bury me with the fact that you didn’t think I’d beaten anyone. On the fact that my only match teaming with Red was a loss. It’s like when you’re fighting with someone on social media, you resort to profanity, you’ve already lost.” The smile shifts, becoming something almost feral looking.
“I’m glad, that lets me know you’re terrified of losing that belt. My time in Sin City has not been one hundred percent successful, that much is true. That cluster fuck of an event you could hardly call a mixed tag match. So, who have I beaten in singles competition? Everyone they’ve set before me, you’re really bad at this whole occult being a douchebag thing. Maybe you don’t realize it. Much like your unintended irony. Much like your being a Roulette champion, my mid-card status is a temporary thing. I square my shoulders and set my jaw, now speaking between clenched teeth.
“More importantly though, you don’t seem to grasp the status of that championship belt to begin with. You think holding a glorified hardcore title makes you a main eventer? So, not only are you a fraud but you’re also an idiot with delusions of grandeur. This all goes back to what I was saying about the people holding these titles are supposed to be a representative of our sport. The reason there is a limited influx of talent is because you and your predecessor made the title meaningless. I saw this from afar and it’s one of the reasons I’m here. To put all champions on notice, the lack of effort has been noticed by people outside of Sin City. I’m here to make this title and all the others matter again.I make my eagerness obvious as I begin rubbing my hands together in anticipation of the match.
“The stakes for you have never been higher, you have everything to lose and I have everything to gain. Bottom line is, it doesn’t matter what you think of me or my ability, I’ve got nearly two decades of track record to back up everything I say and do. You are simply the next in a series of stepping stones on my way to the top and the SCW Championship. So, a rhetorical question for you, oh mighty son of salem, how many matches did you wrestle here before you got your first title opportunity? I call it rhetorical because I don’t give a damn”
Issues and Colors Part 2
Las Vegas, Nevada
/Scene Opens\[off-camera]
Two-Weeks Ago[/i}
As I rode away from the bar, Barlago, the words of the unnamed man echoed in my mind. My own father had been a fixer for these fucking scum bags. I’ve been a lot of things in my life but not a cheat. I’d never dream of doing such a thing. The only thing that really eased my anxiety was the rumble of the Harley. As I ate up the miles, constantly checking my surroundings as I do, I see them in the distance. They’re following me, either to make sure I don’t talk to the local PD or to continue the conversation. Maybe they’re even concerned that I’d go to one of the local clubs and pass along what I know. Their leader didn’t strike me as the type to give up with just a single casual conversation. I check my mirrors again and I see smoke, just before the shock wave causes my bike to wobble ever so slightly. I ease off the highway at a gas station.
I coast into the pump area of the station. I look at the pumps and there’s a sign that requires pre-pay. I kill the motor, setting my stand and climbing off the bike I smile.
“This should be interesting.”
Looking down I see an anomaly, it almost looks like a fleck of dirt. I study it more closely.
“I’ll be damned.”
I say to no one in particular. With my thumbnail, I’m able to dig a small almost unseen tracker. I drop it on the ground and crush it under the heel of my boot.
“Someone doesn’t like the word no.”
I mutter as I walk into the store to pre-pay for my gas. An old fashioned bell above the door dings lightly as I push the door open. The employee there, a bright eyed red headed kid. His name tag said “Dusty” and he was listening to music from the eighties. He waves and smiles as I walk into the store.
“Welcome to Fuzzy’s gas and go.”
He exclaims as I walk in. I grab a bottle of Mountain Dew from the barrel and set that up on the counter.
“Thanks Dusty, fill up on two please.”
I put a twenty dollar bill on the counter as he goes to work initializing the pump and I walk out to see the arrival of about ten men on a variety of different machines. Hayabusa's, Harley’s, an Indian and even a duck.
“Crime must pay pretty well.”
I muse to myself as I cross the parking lot to my own Harley, my Road King was built for cruising, not for speed. That’s what my Dyna Super Glide that I rarely rode these days was built for. Plus it needed a rebuild done on it to get it back up to specs. I begin filling my tank as about five police cruisers pull into the station. They form a semi-circle to prevent anyone from leaving. Ten officers in total, brandishing shotguns and side arms when they spot twenty one people on motorcycles. I stop the gas pump and step away from my bike before they even order me to. I lace my fingers behind my head as I do.
“You’ve done this before, obviously.”
One of the officers said nonchalantly. Two of them, one on either side of me began to ask me questions. As the others move into a tactical formation to approach the others, who’ve mimicked my own movements.
“No sir, I’ve never been arrested.”
I explain calmly.
