Excerpt from "Lone Gunman" John Taylor's official GZW2K1Fanz.com biography:
In 1990 [Taylor] moved to Mexico where he wrestled as "El Tirador Emboscado", or "The Sniper" in the Mexico City Wrestling Organisation (MCWO).  Unable to speak the language, he had to learn to express himself through his deadly arsenal, which he adapted from both his college beginnings and from what he learned from wrestling in Mexico.  He began to make a name for himself as one of the few non-luchadors to be able to compete with such athletic high-flyers.  Taylor's tactics usually involved letting the smaller, quicker competitors wear themselves out and then moving in for his kill.  He greatly impressed one such luchador, Ramon "The Speeding Bullet" Amador, by defeating him cleanly, one on one, that he instantly wanted to form a tag team with him.  For the next two years they competed as "El Assassins Mortal" (The Lethal Assassins) in one of the most competitive tag divisions of the era.  They had two successful title reigns, one lasting over six months.

However, Taylor turned on his partner without a second thought when an opportunity at the then vacated MCWO Junior Heavyweight title (previous champion Perro De Cuthroat had been fired for drug abuse) arose.  Taylor and Amador were pit against each other with the gold on the line in one of the promotion's earlier Lethal Ladder matches.  Ultimately, Taylor won the title, with Amador suffering a snapped spine from a particular stiff Taylor brainbuster from the top of the ladder.  Amador was forced to retire immediately and was confined to a wheelchair.  Taylor was labelled "El Pistolero Solitario" (The Lone Gunman).  News of this match attracted the attention of various Japanese federations, United Japan Wrestling being the most prominent.  Taylor was offered a deal there and left MCWO at the drop of a hat, leaving the junior heavyweight title which he had retired his friend for, behind.

The following appeared for download on GZW.com

Thursday, 28 October 2004
Trabajo Prison, Mexico City

His face alone told Taylor that the man was a wreck.  The watering, bloodshot eyes, the runny nose, the blackened teeth.  High flying international superstar Ramon Amador was long gone.  In his place was a wife-beating junkie whose own three kids refused to even acknowledge his existence.  Taylor used to feel responsible from time to time.  He could've done more back when it all started to crumble.  He could've done more for the Amador family when their father and husband was rotting in a maximum security prison.  But he didn't.  He didn't even feel guilty about it any more.  

That was, of course, until he caught a glimpse of the wounded, almost dying animal on the other side of the glass partition.  Gone were the handsome good looks and the flowing locks of brown hair.  Although he was only two years older than Taylor, Ramon could've passed for somebody twice the Rapid City native's age.  He was now balding, and what few hairs he had left were either completely dried out and lifeless or grey.  His skin was just plain dirty, 

"So?", Taylor asked impatiently, more to hurry things along than to break any sort of ice.

"So...", came the raspy reply from the far side of the partition.

Taylor winced, but didn't lose his temper.  "That's all you've got to say to me, Ramon?  You called me and asked me to come down here.  I'm here."

Somewhat taken aback and Taylor's abruptness, Ramon coughed a thick, unhealthy cough.  He reeked of both  stale smoke and even more stale sweat.  "You are, Juan.  I appreciate that.  You've got to know I appreciate that."  His voice was husky, far too much so for a thirty-five-year-old.  His voice exerted undertones of pleading and desperation.  Taylor detected them, but knew better than to fall into the trap.  He kept quiet as Ramon went on.

"I'm doin' better, man.  Doin' real good..."

"You don't look it, Ramon."

"Hey...", Ramon tried to fire back.  He soon trailed off.  "'Kay, maybe you're right, man.  But that's why I called you down here.  I needed to see someone, amigo.  I needed help."

"You needed help.  So you called me?", Taylor asked without any sort of compassion.  "Are you serious, Ramon?"

"Absolutely, friend.  You are my oldest friend, Juan!"

