...following ‘Symphony of Destruction’...
Kasper knew she was walking past people. Everything hurt as she walked. She denied the help of her Father, Drexel, who was trying to say something but she didn't hear him. Kasper didn't hear none of them, the medics, or Topher she heard nothing. But she did hear something: a small warble of a high piercing shriek in her ear. In her head too. It vibrated to the core of what most assumed was he soul where it radiated and vibrated, bounced, warped, and caused disarray. Blood ran down her forehead and into her bloodshot eyes and all she could do was blink until the mixture of blood, salt, and lemon juices were gone.
Another. Fucking. Loss. Two title shots had slipped through her fingers again; only this one seemed to have started a fracture of the soul. Of one's heart and will power. Where did resolve of winning go when the burdens of loss had stacked so heavily against her? All she had in this moment was a smidgen of sanity; the warbling piercing soil weakening shriek; the taste of blood. Entering the locker room Kasper closed the door behind her locking it and for the next several hours she sat in silence in her wreckage; with the sound; the drops of blood and the loss.
When it had all stopped hours had passed a janitor had unlocked the door to clean finding Kasper sitting. She blinked out of her comatose stupor looking at him as he explained the arena has been closed for hours, Kasper didn't remember any of it but he told her he'd give her an hour to clean herself up so as she did so something caught her eye on the floor.
In a puddle of blood she had written: ’CRANE’.
...bike ride through New York…
The Harley roared as it's limits were being pushed however this particular Harley had been with its pale white rider for more than a decade and she was use to it, ‘Darlene’, was the most dependable item David Keith Slam the 2nd owned. More dependable than people even. Stillwater years of service Darlene could handle the ride, she was a loosey goosey kind of girl. One of a kind like David, so sometimes what that meant is going against the grain or the wishes of other the distance between him and Kasper gave him room to spread his little black wings to cause a little mischief.
He needed to get through to Crane and word was he visited a very long time ago friend. Timmy Draven. What was his tactics? How did he operate? Slam took chaos and petty acts together, the bread and he took the people involved, the pb&j, spread that over the bread then sprinkled himself in…the mushrooms…and finally the shit ride sandwich took control while they rode it out. Finding the man's “compound” or fraternity or whatever his old friend had churched it up to be wasn't hard to find: it even felt inviting. Warm. Happy. All the things that turned Slams tummy and made him shit warm hot foamy froth.
As he waited for night fall Slam made a call to an old contact with TSA and Homeland security.
Slam 2: ”Ricky?....hey buddy, you with the old out fit?....nice…oh yeah………..even better because I need a favor….I'll even tip you this time…sweet, so this is what I got going on.”
Slam pulled out a pack of Reds, flipped the top, and tapped one out into his fingers. The sun was almost setting as the glow of his lighter lit up his blue eyes.
Slam 2: ”I got a flight in mind from the UK to Maple world…..more than likely private, several targets more than likely transporting drugs…the devils lettuce…yup.”
He pulled a joint from behind his ear, smirking.
Slam 2: ”A big feller they call him Warrick and then Wesley Rage…R-a-g-e…yeah. The other Nicholas Cage….yeah wrestlers, High Rollers Club….I'm back in the game just not busting heads, trying to teach someone how to do it…..thanks Ricky and if you need a name for the call, Cheez…..haha..I know…C-H-E-E-Z…yup…yup…bye.”
Hanging the phone up Slam tossed his cigarette and gathered a bag, large channel locks, and a flashlight. His next task required a bit of sneaking. After an hour or so walk Slam emerged on the edge of Dravens compound, he killed the flashlight, and pinched the edge of his joint between his fingers. Using the bolt cutters Slam would try and kill the power, he needed it off long enough to deliver his package outside the entrance of the compound. As soon as the lights cut off Slam made his move, a quick skidadle across the tree line and he dropped a black duffle bag off with a note attached: for draven, it read. And Slam was gone once again…
Kasper was furious, she had saw the full match against Cross Recoba, and one thing disgusted her the most something she waited to confront her cousin with upon his return. Slam pulled up to the camper on Darlene all smiles unaware of Kaspers anger.
Slam 2: ”Hey Kasper! Don't you look fit to be tied? Where is everyone?”
Kasper pulled her cell phone out and approached Slam, shoving the phone close to his face. It was a short clip of the moment Slam pushed the ropes for Kasper ultimately breaking the submission Recoba had applied.
Slam 2: ”Ah shit, look you were in a spot and this is before I promised to be justly Kasp…”
Kasper: ”I don't care! Slam this is your last warning don't interfere again, I was fine and I was going to be fine! If you don't think I can do this walk away dude, go back to your hidey hole and fuck off!”
Kasper shoved past him and began to walk away.
Slam 2: ”Look kid…ah fuck you've walked away…son of a bitch.”
Topher: ”She'll come around David…”
Slam wheeled around on his duct tapes boot heels, a cold smirk on his face.
Slam 2: ”She better Topher, or I promise she'll fail at this or worse she's going to get hurt…you know the business old man.”
Topher: ”Yup, that I do…I'm sure you're doing your thing to break her?”
Slam 2: ”Always. No one is just good and fair in this world let alone this business…she's going to have to break some eggs Topher, she's gonna have to bleed or make others bleed.”
Topher: ”Yeah..I know. Speaking of bleeding the fans have voted: First Blood at New Year's Brawl.”
Slam 2: ”Well let's go prepare our Princess?”
Topher agreed with a grunt and joined Slam as they headed off after Kasper.
[End Scene]