“Anything I need to know about before I start searching you?”, he asks me in a slightly elevated voice. I can tell he’s nervous and likely not a seasoned cop.
“My everyday carry is in it’s holsters on my back. My license for it is in my wallet, you’ll find that in my front pocket.” I explain to him as calmly as I can.
He has my wallet, and removes my holster with my everyday carry still inside it. “Mr. Bane, if that’s your real name. You were identified by a witness as having been at an establishment called “Barlago”, roughly half an hour ago?”
“That’s right.”, I say, remaining calm as he continues to search me.
“Were you also aware that the establishment blew up, shortly after you were seen leaving it?”, he takes my right arm, swinging it behind my back to put cuffs on me. His partner stops him though.
“I’d say he is clean, rook, see his lack of colors and them wearing theirs proudly….”, as he nods towards where the rest of the bandidos are all being arrested. He releases his hold on me for a moment and the older officer smiles apologetically.
“I’m sorry sir, the rook’s these days are maybe a little over zealous and enthusiastic.” I shake my head and laugh.
“Hell, that’s alright Officer, no harm no foul as far as I’m concerned. That bunch over there, I’d be real cautious with them.” I say to him in earnest. The look from their leader could shred steel that he gives me.
“What in the actual fuck are they doing in Vegas.” He scowls as he says. “Fucks sakes, just them being here could spark a war.”. He exhales forcefully as the rookie officer hands my everyday carry back to me. very likely what they are trying to do is what my mind screams at me., I muse inside the confines of my own brain. Putting my everyday carry back in place, I watch everything unfold as arrests are made and rights are read. Something about that whole thing just smelled rotten to me.
/Fade\
The One-Man Wrecking Crew and The Hurricane Painted Red
Las Vegas, NV
/Scene Opens\[off-camera]
The thing I’ve heard over the years from other friends of mine who are married is that if you don’t work hard at your relationship it will fall apart. I’m here to tell you, that’s bullshit, if you have to work that hard at your relationships, then they are not good ones. Not good for you or the other person. Amber and I had the kind of relationship where everything was easy for us. We were a great team and nothing seemed unreachable for us as a couple. It made some of our friends sick to their stomach because of the way we are. Our friends are not shy, so we get a lot of ribbing about our relationship.
Now we find ourselves on the couch. I take her hand in mine, there is comfort there. A kind of warmth that I’ve never felt in my life. She is my peace of mind, my safe place and the reason that I work so hard on progressing my career again. We’ve just been sitting here and talking about nothing in particular and from the entryway, I hear my daughter Jules.
“OH MY FUCKING GOD! DAD! YOU DIDN’T TELL ME SHE SAID YES!”
Amber and I look at each other then back at Jules. Amber cannot hide the smirk that’s starting to form. I smile and look back at my daughter.
“Hey Jules.”
She frowns at me.
“Sorry for dropping the f bomb dad.”
She says rather meekly as I stand up and cross the room to where she stands.
“Amber and I are getting married.”
She slugs me in the arm, then goes around me to where Amber is sitting.
“You’re a turd, dad.”
I nod as she goes around me to look at the ring.
“Yes ma’am, you could say that.”
The fangirl-like squee was almost eardrum shattering, as she stared at the ring. So loud that even Amber cringed.
“Fucks sake, I know you’re excited, but…”
Jules, now embarrassed, holds her hand to her mouth.
“So sorry, I forget sometimes.”
Then Amber engulfs my daughter in a hug.
“Me too Jules, me too”
She says to her softly. I step to the side table and grab a box of kleenex and carry it over to where they are sitting. Both women, openly crying now. I sit down next to Amber and grab her hand, squeezing gently. She smiles up at me and takes the box of tissue. She puts it in front of Jules first then takes a few for herself and hands it back to me.
“Looks like you need a couple of these yourself, tough guy.”
I smile and take the box and grab a couple. I knew the tears were falling, I was just ignoring them and enjoying this moment in time. I used the tissue to wipe my own tears away. This moment in time was special, the way they interacted and reacted to each other was amazing. At least to me. I would later come to call this moment, the squee heard around the world. I still needed to tell Jimmy, but with Jules being so great with it, I couldn’t imagine him not being excited as well.
“Have you told bubba yet?”
Jules asked me, and I shook my head indicating I had not.
“Bubba?”
Amber asked with an amused look. I waved her off.
“James.”
I said, amused myself. I hadn’t realized she didn’t know Jules’ nickname for her brother. Jules though was in action now, she jumped up and ran.
“She must need to go grab her phone.
I muse to myself as Amber begins laughing.
