Due South
I: Monday, June 20,
2005: Trump
International Hotel and Tower, New York City, NY
"What the hell is the point of this?"
I look up from my copy of the Wall Street Journal.
"Just because. For the hell of it."
"Robert, this isn't going to do you shit."
"I don't care."
"Well maybe you SHOULD care."
She shoves a sheet down the front of my paper.
I ignore it.
I remove the sheet and place it on the side table and return to my paper. I sip on my coffee.
This otherwise pristine New York morning was being quickly ruined by her constant harassment.
She harps something and quickly picks the sheet back up.
"Have you SEEN this?"
"No."
"'Ranked one lower than Freddy Phoenix due to his lack of concern for the Authority/Union battle, Avarice none the less has made a huge impression in OLW since the federation's inception. With only two defeats - the 10 Man Tag and a singles match against Cole Christenson - under his belt, Avarice may actually be the top runner for the OLW Heavyweight Title, though this is entirely unofficial. Avarice is also involved with Seamus Finnegan, the man who co-held the CAL World Tag Titles with him as half of the Whiskey Devils. Avarice is a man whom you should never turn your back on, and who should never be left out of any title picture.'"
I look up and smile.
"Well that's rather good isn't it?"
Her eyes and the rest of her body language do not seem to concur with my assessment.
"You're FUCKING THIRTEENTH in the CAL. THIRTEENTH!" She shrieks and throws her arms up in the air, the sheet goes fluttering to the ground.
I let out an audible sigh, and put my newspaper to the side. Exxon, Microsoft, Boeing, United States Steel and the rest will have to wait.
"I never put too much stock into mere numbers."
"They have some goddamn nerve to rank these assholes ahead of you, and you've NEVER been beaten save but ONCE by that prick Christenson! Those bastards... I should fucking burn down CAL headquarters."
"I doubt arson will help," I sneer.
"Can you be SERIOUS for a minute?"
Dear dear dear.
"YOU are the one talking about committing a felony. Marissah. They're NUMBERS. I've let my wrestling speak for itself. I have stature that I never have had before...things are going just fine. With Scott and Bishop out of the picture things might actually normalize which will allow me to focus. I know what's on my plate. Seamus. And of course I'll use him to cement myself at the top. And I have this little diversion down south for one show...should be fun actually."
"But it's not going to DO ANYTHING! Suppose you get injured, then you're FUCKED. And for WHAT?"
I stand up and walk over to her and take her hands in mine. I look down into her eyes.
"Listen Marissah. I love you. Dearly. But please."
I kiss her.
"Shut up."
I walk away into the kitchen leaving her to fume. I hear her call out.
"If you think I'm going to fly due south to Shithole, USA for this show you're out of your mind. You're on your own."
A moment or two later the door slams shut.
I shake my head. At least there's some quiet now.
I walk out of the kitchen with the pot of coffee and top up my cup. I return it to the kitchen and sit back down, picking my Wall Street Journal back up. Out of the corner of my eye sits the envelope with the acronym "MSWA" emblazoned on its top left hand corner.
I grab it instead of the newspaper and re-read the letter which was sent to me, asking if I would be interested in participating in this one night reunion, where I will have the pleasure to face yet again Wilde Tanke, the man I defeated on the last MSWA show - at least the MSWA I was in.
I know he will want to re-write history.
Suits me just fine.
I shall not be there to prove anything to anyone. The evening will be about one thing and one thing alone: wrestling. The fight.
It will be good to see a lot of my old comrades in arms even if I was not particularly fond of most...if not all. Mace, Psycho Steve, Adam-X, Stratford, and of course...Chris Wright.
I grin.
We had a VERY memorable feud. Hard to believe it was over two years ago. How much has changed in two years.
Different stature.
Different league.
Different wife.
My grin fades.
I turn from the past to the present.
That bastard Seamus - I know what he's trying to do.
That bitch Stephanie - I know what's she's trying to do too.
Trying to play mind games. By bringing her out, trying to rekindle feelings or some shit like that.
Trying to make me believe that I am not who I am. That some remnant of the weak frail Lancaster remains somewhere within me.
Unmitigated fools.
For we are that we are.
The Destroyer of Worlds is what he is.
And he is what the world shall see emerge on the stage of the Jack Lynch Theatre.
The woman can scream and pout all she bloody wants.
With her or without her. We shall be there.
