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Two revolvers, two shotguns. This was heavy stuff. One revolver and one shotgun ran to the back. One of each rushed the door. I just sat and watched them. I knew who was in the diner. A cook in back. Two waitresses. Two old men. And me. This operation was for me. I had been in town less than a half-hour. The other five had probably been here all their lives. Any problem with any of them and an embarrassed sergeant would have shuffled in. He would be apologetic. He would mumble to them. He would ask them to come down to the station house. So the heavy weapons and the rush weren't for any of them. They were for me. I crammed egg into my mouth and trapped a five under the plate. Folded the abandoned newspaper into a square and shoved it into my coat pocket. Kept my hands above the table and drained my cup. The guy with the revolver stayed at the door. He went into a crouch and pointed the weapon twohanded At my head The guy with the shotgun approached close. These were fit lean boys. Neat and tidy. Textbook moves. The revolver at the door could cover the room with a degree of accuracy. The shotgun up close could splatter me all over the window. The other way around would be a mistake. The revolver could miss in a closequarters struggle and a long-range shotgun blast from the door would kill the arresting officer and the old guy in the rear booth as well as me. So far, they were doing it right. No doubt about that. They had the advantage. No doubt about that, either. The tight booth trapped me. I was too hemmed in to do much. I spread my hands on the table. The officer with the shotgun came near. `Freeze! Police!' He was screaming as loud as he could. Blowing off his tension and trying to scare me. Textbook moves Plenty of sound and fury to soften the target. I raised my hands. The guy with the revolver started in from the door. The guy with the shotgun came closer. Too close. Their first error. If I had to, I might have lunged for the shotgun barrel and forced it up. A blast into the ceiling perhaps and an elbow into the policeman's face and the shotgun could have been mine. The guy with the revolver had narrowed his angle and couldn't risk hitting his partner. It could have ended badly for them. But I just sat there, hands raised. The guy with the shotgun was still screaming and jumping. `Out here on the floor!' I slid slowly out of the booth and extended my wrists to the officer with the revolver. I wasn't going to lie on the floor. Not for these country boys Not if they brought along their whole police department with howitzers. The guy with the revolver was a sergeant. He was pretty calm. The shotgun covered me as the sergeant holstered his revolver and unclipped the handcuffs from his belt and clicked them on my wrists. The backup team came in through the kitchen. They walked around the lunch counter. Took up position behind me. They patted me down. Very thorough. I saw the sergeant acknowledge the shakes of the heads. No weapon The backup guys each took an elbow. The shotgun still covered me. The sergeant stepped up in front. He was a compact, athletic white man. Lean and tanned. My age. The acetate nameplate above his shirt pocket said: Baker. He looked up at me. `You are under arrest for murder, You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say may be used as evidence against you. You have the right to representation by an attorney. Should you be unable to afford an attorney, one will be appointed for you by the State of Georgia free of charge. Do you understand these rights?' It was a fine rendition of Miranda. He spoke clearly. He didn't read it from a card. He spoke like he knew what it meant and why it was important, to him and to me. I didn't respond. `Do you understand your rights?' Again I didn't respond. Long experience had taught me that absolute silence is the best way. Say something, and it can be misheard. Misunderstood Misinterpreted It can get you convicted. It can get you killed. Silence upsets the arresting officer. He has to tell you silence is your right but he hates it if you exercise that right. I was being arrested for murder. But I said nothing. `Do you understand your rights?' The guy called Baker asked me again. `Do you speak English?' He was calm. I said nothing. He remained calm. He had the calm of a man whose moment of danger had passed. He would just drive me to the station house and then I would become someone else's problem. He glanced round his three fellow officers. `OK, make a note, he's said nothing, Let's go.' I was walked towards the door. At the door we formed a single file. First Baker. Then the guy with the shotgun, walking backward, still with the big black barrel pointing at me. His nameplate said: Stevenson. He too was a medium white man in good shape. His weapon looked like a drainpipe. Pointing at my gut. Behind me were the backup guys. I was pushed through the door with a hand flat on my back. Outside in the gravel lot the heat was up. It must have rained all night and most of the morning. Now the sun was blasting away and the ground was steaming. Normally this would be a dusty hot place. Today it was steaming with that wonderful heady aroma of drenched pavement under a hot noon sun. I stood face up to the sun and inhaled as the officers regrouped. One at each elbow for the short walk to the patrol cars. Stevenson still on the ball with the pump-action. At the first car he skipped backward a step as Baker opened the rear door. My head was pushed down. I was nudged into the car with a neat hip-to-hip contact from the left-hand backup. Good moves. In a town this far from anywhere, surely the result of a lot of training rather than a lot of experience. I was alone in the back of the car. A thick glass partition divided the space. The front doors were still open. Baker and Stevenson got in. Baker drove. Stevenson