Post by Payne on Jul 16, 2019 14:22:37 GMT -5
Nick Morgan
Day 569 of 30
Orlando Sanford International Airport
Sanford, FL
In the end, I didn’t go traveling with Dex and that suited me just fine. Never been on a plane before, don’t need to be on one now. But the match didn’t work out the way we hoped. He lost. Lost bad. And I’ve not heard a damn thing from him since, which mean’s he’s mad. Better than being indifferent, sure… but Dex always was a petulant child when he was mad and I doubt prison did anything to change that.
I pulled the truck to a choking stop outside of Sanford International Airport, unsure if I was aloud to park so close to the terminal exit and not the least bit bothered either way – I’m too old t’ be traipsing around in the midday Florida sun for anybody. The time on my watch said 12:06pm, and I aint wound the son of a bitch for at least three days, meaning it was easily 12:40 by now and Dex should have got in sometime in the last twenty minutes and he should be here any… ah!
He stepped out of the airconditioned terminal, his jaw fixed and his mouth a tightly pressed line. He stepped into the road and crossed the tarmac toward where I was waiting and, with an effortless swing of the arm, tossed his kit bag over the cab of the truck. It landed with a thud in the flatbed behind where I was sitting and he climbed quickly into the passenger seat next to me. As he pulled the door shut the squealing hinges and clang of metal drew the attention of everyone present. He jammed his foot against the dash, propped his elbow against his knee and bit down on his knuckles. I hesitated for a moment, then reached for the keys ready to start ‘er up.
“I told you I aint no wrestler.” He spat the words out as if they offended him. “Told you I wasn’t gonna win that match!”
“Boy… You lost one damn match. Your first. Against a guy who beat their World Champion” I turned the key and shook my head. “You got nothing to be ashamed of.”
“I aint ashamed!” He snapped angrily then shook his own head. “Rules.” He said the word like a curse “Should have just fought my way. Should’a snapped his damned neck.”
“Yarp” I grunted in agreement. “Maybe you should. That way you’d have been able to compare a Spanish prison to an American one… Wonder how many wrestlers can say that?”
“I told ya, I aint no Wrestler!”
“Never will be with that attitude either. Come on…” I started the engine and pulled the truck into the flow of traffic. “McCarthy’s been on the phone. Said your ‘sponsor’ has scheduled a wrestling class for you or somethin’. Supposed to help you learn some basics and psychology, whatever the hell that means.”
“Fuckin’ McCarthy.” He growled and shook his head. “And ‘Sponsor’? That’s a damned joke! Aint even introduced himself! How the hell am I supposed to know what I’m doin’ and why I’m doin’ it if the person I’m doin’ it for wont even come introduce themselves.”
“And IF they had introduced themselves at Pandemonium” I let the question trail off for a moment “How exactly do you think that first meeting would’a gone?”
“I’d have punched his teeth right down his throat, told him to leave off and come home”
“Yarp” I grunted. “Guessin’ maybe that’s why they didn’t come shake your hand kid. Maybe they know you pretty well after all.” Dex grunted in frustration and silently stared out of his window at the passion buildings and foliage. Finally I felt bad for barating him and picked the conversation back up. “Besides, whoever it is, their check cleared. So did RSW’s. That means you’re in gainful employment and McCarthy has signed your papers. Says he’ll sign them after every show to make sure you keep up your end. Promises to see you in person next time too.”
“Good.” Dex growled, jamming his boot harder against the dash. “I got a few things I wanna say to this McCarthy.”
“Yarp” I grunted “Was pretty sure you would have, kid.”
Nick Morgan
Day 572 of 30
Team 3D Academy
Kissimmee, FL
He came off the ropes at speed and jumped into the air, his arm extended out to his right and his hand clenched in a tight fist. His opponent had followed him in and was too close to avoid the reversal. Dexter’s arm clashed with the younger man’s sternum and the both hit the mat with an impact that reverberated around the room.
