"That will be 24.50, sir."
Slash Tannon did his best not to recoil in horror as he glanced down at his purchase while reaching in his back pocket for his wallet. One case of Killian's Irish Red Beer, that was what he had bought, and it had come to almost 25 dollars! He had a fleeting suspicion that there was a bit of price gouging going on, however he didn't think this was the sort of activity to make headlines any time soon. It was all a matter of supply and demand anyway. Maybe it was just state-to-state fluctuations in the price of booze...but damn, this was Louisiana!
He pulled two bills, a Twenty and a Five, from his wallet swiftly and laid them on the counter before sticking the wallet back into his pocket. The cashier cheerfully handed him his change, he took the case of beer under his arm, and wished her good day before heading for the door. He had quite a few things to do in order to be ready for his title match tonight...
"Sir? Excuse me, Sir? You dropped this..." a young bagger who had been working the next register over had run to him and held forth a small card in his hand. "Someone in line saw it fall out of your wallet and thought it might be important to you." He pointed to an old woman whose back was turned to him, and identified her as the one who had found it.
"Thank you" Tannon replied, taking the business card from the teen. "Please let her know that I appreciate it." He turned and continued to head for the door as he glanced down at what he had dropped. Thankfully it wasn't a credit card, or his driver's license...it would have been a disaster had something of that sort been lost.
He pulled his keys from his back pocket, and unlocked the driver's side door of his rental car, tossing the case of beer into the back seat. Perhaps Tannon thought to himself that he and Erin could stick around when Mardi Gras rolled along.
All the festivities, the girls flashing their breasts. Tannon wondered what his girlfriend would feel if found enjoying himself while watching other girls flash him, while she could do it on a nightly basis.
Tannon though, was about having fun. He was a rich man and wanted to live a good life. He also wanted that for his friends and family as well as his girlfriend.
Ah yes, Mardi Gras...
How it had grown from the days back in the 1800's, to what you see today. College kids getting drunk, and topless women.
With that thought, he looked back at the case of beer longingly, then decided to obey the law...for now, anyway...and wait until be got back to his suite here in New Orleans, Louisiana.
He got in and closed the car door, and thought about what kind of flashy costume he could wear to such a big event as Mardi Gras.
"...gypsies". He had spoken the word aloud as he went to put the card back into his wallet. When the clerk had handed it back to him, he had thought nothing of it. But now, he had turned it over in his hand and saw the writing on the card. Familiar, yet somehow it felt like it was distant in his past.
"Madame Xima...Psychic Medium. Personal Readings by appointment."
He sat for a moment, studying the card. He had thought long and hard about the things she had said that day, in the week leading up to Impulse...n fact, it had consumed him for several days leading up to the match he had with Travis Miller. Yet, after he had lost the match, he had paid little mind to her warnings. A title push was coming...who cared about the rambling of a crazy old woman?
"She said the title was cursed," he thought. "And for a time I believed she could have been right...but no title can be cursed..."
But what about now?
Now, the so-called curse had little bearing in his mind. Now he was in a fight for the Television Championship of Sin Wrestling...in a fight with three men the fans loved, perhaps even more than they loved Tannon. That remained to be seen, he reminded himself.
This match...Sunday, April 17, 2005...this was what he been working towards ever since dropping his Platinum Title. Curse or no curse...that title was coimg around Tannon's waist. On that night, he, Slash Tannon, would lift ten pounds of gold above his head while thousands upon thousands of fans cheered...it would be...a night to remember.
Again he glanced down at the card, running his finger over the edge of it. Even after weeks of being in his wallet, it still looked brand new. He placed it back into his wallet and started the car, backing out of the space and pulling into the street.
He was going to be busy all day. The first order of business was a trip back to his suite with Erin to kill a few beers and take the edge off the rest of the day. Then, a quick lunch, a stop off at the gym, and a small autograph signing at a Sports Cards store. Last, it was dinner and a late plane to catch. He didn't have time to ponder over a business card that he had been carrying around for weeks. He might as well have thrown it away...the old woman had been a few cards short of a full deck anyways.
Wait a minute...
He never took her damn business card.
His mind thought frantically back to the carnival. The tent, the crystal ball, her prophecy...and he walked out after paying her. No...he had not taken her business card. He didn't even recall her having one available. So where could it have come from...how could it have gotten into his wallet?
