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I stared at the huge man who wore the preacher’s collar. Odd but this preacher is tattooed, and will built, as if in another life he was a wrestler of sorts. He’d been crippled by paid-for violence (Same as wrestling) dragged downstairs, and tossed onto the marble floor. His arrogant face and body bruised by the brass knuckles that were at my side. (I never claimed to be a ‘fair’ fighter) He was a big man, much bigger than I. He was almost as big as John Coffey, from that movie the Green Mile, just white and donning a $3,000 suit and a pair of gators. “Who are you? Why are you doing this? What’s your goddamn name?” I yawned, exhausted from traveling. “I don’t have a name.” He didn’t need to know my name, as far as he was concern I was a task at hand. A task that stood in the way of me making a splash with NEXT. A task that stood in his way of living another day “What do you mean, you don’t have a name?” I had rented a hotel room near by. I had on a serious coat, one big enough to shelter my weapons of choice. From the hotel, I had traveled a few miles away, was creating terror at midnight in a little subdivision. A sweet $2 million home. Fucker had money that was clear. Place had everything. A four bedroom layout. Three full baths. A half bath on the main floor. We were in the basement. A finished basement that was laid to the bone. Marble. Golden fixtures. Games room. Full gym. Bar. Bathroom. Jacuzzi. Kid’s playroom. Wine room. Place looked like something you saw from MTV Cribs. Like I said living it up like a Wrestling Superstar I had disabled his alarm system in less than ten seconds. People bought million-dollar homes and never had the phone company move the D-Mark box inside their cribs. If they didn’t have backup power, all it took was a pair of dime-store wire cutters to slice the phone lines and shut down the alarm system. I already knew what kind of system had been installed before I crept around back and cut a single wire. I had information on the floor plans for the house, had studied its layout before I compromised his mansion. I had sat in the dark, just another shadow, waiting for the reverend built wrestler to come home. Church had run longer than I had expected. “What political Stable are you representing?” “It’s freezing down here. I hate the cold.” “In god’s name who are you?” “Is this marble floor heated? Has to be. Marble gets damn cold.” “Who.Are.You?” His voice echoed, but no one could hear him scream. Not they anyone would care. Pictures of the rev and his family were on the walls. Photos of people who could be his parents and in laws, political figures and church members, were in every nook and cranny. High-end art from Europe, sculptures from many parts of Africa, Ralph Lauren paint on every wall, the place was decorated to the bone. On the back wall was the largest high-def television I had ever seen. Had to be one hundred inches wide. Had to have been imported straight from Japan. Picture so clear it seemed like I should be able to get up and walk right into the screen. Where most of the country was suffering from a depression and a banking scandal, this playa was living it up. I tugged at my leather gloves “I’m watching the news. Do you mind?” My cell was in my hand. I took a picture of the injured man, sent it to the person who was responsible for this job. The phone on this end was a clone, stolen and untraceable, just like the one on the other end, both to be disposed of when the evening came to its premeditated conclusion. I looked out the window again, stared at the freezing tundra. The weather was in the low twenties, was going to hit zero before long. My breath fogged in front of me. I much rather be wrestling inside rather then dealing with the end of winter frost. Reverend Payne raised his pain-filled voice and asked: “How much are they paying you?” I looked at him “I’ll pay you one hundred thousand to reverse this shit and…and…and…” “Do unto others.” He growled, “An eye for and eye.” “In the name of the lord.” “I’m offering you one hundred thousand dollars.” Religion had vacated his tone, replaced by vulgarity and desperation. “Let me think about it.” I went back to watching the Local 4 News. There were accidents on the main highway, thirteen mile road, and on the connector ramp to the opposite freeway. Weather was getting so bad that all of the public schools were being closed. The Elementary, Middle, and High school…Closed due to weather. Another report had more stores closing due to unpaid debt, homes