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Back In Business, Part I

BWade

Grandma Took Me Home
Joined
Jan 31, 2004
Messages
589
Points
16
Age
39
Location
SC
Website
swordgang.com
“Holy ****! You did it … YOU unbelievable bastard, you DID IT!” shouts Jackson Klein back stage just after the conclusion of Gold Rush.

Not the time, nor the place … to hear the incessant ramblings of your attorney after a five ring, forty man battle royal. Especially when he shows up with full camera crew in tail. Kevin had been getting his things together and getting ready to head out but now patience would prove to be harder to hold on to then the ring rope hours before.

“Well, I mean … not as if I ever doubted you, of course.” Klein adds.

“Is all this necessary Klein?” Kevin questions in a low growl.

“Of course, of course … this is Super Bowl eleven right now! Here is where you say you’re going to Disney World! It’s TV gold Kevin!” Klein fires back with a slick Hollywood publicists’ tone.

Kevin, confused, poses yet another question filled with frustration and general distaste; “Why would I do such a thing, Klein?”

“Well because it’s a pop culture kind of … eh, never mind. The point is we need that fresh off the mat, fresh from the field, right off the track, sitting in the winners circle kind of thing. You know …” Klein insists.

“No, no … not sure much. I’m tired, and sore … all I want is to get a drink and go relax.” Kevin responds slowly.

Klein snaps back, “Whoa, whoa … hold on we have to celebrate, I mean come on … I hear everyone is going to this Zieba’s or whatever it’s called … some local place.”

Kevin has never been much for crowds. The closest thing to a family he has ever had was the group of miscreants in the MWC known then by the moniker … Manifest Destiny.

And just as the historical catch phrase of which its name was taken … that too had become ancient history.

Kevin dealt with few people in his day to day life. Outside of the liquor store attendant from town to town and his attorney Jackson Klein; Kevin’s interaction with people became limited mostly to his in ring opponents. And in all actuality … he didn’t really mind.

“Klein, what about me makes you think I want to go to a bar with anyone from this place… including you? Just call me tomorrow and let me know what's next, and where.” Kevin tells Jackson.

“Well, actually that was half of the reason I’m here. Check it out, Chapel Hill is next. I can’t be there for this one so I’m-a-need you to stay on top of things.

You’ve got Simon Alvin …or Alex Theodore in a under card bout. It’s a title defense … just that quick! He placed decently in the Gold Rush. I think he was in the last ten or so … squarely guy, brains over brawn, I’m super smart kind of thing …”

Interrupting Kevin says, “I know who you’re talking about.”

“Ok, well I don’t think you should have any trouble … keep in mind, loose the title … you may loose your spot before the ink is dry on that contract. I’ll be working on that throughout the week to make sure everything is finalized.

But I NEED you to put in some work this week … promotional spots, interviews the whole deal … Gold Rush is over, you can’t hide behind the hype any longer. You HAVE to make this work this time.” Klein lectures.

Kevin was hardly listening. He heard S.A.T., Chapel Hill, and title defense. That was enough … for him at least.

By this time he had slung most everything in his bag, removed the tape from his wrist and hands, loosened his boots, and was ready to go.

“I mean, you have to keep in mind…” Klein pauses for a moment as Kevin gets up to leave. He quickly switches gears as he senses his client’s patience much like the grip on the ring rope has started to wear thin.

“Hey, well … while we have the camera here all read to go and every thing … why not get a head start? Anything you’d like to say to Simon?” Klein asks.

Kevin looks at Klein as he shrugs his shoulders back at Kevin.

“Yeah, I do” Kevin replies, which comes as a great surprise to Klein. Kevin growls simply … and ever so eloquently…

“Bite me …”

Kevin walks off toward the back door lighting a cigarette. The camera swings to a disappointed Klein as the attorney walks away.
 

BWade

Grandma Took Me Home
Joined
Jan 31, 2004
Messages
589
Points
16
Age
39
Location
SC
Website
swordgang.com
Back In Business, Part II (The Mourning After)

The most annoying sound in the entire world has to be the alarm clock. Most people would probably agree … and at exactly 10:30 am; the day after Gold Rush … a tired, grumpy, and slightly hung over Kevin Watson would whole heartily agree.

Kevin slides out of the cheap motel’s lumpy excuse for a mattress … although anything beats Jackson Klein’s office floor, Kevin’s gowns and stiff movements show clearly he doesn’t appreciate the upgrade … that much.

