Post by Press1269 on Aug 9, 2016 23:19:59 GMT
SEAT OF POWER - Chapter 4
THE STRAND – BRANDO SUITE
THE STRAND – BRANDO SUITE
909 Gravier St - New Orleans, Louisiana
8/8/2016 – 10:32AM
Press sat out on the terrace of their luxury apartment at The Strand, an upscale all-inclusive living complex in down town New Orleans. They had gotten the place for a steal thanks to their friend’s connections. Samedi had never explained what he had on the owner of the place, but it must have been good for him to part with a prime piece of real estate like The Brando for so cheap.
Press smirked, taking a sip of the coffee off to the side of him. That was only eight months ago, but it felt like a lifetime at this point. They had needed favors, handouts, special concessions, just in order to make ends meet. Now, he was PAW Heavyweight Champion, nearly tripling his original contractual pay out, and now Pure Amusement Wrestling was about to go to the Circle Television Network.
T.V. almost always guaranteed more opportunities and more money. It was the natural progression of a product that was in demand, and PAW was most definitely in demand these days. Their DVD sales saw their first really big boost directly following Munin’s announcement on GZW Television, when she walked away with their World and Television Championships.
But she didn’t just leave with the gold. She brought them home with her to Purity.
The internet servers damn near burnt themselves out with all the traffic pouring onto the PAW website. People who had never heard of it, people who weren’t hip to the independent revolution going on out there in the world of wrestling, ate up the wild characters and the freaky locale. What a novel idea; let’s put a wrestling arena inside of an Amusement Park.
As the brand grew, more talent came to ply their trade at this new idea. Many came, many failed, and many went on to obscurity just as easily as they had ridden into town. PAW may have been a potential goldmine, but it wasn’t necessarily an easy place to make a living. Not when you had people like The BombTrax, Johnny Raike, Cross Recoba, Alex Cross, and Stevie Harris walking the halls.
It was funny to think that none of it would have come about if it hadn’t been for another upstart company, Evolution Wrestling. Now that was a true blue carnival, set upon the backdrop of the south western region of the United States, and moving from town to town as quickly as the tents could go up and come down.
That was where he had first met Munin, her hair a tamed mess as it whipped through the New Mexico air. They had driven down from Las Vegas to speak with management, but unfortunately he wasn’t available, so they were directed to her. She had claimed to have heard of them before, despite their having fallen into wrestling obscurity. They hadn’t been seen on a national stage in nearly ten years, and even that was short lived.
They had walked to the outskirts of the carnival, standing on the edge of that harsh climate, the desert stretching out before them to the horizon, and talked. That was the thing that he had found most intriguing about her. They didn’t know each other, held only the vaguest hint of professional respect because of how each had decided to make their living, and yet they could talk to one another like they had been friends forever. He hadn’t felt that kind of natural chemistry since The BombTrax had formed way back when.
At that time he had no idea how he would later come to feel about the woman, but each time that business would bring them together for discussion, the more he began to realize he was falling in love with her. Bit by bit, the wall that had been erected around his heart that Tammy had left when she had decided to remain in Purgatory began to ware down. Emotions he thought long since gone surfaced, and he felt longing again. Interest. Concern. Protection.
Yet with those feelings came pain. Alex Cross was Munin’s intended, and it was obvious to everyone else even before it became clear to her again. Those two had a long history, and regrets that they wanted to put to rest for good. They were going to start over, start fresh, and have a new beginning.
Yet, no matter how many times you shovel new dirt over the old, if there are thorns, they are going to surface. Alex Cross had demons. Hell, Press couldn’t fault him for that, cause he had plenty of his own, but Alex’s demons hurt Munin, and that he couldn’t abide.
Yet to speak, meant to reveal, and to reveal would mean to lose her for always. That was the price you paid for loving someone sometimes. People always think that just because they have feelings, then it’s the end of the world if the other person doesn’t share them. Not so. The world always goes on, whether you choose to or not.
So he suffered in silence. Kept it all bottled up the best he could, and when he couldn’t stand to hold onto it anymore, he poured out onto his friends like Youth and Samedi. People were always saying that he was the surly stoic one of The BombTrax, and his reply was always, ‘What the fuck is there to be so happy about?’