being foreclosed. Country was falling apart. So much for the black man asking for change. “Economy is fucked all around ay. I figured as much. Didn’t know it was this bad.” The reverend struggled to breathe. “Are you…planning…to kill me?” “Will you please shut up?” He ignored my request and shouted, “If this is a robbery, get to robbing and get the hell out of my home.” Go fucking figure. I’ve already beat the shit out of the guy, and pretty much have him begging for his life, for his dream of being Sultan. And he’s just now telling me to get the hell out? Funny world we live in. Of course I wasn’t taken back from the macho outburst. “What part of shut up don’t you understand?” “I have a family.” So much for the macho look, he was starting to cry at this point. “A beautiful wife. A daughter. A little boy.” I forgot about the news and looked at him. His right eye was swollen, the size of a baseball. His left eye wasn’t too much smaller. “There isn’t much money here at the house, I swear, but let me ring my wife. She will pay whatever you ask, without question, without reporting the incident. Let me talk to my children. I want you to hear their voices, Hear the love. You have a heart, don’t you? You have children?” He spat on the floor. Blood and saliva. Marked the floor with his DNA. I looked at my watch Revered Coleman Payne sounded like he was in the pulpit, fire and brimstone in his voice, as if he were in charge. “I have two. Two wonderful children. Both attend Christian schools.” Confirmation was due five minutes ago. Palms sweating. Listing for sirens. That had left me more than nervous. Couldn’t live my dream of being a superstar with NEXT in a prison. “Greater Life Academy. A Christian school. Children must attend schools that are not afraid to acknowledge Jesus and give praise to the lord. Do you believe in the lord? My daughter is six. My son is four. Straight-A students.” “Hallelujah, Reverend. Now shut the fuck up.” He closed his eyes, prayed. Back to the news for me. The mayor’s recent state of the city address was being talked about, debated, said the mayor was forth-right when he said his city was in trouble, refused to let it die on his watch, pundits saying the city was already dead and needed to be funeralized. “Reverend…is that you and a group of protestors standing behind the mayor?” “Is that what this is about?” “With the power you have, you could get a political stronghold here. Maybe even be named Mayor” “Is that what this is about? My announcement that I was considering running for the spot of King of NEXT?” “Wow. Look at that close-up of you as the Man in charge of are city is speaking. Man, you look pissed off.” “Because we disagree with all that he has done. People have left, the ship is looking dim. Nothing has any history nor meaning around here anymore. Under his rule, the land of no limits has been run into the ground. I’d rather live in Ninth Ward of New Orleans than watch my beloved No limit fall apart.” “The championship gives you a edge. Makes your backstage disagreements public. Taking on the ruler just to be called Sultan.” “Did he send you to do this?” “You sure publicly disagreeing with the sitting ruler is the right thing to do?” “That overrated, pimp-suit-wearing son of a…does he have something to do with this?” “I don’t know, he sort of reminds me of a white Suge Knight. Whatever happened to Suge? Last I saw he was getting laid out.” “Is Stevens…Is he behind this? Is this about the church protesting and demanding the mayor to step down so we can once again make the land of NEXT a great kingdom it once was? Watch us. We will put the NEXT back in Championship Wrestling. We will be netter than when we ever was.” “Running for Sultan. Didn’t know you were that famous Mr. Payne.” “I am a simple man. A man of God. I have been a pillar of the community for a year now. I was a know winner. Had the trophy’s and meaningless gold to show for it all” “Hot damn. You’re famous. International. Maybe I should get your autograph.” “Please, let me go.” So much for a little humor to lighten the mood. There were enough pictures of him and others like him to display his lust for power. His photos told me he was a man who had to be in control. Now he had no Control! The reverend had a lot. Seeing his worldly possessions reminded me that I’d been robbed of all I owned. Robbed by Joyellen. I though about Joyellen. Though about the last time I saw her. I thought about all she had taken from me. I should’ve put a bullet in her heart and killed my anger. My eyes went to the pictures of