At 10:30 in the mourning, save screaming babies or noisy neighbors, the next most annoying sound would have to be the piercing jingle of the bed side telephone. And once again Kevin Watson would have to agree this mourning.

Kevin snatches the receiver off the hook half way out of bed, and growls “Hello.”

Jackson Klein, would probably agree with all the aforementioned sounds … yet surely the time would be four to five hours earlier for a man in his position.

By this time, Klein has been at his desk for hours, and is quickly approaching the beloved lunch hour … where as Kevin hasn’t even given a thought toward breakfast yet.

“Kevin? Hey … you there?” Klein asks cheerfully from the other side.

Kevin, clearing his throat, squeezes out a “…what?” with both eye’s still half shut.

“I just wanted to make sure your up and at ‘em … as they say. You’ve got thirty minutes till check out time buddy! I left a ticket to Chapel Hill for you at the front desk, under Watson … don’t forget to pick it up.” Klein informs Kevin.

Kevin, barley listening, responds back with a half assed, “Alright.”

“Now, the bus doesn’t leave out until around nine tonight, so in the mean time I’ve set up a shoot for you … all the information is at the front desk along with you ticket. When you get there make sure you check out the promo that Simon cut … and give a response of sorts … we need everyone to remember who you are … to stay relevant you have to stay in the public eye!’ Klein rambles on.

Kevin stands from the bed and reaches for his pants, and slips them on while hold the receiver to his ear with his shoulder.

“Kevin … you still there?” Klein asks.

“ … yeah, I’m here, I’m listening… could we speed this up the liquor store open at eleven.” Kevin states just before pulling a shirt over his head.

A frustrated Klein starting in on Kevin, “We went over this … ah, forget it … well discuss this later … right now I need you to get back over to Merritt Arena and shoot this promotional spot before the crew packs up and leaves … I was hoping to get you in there before they tore down the rings.”

Kevin replies as he puts his jacket on, “Yeah, alright … I got it, I got it … bus pass, chipmunks, promo, rings … I’m with ya’ one hundred percent. Just cool out …”

Kevin grabs his bag and drops the phone to the bed and heads for the door as Klein continues on…

“Ok, ok … so when you get done with Chapel Hill, I’ll have a ticket waiting and I need you to shoot down to Charleston … Columbia is the next date and that’s only about an hour and a half to two hours from me … while you’re here we need to…” Klein pauses hearing the door slam he suddenly senses they’re might not be anyone on the other end of the phone …”Hello? Kevin? … Kevin? Son of a…”

“Loraine, get me Merritt arena on the phone…” can be heard faintly as Klein slams down the receiver.
 

BWade

Grandma Took Me Home
Joined
Jan 31, 2004
Messages
589
Points
16
Age
39
Location
SC
Website
swordgang.com
Back to Business, Part II ½ (Promotional Spot)

The ring crew worked feverishly to restore Merritt Arena back to normal after Gold Rush. Weighing heavy on everyone’s mind was the next show in Chapel Hill and the fact that the CSWA’s television contract all but depends on its success.

Watching from on high … in the farthest seats from the floor sits Kevin Watson … classic dress, classic scowl …and notorious flask. Sunk in his seat, feet propped on the back rest in front of him; he smokes a cigarette and sips from the aforementioned flask.

The Greensboro title lay at his feet; draped over the same seat just one row down.

Kevin takes a drag and then lets his arm fall near lifelessly back down to the arm rest as he stares down toward the remnants of the five rings that formed the massive undertaking known as the Ultimate Gold Rush.

A few moments have passed, and dramatic … or just plain apathetic effect appear to be sufficient Kevin begins to speak … almost to himself … never looking directly into the camera lenses.

“I would say … this takes me back.

That is of course if I could honestly say I could remember any of my time in the CSWA … between the drinking, the chair shots … Miso’s insatiable appetite for throwing fire in the faces of other human beings, and the hundreds of other roads, drinks, towns and blows to the head.

Now … amazingly enough … I’ve managed to some how not only stumble upon a second chance … but also make good of it, and walk out the Greensboro Champion.”

Kevin drags his cigarette and again pauses for which ever particular effect he is trying for.

“Last time around I must have said it ten times … and at the risk of becoming a redundant asshole kin to the likes of Troy, JA, or my next opponent …

The more things change, the more they seem to stay the same.

I’m a champion now … Sitting at the bottom of the very top … yet the top none the less.

I was one of the last three men left in the entire dance out of forty some odd men and five rings. And I feel half decent today…

… yet still … my knee’s are done, my back is **** and at the end of the night it’s a guarantee that I’ll be drunk and laid back in some hotel bar somewhere.