But that wasn’t entirely true. He was the Champion. He was the face of PAW. He was the one who towed the line, carried the weight on his shoulders, and trudged it into a new era that would finally pay off with their product being featured on television. The super marks didn’t have to like it. The locker room didn’t have to like it. Legal didn’t have to like it. But none of that really mattered, because as surly, stoic, and unpersonable as he was, the fans love it.
Why? Because he did what he does, and he did it very fucking well. He weeded out the weak by sending them packing before they ever got their starts. He created villains just by standing opposite those brave men who stood across from him. He took people like Luke Knux, Hungry Jack, Cross Recoba, Stevie Harris, and CJ O’Donnell, and let them push him to his limit, so he could push them over theirs. He did for them the one thing that no one had ever done for him and Youth back when they started.
He got them fucking over.
Luke Knux was able to prove his toughness by surviving it. Hungry Jack got to decide that this wasn’t his type of business because of it. Cross Recoba, even from the sidelines, made waves in PAW just because of what befell him. Stevie Harris was able to build a cult following out of it. CJ O’Donnell, well, CJ got to know the meaning of the word humility when he tried to match his star to Press’.
Now there was Calvin Harris. One more person to build. One more person to disappoint. One more person to elevate just because he stood in the ring with a giant.
And why did it always work so well? Because every hero needs a villain to propel the story. He didn’t choose their roles, he didn’t orchestrate their encounter, nor did he really care one way or the other how the dye was cast. That was up to the audience, and they had already spoke.
“Hey.”
Press looked up from his thoughts, and saw Youth leaning against the terrace door frame.
He wore a t-shirt with a red cross on the front, and Press knew that on the back it said, ‘#TheAmbulanceBrokeHisFall’, along with a pair of jeans and sneakers. The look on his face showed a bit of concern, and he held in his hand a New Orlean’s Times newspaper. He tossed the paper onto the table beside Press, and the big man took it, unfolding it so that he could take a look.
There on the front page was the Bad Moon Rising banner, his ugly mug staring back at him from within the moon, with Calvin Harris standing beside him. He snorted at the arrogant look on Harris’ face, until his eyes reached up further to the Heading, ‘Pure Amusement Wrassler’s jailed for breaching the peace…’
Press shook his head, and continued reading the article, outlining the details of their arrest, and eventual release, with quotes from some of the officials in Purity about the adult themed amusement park. Most had favorable things to say, considering the park had all but revitalized the little town, and pumped revenue into it’s coffers. There were, however, a few unflattering quotes as well, mostly from religious fanatics and concerned parents.
All in all, it couldn’t have come at a better time.
Press tossed the paper down, and wore a satisfied expression when he looked back up at Youth. “Couldn’t have been any better if we’d planned it. Oh, wait…..we did.” He said the last with a wink that seemed to truly irritate his partner.
Youth crossed his arms over his chest, and shook his head. “Are you freakin’ kidding me? It was bad enough that it happened in the first place, but this is a travesty, dude. I mean, I thought it would maybe make a few of the tabloids, but this is the freakin’ Times! #1 Newspaper in New Orleans! We don’t need this kind of attention.”
Press nodded, understanding where his concern was coming from, but having a completely different way of looking at it. “Maybe not, but PAW does. The company’s on the cusp of doing something huge here, and any press, no pun intended, is only going to catapult its success. Trust me, this shit will blow over.”
Youth sighed, and stepped out onto the terrace to fall back into the other chair. “Maybe, maybe not. I just got a funny feeling, you know, like something big is about to happen. I’m not talking about with PAW, I’m talking about in our other line of work. We’ve been putting some demons away, sure, but we’re dealing with the low end of the spectrum. This is Voodoo country, man, there’s got to be more out there than a few vampires and succubus. The tide’s shifting, something’s on the move…..don’t you feel it?”
Press sank back in his seat, mulling the question over, and trying to figure out his response. He didn’t want to take anything away from Youth’s concern, who was by far the more sensitive of the two when it came to the arcane, but he honestly believe his partner was just being paranoid. In both of their jobs there was plenty to be paranoid about, but it was best not to purposefully seek it out for fear of going crazy.