the Rev’s family and friends. So much love in the pictures between him and his wife. That forever love. Sometimes I wanted that. What I saw in those pictures, I wanted that shit for myself. “I caught fellings for this women a long time ago.” Mr. Payne grunted. “What you say?” Stunned, who wouldn’t be. I just beat this fucker and now I’m carrying a conversation. Fucked up ay “Was talking. Telling you about this girl. Met her at on a beach in Italy. The old man they called Big V ran this hot spot. A bona fide thieves’ paradise. A simple girl, she was. At least she was back then. Beautiful, exotic girl dressed in Salvation Army clothes. But the part of her I found so beautiful, nobody could see. She didn’t see it herself. I saw beyond her daddy issues, the issues she had with her mother, saw beyond the sibling rivalry she had, saw beyond all that shit in her life.” “What’s your problem, son?” Reverend Payne coughed, spat up blood. “Speak your mind.” Guess it wouldn’t hurt. Fucker would be dead before I left the night. Had to be. I also wanted to be Sultan. And I would kill for it. But since I have some time before the whole killing starts… “Melissa” “Speak your mind, son” “Sure you want to hear this?” He grunted, struggled to breathe. “Speak your mind.” “She was seeing somebody else. Flimflam man. A high roller. But I put my bid in. She laughed in my face, told me that if I wanted to be with her, I needed a million dollars in the bank.” He released more pain. I whispered “A million dollars, and a championship” “So that is what motivates you. Your love for a woman.” “My hate for one woman fuels my anger while my love for another fuels my purpose.” “Hate is cancer of the soul. Tell me about the one you hate.” ”I don’t want to talk about that whore.” “A man should not speak of a woman with such venom.” “No Rev. Whore is accurate. She’s a woman of the night. She’s a whore.” “Like Mary Magdalene.” “The one I like, I’ve been trying to get a million dollars in the bank ever since I met her. That and a way to call myself a champion.” “The one you hate is a whore.” “Yeah.” “The one you love, she hung out in a den on a beach with thieves and wrongdoers.” “She’s a thief, runs scams. An artful dodger. Bona fide flimflam woman.” “A thief and a Whore. Criminals and the unrighteous. Transgressors. Like you.” I took offence to that comment “I don’t scam or steal. I’ve been stolen from. But I never steal. Never been a righteous man, not like you. Guess you could say criminals always end up being drawn togther.” His pain was getting the best of him. Sweat dripping from his skin like rain. Then my cell phone vibrated. It was a text message. I flipped the phone open and finally saw a three-word message. FUNDS TRANSFERRED, PROCEED. followed by a smiley face. “Time for us to raise up out of here.” “Where are you taking me?” “Cold as hell outside.” “Can I please get my coat?” “Afraid not.” “I need to take my bible. A man of god must always travel with his word near his heart.” He loosened his collar and limped his gigantic frame across the room, went to the wall filled with leather bound books, and with his injured hands struggled to pull out a worn bible. It was a beautiful red bible with golden letters across the front. It was a hell of a bible to say the least. If I ever carried one, it would have to be in that fashion. “This was my first Bible. My first. It was father’s first bible. He was a minister and a fighter. He owned it before me. And this bible, it is to be my son’s first bible. Hallelujah, glory to gawd.” Almost had me ready to yell Amen. I was growing old of this and wanted to get this over with. So I could be one step closer to starting a career with NEXT. He held the bible to his chest like it was his salvation. Or his bulletproof vest. Again, in a shaky voice, he said, “Who are you?” “I don’t have a name.” “You have to have a name.” “Why?” “So people know who to be afraid of.” He laughed a painted laugh. I was dumbfounded. Fucker was cracking jokes when his death was a walk away. Couldn’t believe it. Would you? “How are people going to know who to be afraid of? You can’t be afraid of someone who doesn’t have a name.” “I don’t need a name for what I’m doing here.” “What is Jesus didn’t have a name? What if Santa Clause didn’t have a name? Good or evil, everyone must have a name. We name what we praise, we name what we fear.” The bible he held, though his hands were wounded; at least two fingers were broken. “The wrong you’re doing…stop doing evil while you can. Stop because one day somebody will come for