Once over … The names change … but the egos’, the balls’, and overall stupidly and general ignorance always stays the same.

This time it’s the illegitimate love child of Bill Nye and JJ Deville… I’m not really sure what the kids deal is but it’s of no concern. A fight is a fight, and this fight is just one more night held over from a possible boot out of the CSWA.”

Kevin drags his cigarette, and takes a look at it. With only one small hit left to go, he finishes it off and drops it to the floor. A small ribbon of smoke wafts up past Kevin toward the ceiling as the butt begins to burn.

“So, this is my ‘promo’ in all its grandeur … Simon, I’m not gonna say I’m gonna do this, and I’m gonna do that … There is no need, but I will leave you with one parting comment …”

Kevin turns to the camera.

“What is a “Y’s” tail?”

Kevin takes one last sip from his flask, and takes to his feet. The camera pans up to stay head level and follows behind him as he takes the long walk down the cement stairs on his way to the exit.

Fade.
 

BWade

Grandma Took Me Home
Joined
Jan 31, 2004
Messages
589
Points
16
Age
39
Location
SC
Website
swordgang.com
Back In Business, Part III (I Drink There For I Am)

The bus was certainly Kevin’s least favorite form of transportation but normally the only type that would fit into his budget. The ride wasn’t bad; it wasn’t even that long …

…hell, he slept threw most of it; yet some how he was still in a sour mood over it. As if the amount of break/stops the driver wished to make was all somehow Jackson Klein’s fault, or the CSWA’s … or who the hell knows.

More times then none he rather just be mad …with reason or without.

He found the motel room Klein had booked for him, but the check in wasn’t for nearly another twelve hours.

So, Kevin did - what Kevin does …

“Jimmy’s Pub II” blinked a bright red neon sign just above a worn metal door, and after a brief walk threw a gravel parking lot Kevin reached forward and opened this door to step into this ‘fine establishment.’

The interior was familiar … as it was the same as every other whole in the wall across the country. Painted cement floor, stupid **** all over the walls, and too many TV’s for anyone person to ever watch.

Kevin brushed across the dusty floor and took a seat at the bar.

“How’s it going?” the bartender shouts from the other end of the bar.

Kevin just nods, and turns around to double check his surroundings. Business isn’t necessarily booming in this location tonight but there are a handful of patrons scattered about the establishment.

“What’ll it be?” the bartender asks, now directly in front of Kevin.

Kevin whips back around, as if caught by surprise; being the voice had become so close without his knowing.

“Ah, Brandy if you got it?” Kevin asks with hint of doubt.

‘We got Christian Brothers.”

“That’ll do, let me get a Red Bull too” Kevin confirms, and then adds.

“Startin’ a tab?”

“Go for it.”

Kevin’s liquor preference has flipped back and forth quite a bit over the years. Taste would kindly ask for Jack, Beam … or even Crown. His pockets on the other hand would bitterly demand Takka, Evan Williams … or some other ungodly bottom shelf fire water. So normally he found himself middle of the road between taste, quality – price, and quantity. Middle shelf brandies such as Christian Brothers or E&J seemed to suffice well.

“Just holler if you need anything, kitchen closes in about thirty,” the bartender informs.

Bar food … a preverbal Taste of the Nation, in a much less desirable package. Half cooked … food poisoning cometh … hot wings, coupled with two week old sliced celery stocks and ranch dressing that featured just as many chunks as the traditional blue cheese accompaniment; all slung in red baskets lined with wax paper featuring the loveliest NASCAR-esque checker pattern.

Not to mention anything that can be deep fried to a golden brown hue, or served up cheap.

Though disgusting Kevin, a glutton for punishment, could never help himself … those wings are all too tempting. In his glory days even when the money was right … he still seemed to eat on a construction workers budget.

On this night … as he searches his pockets … its clear …

… drink or eat … and the ‘want’ to self medicate over takes the need to eat as usual.

Kevin sits sipping his drink and thinks back to better times, or yesterday … or whatever a thirty year old has been thinks about. And before he can finish his first drink the bartender slams down a new one in front of him, this time accompanied by a old favorite; Heineken.

“I like the eager service pal, but I didn’t order the beer …”

The bartender informs Kevin, “You didn’t order the drink either, Crown on the Rocks … compliments of the gentleman at the end of the bar.”

The bartender turns toward his register as Kevin looks down the bar to find just a empty beer bottle and smoldering cigarette.