You couldn’t always be looking over your shoulder, or you’d never want to leave the house. This wasn’t the first time that the kid had been preoccupied with gut feelings, and he had an idea of exactly what to do to keep him occupied, and hopefully out of trouble.
“I tell you what,” He began, turning so that he could look his partner in the eye, “Why don’t you investigate? Put your ear to the grind stone, hear the word on the street. If you turn something up, we’ll check it out, but if not, then we focus on what we have to do next week. Deal?”
Youth seemed to like that idea as he nodded, and immediately shoved out of the chair to set about his task. Press took another sip of his coffee, satisfied that would keep the kid busy for at least the next couple of days. Then, it was on to Bad Moon Rising, where they both had real business to attend to.
THE BOSTON CLUB
824 Canal Street – New Orleans, Louisiana
8/8/2016 – 11:42 AM
Less than .02 miles away in the famous Boston Club on Canal Street, another conversation amongst friends is taking place, but this one is much more intense, with its own bouts of paranoia.
Joshua Tsabo and Andrew Kensing stood behind the desk, surveying the men before them with a keen eye for failures. They both had to learn to discern that trait in a man, and no better place could they learn than by looking in the mirror. This was not going to be one of those times. Their dedication, and their bank account, were going to see to that.
They had assembled a team of seven, all with various backgrounds and skill sets. The dark man at the left of the line was known only as L.V., and was a munitions expert and expert marksman who had done international wet works for several governments. Marko, the man that stood beside him, was of Latin descent, and was a former border patrol officer in the state of Texas. His specialty was navigation and transportation. Kenji and Silo were Japanese contortionists who were well known for their stealth and ability to hide in plain sight, gaining a sterling reputation in the criminal world as master thieves. Duncan, otherwise known as ‘Boom Boom’, was a Scotsman known around the world for his demolitions expertise. He could make it look like an accident, make it look flashy and intentional, and make it as loud or quiet as you needed it to be. Last, but not least, there was Moses Barns, an Korean monk well versed in the arcane arts.
This was their team. The men that would obtain the missing piece that would allow them to take the first step to their end goal. Biblical Armageddon.
Joshua stepped around the desk, and rested himself on the front, crossing his arms over his chest.
“Each of you know what it is you’re supposed to do. You’re professionals, so Mr. Kensing and I don’t need to remind you that it is imperative that if you are caught then you maintain absolute silence until which time we can secure your release.” He paused, reaching up to stroke his chin as his mind thought of nothing but the future. “But none of you are going to get caught, are you? This operation is going to move smoothly and unequivocally according to plan.”
He moved from the desk, to step over to the wall to the right of the men, where several maps with red writing and pathways already scrawled on their surface were taped to the bricks. He pointed up at the basement level of the Boston Club, the place where they now stood, and traced his finger along one of the red lines.
“You six are going to enter the old sewer canals here, from the access station under The Boston Club. Marko has already arranged for two motor boats to be waiting for you when you come out onto the landing. From there, you will navigate the canals to The Emporium on N. Peter’s street. There is still a landing, but it has been flooded, and the hatchway leading into the building long since sealed. Duncan, you will provide a quiet entrance and exit for the men, while L.V. will be the first to breach. You will do all of this between the hours of 4 AM and 5 AM, as our intel claims this is the quietest time providing the most plausible conditions for success. Once the basement and first floor is secure, it will be time for Moses to use his location spell to get an exact fix on the item. From there, Kenji and Silo will bypass any traps, old world or technological, recover the item, and then return to the boats where Marko will bring you back here. L.V. and Duncan will cover Moses while he cleanses the building of any trace of your presence, and you three will return as soon as it’s done.”
Joshua turned from the maps that he had been using to explain everything to the men. “It is imperative that no one see you, and if they do, that they be eliminated and the body dealt with. Make them disappear. Moses,” he turned to the mystic, “Are you sure you can cleanse the entire building? It’s a large space, and we’ll need the spell to cover it, and the canal leading up to it.”
The monk steepled his fingers out in front of him, and bowed his head in respect. “We will be like the wind, there one moment, gone the next, with no evidence of our involvement. A most natural event.”