"Ramon, cut the crap.  We haven't spoken in six years.  My name is John.  I haven't answered to Juan since my MCWO days, and it's not a trait I'd look to pick up once again.  You cursed me to Hell when you went down in '94.  What's brought about this sudden change of heart?"

"Okay...  Okay...  I hear things."

Taylor raised an eyebrow.  "Things?"

"Sí, things.", came an excited reply.  Ramon wiped his nose with his filthy hand and licked at it.  Frustration began to brew inside the Lone Gunman.  His better judgement convinced him to let his old friend go on.  

"What kind of things, Ramon?"

"Things...  Things about America.  They say you're doing real good up there..."

"You could say that."

"Not me...  They.  They say you won a Heavyweight Championship up there."

"They could say that as well."

"So it's true?"

Ramon was practically foaming at the mouth.  This disgusted Taylor.  He shuddered and twitched to prevent himself from lashing out.  "It's true, Ramon.  As of last weekend, I'm the GZW World Heavyweight Champion."  He took a deep breath, somewhat relieved that he hadn't exploded.  "Somehow, Ramon,", he went on, "I doubt you wanted me down here simply to congratulate me."

"These things you say, John...", Amador said, scratching at his sweaty, balding scalp, "...they hurt.  They hurt bad, John."

"Are you telling me I'm wrong, Ramon?  Are you telling me that the only reason you called me up and had me come see you was so that you could congratulate me on my big win in person?"

"...."

"Well?"  Taylor felt himself losing his temper, but he enjoyed it.  "Am I wrong, or am I right?"

Ramon kept his head down for a moment, biting at one of his overgrown, grotty fingernails.

"Ramon, you can't hide behind a glass partition.  You wanted me down here.  You've changed your mind?  Fine - I walk."

Taylor was about to get up, but Ramon quickly shot his head up.  There was blood on his two front teeth, and a quick glance downwards from Taylor revealed that it was coming from the man's right index finger.

"You just bit your fingernail right off..."

"John,", he hoarsely pleaded, sucking on his bleeding finger, "I already told you - I need help.  I've had it in here, amigo.  I'm telling you-"

"Why're you telling me this now?  You've already lasted ten years in this place.  You've got another five at the most.  Why pack it in now?"

This seemed to light a fire under the ex-wrestler once famed as "The Speeding Bullet".  He began to beat on the glass rapidly.

"Ramon, calm down."

"Calm down?!"  Ramon laughed a sinister, sarcastic laugh.  He could only keep it up for a moment, however, before breaking down into tears.  He buried his balding, dirty head into his cloaked arms.  Taylor sighed a disappointed sigh.

"Fine, Ramon.  You've got my attention.  Now, what do you want?"

Ramon, slowly and timidly, peered up at his impatient visitor.

"John, it's not that I want something.  I need help.  Look at me..."

Taylor did.

"...I'm a disgrace, John.  I'm a disgrace to my ex-wife, to my children.  I've brought shame to my entire family.  I've been outcast.  Nobody will talk to me, John.  Nobody will help me.  I've got problems...  I'm horse shit, John.  I'm worthless.  But John, I'm scared."

"Scared?", Taylor, now trying to feel some sort of remorse, asked.  "Of what?  Of whom?"

"...Of it all, Juan."

Taylor intentionally refrained from correcting the desperate human being sitting before him, instead encouraging him to "Go on".

"I'm scared of everything, amigo.  As frightened as I constantly am in here, I don't even dare think what's waitin' for me on the outside.  Dealers.  Old enemies.  The prospect of working minimum wage until I'm seventy-five.  I just can't face it, John..."

Taylor almost felt sympathy until Ramon Amador uttered the next five words that he did.

"...And it's all your fault."

Ramon, disgusted at the GZW World Heavyweight Champion he'd for years called his best friend, spat directly at Taylor.  The almost black phlegm smacked the glass partition between the two and slowly dripped down it.  Ramon wiped the excess spittle and saliva from around his mouth and waited for Taylor's reply.  It didn't come for several moments.  Eventually, after uneasily running his thin fingers back through his slicked hair, it came.

