Departure
Scene I: Friday, November 27, 2004 -
Trump
International Hotel and Tower, New York City, NY
I sit and look down at her, as
she smiles sitting on the edge of my bed. The woman I adore...the
woman who shall be my wife.
I sit and look up at him,
getting dressed and ready to depart for the airport...a look of
confidence, serenity...although I know deep inside stirs a dead
soul...that I adore.
I reach into the closet and
leaf through some ties...and I come across one that Simkins had given
me as a young man. It was still exquisite, made of pure silk,
imported from Italy. I turn around and show Marissah.
Ugh there's that fucking tie
Simkins gave him. I shake my head disapprovingly. No way
would that tie go with what he's wearing...not my taste. And of
course he listens to me...such a good boy.
I nod my head in agreement with
her dismissal. I take it one step further though. I toss it
in the garbage.
That's more like it...why he
even kept that reminder of that rebellious son of a bitch for so long,
after he fired his old wrinkled ass is beyond me.
I pull out another tie, one
Marissah had given me. This meets her instant approval with a
content smile. One Windsor knot later and I'm dressed to kill.
Now he's dressed to
kill...starting with that bastard Freddie...stupid fucking name if you
ask me...Phoenix. I just want to get the hell out of here and see
it happen. I'm hungry for more blood.
I turn around, dressed and
ready. I walk over to her and French kiss her once. This
elicits a slight moan of delight from her part, as she licks her lips
and grins salaciously as we part.
I take a single finger and
wipe my lips as Robert prepares his bag. I know his kiss was not
an expression of desire for me...he shares the same hunger for blood as
me and anticipates the moment he looks his opponent in the eye, and
without a word, dares him to strike for eternity.
Seeing my bag is complete and
ready, I turn my attention to the large
package that had arrived just this afternoon. I knew what it was,
I just hadn't bothered with it yet. Checking my Rolex I note we
have some time until our car arrives. I find an Exacto and cut
open the carton tape.
Robert pulls out each of his
championship belts. All ten of them, spanning five leagues and
almost half a decade. So much success, but yet it pisses me off
to no end knowing how many uncouth assholes held what has eluded him -
a heavyweight or world championship. Including Thane and
Seamus. That'll change, I swear my life on it.
James, my newly hired butler
and lead hand on my Wessex estate, had done an impeccable job shipping
them over. What I didn't know, or expect, was the accompanied
photographs tying in to each victory. I hadn't asked for them.
Robert shows me some photos
that had come along with the box. Photos of the
Triumvirate. Poor Robert, having to associate himself with such
lowly slime for so many years. I'm so glad he's free from their
stranglehold. The price of freedom was paid at the last
Outrage. It was so fucking delicious.
I pull out one of the more
recent ones, of Seamus and I after capturing the CAL World Tag Team
Championships. I frown.
He's not happy. This
isn't good. I ask him to get me a glass of port.
I walk off and get two small
glasses, and fill them with port.
I sip down my port quickly and
look at Robert. He still looks pensive. He's hardly moved.
Marissah walks over and
whispers in my ear.
He laughs.
I laugh.
His cell rings.
It's the limo driver.
He grabs his bag. I hope
what I've said...
She always knows what to say to
me.
With bag in hand
I turn
and he picks up two photos.
One of the Triumvirate.
One of the Whiskey Devils.
I hurl them into the wall.
And we leave.