A moment later, Tannon chuckled to himself. Of course! The woman who had "found" the card actually gave it to the clerk to give to him, acting as though he had dropped it. So quite possibly, that old woman in line was...
"Madame Xima. A sly devil indeed," he thought as he continued driving. He didn't know if it was intentional, or a business ploy she used on others. Maybe it was to remind him that she recognized him, or maybe it was a warning of things to come...but what the hell was she doing in New Orleans?
Regardless...he knew that logic and level-headedness always won out over superstition and fear. He didn't scare very easily, and people would have to do better than this to get a rise out of him.
Putting these thoughts out of his mind for the present, Tannon felt the first pangs of hunger striking his stomach to remind him that he hadn't eaten all day.
About an hour later.
What a waste of six dollars.
Slash Tannon stared down at the plate of food in front of him, a turkey club sandwich with a side of fries and a large ginger ale, and realized he had barely touched it. Usually, he was the type of person who could eat two meals in one sitting, but this afternoon he just didn't feel as hungry.
He had been hungry, merely an hour ago. His appetite had simply evaporated for some reason.
No, that wasn't it at all. Things would be like this all week, he realized. It's the same way every time...there's a title match coming up, sleeping and eating can wait a week.
My nerves are shot to hell...
The blonde, twenty-something waitress appeared so unexpectedly that the sound of her voice caused Tannon to knock his fork off the table and onto the floor with a loud clang.
"Is there something wrong with the sandwich, sir?" the waitress asked, pointing to the plate. "If you don't like it I can bring you another". He hadn't even taken two bites yet.
"No, the sandwich is fine. It's my appetite that is having a little bit of trouble right now...".
"Well then," she continued "how about if I wrap it up to go? I'd hate to see all of that food go to waste."
"That would be great, thank you" Tannon replied with a nod. "And I'll take the check as well, if you please."
"Sure thing, hun," she winked at him and smiled before walking off with the plate in her hand. A few minutes later, she returned with a neatly wrapped paper bag and a slip that totaled his bill. "I can take that whenever you're ready," she said, patting him on the shoulder as she moved on to the next table.
After reaching into his wallet and pulling out a ten-dollar bill, Tannon left both money and receipt on the table and walked out of the restaurant. Things had been moving at a whirlwind speed for him in the past day or so, and the accelerated schedule had him a bit nervous. Generally, he was the type of person who would prefer a long term planning of strategy...but so long as this plan was solid, he supposed he could trust in his skill and in his luck.
He had had every intention of pursuing the Television Championship...
This is small potatoes...I need bigger game to hunt.
He had not planned to speak after the match...win, lose, or draw. But suddenly, at that moment, he had felt a strong compulsion to. It was now or never, he had realized. "Strike while the iron is hot," his father had once advised him. He couldn't afford to waste time screwing around with a minor league championship if bigger and better things presented themselves. If he came off like an ungrateful, egotistical ass...well, people were entitled to their own opinions. And now, here he was, within a day away from his biggest match since winning the Platinum Title.
The Television Championship....all within my range...to represent TV and the fans.
"Spare some change sir?"
He almost tripped over the person, half-sprawled out on a doorstep and holding a grimy cup in an equally grimy hand. He paused, and looked down at this man who looked to be far less fortunate than most of the people in the world. It was hard to tell how old he was, as life on the streets could age someone by twenty years in no time at all. But there was no question that he was homeless, as evidenced by the small pile of clothing, blankets, and God knows what else stuffed into a rusted shopping cart beside him.
"Please, sir," the man continued, shaking the cup of loose change in an annoying rhythm. "Every little bit helps, and I haven't had a bite to eat all day."
"I'll tell you what," Tannon said, holding out the brown package. "You can have this...it's a sandwich...that should hold you over for a while."
"I didn't ask for a damned sandwich, I asked for some change!" the man said, slapping the package away and sending it skidding across the sidewalk. The paper bag tore on impact, and the contents spilled out into the street...worthless now.
With a grunt of shock and indignation, Tannon shook his head and continued on his way. Behind him, the homeless man yelled some obscenity, but was soon out of earshot. Yet, the situation continued to irritate him. One would figure a person who hadn't eaten all day would accept food over money...unless of course, they wanted the money to buy booze or drugs. He had seen it before. Still, it was a terrible way to repay an attempt at kindness.
