A small Black convertible BMW Z4 responds to the green light at Bonanza Rd by making a left hand turn onto the Interstate 15 on-ramp leading from Las Vegas west towards Los Angeles. The little car picks up speed briskly as noted by the flowing blonde hair of its driver flapping playfully in the wind. Seated to the right, a hulking figure clutches onto the sides of the doors as the car accelerates, her muscular arms straining tightly against the plastic inner panel of the passenger side door and the center console. Felony Fontana and Rock Rose are enroute to their first match as professional wrestlers.
Traffic is moderate as the little sports couple merges into the lane, the healthy whine of its engine exhaust purring in content as the vehicle is shifted into gear. The driver, Felony, checks her rearview mirror while throwing a quick glance over her left shoulder, preparing to change lanes. Seeing nothing in her blind spot she slides the car over smoothly and safely.
"Damn it, you crazy broad! Let me know next time you wanna play Kyle Busch!"
With an arched eyebrow Felony casts a sidelong glance at her friend and partner, Rochelle "Rock" Rose and bemusedly demands, "huh? What did I do?"
"You coulda hit that truck up ahead, watch where you're going!"
Peering ahead, Felony can make out the shape of a pickup truck rumbling roughly 300 meters in front of them and holding steady, matching their speed of 65 mph. "That truck?", she asks. "Rosie, that truck is a quarter mile in front of us".
"Shut up and watch the damned road! Let me worry about traffic".
With a heavy sigh, Felony shrugs and retreats into her private thoughts, away from the screeching tires, rumbling exhaust notes, blaring horn, thumping stereos and the overbearing thunder of her partner's voice. She wraps her hands tightly around the leather clad steering wheel and settles deeply into the plush driver's seat, appreciative of the comfort it provided. The car, a 2006 BMW Z4 with black paint and a grey interior with a six speed manual transmission was a sweet 16 gift from her uncle Guido Fontana. She immediately fell in love with the car and swore to never get rid of it and so she drove the car every day, caring for it as if it were a member of the family. The Fontana crime family that is, now run by her uncle Guido following the incarceration of both her parents. Although Felony herself was the heir apparent to the family business, she deferred control over to her uncle, having never developed a taste for the 'industry'. Instead she became determined to strike out on her own and make her own way, a decision that was surprisingly embraced by her uncle with a hug and a reminder, "Just remember, your uncle Guido will always look out for you, no matter what", he had told her.
"Oh shit, LOOK OUT!"
Blinking her eyes rapidly Felony's thoughts wash away to reveal Rock Rose gripping the edge of seat even tighter than before, her eyes wide and frightened as she nearly stands up in the car. Easing back down she lifts her meaty paws to the edge of the windshield, gripping that instead of the seat. Breathing a sigh of relief.
"What the hell was that all about?" Felony demands.
"You damned blonde, another six feet and you would have crossed the stripes!"
"You're kidding?" Looking about Felony could see no traffic within half a dozen car lengths on any side of them. "There's nobody near us".
"Hey, who's driving here?"
"Well gee..," Felony muses in a sarcastic tone. "The car is in my name, my hands are on the wheel and you're in the passenger seat".
"Shut up and watch the road!"
Rolling her eyes Felony mutters under her breath, "Oh for chrissakes..,"
"... and slow your ass down damn it!"
"But... we're at the speed limit..,"
"I said slow the damned thing down! Don't make me put you over my knee in the middle of traffic".
"Ok, fine," Felony complies with a gentle tap of the brakes, gently slowing the car to 55 mph, a good ten miles per hour below the speed limit. "How's that?"
"Slow it down some more!" Rosie barks. "You're gonna mess around and get us killed, dumb broad".
"Dumb broad? Hey, I..,"
"Shut up and slow the car down!"
Without a word, Felony angrily slams on the brakes prompting the wheels to screech and skid as the vehicle slows to a pedestrian-like 35 mph. Horns immediately begin to blare as tires squeel in protest after being forced to an abrupt slowdown. Other vehicles swerve into the opposite lane to speed on by as Rosie settles in comfortably.
"Ah, much better. I feel safer already!"
Another car, a battered green mid 70's Ford F 150 zooms by with the driver leaning out to flip off the the pair in the Z4. "Ya stupid broads, learn how to drive!"
