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A main in a dark gray suit was coming down the aisle. Dressed like he was a high-end preacher. Yellow book in hand, like it was his bible. He was halfway down the airbus before he stopped walking. Came to an abrupt stop. Midthirites I’d guess. Seasoned. Pretty unremarkable except for the huge band-aid over his broken nose. The brand-Aids were bloodied, large enough to obscure the top part of his face. He’d suffered a good blow We paused. He regarded my injuries. I did the same with his. Yellow book in hand, he turned around and went back toward business class. I turned around, heading deeper into the poverty section of the plane. My mind photograph what I seen. Injured man in suit. I doubted if those were fortune 500 injuries. Light skinned man. He was a very muscular and toned. He had short brown hair and a small goatee on his chin. Gray suit and red shirt. The shirt was the $200 kind and the suit had to cost ten times that. is very muscular and toned. He has short brown hair and a small goatee on his chin I looked back again. Book in hand, he made his way back through the curtains that separated the classes. In the end, it wasn’t his injury that made me notice him, I’d seen many injuries on people. It was his clothes and his deep-set eyes. His eyes had maintained an unblinking cold stare. He could’ve been the air marshal. For a moment I saw the dead body left on the marble floor. My flesh turned hot. Maybe they knew about the preacher. Maybe my fake passport had been compromised and they knew. Maybe they’d be waiting for me at the other end of this journey. Mrs. Jones was in front of me, staring at me. Standing up, she was stunning, the way her black dress hung over her breasts and the smell of her modest ass was like two shots of Viagra. That was the effect she was starting to have on me. She wiped her eyes, smiled at me. “I’m impressed.” “How so?” “You lasted a whole five minutes with Chatty Cathy.” “I was ten seconds from asking for a parachute.” “You were going to jump?” “Was about to throw her out.” “And you’d waste a parachute?” “Good Point.” She laughed “So you’re Mrs. Jones.” She smiled. “What else she tell you?” “Nothing. Was she supposed to tell me something?” Her smile faded. She let go of her illusion. “Sorry for crying. Trying to stop, I really am.” “What’s Wrong?” Figured it couldn’t have been that bad, and if anything it would take my mind off the feeling of defeat. I had the crown of Sultan with in grasp. But it just wasn’t to be. Always next year right? And I had a GOLDEN opportunity in front of me. “Guess I’m just mentally and emotionally tired of being mentally and emotionally tired.” “When you’re done crying, you’ll be good as new.” She smiled again, this one real. We stood there, moving around that tight space, a line of people going in and out of the toilets. I realized why she was there. She was avoiding going back to her seat. Me too. “Can you…uh…can you recommend any hotels in London?” “Which part? In the city, outside the city? What area did you have in mind?” “Anywhere. First timer. Never been to London.” “Maybe Central London. Try Bloomsbury. Nice hotels in that area. Try Myhotel.” A perk of being a wrestler. Always know where the hotels are “You own a hotel?” “No, it’s called Myhotel. Nice place. Sushi Bar. Great lounge.” “Sounds…sounds…” “Sexy?” “Well, I wasn’t going to say that.” “It’s trendy and hip and sexy.” She shifted. “Is that where you’re staying? At that trendy and hip and sexy hotel?” “Depends” “Depends on what?” Point blank I asked, “Your husband’s not meeting you across the pond?” “No.” She hesitated. That simple question changed the temperature. “No, he’s not.” “So your alone?” She looked down at her wedding ring, took in a slow breath. I had been too obvious But the man part of me had to go there. Always had to try, even if it was in vain. Hunters. We were all hunters. “Your marriage…your husband…everything okay?” “All I can say is…we make promises we know we can’t keep. Promises that start with always and end with forever. We take on the impossible and fail miserably. Or stick it out and pretend that there was some great reward for enduring a life lived in depression and torture.” Again, we paused. Her reply was deep. Took me by surprise. “A cynic.” “You noticed.” “Of course.” She motioned toward the Chatty Cathy who had invaded our space. Mrs Jones said, “I used to be just like her.” “Talkative?” “No. Idealistic. Happy. Ignorance is truly bliss.” She wiped her eyes with the back of her hands. Crying again. “Would you like to do dinner?” “Dinner? On the plane?” “In London.” “Your asking me out to dinner?” “Yes.” We stared a bit. Her eyes went down. Maybe she was appraising my crotch. Or admiring her wedding ring. Maybe she was just looking at the floor. Wasn’t sure. “You’re a beautiful woman.” “Makeup running. Eyes swollen. I