“What guy?” Kevin questions the bartender.

The bar tender looks back toward Kevin, and then toward the empty bottle. “I guess he left, or maybe he went to the bathroom.” The bartender could care less and returns to his register.

Kevin, confused, just grunts and takes to sipping back the new drink, and beer.

This was odd, but not truly uncommon … although the drinks were two of Kevin’s old favorites; it was probably just a lucky guess from a fan on his way out the door. A fan, who wished to tip his hat so to speak, but not actually speak.

Which Kevin did not mind.

Several moments went by as Kevin polished off the liquor drink and set in souly on the beer when a fresh steaming basket of hot wings slid in front of him.

“See, I told you he was probably in the bathroom …” looking up, “Wait, hold on … I swear to God he was just there.” The bartender said astonished.

“What the **** is going on? Huh?” Kevin raised his voice. “What kind of place is this? A man can’t have a god damn drink without a ****ing mystery man ducking in an out of the building?” Kevin shouts as he slings the hot wings toward the bar tender. “What the hell is going on?”

Kevin jumped from his seat and stormed into the men’s bathroom in search of this strange, yet generous man.

He slings open the door and immediately begins to check the stalls kicking in each of the three blue fiberglass doors in. The doors swing open and slam the inside of the stall to reveal nothing …

…and no one.

Kevin turns to leave the bathroom when the mirror catches his eye and he stops. Scrolled across the mirror in some type of black substance reads;

“The least of things with a meaning is worth more in life than the greatest of things without it.”

Kevin storms out of the bathroom and back to the bar, he tosses some cash next to his empty glasses and makes a hurried exit out the same metal door that first granted his entrance to this troubling night.
 

BWade

Grandma Took Me Home
Joined
Jan 31, 2004
Messages
589
Points
16
Age
39
Location
SC
Website
swordgang.com
Back In Business, Part III ½ (Promotional Spot/The Writing on The Wall)

At the request of Jackson Klein … and in the hopes of holding on to his current spot in the CSWA, Kevin Watson has arranged another promotional spot for his forth coming match with Simon Alex Theodore.

Opting out on the studio or arena … Kevin takes a walk threw the area near his hotel and goes over a few thoughts on Theodore.

“You’re on …” the producer informs Kevin from behind the camera.

Kevin looks up lighting a cigarettes and responds, “Alright.”

He pulls the cigarette and begins to speak as he exhales, “In just a few days … I take part in yet another first. My first title defense as the Greensboro Champion …” Kevin coughs, and continues, “…and although I understand the Greensboro title is the bottom of the totem pole; I can’t pretend to understand the decision to through such a waist of television time at me. I mean really… Simon Alex Theodore? Really?”

Kevin pauses and drags his cigarette again before continuing, “I mean don’t get me wrong … the guy can spell. So I hear anyhow… but in what way does that, even for a second … make him a qualified competitor. He faired well in the Gold Rush … I’ll give him that. But that’s where it ends …”

Kevin takes the last drag off his cigarette and drops it to the concrete. He searches his pockets for a second and then looks up and tells the crew, “I got to go back to the hotel room, I’m out of cigarettes.”

The crew doesn’t respond and Kevin’s meaningless wandering has now become a walk with a true destination.

Kevin keeps talking as he heads towards the hotel, “I had a point a second ago but I honestly don’t remember what the hell it was. It’s of no consequence. At the end of the day Alvin isn’t going to be spelling much more then LOSS.” Kevin stops for a second, “That was kind of cliché … forget it.”

Kevin and the crew hit the parking lot of Kevin’s motel and head toward his room.

“…and as far as I’m concerned …” Kevin stops mid sentence when he notices his motel room door is wide open. “What the hell?” Kevin shouts.

Kevin steps in the room with the camera crew following closely; yet cautiously. Kevin checks the room batting at the curtains and checking under the bed. He begins into the bathroom when the mirror hanging over the dresser catches his attention.

“We cannot change anything until we accept it” scrawled in the same fashion as it was before in the bar. Kevin looks at the crew, back at the mirror and then back at the crew.

The scene becomes a Mexican stand off where confused faces have taken the place of weapons. Kevin looks back to the mirror for a brief moment just before snatching his bag from the bedside and heads toward the door and exits quickly.

The camera crew hangs around for a second waiting for direction from the, just-as-confused producer. After a few hand signals and some whispering the camera man sets up to get some close ups of this cryptic message.

As for Kevin … he’s long gone.
 

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