“GOOD!” The booming voice of the trainer cut through the ambient noise. Dexter was already to his knees and grabbed a handful of his opponent’s hair, pulling him up so they reached their feet at the same time. Dexter forced the boys head under his arm, hooked both of his and swung one leg forward to propel them both down, driving the kids head into the mat delivering what he had come to refer to as the Captive Bolt Drop; a tribute to his days on the ranch where we used such a device to slaughter cattle. Dex hooked the leg and from the outside the trainer pounded against the apron three times, signalling the end of the session. Dex sat up panting and pushed his hair back out of his face.
“Good! That was good!” The trainer repeated himself as he climbed into the ring. “You’ve come a long way in three days.” Dexter nodded his head and took the trainers hand when he offered it, pulling up to a vertical base. “Listen, I’m not going to say you’re the perfect wrestler, far from it. You’re new and this aint a Rocky film. You need more than a montage kid. You need time and genuine hard work. But you’ve got a decent base. Better than most, and that worked out pretty good for some of the biggest names in the world. Keep training and…” He shrugged his shoulders “Who knows? In a year or two, you could be up there with the big names in the industry.” He affectionately, yet professionally clapped Dexter on the shoulder. “Hit the showers. We’re done for the day.”
Dexter nodded his head and climbed through the ropes to the outside. I watched as he hopped down to the gym floor and walked solemnly towards the locker-room area. The trainer watched him leave, then crossed the room toward where I was standing. He sighed and leaned on the ropes.
“Ya know, it’s a real shame.”
I looked up at the hulking figure in the ring, his features obscured by the tubular lighting overhead. “What is?”
“That kid of yours… He could be something special. He has ‘it’ but…” The trainer shrugged again “… He doesn’t want to be here, does he?”
I hesitated and looked toward the changing room. Finally, I shook my head. “No. He doesn’t. Not really.”
“And that’s a shame.” The trainer shook his head “He has some real natural talent. I could do a lot with him given some more time. Half the guys here…” He gestured around the facility “…No natural talent… but they have passion and determination. If I could mix your boy with any one of these? I’d have the next big thing on my hands.”
I looked around the facility. Men and women, boys and girls, all of them working hard toward a shared lifelong dream. Most of them working two or three jobs while trying to make the dream a reality and most of those knew that it would never become one. All the while, Dexter treated this entire situation like a burden. I shook my head and walked toward the exit.
“Tell him I’m waiting in the truck, would ya?” I called back over my shoulder.
Nick Morgan
Day 584 of 30
Miami International Airport
Miami, FL
I crossed the busy restaurant and sat my tray of food down on the table opposite Dexter. He had sat with his back to a large bay window overlooking a runway, which I now had to face. I sat down and tried to focus on the now, but my stomach lurched as I caught sight of a plane lifting into the air.
“You ok?” Dexter’s question sounded genuine but there was a small smirk on his face. It was a rare glimpse of the humorous boy he had been before starting his sentence, so I couldn’t bring myself to chastise him for the thinly veiled mockery. “You’re looking a little grey.”
“I’ll be fine.” I muttered instead and shook lose my knife and fork from the napkin they were wrapped in before laying it across my lap. “just, ya know… airport food” and tapped the plate with my knife.”
“Airport food?” His smirk widened “I think it’s usually Airline food people complain about. Just wait till you’re trying to keep that swill down when hurtling through the air at thirty thousand feet.”
I heaved at the prospect; covering my mouth I did my best to disguise it as a belch. Dexter threw his head back with a belly laugh. After a few moments he composed himself, wiped his eyes and finally, he spoke “Nick, you don’t have to do this, you do know that right? I’m a big boy, I don’t need you to hold my hand.”
“I aint doing it for you!” I lied. “Always wanted to see Saudi Arabia.”
“Oh, of course” Dex chuckled “It’s what every ol’ Ranch hand dreams of.”
“Been a long time since I was a Ranch Hand, kid.” I smirked and stabbed my fork into my bacon, mopping up some beans and tomato juice before putting it into my mouth. Chewing the food, I pointed across the table at Dexter. “These day’s I’m a wrestling manager. Gotta look after my investment.”