"My fault?"

"Sí, American pig.  Your fault.  All your fault.  Parading around with your championship belts and your large income while I'm stuck in this hellhole.  It should be you in here, John.  Not me.  You ruined my marriage, my relationship with my kids, my career..."

"You really think so, Ramon.  Don't you?"

"Think so?  I KNOW, so, cabron.  All of this is because of you.  You took everything away from me, Juan.  I want it back."

Taylor's eyes narrowed.  "What you're trying to tell me is utterly unfounded, Ramon.  It was the fucking smack that got you in here, and nothing else.  It was the overindulgence in all that you did that tore your family apart.  You're a selfish man, Ramon.  Selfish men shouldn't be fathers.  Selfish men shouldn't create life only to neglect it..."

"What?  You're a motherfucking hypocrite on top of everything else?  You're telling me that you're not selfish?"

"Absolutely selfish", Taylor reasoned, laughing ever so slightly.  "...which is why I never married.  It's why I never got involved when the temptation was there."

Ramon fell silent, seemingly taking in what Taylor had told him.

"That aside, Ramon, you being in here is nobody's fault but your own.  There was never any need for another source of low-quality drugs in Mexico City.  Your options back then were unlimited, you could've been whatever you wanted to be..."

"YOU FUCKING PARALYSED ME YOU SON-OF-A-BITCH!!!", Ramon exploded, having had enough.  As if for effect, he wheeled himself backward in his cheap prison wheelchair revealing his lifeless legs.  Wheeling himself back in, he went on, "You broke my spine, John...  You ended my career over a singles title belt.  Was it worth it, John?  WAS IT FUCKING WORTH IT???"

Taylor could barely keep himself from smiling.  "Ramon, if you'd asked me that question any time over the last decade, I would've said no.  I would've told you it was the biggest mistake of my career.  I would've willingly got down on my hands and knees and begged for your forgiveness.  But-"

"BUT?!!!  THERE'S A FUCKING BUT?!"

Taylor rudely turned a blind eye for a moment until Ramon calmed down just a little.

"...as I was saying - But since I won the GZW World Heavyweight Title, I'd think twice about how I'd answer that.  By no means anymore would I beg for your forgiveness.  By no means would I even consider it a mistake.  The way I see it now, I was paving the way for myself for the future.  If our ladder match for the MCWO Junior Heavyweight strap had never happened, I never would've dropped you ten feet with that botched Brainbuster.  I never would've drawn as much heat in my life.  Furthermore, I never would've gained any fraction of the attention for it that I did.  If it wasn't for that incident, I'd probably still be opening MCWO shows, were it still around.  For that, Ramon, I see it that I must thank you."

Ramon began to almost hyperventilate, absolute rage overcoming him.  He tried to speak, but couldn't.  He tried to scream, but couldn't.  This almost amused Taylor, but the Lone Gunman opted to keep a straight face.

"Ramon, take it easy.  It's nothing personal on you.  You know that back then, it was the nature of the match that someone was going to get hurt.  For better or for worse, it turned out to be you.  I won the match and I won the belt.  But as soon as I heard what happened to you, I vacated the belt.  You know that.  That accounts for something.  It just so happened that my not being a titleholder after that allowed me to be picked up by United Japan Wrestling and my career took off from there.  I can hardly be blamed for that."

Both men remained silent.  Ramon took a series of slow, deep breaths and visibly began to calm down.  Finally he swallowed hard and spoke up.

"Are you that heartless, Juan?"

"I don't think I am, Ramon.  Were I indeed as heartless as you seem to think I am, would I have given you the time of day on the phone?  Would I have flown down to this cesspool amid a busy schedule?"

Ramon kept quiet.

"Of course not.  Ramon, I came down here knowing full well what you were after.  You knew I'd made it in the majors, so you got me down here so as to reap some of my benefits.  To cut to the chase, Ramon, you're looking for money.  Don't dare look me in the eye and tell me otherwise."

