Interruption

"As I said, my man, you've beaten him before and you'll beat him again.  You're the Neophyte of the Year.  The match is a foregone conclusion."

Sucking on a particularly fat Cuban cigar with his legs resting on his desk, Clancy McClean talks on his compact platinum cell phone.  The door quickly blasts open as Reject barges in.  Startled, McClean quickly removes his feet from the desk and sits up straight.

"Just a second, 'Ject.  Listen, Sharpe, something just came up.  I'll talk to you at the weekend.  You can get all the guys up.  We'll go golfing."

McClean hangs up and places the microscopic phone in his breast pocket.  He quickly stubs out the cigar.  Placing both hands flat on the desk in front of him, he smiles at Reject.

"'Ject, my man.  What can I do for you?  Take a seat."

Reject, sporting a black T-Shirt with the words "Flavour of the Month" in gold and featuring an image of the Neophyte of the Year trophy hanging upside down over "Buzzing" Electric Sharpe's face, declines.  He closes in on McClean's desk, casting a thick shadow over it. 

"I'm sorry.  Did I interrupt something?"

Although perfectly aware of the sarcasm, Reject's sullen facial expression and crossed arms stop McClean from even cracking a smile.

"No, no...  Of course not.  Even if you had, I'd have made time for you.  Reject, you're my number one guy.  You know that, right?  I see big things for you.  I know it can happen for you.  I'm here to make sure it does.  Can I get you a coffee?"

Reject completely ignores the offer.

"McClean, tell me something.  Why is it, exactly, that Electric Sharpe is getting first dibs at the Extreme Heavyweight Title?"

"You know as much as I do, 'Ject.  That's out of my hands, you know that.  Sharpe's top of the contenders list.  In all fairness, he should be competing for John Taylor's World Heavyweight Title..."

"Then let him compete for it.  The Extreme belt is one of the only reasons I'm still in this country, McClean.  You know that.  We talked about it.  You promised me the opportunity."

"...and you'll get it.  Reject, I'm a man of my word.  Sooner or later, the Extreme Title will be around your waist.  From there it's only a matter of time until you're the first ever CCW Triple Crown of Thorns holder.  Surely that's something to look forward to.  Biding one's time never did anyone any harm.  Now, can I get you a drink?"

Not impressed at the offer, Reject just stares down at the smaller man.

"...non-alcoholic, of course."

"Sparkling water, then."

"Consider it done."

Clancy reaches for the intercom on the desk to his right.  Placing a pudgy finger down on the relevant button, he speaks into it.

"Miss Connell, a glass of our finest sparkling water for Reject.  With haste."

He releases the button before a reply can be heard.  Reject now decides to take a seat.

"New secretary.  Really has to be told exactly what to do.  Anyway...  Onto business.  Matters at hand.  Shoptalk.  Thursday Titan.  You're booked with Spartan against the College Crew."

"Correct."

"Give me something, here, 'Ject...  How do you feel about it?  This could be the kick up the hole we need.  We strap you to Spartan's back and you'll be flying."

"What?" 

A knock on the door quickly interrupts the developing awkwardness.  

"Come in."

The door opens and in steps an attractive young woman in a smart, black secretary's outfit.  Her blonde curls flow to just above her waistline and she wears a pair of thin red glasses.  In her left hand is a glass of clear liquid.

"Your sparkling water."

Obviously enticed by her good looks but trying to hide it for the sake of reputation, Reject grabs the glass from her and takes a long sip.

"Uh, thanks."

"You're very welcome, mister-"

"That'll be all, Miss Connell.  I'm sure some staplers need filling."

She sighs.  Still smiling at Reject, she turns and walks out of the office and closes the door behind her.  Reject shakes his head for a moment before downing the rest of the water.

"You were saying, McClean?"

"Uh, yeah.  This tag match.  You can really go places from it.  The College Crew are ripe for the picking."

"The College Crew are two snot-nosed alcoholics, McClean.  Now they can go against every belief of the straight edge life they see fit, as long as it's got nothing to do with me.  But to blatantly drink that poison and practically promote pot smoking and in the same breath turn around and try to tear into me just doesn't happen.  When those two spoilt brats step into the ring on Crimson, I'm going to tear the silver spoons right from their grubby little mouths."

"That's what I like to hear, Reject.  That's what the fans like to hear.  You'll soon be a star, my lad.  Just keep up this pissed-off, badass vibe."

"Vibe, McClean?  You still think all of this is some kind of character or gimmick?"

As per usual, McClean opts for the easy way out before putting his hands in his pockets, out of view.

"No, not at all.  'Ject, you're one of a kind.  Anyway, have you got around to talking to the Spartan yet?"

"There's no need.  As cohesive a unit as the College Crew may be, they simply serve as cannon fodder for the dry run of the First and myself as a tag team."

"You mean you're looking at this as more than a once-off deal?  That could really mess up what I've got planned, 'Ject.  The last thing I need is Andrew Excelsior breathing down my neck concerning mutual matters of relevance to our respective clients."

"We'll see, McClean.  So long as myself and Spartan don't tear each other apart, we'll have passed the first test.  Who knows where this prototype team of loners will go from there?"

Before Reject can say another word, Clancy's beeper goes off.  He pulls it out from his pocket and examines it.

"Phew...  'Ject, this could be important.  Would you mind?  We'll talk over the next few days, okay?"

"Fine."

Clearly a little irritated, Reject stands up and marches out of the office, slamming the door behind him.  Reject safely gone, McClean chuckles to himself.

"God bless self beeping!"

He places the beeper back into his pocket.  He picks up the cigar from the ashtray and relights it before reaching into his breast pocket and retrieving his cell phone.  Blowing a series of smoke rings, he dials in a number and puts the phone up to his ear.  It rings about ten times before going into the answering machine.

"Sharpe!  Clancy McClean.  I was just calling to see if you were around or with the guys...  Uh, no worries.  We'll catch up again."

Clearly disappointed, he hangs up the phone and puts it back in his breast pocket.