you. One day what you do to other people, that will be done to you.” His righteous words slowed me down, sent a chill through my frame. Didn’t know why. He had to understand that he wasn’t right to carry the title. “Two hundred thousand. I’ll get you two hundred thousand in thirty minutes.” “Not doing this for the money! I want the right to be named a Champion. A right you aren’t going to give up.” “I will never give it up to a self-righteous, arrogant motherfucka.” A rush of fear and desperation bloomed in the reverend’s face. He began praying. With those damaged fingers he fumbled with the bible. Struggled to open the damn thing. The pain in his hands were too great. But he never stopped praying. He dropped the bible and it popped open. God’s words had been hollowed out and replaced with a snub-nose .38. That four inch barrel leapt out, hit the marble floor hard, slid ten inches in my favor. His swollen eyes met mine, panic came out of his body on the winds of the loudest scream I’d ever heard. I raced for his .38 like I was racing to stop my own death. He tackled me like he was a pro bowler, lifted me up quick and fast, ran with me, knocked over North African sculptures; the sheep became a raging bull as he slammed me into the one-hundred-inch television against the wall. I swung at his head, connected a few times, but it did no damage, not enough to take him down. He slammed me into the wall again and again. I gritted my teeth, grunted with each blow. One final slam and I screamed Pain consumed me like fire and I went limp, almost blacked out. He was winded, out of shape, and had to let me go I went down fast and hard. So did he He collapsed and lay there praying and breathing hard. I lay there rolling in pain. Revered made it to his feet first, staggered away from me, limped toward the .38. “Satan will not defeat me. Not for my Championship rights. And not in my home. Not in the lord’s house!” He picked the gun up, frantic, grunting, his swollen fingers getting the best of him. “Son of a bitch. I’ll kill every motherfucking devil that gets in my way to the throne of Champion.” Funny I was trying to accomplish the same thing. He grunted and with his aching fingers raised the .38, pointed it at my head. I was staring at the long barrel of death. Time slowed down. By sunrise, the revered would be a hero. Attacked in his home by an assassin. Then killing the assassin. God was on his side. He’d into the next round with out breaking a sweat. Larry King would want to chat with him. Tiger Woods affair would be forgotten. He would become a hero for NEXT All from my death There were three explosions. The first bullet would’ve been in my left eye, had I still been there. I scampered across the frozen marble, rolled, and yelled out. My own fear, came up one knee, crouched, now a smaller target. Sweat in my eyes, pain in my lower back, I had come up facing my enemy, my semi-final enemy, my hand reaching underneath my coat, pulling my .22 from its holster. I was trapped against the wall, broken television behind me, death in front of me. It was .38 against a .22 The third explosion came from my gun I had aimed at his chest, but my pain lowered my gun and my shot was way off, the bullet hitting his right leg. He screamed staggered, went down on one knee. He wasn’t running. They always ran. He was coming after me. Minister by trade, soldier at heart. He’d become the wounded animal after his hunter. His next shot hit the marble floor near my feet. The next hit the shattered television behind me. If I hadn’t beaten him down, if his hands weren’t broken, I’d be dead right now. There were two more explosions. Both came from the .22 I was holding One tore into his left arm, that brand-new pain slowing him down. The second ripped opened a tiny hold in the front of the reverend’s head. There was another explosion, one last echo. The final sound from the battle. His gun fired at the ground, the bullet ricocheting off the marble and shattering glass. The gun fell from his swollen hand; the reverend slumped into his death. He lay there like a big rag doll, his body in a pool of blood, part of his brain decorating the wall behind him. I swallowed. Trembled. Looked down at the gun in my hand. I used the camera phone, took a photo, sent the image to show the world, we were one short. I was trembling. First I was as cold as a Siberian wasteland. Cold and detached, like a whore with her john. It was if I were watching someone else do horrible things. Then I realized I was drenched. Face damp. Sweat glands were pumping