And Wilde Tanke will regret showing his face.
This should be fun.
"What the hell is the point of this?"
I look up from my copy of the Wall Street Journal.
"Just because. For the hell of it."
"Robert, this isn't going to do you shit."
"I don't care."
"Well maybe you SHOULD care."
She shoves a sheet down the front of my paper.
I ignore it.
I remove the sheet and place it on the side table and return to my paper. I sip on my coffee.
This otherwise pristine New York morning was being quickly ruined by her constant harassment.
She harps something and quickly picks the sheet back up.
"Have you SEEN this?"
"No."
"'Ranked one lower than Freddy Phoenix due to his lack of concern for the Authority/Union battle, Avarice none the less has made a huge impression in OLW since the federation's inception. With only two defeats - the 10 Man Tag and a singles match against Cole Christenson - under his belt, Avarice may actually be the top runner for the OLW Heavyweight Title, though this is entirely unofficial. Avarice is also involved with Seamus Finnegan, the man who co-held the CAL World Tag Titles with him as half of the Whiskey Devils. Avarice is a man whom you should never turn your back on, and who should never be left out of any title picture.'"
I look up and smile.
"Well that's rather good isn't it?"
Her eyes and the rest of her body language do not seem to concur with my assessment.
"You're FUCKING THIRTEENTH in the CAL. THIRTEENTH!" She shrieks and throws her arms up in the air, the sheet goes fluttering to the ground.
I let out an audible sigh, and put my newspaper to the side. Exxon, Microsoft, Boeing, United States Steel and the rest will have to wait.
"I never put too much stock into mere numbers."
"They have some goddamn nerve to rank these assholes ahead of you, and you've NEVER been beaten save but ONCE by that prick Christenson! Those bastards... I should fucking burn down CAL headquarters."
"I doubt arson will help," I sneer.
"Can you be SERIOUS for a minute?"
Dear dear dear.
"YOU are the one talking about committing a felony. Marissah. They're NUMBERS. I've let my wrestling speak for itself. I have stature that I never have had before...things are going just fine. With Scott and Bishop out of the picture things might actually normalize which will allow me to focus. I know what's on my plate. Seamus. And of course I'll use him to cement myself at the top. And I have this little diversion down south for one show...should be fun actually."
"But it's not going to DO ANYTHING! Suppose you get injured, then you're FUCKED. And for WHAT?"
I stand up and walk over to her and take her hands in mine. I look down into her eyes.
"Listen Marissah. I love you. Dearly. But please."
I kiss her.
"Shut up."
I walk away into the kitchen leaving her to fume. I hear her call out.
"If you think I'm going to fly due south to Shithole, USA for this show you're out of your mind. You're on your own."
A moment or two later the door slams shut.
I shake my head. At least there's some quiet now.
I walk out of the kitchen with the pot of coffee and top up my cup. I return it to the kitchen and sit back down, picking my Wall Street Journal back up. Out of the corner of my eye sits the envelope with the acronym "MSWA" emblazoned on its top left hand corner.
I grab it instead of the newspaper and re-read the letter which was sent to me, asking if I would be interested in participating in this one night reunion, where I will have the pleasure to face yet again Wilde Tanke, the man I defeated on the last MSWA show - at least the MSWA I was in.
I know he will want to re-write history.
Suits me just fine.
I shall not be there to prove anything to anyone. The evening will be about one thing and one thing alone: wrestling. The fight.
It will be good to see a lot of my old comrades in arms even if I was not particularly fond of most...if not all. Mace, Psycho Steve, Adam-X, Stratford, and of course...Chris Wright.
I grin.
We had a VERY memorable feud. Hard to believe it was over two years ago. How much has changed in two years.
Different stature.
Different league.
Different wife.
My grin fades.
I turn from the past to the present.
That bastard Seamus - I know what he's trying to do.
That bitch Stephanie - I know what's she's trying to do too.
Trying to play mind games. By bringing her out, trying to rekindle feelings or some shit like that.
Trying to make me believe that I am not who I am. That some remnant of the weak frail Lancaster remains somewhere within me.
Unmitigated fools.
For we are that we are.
The Destroyer of Worlds is what he is.
And he is what the world shall see emerge on the stage of the Jack Lynch Theatre.
The woman can scream and pout all she bloody wants.
With her or without her. We shall be there.
And Wilde Tanke will regret showing his face.
This should be fun.