“An eighteen year old girl needing her phone? Surely you jest.”
Now, it’s my turn to smirk.
“I never jest and don’t call me Shirley.”
/Fade\
Issues and Colors Part 3
Las Vegas, Nevada
/Scene Opens\[off-camera]
In 2018, Jeffrey Faye Pike, then sixty-three years old and the president of the Bandidos MotorCycle Club, was sentenced to life in prison. His son, John Waverly Pike took over the club and its operations. The operations of the club were numerous, ranging from racketeering, weapon smuggling, prostitution, and drug trafficking. These things all happened so close to home that I couldn’t help but know about them. Pike and his second in command were both arrested in San Antonio, just hours away from Port Arthur. They were both sentenced to life in prison. It was Portillio though, the more dangerous of the two that had everyone in the state angry. Pike had given him permission to declare war against the Cossacks MC. A war that raged across the state and back again. Portillo, an expert strategist from all accounts, was given two consecutive life sentences with an additional twenty years tacked onto it for good measure.
All of that being said, you might understand why I wouldn’t believe my father was involved with these people in any way. That life was not for me, that’s for damn sure. I’d done my homework and of course there were anomalies in my old man’s checking account records. I wasn’t sure at this point if it was payouts from them or from the promotion for championship bonuses. I was going to find out though, and I was going to find out why they were targeting me. Why? I mean I’ve been a professional for almost two decades, why approach me now? My thought process is broken by the old school telephone ring of my cell. I slide the bar over to accept the call before I really even check the caller i.d.
“This is Mac.”
I place the call on speaker, as I usually do.
“Mr. Bane, make sure you watch the news tonight.”
I frown and the call disconnects from the other end. I do check the caller i.d. Which is tagged as “unknown”. I know who it is though, “Fuck you Waverly. You piece of shit.”. I’d done my homework and I knew what I was up against with this one. I was also able to find out that he hated being called Waverly. I dig the remote out of the console in the center of the sofa. I look at it for a moment and realize the news is starting soon. I press the button labeled power. I sigh as the anchorman goes into his introductory story, running the same information we’ve all heard a thousand times about social distancing, masks, and the rising death toll in our country. Story number two began….
“Just hours after the Barlago Bar just outside of Las Vegas was blown up, two of the ten arresting officers were found dead. Shot execution style, according to law enforcement spokesperson.”
That has my attention and I sit a little straighter in my seat.
“Rookie Officer Nick Delgado of Brooklyn, New York and an eleven year veteran Joey Elipse of Las Vegas, Nevada were both pronounced deceased at the scene.”
I shake my head in disgust.
“Killed for doing their job. These motherfuckers have got to be stopped.”
“I couldn’t agree more Mr. Bane.”
A voice came from the entryway, I looked up to see a man that appears to be around six foot four and probably around two twenty. “Your daughter July let me in, I hope I’m not disturbing you.”. I wave him in and turn the television off.
“And you are?”I ask the question although the assumption is he’s either FBI or a local detective with the Las Vegas PD. I was wrong on both counts it would seem, he smiled and dug his wallet out of his front pocket slowly and carefully so as to not alarm anyone.
“My name is Charles Marlowe, I’m a special agent assigned by the department of Homeland Security.” He says, showing his badge to me. I grunt and then nod my head. I extend my hand and he shakes it in return.
“Well, Special Agent Marlowe, how can I help you get rid of that scumbag?”
He studies me for a long moment and then smiles.
“You don’t recognize me do you Mac?”
I’m taken aback, and no I didn’t quite honestly.
“No?....I don’t….”
His smile broadens as he begins telling me how we had met previously.
“I was actually introduced to you by our old friend Maggie Fletcher. She was our Lieutenant in Puerto Rico.”
“Oh shit! Chuckie….I remember you now! Damn man, look at you….”
He laughs a bit and we sit down on the sofa. He regains his composure from us reuniting. I mean, Charles and I were not close. He was a friend to Maggie and that made him a good soul in my book.
“Mac, has Pike tried to get you to join?”
I furrow my brow and nod my head.
“He did, I told him to fuck off.”
He nods his head sagely.
“I also presume he told you about your father?”
My demeanor changes and my eyes harden.
“I don’t believe that crap for a second Chuck.”
He gives me an easy going smile and nods his head agreeing with me.
“Good, that’s because that shit was a lie we fed him. We injected false data into his father’s database in order to put him on a false trail.”
The words he was speaking were english, and well enunciated but I don’t think they quite registered in my brain.
“You son of a bitch! You set me up! My family could be at risk right now because you used me as bait. I should fucking kill you right now.”