"Yeah Fel, learn to drive!" Rock Rose parrots.
"Umm Rosie, he said broads, plural".
"What?"
"Nevermind".
More cars zip by, eagerly swapping lanes to get around the little black BMW as quickly as possibly, their horns making their displeasure loud and clear. Well, that and a few choice epithets.
"Fucking idiots!"
"Get the hell off the road ya morons!"
"Where'd you get your license, a Cracker Jack box?"
"Stupid tourists, go back home!"
Rochelle shakes her head in amazement as the cars continue to scream past them. "Man, I had no idea Las Vegas was such an angry city! Makes Brooklyn look like Mr. Rogers' neighborhood. What the hell has gotten into people these days?"
"Maybe they don't like people driving 35 in a 65 zone?" Felony shrugs.
Leaning her bulky frame over, Rock Rose peers over Felony's shoulder at the digital speedometer and reads it aloud, "We're doing 35?!" She exclaims. "Thefuckswrongwitchu? Are you trying to get us run over? Pick up the pace woman!"
"But you said to..,"
"Shut up and hit the gas!"
"Fine!" Felony cries in exasperation. "You want me to hit the gas, I'll hit the freaking gas."
"Stop talking like you're gonna do it and do it already. We're gonna be late and it'll be your fault".
"My fault? You're the one who said slow down!"
"Dammit girl, do I have to explain everything? Pick up the pace already!"
Without another word, Felony reaches over to turn on the MP3 player, she puts the device in shuffle mode as it comes to life blinking twice as it bring up the first song on its' list. While the music loads she reaches into the center console to remove a pair of pink and white leather driving gloves which she deftly applies to her hands mumbling beneath her breath, "You want speed? I'll give you a ride you will never forget". Just as the opening chords of Lynard Skynard's Saturday Night Special filter in through the Bose speakers she downshifts the car into third gear and brings the engine to a high pitched whine placing it in it's power band. Hammering the throttle with her right foot the car's rear wheels chirp loudly against the surface of the highway as they catch a grip and suddenly, violently propel the 3,000 pound roadster forward, picking up speed at an alarming rate.
To the right Rock Rose's eyes bulge in terror at the alarming acceleration of the vehicle prompting her to grip the edge of the windshield tightly as Felony maneuvers around a pair of slower moving cars. Shifting into fourth gear the engine's whine slows down but quickly begins to pick back up as the gas continues to be fed to the engine. Surprisingly, Rosie says nothing while the car careens down the highway weaving between cars and trucks which now appear to be standing still. Instead, she clutches onto the edge of the windshield with her whitened knuckles, bulging eyes staring ahead in abject fright. Noticing the sudden silence of her partner Felony spikes the ball gleefully, "Whooooo! I love this song!"
For all of the fear and images pouring into Rock Rose's mind, not once did she remember a little tidbit that Felony had shared with her long ago, that she was a graduate of the Bob Bondurant school of high performance driving. A school that teaches students to drive cars similar to her own far beyond the limits imposed by typical driving habits. In short, prior to becoming a wrestler, Felony held a brief dream of becoming a race car driver, a dream born of her appreciation for the design and performance of her own car.
Shifting into fifth gear, the surrounding buildings and homes become a blurred visage as the little black roadster continues to gain momentum. Now moving into sixth, the buildings and homes are replaced by rocks and trees as the pair exit the confines of the city entering into the winding spaghetti bowl leading south east towards McCarren International airport at breakneck speeds approaching a rocketing 140 mph. Rock Rose appears not to notice, her eyes now closed with trembling arms clinging desperately onto the Feloniously guided missile. Felony herself enjoys the moment, reveling in the peace and quiet, the freedom from the never ending sonic boom of her partner's voice. She expertly guides the car through the twisted turns and corners of the highway leading towards the airport merging onto Sunset drive, turning what would be a 30 minute drive under normal circumstances into a 15 minute sprint. Before you know it, or at least before Rock Rose knows it, the car is pulling into the long term parking garage area. Felony stops at one of the booths to retrieve a ticket and proceeds to a suitable parking space, close to the crosswalk leading to the baggage handling area.