hard. Chest rising and falling. My phone rang Sweat in my eye, I pulled myself together and answered “Talk to me.” “Is he…Payne…did you…” “You get the picture I sent you?” “Yes” “Then don’t ask stupid questions.” Another chill hit me. Like Death was in the room collection souls, passing through me, its icy fingers grabbing at my insides, knowing it wasn’t my time, but warning me nevertheless. The reverend was right. Every man needed a name. People needed to know who to praise Or who to fear The Lion That’s what they can call me… The Lion… -- [ * ] -- “NEXT has it’s champion...” “So what if the guy isn’t worth the Leather on said championship” “When I first started in this business, I asked myself ‘Could I do it’? I wondered if I could take all my talents and focus them into one raw emotion that would propel me into superstardom.” “Two years later, I’m the greatest thing in wrestling right now.” “Many of you might not know who I am so let me fill you on a refresher course. I’ve wrestled in many different federations, battled the greatest superstars you could ever dream of facing and I’ve always come out on top.” “Always.” “One thing about yours truly is that I do not lose. I do not make it a habit to lose. Example? Last year, I was pinned once. That happened after ten months of never being pinned. Sure, I lost matches here or there but I was never pinned. How many people out there can say that?” “Not many.” “There was also a time where I held championships for 79 days and then for another 100 days. I was at the top of my game and no one could stop me. You couldn’t beat what you couldn’t catch. For the entire year, I threw opponents over my shoulders and hurled them into the air. They never saw it coming and all that was left to do was end their pain and suffering with one vial, crucial, Last Shot. It sent them all into extinction and paved the way for my dominating year.” “The same will happen here in NEXT.” “This time, I’m not in the land of No Limits. I’m in NEXT. I’ve heard too much about this place and when I was the hottest free agent on the market, I watched this place carefully. I wanted to get into the ring and show these amateurs how you showcase greatness.” “The time is now upon us.” “Don’t think I’m going to be a pushover. Everyone thinks that about the new kid backstage. Everyone thinks that about the kid that comes in and talks a big game. Sure, you’re probably mumbling to yourself that you’ve seen all of this before. There’s a difference between me and the hundreds of others that make claims about their success.” “I’m actually the shit, son.” “I don’t need to fill your minds with false ideas and false claims about me. Everything I say is the truth. It will hurt for most but that’s because no one likes hearing the truth. No one likes hearing honesty. Usually when you speak the truth someone’s flaws are shown.” “I don’t have any flaws.” “I have no weaknesses or no adversity. That’s why signing to No Limits is going to provide these… rookies… with some old fashioned truth. I’m going to expose these people as frauds and I’m going to expose them as second rate next to The Italian Lion himself” “It starts with The Champ himself, Gavin Payne.” “Do you honestly believe that you’re going to walk into my ring and get the better of me? Do you honestly believe that you’re going to eliminate the greatest wrestler on this earth?” “Do you?” “Look at yourself in the mirror, Payne. I want you to examine every facial feature on your face. Your nostrils. Your mouth. Your ears. Your eyes. Why? After this match, your nose will be sunken down to your mouth. Your eyes will be swollen shut and your ears will immediately be inflicted with the deadly cauliflower ear. You mouth will be swollen so bad you won’t be able to speak for months.” “After this match, you’re not going to be anything like you were before.” “I’m going to take you to your limit. I’m going to bend and break you in ways you’d never imagined. I’m going to break your back in ways to where you will never be able to walk again. Do you think I’m bluffing, Gavin?” “Just try me.” “Try me when we get into that ring. Try me when I blow past everyone else on my way to starting a golden legacy her in the land of NEXT.” “It will be the era of The Lion.” “So bring your best game, Gavin. It won’t match up or compare to what I am going to bring. I’m here to prove a point and I’m here to make a statement. What are you here for?” “Answer that question after your mouth stops swelling.” “Just be thankful your championship isn’t on the line” -- That’s a Wrap! -- |