He stands up quickly and backs away, holding up his hands in mock surrender.
“Mac, I was trying to get to you before they found it. We need your help to get this family off the streets.”
I cut him off in mid explanation.
“Then someone new takes over the club and comes looking for me and mine. You’re an idiot!”
He quits back peddling and stands his ground taking a defensive stance.
“Now Mac, listen, we have a plan and it will result in the end of them all.”
/Fade\
Longevity.
Credibility and respect. These are things that usually go hand in hand. Especially for someone like you. By the very nature of your longevity here, you have a certain amount of credibility as a competitor. That credibility leads to a certain amount, albeit grudgingly given, respect. The fact that I’m new here, to you at least, that means I have no credibility and am deserving of no respect. In your opinion I have no credibility because the people I’ve beaten are of no great consequence in the grand scheme of things. What if I told you, I was of a like mind as you on that particular subject. For me though and if you can look at things from my perspective.
From the fatal four-way to the number one contenders match, I’ve simply beaten everyone that they put in front of me. They weren’t close matches, I dominated every single event. Even watching those tapes won’t prepare you for what I do in the ring. I’m not going to throw out numbers to you because it’s just metrics. Metrics are great in corporate america where they seek to thin the herd based on how productive an employee is. It however doesn’t amount to jack shit when you’re fighting in a ring or outside of it for that matter. There’s a significant size difference between us. None of that matters though. My six foot six inch, two hundred and eighty pound frame doesn’t matter. I’ve been beaten by men smaller than me before. It may happen again but not at High Stakes Ten. The numbers don’t reveal one very important thing.
Passion.
It cannot be measured on any scale, the person who wants it the most is the one who wins in these things. Passion or heart or whatever you’d like to call it. I don’t sense that from you at all. I sense a man with a dead soul, someone who only does this for money and has no sense of pride when it comes to our sport. You espouse your greatness to anyone who will listen. Your elite status that the world should kiss your feet. How you picked and chose when and where you would compete. Sounds like they need to investigate their legal team and fire some folks. Contract writing seems to be a downfall here. Last time I checked, contractually obligated, didn’t have one meaning for someone and a different meaning for someone else. Of course I feel quite certain that for a Warlock of your caliber the rules are different right?
Privilege.
It’s something you believe you have. From your social status to your status as a champion here in Sin City. You believe that you are privileged and not to be held to the same standards as others. You speak of mine and Amber's loss to the Black Sheep in one breath and say that getting tossed into a swimming pool are not the same. Either it’s more of that privileged speak or your just fucking dense. The other option is that you pay attention to no one you can see beyond the end of your nose. Funny thing is chief, I’d be willing to bet that when I punch you in that nose of yours you’ll bleed like everyone else. You’ll lose like everyone else and at the end of the night, that privilege won’t do shit for ya. I think the thing that stands out the most to me about you is simple.
Arrogance
For all of your confidence, this is the only division you’ve had any success in. According to the reading I did on the championship histories. You’ve won the Roulette title twice. It must be painful to languish in a division for a third tier title the entire time you’ve been here. That’s the way it is for people like you. You talk and talk and talk, I guess it’s because you like the sound of your own voice. Talking does not net results. Fighting does. Fighting with passion and purpose will defeat arrogance and privilege every fucking time. I don’t care if you’re from a blue blood family in Massachusetts or a country family from New Orleans. One thing I should note, the nineties called and they want their cheesy one liners back. The bane of my existence indeed. I ought to break your jaw for even saying that. Trying to be funny when you should be showing the world that you are dedicated to your craft.
A Student of the Game.
Are you starting to get a sense of the disadvantage you have? I’m a student of the game in every sense of the word. As a second generation wrestler, I learned very early in life that in order to be successful, you have to study the sport. Be able to spot trends and changes and be able to adapt to them. To evolve with them if you will. I study my opponents and I learn their tendencies. I learn what makes them tick. What pisses them off and more importantly what causes them to pause, out of fear or shock. What their strengths and weaknesses are and how best to exploit both. Your real disadvantage though is that you don’t know me. You’ve no idea what I’m capable of in the ring. You’ve no clue about my history, who I’ve beaten, who I’ve crippled or why. The one thing that you will learn up close and personal is this. There’s only one guy here that knows me even a little. Alex Jones. He however remembers a very young and brash kid from Texas that really didn’t know what the hell he was doing. Things are much different than they were then. I’ve evolved as an athlete and as a professional.
Perhaps at this point you’ll understand that I’m not just some fucking scrub that they put in this match to be your punching bag. If you don’t realize it before the match, you’ll realize it after the bell rings.