Joshua nodded, and then looked over at Andrew, who wore a satisfied expression. He had to give credit where credit was due. Andrew was an excellent chief security officer, a man of many secrets. The fact that he hadn’t been informed of Press and Youth until his arrival in New Orleans has proven that, but Andrew had also said that they wouldn’t be a problem, and from everything that he had gleaned from his time in The Big Easy that was the case. They were too busy worrying about their wrestling career, and their ventures out into the ‘night’ had only resulted in small time slayings of lesser creatures. They were completely unaware of what was about to happen right under their noses, and for that Joshua had found a new respect for Andrew’s abilities.
He nodded at his chief security agent, and Andrew placed his hands on the desk to lean forward, gaining the six men’s attention. He smiled, and nodded at his fine assembly before giving them the details that they had been waiting on.
“The plan is solid, and if followed, sure of success. If you check your bank accounts, you’ll find that half of the agreed sum has been provided, with the other half guaranteed after completion of the mission. This operation goes into effect August 18th. In and out is the name of the game. If there are any questions, now is the time to ask.”
The men exchanged a few glances, but no one appeared to care one way or the other. Just so that it didn’t look like they didn’t care, L.V. opted to at least ask the obvious.
“Why are we waiting? If we have all of our supplies, why not move on the item now?”
Andrew nodded, and flashed a smirk to Joshua before answering. “Because the 18th will guarantee that any opposition will be otherwise preoccupied with other endeavors.”
The men nodded, accepting that answer as readily as any. It didn’t really matter one way or the other to them as long as the money continued to flow. That was one of the things Andrew enjoyed the most about working with professionals. They had no personal stakes in the missions they signed on for, so you could guarantee that they wouldn’t hesitate when the time came to act.
Joshua joined Andrew once more behind the desk, and with a nod of his own he smiled at his assembly.
“Gentlemen, dismissed.”
PURE AMUSEMENT PARK
Studio Production Room – Purity, Louisiana
8/9/2016 – 4:30 PM
Studio Production Room – Purity, Louisiana
8/9/2016 – 4:30 PM
He shrugged the feeling off as he stepped into the studio room, ready to cut his promo for the upcoming show. He had to do his job, sell some tickets, and get his face out there for the world to see. Now was the time for words, because August 18th would be a time for action.
He tossed the duffle bag down on the announce desk and unzipped it, pulling the PAW Heavyweight Championship out of the bag. He sat it on the desk beside him as he had for the past 146 days, and wondered if this might be the last time he got to do so on camera. He had no intentions of losing his match against Calvin Harris, but what if he did? Would not having that belt mean that he was any less ferocious? Any less of a competitor? Any less a BombTrax?
Frank, the camera man, bustled into the room thankfully, dispelling those disturbing thoughts from the champion’s head. Frank took his usual seat behind the apparatus, and started the countdown. When he got to one, the blinking red light flashed, and it was go time.
The shot was tight on Press’ upper frame, catching from the top of his head, down to mid-chest where he let his hair fall loosely around his shoulders. He looked directly into the camera, and his face was unreadable at the moment his words began to come.
“No more waiting. No more games. No more sneak attacks, interference, or psychological warfare. No, this war, is about to come to an end.”
Press’ eyebrows shot up in question.
“But which one of us is going to walk out of the Pure Arena as the PAW Heavyweight Champion?”
He leaned back against the table, his arms crossing over his chest.
“Calvin Harris will tell you that it’s going to be him. He’s been publicizing and politicking since WICKED#7 that he should be the star that everyone hitches their wagons to. Hell, even I find it hard to argue with. The man has been involved in major matches with major individuals. He took the Titans of the Midway Championship off of Johnny Raike when it looked like the fuckboi couldn’t be beat. He traded in the belt for a #1 contendership opportunity against the same man at Heat Stroke. He’s beaten CJ O’Donnell, not once, but twice, and all but sent him to the back of the bus. He facilitated the epic return of Cross Recoba, and even brought Jack Nomad to heel like a good little pup.”
Press nods, the expression on his face giving the sense of impressed, albeit mockingly.