Bringing the car to a stop she shuts the engine off, unfastens her seatbelt and hops up, cheerily exclaiming, "We're here!" Rose remains silent, her arms still straining against the edge of the windshield. "Rosie, are you ok?" She asks with a light snicker.
"Huh? Oh! We're here! I uhh.., must have dozed off. My... err.., my workout must have taken more out of me than I thought".
"Aww, poor baby," Felony coos while reaching over to pinch her cheek. "Don't go so hard next time".
"Yeah, right", she says, opening the door and rising shakily to her feet. "I gotta go get ready".
"Get ready for for what?" Felony asks.
"Ready for the TSA patdown, I gotta make sure I got my pump". Rochelle suddenly breaks into a jog heading towards the crosswalk, yelling out behind her "I gotta go warm up, get our bags.., and be quick about it, pumps don't last forever!"
"But I thought you were tired..?" Felony's voice trails off as her partner disappears into the confines of the baggage area. "Shit!" She spits, planting her hands on her hips in disgust. With a helpless sigh she pops open the trunk to reveal the pairs' baggage. Pulling out her own first, a small Hello Kitty themed bag in pink and white she sets it down by her feet and the reaches for the next, a large, bulky, red and gold "Golds Gym" bag. She grabs it by the handle straps and tugs, but it doesn't move. Grabbing it again, this time with both hands, she pulls a bit harder, "Unngh!" but again, the bag does not budge. "What the hell?" One more time, the old college try as she climbs up onto the edges of the trunk, planting her feet firmly, bending at the knees and grabbing the bag straps with both hands. Again, the bag stays put, but the straps do not and the unexpected release brought from the tearing handles sends Felony flailing out of the car where she lands on her behind with a yelp. "Son of a..," clamoring back to her feet, Felony brushes herself off while peering into the trunk at the immovable object. "What the hell does she have in this thing?" she mutters while fumbling for the zipper. Finding it, she pulls it open to reveal the contents of the bag, a bottle of pill form amino acids, a bag of protein powder, a weight lifting belt, a pair of lifting gloves, an autographed picture of Barney the Purple Dinosaur.., "Seriously?", and two, solid steel 150 pound dumbbells. "Oh you've gotta be kidding me!" she mutters, reaching for one of the dumbbells, by itself outweighing her by a good 50 pounds.
With a grimace she shuts the trunk lid closed and paces about the little car mumbling angrily, "Of all the stupid, idiotic, lame brained.., how the hell does she expect me to carry a 300 pound bag! Besides, who in hell carries gym equipment onto a freaking airplane? I bet the dumbass wants to take it carry on too! I can't believe anybody would be so possessed as to want to lift weights in coach seating of a 45 minute flight...," her voice trails off as an idea pops into her mind. The scowl on her face slowly bends into a grin, her blue eyes gleaming wickedly. "Ok honey bun, I'll bring your weights", she says softly to herself. Moving around to the driver's side of the car she pulls the front seat forward and reaches behind it, pulling out a small, pink 2 and a half pound Shake Weight. Felony snatches up her bag and with the Shake Weight in the other hand makes her way into the baggage area of the airport.
The Baggage claim area is wide and well lit by the various neon signs promoting everything from jackpots offered by slot machines to local shows and other high priced endorsements. An escalator stand imposingly before just beyond the entrance and beside it, a small kiosk offering gifts ranging from magazine to cards to batteries. Felony scans the spacious floor looking for another escalator leading towards the check point for departing flights on the second level. She finds it off in the distance to her left, past a dozen rows of baggage racks and a smattering of kiosks like the first one she encountered. She turns and trots down the wide, carpeted path towards the escalator where she sees her partner, Rock Rose standing on the second level by a row of chairs chatting with their manager, Goldenboy Gene Banton, who had beaten them there. She tucks the shake weight into her bag and steps onto the escalator, riding it to the second level. At the top she notes the roped off check in line with a couple dozen travelers already waiting in line to go through the security check and to the left a few paces Gene and Rosie, who weren't chatting at all, but were instead arguing.