Dexter laughed again. “Better find yourself a new client then. I’m happy to call myself a pro fighter, but a wrestler?” Dexter shrugged and took a bite of his toast. “Not sure I’ll ever fit that category.”
“That aint what Jay thinks.” I said, reminding him of the trainer. “Called you a great potential. Said you could be the next best thing.”
“He also ask you to sign a cheque for more training?” Dex said with a chuckle. “Look Nick, I appreciate it. I really do. But I’m here because I have to be, and once I know why I’m here and who’s doing this… I’m done.”
“Listen, Dex…” I sighed and placed the cutlery down on my plate “I know this isn’t what you wanted. I know you’re a victim of circumstance. But… We’ve spent the best part of the last eleven years traveling back and forth across this country since, well… ya know.” Dex immediately dropped his head, averting his gaze, ashamedly abashed. “This is your chance to have something of your own. To belong somewhere again. Don’t be so quick to dismiss it.”
“I…” Dexter hesitated, still unable to look at me. “I’ll give it some thought.”
“That’s all I’m askin, kid.” I smiled as warmly as I could when he looked up. “That’s all I’m askin.”
Dexter Payne
Day 587 of 30
Anarchy 50
Riyadh, Saudi Arabia
Backstage at Anarchy and I perch uncomfortably on a packing crate, undeniably aware of all the eyes on me. The video is playing but hardly holding my attention as I tap the remote control anxiously against the worn denim of my faded blue jeans.
On the screen before me Mila Rader verbally pats herself on the back for a job well done. She speaks of her prowess in a wrestling-come-shoot fight fusion and asks if I am capable of the same. I silently wonder if I am. I’m dimly aware that the video package has fallen silent but, lost in my own thoughts, I forget to react.
“Well?” The voice asks, breaking the localised silence.
I looked around, perplexed by the waiting audience. The camera man was training his equipment on my position, the producer holding a clipboard and listening to someone speaking though the earpiece he wore while waiting on a response to his question. The Lighting guy and the Road Agent discussing the set and the sound guy checking play back. I saw them all. One after the other. Finally, I reply with “Well, what?”
The question caused a resounding response of laughter. Amusedly the producer stepped forward “Ah kid! You really are green!” he wrapped a condescending arm around my shoulders and pats me on the arm. “Well as in, Well what’s your response? You heard what she said! Insulted your name, your gimmick, your… everything! What do you have to say?”
“My…” I paused, confused. “… Gimmick? My name?”
“Not now, Kid! Wait for the camera!” The producer stepped out of shot and gestured with his hands while whispering “roll it!”
The light on the camera started blinking. I hesitate for a moment longer, the TV control still in my hand, then shake my head confused. “Look, this isn’t me. I don’t hate everyone in the locker room. I’m not better than them. I’m not going to sit here and pretend I’m angry with someone I’ve not even met.”
I sigh and shake my head. “I don’t want a match with Mila Rader. I’ve never even spoken to her. I’m sure she’s great…”
I set the controller down on the crate and stood up. The camera tracked me expertly. “Mila Rader IS great. Who would have expected her to triumph over three dangerous competitors the way she did? Tonight, when I get in that ring with her, I’m doing a job… Just like she is. I’m not going to stand here and say I hate her. I’m not going to try to hurt her. I don’t even want to fight her, so don’t expect me to sit here and say I want to KILL Mila Rader, because I don’t. She isn’t just a woman and if I have to fight a woman, I’m glad it’s one as talented as she is, someone I know is capable of standing toe to toe with me.. Other than that?” I shrug my shoulders “I really don’t have anything to say.”
I turn and start off down the corridor. Vaguely aware the production crew left behind are complaining about a ‘lack of content’ and not caring at all. “Well… Great. That was useless.” The cameraman shook his head.
“Now Tom, don’t be so sure… We can edit ANYTHING!” The producer smirked and watched as Dexter walked away.