“That’s right, Calvin, you did all those things. You went from running your mouth about being the #1 contender, and actually went out and earned it, all on your own. But that’s just it, Calvin. That’s the real ticket. You earned it.”
Press reached up and tapped a finger on his chin in contemplation.
“What is it about earning things that you don’t seem to appreciate? You see, when the PAW Heavyweight Championship Tournament first started, all of us that were involved in that understood that nothing was going to be handed to us. We were going to have to earn it. We were going to have to go out there show after show, and prove why we were chosen to be a part of that initial sixteen man bracket. Cause nothing in this life that’s worth anything ever comes easy, and yet that’s all I ever hear fall out of your mouth. What you demand, what you deserve.”
Press shook his head, disdain clear in his features.
“Calvin, maybe I’m the one that’s fucked up here. I have no reason what-so-ever to respect you other than the things that you have earned, because quite frankly your words have always been hollow, and even when you say something that resembles a spine, like you did at WICKED#16, it comes out like a mewling little bitch.”
He spits the last, the mere thought of it grating on his nerves.
“You say you don’t need the Power Trio, and that you don’t trust Youth to keep out of our business, so why the fuck did you involve them in the first place? Youth only ever showed up because it was a three on one from the get go, so that sort of shoots your theory to shit. If you didn’t feel threatened, like you might not be able to cut the mustard, then why recruit Cross and Nomad?”
Press smirks.
“The more I think about it, the more I’m convinced that this was a power play orchestrated by Cross Recoba, because quite frankly Calvin, you just don’t seem smart enough to actually put a plan like that together. I know, I know, a guy like me bashing your intelligence, but facts are facts. Just listening to the rodeo that is a Calvin Harris promo can be exhausting. You never just say what needs to be said, or get to the fucking point, you dance around it like a dog dragging its ass on the carpet before taking a shit. So the idea of you being the grand wizard in this scheme is as likely as a mentally challenged kid resisting the urge to eat the play-doh. If you doubt me, put a jar in front of Jack Nomad, and watch him work his fucking magic.”
Press’ smile is dark with twisted humor as he continues.
“Calvin, you are a talented performer in that ring, and have proven on numerous occasions that you have what it takes to be here. That’s nothing that I’m going to try and take away from you. I don’t dispute facts, Calvin, I reinforce them. But if you think for one God Damn minute that an electrified steel cage is going to send me running for the hills, then you’ve got another thing coming. It doesn’t really matter to me what the stipulations are Calvin, or whether your goons can get in the ring or not. What matters is you showing up with your very best, so that when I dump you on that thick fucking skull of yours there will be little doubt left in people’s minds as to who the real PAW Heavyweight Champion really is. And that, Calvin, is fact!”
He came forward then, his hands reaching for the belt, and holding it up for the camera to see.
“You see, the biggest difference between me and you isn’t size, intelligence, or strength. It’s the fact that if I lose this belt, I’ll still be who I am. You won’t hear me running around backstage crying cause I got screwed over. You won’t see me stepping into the ring to bore the people to death with my demands and contradictory statements. Because this championship doesn’t define who I am, it’s just a decorative piece that represents what I can fucking do, and what I can do is end this delusion that you’ve been living in your entire PAW career. And that, Calvin, is fact.”
The championship is lowered to his side as the camera pulls back to get a full view of the hulking champion.
“So come August 18th, I want you to prepare yourself for reality. When you’re looking in the mirror getting ready for the match, lacing up those boots, look at the man staring back at you and see who you really are. When your music hits, and you’re walking down that aisle, clear your mind of all those fans that are going to be jeering and prodding you to respond. Forget about Cross Recoba, Jack Nomad, Flaming Youth, you’re little fuck tart, Nova Wonder, because at that point they won’t even matter. Climb into that cage, close the door behind you, and when those electrical currents fire, and the bell finally rings, know that you have arrived on the stage I’ve been fucking carrying for the past six fucking months. And that, Calvin, is FACT!”
Press stared at the camera, his eyes boring holes into the lens.
“And when you’re standing there, in that moment, do us all a favor and don’t soil your fucking tights.”
With that Press snatches his bag off the counter, and stalks out of the cameras view. Fade to black.
