Reluctance & Retirement

[BWade]

"One word; ULTRATITLE!" Jackson Klein's voice screeched over the phone.

Kevin Watson held the receiving end of that phone in the locker room of a high school gym in Poughkeepsie, New York. He just finished his only match of the night, in front of the packed sixty seat crowd, and reluctantly decided to return a missed call from his absentee attorney and manager.

"That sounds like two words, Klein." Kevin replied as he knelt down to unlace his rag tag ring boots. "And honestly, I'm not sure 'Ultra' constitutes as a word to begin with."

Kevin hadn't spoken to Jackson in a few months and their communication, post the closure of the CSWA, had all but effectively ended. Kevin was well aware that Jackson's council, three years ago, was sound; yet he still seemed to harbor some resentment toward his wayward attorney for the way things turned out.

After falling from grace in the late nineteen nineties the Gold Rush tournament appeared to be his ticket back to the top. Initially, everything went according to plan. Securing the Greensboro ring and subsequently the title in the mega-event, that would become the CSWA's last grand gesture, had landed him on a show by show contract granting Kevin continued employment as long as he remained the champion.

He successfully defended his title twice and after a double count out against Troy Douglas, Kevin was set to defend at the legendary Fish Fund. Which as the annals of this time tested sport will prove, never happened.

Kevin would find himself, mere months later, right back where he started. Japan and Mexico made the pay days and the remnant of the independent scene in America would get him by week to week. Milking "The Last Greensboro Champion" to raise his guarantee. Even with the extra draw and payout flashing the shiny piece of history in bingo parlors and National Guard Armories would bring in it still wasn't anything to write home about.

"Semantics, Kev'! This is your ticket, right here! Every major promotion in the country will be after the final four, hell the last ten left in this tournament! It's the ..." Jackson ranted until interrupted.

"Don't say it." Kevin warned while swapping his in ring boots for his nearly identical personal boots.

Jackson continues, "... Gold Rush on steroids! That was nothing compared to this, Kev'! That was a last ditch effort to save a failing company! This ..." Jackson chuckles in smug confidence, "This is the ticket. A time tested industry standard; featuring only the best of the best! You wouldn't believe some of the names coming out the wood work for this one!"

"Spare me, Klein." Kevin groaned. "Look, I don't have the time or the luxury to break off of this Northeast tour. That is what keeps the lights on, in case you forgot. Not the CSWA, the Gold Rush, or any other pyramid scheme you can come up with this week."

"Kev' ... I'm telling you, this is the one! Look, I'll front you whatever your take is up there right now for twenty percent of what you draw the first year after this tournament!" Jackson bargained with his disgruntled former client.

Kevin took a quick moment to look around and take in his less then meager employment status as he shoved his gear in to his duffel bag. The allure of fame and fortune had long escaped Kevin's bucket list but as his body wore down a little more each night; every bump hit a little harder, every ache and pain a little stronger, every match felt a little longer. He knew it was time to consider life after wrestling, and one last run in the majors could leave him set to live out his the latter years of his life. Hell, Why not.

"Ten percent, on anything above last year's overall take." Kevin snapped back.

"Fifteen."

"Twelve point five."

Klein slowed the mounting pace with a pause for thought and responded, "I'm firm on fifteen."

"Fine, take it. I won't gross dollar one beyond last year. Fifteen of zero is always zero, Klein." Kevin insisted.

Klein's opportunistic nature urged him one last time; "Well, then let's call it twenty."

"Don't push it." Kevin barked.

"Deal. I'll contact the ..."

Kevin hung up the phone and dropped in his bag. He grabbed his proverbial meal ticket from the seat next to him and placed the title belt of former glory in the top of his bag before zipping it up. He stood slowly almost as if he could hear his knees creaking like old farm equipment. With his duffle bag slung over his shoulder and all the amenities and creature comforts a rented Chevy Aveo could offer awaiting him in the parking lot; He took the first step on a new leg of an old journey.

 

[BWade]

Reluctance & Retirement, Part II (The Future Lay on the Past)

"Yeah, I'm looking at it now." Kevin assures, an always over excited, Jackson Klein via phone as he opens a Fed Ex envelope.

Kevin had awoken to the sound of a delivery man pounding on the door only moments before. Mere seconds after the door slammed shut his cell phone would vibrate itself off the motel night stand at Klein's touch tone behest. The opening salvo would play out less than enthused on Kevin's behalf given what he would consider to be an ungodly hour.

Shirtless and grumpy, Kevin sat on the edge of the lumpy motel mattress with the cell phone pressed against his ear as he handled the freshly delivered documents.

"Bracket ... four?" He asked.

Klein, Kevin's attorney and defacto talent agent, had just the day before over-nighted his client a copy of the ULTRATITLE's latest press package. Including schedules, locations, accommodations and, of course, the full bracket that this enormous tournament would be prefaced on.

"Yes. You have Javid Dones in round one." Jackson revealed before Kevin could find the proper sheet among the myriad of information laden papers.

"You couldn't have just told me that over the phone yesterday, Klein?" Kevin questioned with a hint of aggravation and contempt. "What do you know about this human typo?"

Klein stutters as he flips through his own papers vigorously seeking what little information he had previously found on his clients first round combatant. "Not ... at a lot, to be honest. Hold on a second." Klein finds the paper and skims it to refresh his memory.

"Here we are. Somewhere in what I sent; you should have a profile of sorts. The only thing I can really add to what has been officially released is: you've both ran in some of the same circles in the past but seemingly always missing one another by a few months or so. Most notably, in that regard, would be his run in CSWA, not long before your debut back in Ninety Eight." Klein rambles on. "Aside from that, you'll just have to read what the tournament administration let go and watch the promotional piece he cut from Iceland."

Kevin reaches blindly toward the night stand while still holding the phone and skimming through the documents. He knocks the alarm clock to the floor, shuffles around the free motel marked scratch pad and eventually lands on a half crushed back of cigarettes.

"Iceland?" he asks as he goes through the motions to ignite his habitual vice. "Is that the frozen one or the green one?"

"It's the green one, so to speak. There should be a small thumb drive in that envelope as well. It has .pdf files of everything I sent as well as any taped spots I could find so far."

Kevin takes a drag from the cigarette, letting it dangle from his lips as he exhales and digs down in the card board envelope for said device. With the thumb drive in hand, he lets the envelope fall to the floor, and he inspects this device with confusion. "What the hell am I supposed to do with this?" He asks; his tone clearly denoting both his lack of intrigue as well as his reluctance toward learning new technology.

"It's a USB flash drive, Kev'. You stick it in a computer, and it acts like a removable hard disk." Klein tries to explain.

"A what?" Kevin questions.

"Like a CD-Rom, or a floppy disk ... ?" Klein states in a sense of uncertainty, hoping at least one of the two examples wouldn't be completely lost on Kevin.

"Klein, you know I don't have a computer. And I don't need one." Kevin responds.

"It's a new day Kev'; I can't keep dubbing tapes of digital feeds and shipping them half way across the country. Look, my two o'clock just got here. I'll give you a call later." explained Klein.
Kevin pulled the phone away from his ear and ended the call with no more than an "alright" as a parting pleasantry. He took one last drag from his dwindling cigarette and dropped it into a left-over beer can from the night before. It sizzled momentarily and then fell silent as his knees cracked while hoisting himself up from the bed.

Kevin tossed the paperwork on the chair set near the dingy, green curtain covered, window. The stack of documents containing all the information regarding Kevin's near future, and second-second chance land and rest slightly askew on top of the defunct CSWA Greensboro title as the short term champion limps on sore muscles and nearly used up ligaments toward to the bathroom.