How quickly a valuable opportunity can be lost...wasted...blown.
"Some people..." he thought, "have absolutely no sense of gratitude."
He continued to walk down the sidewalk to where he had parked his rental car, a very stylish F1 McLaren. It had to be returned later today, at the Hertz Rental Company that was part of New Orleans International Airport, before he caught a red-eye flight back to Calgary.
Back to Calgary...home...for a day or two at least. Then, once again, back out on the road.
I can feel it, coming back again...like the rolling thunder chasing the wind...
Getting into the car, Tannon reached into the back and grabbed a long-necked beer bottle out of the case of Killian's he had purchased earlier in the day. Several of the bottles were now missing after a stop-off at his hotel to kill a couple of hours. Generally, the day after a match, Epic liked to kick back and relax with a brew or two, no matter what kind of insanity he found himself participating in. Twisting off the cap, he took a long pull of the "Irish" beer. It was warm, but he savored the flavor nonetheless.
April is here..spring. I should have bought Ice...
Nearly two hours later...
Hurry...hurry...hurry...
A lot was riding on this...namely his reputation, and a little bit of pride. A lot of trust had been put in him for this.
In his entire wrestling career, Slash Tannon had never been late for an autograph session. Not once. But he had stayed in the gym for longer than he intended, and today was looking like it might be the end of the streak, what with the clock striking 3:00, and he wasn't yet in the card shop. He always wondered why signings had to happen in the smallest storefronts known to man. He had seen prison cells with more square footage...
Finally, he made it to the back of the store, slightly winded but none the worse for wear. The security guard posted at the door checked his ID, nodded, and let him in. Tannon made his way over to the table that had been set up, and checked over the prints that he was going to use for that particular session. It was a pretty good photo, one of him standing looking down at the Platinum title after he had won it. The match had taken quite a bit out of him, he recalled...and this photo was snapped at just the right time...before he grabbed the microphone and made himself sound like a completely ungrateful fool. The fans hadn't seemed to mind much, though.
Al, who owned the shop, checked over the merchandise, and stepped forth to unlock the door. As usual, they expected a wave of people, of varying ages and walks of life. Such were the fans of wrestling.
The door opened, and to the surprise of everyone, including Tannon, about ten people came in. He couldn't believe it. Ten people...
In no time, the autographs were signed, the small talk was over, and he was left to wait for the session to be up with nothing but idle time on his hands. Al seemed to be taking it better than Tannon could have hoped, but he still felt pretty guilty about it. People just weren't showing up for this. But who could blame them? Fans followed a champion...something he hadn't been for months...but he couldn't help but feel like after all he had done for them over the years, they had turned their back on him when he needed their support the most. Maybe though it was the fact that Tannon himself had turned from the fans and was just beginning to win them back. A huge match...no less than monumental in its importance to him...less than a week away, and...
Ten Goddamned people.
"Maybe the ads didn't get out in time...maybe people are away for Spring holidays, you know this is a tough time to get them in here...I'm sorry to be wasting your time," Al said, sounding genuinely apologetic.
"It's OK, Al. I'm sorry not enough people are showing up," Tannon replied with a slight shrug. He tried to tell himself that it was just business, and that these things happened...but inside, he felt terrible.
"Maybe...I don't know, hell, maybe they're shopping? I heard there are some big Spring sales going on this week...".
"...Or maybe, Al...they just don't want to see Slash Tannon right now,"� he said, trying to sound as if he were joking and failing miserably.
Well, by God, after this Sunday Night's Impulse, they'll come pouring in. I will be the champion the fans of Sin Wrestling so desperately need. Polar...he cares only for himself, and perhaps his mom; and Feugo...how many fans could honestly give a crap about him? And Miller? Well he hasn't crap since being here.
I am a ratings drawer in this business...I always have been. What better title for me to call my own than the Television Championship?
Feugo, Miller and Polar may make good champions. But they're not me...they are not Slash Tannon.
He sighed audibly. Like it or not, he had to wait this out. Then, it was on to dinner, and then to the airport.
Canada, here we come...right back where we started from...
In truth, it wasn't a return to a particular place that he craved...it was a return to dignity...to valor...to glory...to gold.
And he couldn't wait to get there.
Are You Ready? For TOTAL IMPACT!!!
Are You Ready? For TOTAL IMPACT!!!
