Captive Audience

Scene I: Topeka, KA - Monday, February 24, 2003

I've had a very long day.  Edward was up most of the night with a cold, crying.  God knows where he got it from.  I blame Shannon, but Steph insists that it was her who had the sniffles recently, not Shannon.  Whatever.  All I know is that I'm bloody exhausted from shooting that promo for most of the day back in Stanton County, Nebraska, and from the few hours I managed to get in the gym, even if my body does hurt like hell still.

To compound things, Steph and I are going to have to drive to St. Louis soon, even with the show being pushed back to Tuesday.  I despise coming in to a new town late.  I want to be there for at least a few days prior to the show, to get a feel for the town, the atmosphere, and its people.  That way I can all the better relate to the people, and draw upon their energy once I engage in battle again against that Neanderthal who nearly brutalized me into nothingness.

God I haven't seen anything like him since...Bloodlust almost.  He too knew no mercy and epitomized savagery in the ring - but he had cunning and intelligence to back him up.  But I do not and cannot and will not underestimate Five.  The fire in his eyes tell me to watch him every single second and that I will have to throw out the damn rule book and draw upon every bit of strategy I am cognizant of.

My father taught me that reality well.  The enemy will stop at nothing.  How many hours did I listen to my father recount stories of Nazi terror when I was a child and a teenager.  Of the countless bombings of London, of his missions in the skies over Britain to smash the tyranny of the Luftwaffe.  He escaped with his life barely in tact on a number of occasions, but he fought onwards, until Berlin and Hitler were heard from no more.

Shit.  How can traffic be this slow in freakin' Topeka on a Monday evening.

The Duke of Wessex looked at his dashboard to read the time.  He pulled up alongside a local police station, as he wearily looked about, waiting for the traffic light to end its time on red.  Lancaster's attention was suddenly diverted by the sounds of loud chatter coming from the parking lot of the police station.  He glanced over quickly to see something sparkle in the dim light - a gold cane.  Chavez instantly sprung to mind.

Did that prick do something?  No wait.  Oh God, it's Five right behind him...in handcuffs.  

Lancaster's jaw dropped to the floor as he stared on, not realizing the light in front of him had turned green, with several cars behind him now honking for him to get out of the way.  The Duke presses his foot to the gas, and makes an abrupt turn around the corner, and decides to investigate, by parking in the police station lot and entering to see just what the hell just went down.

After about ten minutes or so, Lancaster walked up to the desk where the sergeant on duty stood doing some paper work silently amongst the activity behind him.

"Pardon the interruption," requested Lancaster.  "I'm here to query the status of a Mr. Jon Fiverton, the gentleman who was just seen into the station."

The sergeant looked up from his paperwork and over at Lancaster, who was dressed in a long, grey winter coat, his blond hair perfectly styled and black Italian leather gloves on his hands.

"You'll have to give me a second Mr..."

"Lancaster."

The sergeant nodded his head.  "I've seen you in the ring.  Congrats on your win by the way.  You here to embarrass Five in person?"

The Duke smiled.  "Not at all.  I'm just concerned about him."

The officer shrugged.  "Whatever buddy.  Hold on and I'll get his file."

Lancaster nodded his head in thanks and looked around at the various savoury and unsavoury characters alike which filled the lobby of the small station.  

"All right here we are."  Lancaster turned around and listened intently to what the sergeant had to say.  "Mr. Fiverton is held up right now on a few misdemeanour charges stemming from a self-caused incident in his hotel room, including vandalism, mischief, and destruction of private property valued $5000 or less.  Bail has been set at $1000."

The sergeant looked up at the Duke.  "Anything else sir?"

Robert sat there, a slight grin on his face, stunned yet not quite so that Five would be able to perpetrate such violence against innocent hotel furniture.

"Yes.  Has bail been paid yet."

"Nope, not yet sir.  Him nor that guy he hangs around, Chavez whatever, haven't paid it off yet.  He's hangin' around Five right now outside his cell, trying to work out something with the boys, or maybe his lawyer, I'm not too sure."

The rather rotund sergeant, perhaps in his mid fifties, took a large swig from his styrofoam coffee cup.

"I'd like to post bail for Mr. Fiverton if I may."

The sergeant looks like he was about to spew his coffee, as he gazes with wide eyed amazement.  "After what he did to you last night you think you'd want to let him sit there and rot for a while, but okay, whatever!  You gonna pay cash or credit or what."

"Cash is fine thank you."  The Duke pulls out his wallet and removes ten one hundred dollar notes, and gives them to the sergeant.  After flipping through them to make sure they were genuine, the sergeant thanks Robert.

"I'd like to see Mr. Fiverton if possible."  Once more the sergeant gives him a look as if to say "Are you insane..."  but again, he shrugs.  He instructs one of the officers to lead Lancaster to the holding area, where Chavez stands in front of Five's cell, the latter sitting with his head down, trying to remain calm and clear his mind.

Chavez turns his head and sees the Duke, and angrily storms up to him.

"What the hell are you doing here!  How'd you hear about this!  Don't you..."

The Duke holds up his hand in front of Chavez.  "Please Mr. Chavez, just hold a moment."

Jonny hears the English accent of the Duke of Wessex and stands up immediately, and rushes to the bars of his cell.  Lancaster looks over Chavez's shoulder and sees Five, and walks up so he can address the man face-to-face.

"You bastard what the fuck are you doing here," queries Five in a low, heated voice.

The Duke stares intently at Five, and gives no expression or emotion.  "I'm here to see the animal caged, tamed, finally."

Five shakes slightly with rage.  "If this were in the ring you'd be a dead man right now."

"Perhaps," notes Lancaster.  "However we are not.  I am not here out of hostility, nor as your opponent, I am here as a man, to see what lays in the souls of other men."

"Don't fuck with me you British bastard.  I don't need your observation or your presence here at all.  Why don't you just get the fuck out of here."

"I plan on doing so very shortly.  But you yourself may be here a while if it were..."

At that moment Chavez rushes forward, cane in hand.  "I'm arranging something right now with my lawyer, and..."

A few officers step in, and hold Chavez back, and warns the assembled group that a certain level of civilization must be maintained for the meeting to continue.  Chavez steps back, fuming, but silenced for the time being.

"As I was going to stay," continues Lancaster.  "You would be here for a while if it were not for the fact that I just posted bail.  I believe you're free to go...for now."

Five's eyes narrow in spite and confusion.  "What the hell do you think you're doing.  I don't need your help, all I need you to do is roll over and give me your title."  Five casts a deadly smile.  It does not phase the Duke, however.

"I'm afraid that my gesture has been lost on you.  That is fine however.  The caged animal is about to be released, and in a few days you'll find out that you are merely game for me, in the hunt, no different than the countless thousands of rabbits, birds and foxes my ancestors hunted over the centuries in Wessex.  You are indeed marked for blood."

Five's anger spills over briefly as he charges the bars of his cell, and tries to grab Lancaster by his coat.  The Duke steps back though and avoids any contact.  The Duke casts a final look over at Five, and then to Chavez, who is now frowning unhappily.

Lancaster breaks his steel exterior.  With a slight devious smirk crossing the corners of his lips, he utters to his captive audience as the Duke of Wessex is escorted out of the cell area.

"Good evening."