don’t feel beautiful.” “Well you are.” She bit her top lip, disturbed, thinking. “What’s on your mind?” “This.” “What about this?” “This…this…you’re flirting with me. I haven’t been flirted with in…forever.” “Then your husband should be charged with neglect.” “Or should I charge you with criminal trespass?” “Can’t jail a man for thinking about doing something.” Mild turbulence. More staring between us. I held her gaze the way her dress held her slender frame, with both respect and disrespect, tight and loose all at once. Her brown eyes narrowed. She waved her wedding ring. “Testing the waters?” “I’m a very good swimmer.” We stood there, saying nothing as people went in and out of the bathroom. She touched her wild hair and walked away. She looked back. We stared at each other for a moment, maybe five long seconds. Then she went inside one of the vacant bathrooms. And I was left with the feeling of satisfaction and what if. Smirked and changed mind frames to the chance of being called champion. Sultan was a epic battle. A battle I lost. But there is a new dawn on the horizon. This one carrying the name of American Champion with it. And two more seasoned veterans of the land of No Limit I headed down the aisle, passed my seat, kept going until I got to the blue curtain, stopped like I was at the rim of a foreign country, flight attendants guarding that area like border patrol. I looked for the man with the broken nose. That $6,000-a-seat section had reclining chairs, half facing forward, half facing backward, the seats in sets of two, side-by-side recliners with red partitions in between. Two rows up. I saw his dark gray suit pants, his shoes. He, was in a rear-facing seat, one row in. I crept across the border. The yellow book was in his lap. He held it like it was his holy bible. Two empty whiskey bottles were on his tray. He was horizontal. Might’ve been sleeping. His monitor was on a movie. The thick covers they gave the privileged were pulled up to his injured nose. On the way back I looked at other passengers. No one was interested in me. There was an overweight woman in floral spandex squeezed between two people. There was a crying baby in the section of the plane the happy actress had come from. So the happy actress wasn’t a setup, so far as I could tell. The woman in black seemed legit too. Nobody would cry that long without being in emotional strife. There were no dots to connect. There was no conspiracy, none that I could find. And there weren’t any vindictive preachers on the plane. I looked at my swollen hands. There was a mild tremble. I grabbed a few newspapers, headed back to my third-world section of this flying world. The front page of the New York times had an article on THE DAY THE LORD CRIED. Three days ago a preacher named Coleman, had been slaughtered in his home. The paper said the scene was gruesome, looked like a fight had broken out. Almost like a two man war. That wasn’t how it was supposed to look. Like a two man battlefield at the end of a war. I was almost done with the business. In a few hours, outside of the three properties I owned, I’d have a Championship title tucked away. I remembered being homeless, on the run, living on the streets of California. I tossed the New York Times into an empty seat, kept the British papers in hand. On the way back, with guilt swirling inside me, everybody looked suspicious. At this rate, by the time the plane landed, the small children would be suspects But no one was after me. At least not on a plane An airplane was the safest place to be. It would be a different story when I was on the ground. When I was close to my seat, I saw something else. Something that made me clench my teeth. I had been robbed! - [ * ] - Well, it is finally over. You all now know that what happened at Sultan of the Squared circle was something big. Sure I lost to Dom, but I can’t say I am upset. The two of us put on one of the greatest matches in the history of that tournament. And I have nothing negative to say about Dom. He was the better man on that night. And he is are Sultan. And the fallout from him being crown Sultan has put in motion my very first NLCW title match. Sure it isn’t for the undisputed championship. But to be frank, I don’t believe I’m ready for such a task. I went to the limit against Dom, and couldn’t finish. I could only picture the same result going against Enigma. Not to say I have a easy task of becoming American Champion. That would be far from the truth. As I going into a triple threat match where my two foes have a bond between each other. Former Saints. Friends nonetheless. Both on low points of there career. Both very dangerous. But at least one is less then a 100%. We all watch Dillon take a bloody beating at Sultan. Even after the stitch show, he’ll be right around 65%. Still dangerous. But there is one thing that separates the three of us. Dillon and Sean