was twisted around keeping me under observation. Nobody talked. The backup car followed. The cars were new. Quiet and smooth riding. Clean and cool inside. No ingrained traces of desperate and pathetic people riding where I was riding. I looked out of the window. Georgia. I saw rich land. Heavy, damp red earth. Very long and straight rows of low bushes in the fields. Peanuts, maybe. Belly crops, but valuable to the grower. Or to the owner Did people own their land here? Or did giant corporations? I didn't know. The drive to town was short. The car hissed over the smooth soaked tarmac. After maybe a half-mile I saw two neat buildings, both new, both with tidy landscaping. The police station and the fire house. They stood alone together, behind a wide lawn with a statue, north edge of town. Attractive county architecture on a generous budget. Roads were smooth tarmac, sidewalks were red blocks. Three hundred yards south, I could see a blinding white church steeple behind a small huddle of buildings. I could see flagpoles, awnings, crisp paint, green lawns. Everything refreshed by the heavy rain. Now steaming and somehow intense in the heat. A prosperous community. Built, I guessed, on prosperous farm incomes and high taxes on the commuters who worked up in Atlanta. Stevenson still stared at me as the car slowed to yaw into the approach to the station house. A wide semicircle of driveway. I read on a low masonry sign: Margrave Police Headquarters I thought: should I be worried? I was under arrest. In a town where I'd never been before. Apparently for murder. But I knew two things. First, they couldn't prove something had happened if it hadn't happened. And second, I hadn't killed anybody. Not in their town, and not for a long time, anyway. - [ * * * ] – 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. When I first signed to NLCW I wondered if I would be able to hang with the so called cream of the crop of pro wrestling. half a year later, I’m the greatest thing they have their Many of you might not know who I am so let me fill you on a refresher course. I’ve wrestled some of the best superstars the NLCW and the world has ever saw, 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. When there is a championship on the line, I got a spotless record. In my first month in NLCW I faced Sean Galen for the North American Championship, I won! One month ago I defeated Bucky Skyler for the Undisputed Heavyweight Championship, guess what? I won that bout as well. Now tell me, how many people out there can honestly say they’ve never lost a championship opportunity? Not many For the last six or seven months, I was at the top of my game at NLCW and no one could stop me. You couldn’t beat what you couldn’t catch. For the entire time, 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 stint in NLCW. The was then, that was when NLCW was on life support…I’ve just pulled that pluge Now here I am, even with the dream of being the man who kills NLCW, I stand ready to represent the crumbling promotion. Ready to improve my undefeated championship match streak. Here I stand with my partner Drew at my side in the land called F1X. Now I’m sure everyone is wondering why compete in F1X if I’m still currently under contract with NLCW, and the answer is simple besides the common goal of closing NLCW, I’ve heard too much about this place, I’ve been watching 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 kids 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 Drew and I being in this United Championship Battle Royal 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 Lion…The King himself A tag-Team battle royal, to crown the United Champions, sounds like a hell of a match. Five other teams wanting those titles and the chance to show they can withstand a earthquake, hurricane and a tsunami. You may be good, but you aren’t god. Five teams have the current game plan to want to rattle us off the tree. Our vines love that, the pressure on Drew and Mine shoulders. We perform under any kind of weather. Hot, Cold, Freezing, it doesn’t really matter in the end We’re like a Ford F-150, Tough as motherfucking nails Sure, the advertisements they have make it seem so “Super”, but it can’t withstand tons of pressure. We can. We’ve been pressured throughout our lives in some sort of fashion. We made it through and are here today, on this stage, ready to undergo through the same transition. It says it right in front of all your faces; this “work area” is not safe. You can go backtrack your way out of here now … The buildup of it all has come to a boiling point. There is no such thing as “rewind”, the end has come … right on time. Chemotherapy, all five of these teams fucking hate each other, with a passion, some more than others. Everyone wants to represent the Untied Division, the difference between those teams and Drew and I, were not only fighting for the United Championship, were fighting for No Limit. Loved, Hated, and Envied I admire all of you for this. This absolute glorious event -- … Tag-Team Battle Royal for those titles me and my partner, Drew Garham well hold under are possession when it’s all said and done. Bodies will fly until were the only team left standing. It truly makes it all that much more interesting. Within the fallout of it… It’ll be the same result. Drew Graham and Carmine Vestieri … THE NEW United Champions. The announcer will say it and you all will enjoy it. The blood that will surely spew from it. The undefined level of heart and intensity will be tested and shown to all the audience and fans in attendance. Everything will be laid out on the line. Only for one team to end up grabbing it and ending that shining moment. Bothers of Destruction, INK, NSV, Picture Perfect, and Virus and Killjoy… We love you …. We love you for making this easy for me and Drew. I certainly appreciate it -- That’s a Wrap! -- |