"For the last time Rock, if he didn't have a certifiable genius like John Fox for a coach who knew exactly how to use the option in a pro game, Tebow would never have gotten as far as he did! It just annoys the hell out of me that nobody is giving coach Fox any credit. Tebow this! Tebow that!" He sneers with a grimace. "Give me a break! Who do you think drew those plays up?"
"Tim Tebow has the heart and desire to win man! You can't say that was drawn up by Fox too. That was pure Tebow!"
"It was also Tebow who only completed 46% of his passes!"
"Yeah, until the third quarter, then he turned up the heat all the way to 70%!"
"Umm, hi guys..," a small voice squeaks, attempting to interject.
"I'll give him him that much, the kid has heart, but how do you think they managed to keep opposing teams from focusing him? That's right, it was Fox's game planning!"
"I'm here!"
"Oh cut it out man! Fox went 2-14 the year before. Where was his coaching genius then?"
"I'll tell you were it was, in the padlocked wallet of a cheapskate owner who didn't want to get any good players!"
"Ahem, Hi Gene! Hi Rosie!"
"Oh sure, blame the owner for not signing enough checks. C'mon Geno, money don't buy championships!"
"Tell that to Steinbrenner!"
HEY FUCKWITS! I'M HERE!"Bi**h, what the hell did you call me?" Rose demands, turning angrily at Felony.
"I said I got your weights".
"Oh good, I'm losing my pump, where are they?"
Reaching into her carry all, Felony pulls out the little pink Shake Weight and hands it to a puzzled looking Rock Rose. "Here you go!"
Rochelle takes the weight, holding it up by the tips of her fingers as if she were inspecting a piece of meat and frowns. "What the hell is this thing?", she demands.
"It's a Shake Weight, it tones you up".
Gene can not help but to snicker in the background as Rock Rose inspects the dainty little device and even gives it a try, gripping it tightly six inches in front of her chest and shaking it back and forth as she was directed by Felony.
"Keep it six inches away from your face, in case it pops," she says.
"How am I supposed to get pumped with this little thing?" Rose muses aloud.
"I thought size didn't matter, that it was all about technique?" Gene chimes in with a snort.
Unimpressed, Rosie drops one hand to her side and lowers the other holding the exercise device turned television parody at torso level and begins to shake it with and underhanded grip back and forth in a rapid motion.
"Hunh", Gene smirks, "I can do that without the weight. In fact, I have been for years!"
"You dumb broad!" Rock thunders as the weight is dropped to the floor. "How the hell am I supposed to get pumped with this little thing? You can't do anything right!" In an instant Felony is grabbed by the arm as Rose seats herself on one of the chairs behind them and places the little blonde over her knee. Extending her arm she opens her palm and brings it down squarely on Felony's bottom with a loud slapping sound.
"But I..,"
"OWW!"
"couldn't..,"
"OWWW!"
"lift that..,"
"OWWWW!"
"heavy ass..,"
"OWWWWW!"
Suddenly she is dropped onto the floor as Rose stands up and reaches for the small pink bag. She fumbles about the bag for a moment as Felony returns to her feet, her hands gently rubbing her sore tush, and emerges with a set of keys.
"Dumb broad," Rosie grumbles, holding the keys tightly. "Making me do everything. I'll be back in a minute". She departs in a huff, her heavy gait thumping against the tiled floor as the crowd of onlookers having gathered to watch the unexpected show anxiously cut a path for the hulking woman.
Felony looks on as the rampaging she-hulk disappears into the crowded airport and then turns to her manager, who has taken a seat beside the one she was just dumped from. "Gene, I need to talk to you, I'm worried about something".
"Shouldn't you go to the Police instead of me?"
"Not that, I'm used to that, it's something else".
"Oh, alright sure," he nods with a furrowed gazed directed at her. "What's on your mind?"
"This is our first match as pros," she begins, wincing while gingerly setting herself down in the seat beside Gene, "but we really don't know much of anything about our opponents, except what we've seen on video".
"That puts you at an advantage", Gene offers. "They have absolutely no video on you and Rosie. They have nothing to go on to prepare for you other than your biographies. Meanwhile, both Raynin and Gothika have been at this for a little while, so we have plenty of video, scouting reports and firsthand information on them to use".
"Maybe, but what about their experience? Isn't Raynin the Bombshell champion?"