have both given up. Both rather allow there former standards carry there weight around these woods. Where I am the total oppsite. I’ve said it since day one. I’m the bail out of NLCW. I came here ready to start a new Era of No Limit. A new meaning. It’s what I aim to do at Avulsion. The person watching this will know what I’m talking about. They’ll know that when they look at me, they see nothing but envy. They’ve been telling me I’ve been saying the same things for years. If only they could hear themselves talk, they’d realize they’ve been doing the same damn thing. They’d realize they’ve been trapped in a time loop while yours truly has been moving ahead. The reason you’re here for the chase. The reason everyone is here. The chase for Gold. Dillon meet me in the ring on Avulsion and you will get to see why everyone is talking about ‘This kid Carmine’. Bring that bloody bandage you suffered at the Sultan because once I’m done with you, the EMT’s will need it to re-stitch you up. The blood will be dripping from the back of your head and the only thing to get it will be that bandage. Then you can sniff it all you want and remember the night that The Carmine Vestieri broke your spirit, your hopes, and your dreams. Dillon the lose to Enigma exposed you. Now its my turn to bury you. You can try to deny it, but NLCW doesn’t need a wrestler who can be summed up as a Part time talent. They need someone like me. Someone ready and willing to battle any name that comes up. Even if those names happen to be SAINTS! I don’t care if you’re impressed with me. I’m not here to impress you, the fans, the announcers, or anyone else. I’m here to make a statement. I’m here to run ramped on this federation and there will be nothing you or Sean can do about it. You can come on here and claim that I am way over my head with this match. You can make many claims, if you like Dillon, but what will you be prepared to do to back it up? What can you say that will make you better than me? Your stint here? Your ferocious words? Your babbling? Please, nothing can help you. You’re a Johnny Come lately. Weird hearing that from the new kid ay Dillon? The truth can sometimes be a weird statement. Dillon your stint here in NLCW has been a golden one. But has been one filled with more Lows then Highs. We never know what were gonna get from you. One month you’re the Dillon Durst we all fear, the next your on a level of a show opener. Come Avulsion, you will be the one way over his head. You’ll be way over my head when I watch you float over my head while you land for a vicious Last Shot. You’ll be the one that floats over my head as we meet eye to eye and I’ll see fear. I’ll see the fear you have when you speak. It’s that quiver you have in your voice that proves to me that you’ll never be on my level. I what you used to be, and I‘m sure its tearing you up inside. Bring everything you have Dillon. Once you look Greatness in the eyes you’ll understand the hype. You’ll understand why I’m the buzz of NLCW. While it doesn’t matter to me it sure matters to you. So look in my eyes, kid. You’ll see green and gold. The envy you have for me and gold that you’ll never be able to get from me. Sean Galen…I see your back to your basics. Showing up once in a blue moon. I guess I owe you some sort of gratitude. It was because of your double count out that allowed me to steal the show at Sultan of the square circle. A feat I did without even winning the tournament. This must be tearing you apart. I’m like a mini-version of you. Just better. Looking at me must be like watching a bad nightmare. You don’t want to face your worst nightmare, ay Sean? Because lets face it, your not the same Sean Galen that did battle again Dillon Durst years before. Your not the same Sean Galen that cared less of what others thought of him. Your not the same Sean Galen who would let the world watch someone blow him live on air, while telling everyone else to fuck off. To be blunt…Your not that Guy anymore. Your not that Sean Galen. Your more like kid brother Ryan You might claim to be an asshole Sean but you’re looking at the biggest asshole of them all. You’re dealing with the Bailout…and there is nothing you’re going to do to stop it. So, please, tell me I’m below you. Tell me that I’m the inferior race. Please say something. I much rather shut your mouth by force then wrestle a mute. You and Dillon can look up at the house lights with dismay wondering what happened to you. You’ll realize you just witnessed your Last Shots and there’s nothing you can do about it. So let evolution run its course and let the men take over the monkeys. Because if either of you try to stop me, I won’t just stop your career from flourishing… I’ll stop your life from flourishing. That’s not a threat, that’s not a warning, it’s a damn guarantee. I’m a problem, son. One you both don’t have the solution too… -- That’s a Wrap! -- |