He didn't. "You're right, John.  I am.  But it's more than that..."

Taylor raised an eyebrow at his former co-MCWO Junior Heavyweight Tag Team titleholder, effectively giving him the green light to go on.

"John, you owe me.  You owe me BIG."

Taylor tried to laugh, but couldn't.

"Juan, you ended my career.  Back then, I was naive enough to let it slide, but in here I've learned that I've got rights.  I could've sued the hair off your head back then."

"...But you didn't", came Taylor's toneless response.

"No, Juan.  Because back then I believed in friendship.  I believed in you.  I believed in us, El Assassins Mortal.  After a week in here, my beliefs began to wane.  A year in, I stopped believing altogether.  I stopped believing in the light at the end of the tunnel.  I stopped believing in my opportunity to emerge from here a free man.  All I came to believe in was losing myself, in one way or another.  I took whatever was on offer.  I took it by the bucket load.  Nearly nine years I dug myself into a deeper and deeper state, and that's down to the trauma you caused me.  If you hadn't been so selfish back when, the morphine and painkillers would never have been a factor.  Things went downhill from there.  Because of your selfishness, I came to rely on whatever shit I could get my worthless little hands on - anything from the sauce to the big H to floor cleaner.  Juan, I've been living Hell for nearly all of my adult life, and all of that blame rests solely on your shoulders.  The way I see it, I deserve some compensation."

That time, Taylor was able to laugh.  "Compensation?", he asked, "for what?  You would've just as soon done the exact same thing to me in that match.  By the very nature of a lethal ladder match somebody's going to get hurt.  It was a you or me situation, Ramon.  Surely you've still got the mental capacity to at least fathom that."

Ramon was visibly sweating, but an almost eerie confidence in him was detectable.  "Sí, Juan.  But the case remains that you paralysed me and, as a result, you're enjoying a world of success atop your wrestling circuit."

"You don't know what you're talking about, Ramon.  You seem to think my success was some sort of overnight thing.  I've spent the past twelve years working on it.  Only recently have I started to get the credit I earned so consistently..."

"Whatever...  But what about me?  Thanks to you, I never had the chance to work my way up.  Thanks to you I'll never walk again.  I'll never earn a living again.  A decent lawyer could even argue, Juan, that my drug addiction and subsequent imprisonment came as a direct result of your sloppy ring work...  With all this success you've been having lately, do you really want a court case pissing all over everything you've accomplished?"

"Are you trying to-"

"Yes", Ramon shot back prematurely.  "I am trying to.  Juan, you've got two options; one, you keep being the stubborn, selfish cabron you've been your entire life and I get the ball rolling on a lawsuit or you bite the bullet, as it were, and pay up now."

In any other situation, Taylor would've acknowledged Ramon's intentional use of his previously famed catchphrase.  Instead, he ignored it and spoke to the inmate in whispers.

"You...  You want me to pay you off?"

"Sí.  Do this and you won't hear from me again.  It all goes away before it'll have had the chance to start."

Taylor, caught in the crossfire of the dilemma, rubbed at his temples vacantly.

"I'm not asking for much...  Considerably less than what I'd get in court, actually."

Taylor didn't say a word.

"I'm not trying to ruin you, Juan.  I'm just looking to get what's coming to me.  I'm offering you a way out, friend.  Please, take it."

"What use is the money to you in here, anyway?  As squalid a place as this is, security seems tight.  They'd be on to you straight away."

"No, no.  You're missing the beauty of it.  I'm asking you for two million US Dollars.  Cash.  But I've already got a guy lined up on the outside to deliver it to me in monthly instalments.  It'll be more than enough to keep me sane for the next five years in this hellhole.  What do you say, Juan?"

Taylor had nothing to say.  He scratched at his goatee incessantly before seeming to crack.

"...This guy, then.  Give me the specifics."

A satisfied grin on his filthy face, Ramon assumedly went on to do just that as the relatively poor quality video feed cut out.