"
Former Bombshell champion," Gene corrects. "She lost it a couple weeks ago, but to be honest that is something you need to be careful with because wrestlers can be at their most dangerous the match following a title loss. She will likely be angry and have a chip on her shoulder the size of Manhattan. Raynin is going to have something to prove against you two".
"Oh great, "Felony mutters. "My first match as a pro and I'm booked against She Ra and Wonder Woman".
"Relax Kiddo," Gene chuckles and pats her softly on the back. "I'm in your corner and I can guarantee you that they have nothing that I haven't seen ten times over. I've been in this game a long time and managed a lot of champions. If you want to match experience, I can promise you that mine puts us over the top".
"Alright, so how do we match up with them? I mean, put yourself in our shoes, how would you game plan this match?"
"That's a fair question, "Gene concedes settling back into his seat. "This first thing I would do is take note of their styles. Gothika is more of a ground and pound type, she's gonna try to get you off your feet where she can lock you up in some sort of submission hold. Obviously you want to stay vertical against her. On the flip side, Raynin is more of a risk taker. She's what we refer to as a flyer, meaning she takes risks, sometimes unnecessarily for the high spot. With her, you want to take the match to the ground and while upright you want to be on constant lookout for the high spot, which could come at any time. The thing about these high flyer types is that if their high spot fails, they can often take themselves out of a match. One miss and it could be all over with, so it's a good idea to learn how to make them miss. Erika will be meeting us in Reno to go into more detail and help you with that".
"Now, looking at our own styles we have you who has no choice but to keep on the move. You've heard of catch as catch can?"
Felony nods.
"Well, I like to refer to your style as catch me if you can, meaning they are going to get a workout against you. You make them chase you around until they make a mistake that you can capitalize on. Hit and move, jab and run, always on the go. You probably have, by far, the best cardio of anyone in that ring so you take advantage of that and hope that they can't keep pace. Rosie, on the other hand, is a bulldozer. She's gonna stand there and dare you to do something. The chances are, with her power, there isn't much you can do to hurt her".
Felony listens intently, a dry sponge absorbing every droplet of information offered by her manager's fountain of experience.
"So what I would do is match them as close to their opposite as we can get. Now, obviously Rosie isn't a mat technician, but it's safe to say she won't be looking for any high spots so if Raynin starts the match for them, I would have Rosie start it for us. Raynin is gonna be running all over the ring looking for that spot but with Rosie's size and power I would bet the rent that she underestimates it on her first try. Rosie would then be in a position to use her strength to wear her down. If Gothika starts it on the other hand, I would suggest you start it for us..,"
"Why me?" Felony interrupts.
"Because Gothika needs to be able to get a good hold of her opponent to do what she does and Rosie won't be moving much. But you, my dimple faced little dumpling, are damn near impossible to catch. She is gonna have to chase you, and if my guess is correct, she will get frustrated. It's like trying to catch a cat that doesn't want to be caught. It will run circles around you and piss you off".
"But suppose she doesn't chase me, but just stands there and makes me come after her?"
"Don't fall for it, simple as that", Gene advises. "Look, Gothika is a competitor and if she tries that tactic, then I want you to keep your distance and not initiate contact. You can tease her, taunt her, do whatever as long as you don't go after her. She's expecting you to go after her because in her mind, you want to win as badly as she does. While it's true that you do want to win as badly as she does, that doesn't mean you can't go about it in a different way. Being the competitor she is, she will get quite aggravated and eventually give up on that idea and start in for you again. Also, I would strongly advise you to stay away from their corner during the match and to make frequent trips towards your own. If you can draw her in, Rosie can deliver a shot while I distract the referee. The first rule of tag team wrestling; keep it on your side of the ring. Your partner is there for a reason..,"
"Yeah, to spank my ass!"
"And your opponent's asses, don't forget". Looking up Gene notices the hulking form of Rock Rose lumbering through the crowd at the top of the escalator and making her ways towards them carrying the burdensome Red and Gold Gym bag in her right hand while curling one of the dumbbells in her left. "We'll go over some more on the plane", he says, rising to his feet.
"Welcome back Rock, I think it's about time we got in line".
"Alright, but I got the aisle seat so I can do my pushups in between sets".
