Post by Lucas Walker on Jan 27, 2018 17:09:40 GMT -5
We open inside a currency exchange in South Boston. A tall man stands in front of the counter, bundled to the nines and speaking with a surprisingly quiet voice to the young woman manning the exchange. "I think I filled out the paperwork right...um, miss, can you tell me what the cost would be to send $600 for next-day pickup?"
The woman types a few things into her computer. "And where are we sending this?"
"Huntersville, West Virginia." the large man shifts uncomfortably, looking around as if to assure himself that he's not being stared at.
The woman nods, drumming her red, blue, and silver-painted nails against the counter. "Mmkay. ZIP code there is 24954?" The big man nods, and the woman types a bit more, pausing for a few moments before speaking. "The fee for that transaction would be eleven dollars. For a dollar and fifty cents more, we could make it Money in Minutes. Would you be interested in that, Mr. Walker?"
The big man pauses before nodding again. "Yeah. Buck-fifty's fine. Recipient's name is Maureen Walker. I, uh, think I marked it that way on the sheet."
The woman nods patiently, typing again. "Yes sir. Total cost today is going to be six hundred and twelve dollars and fifty cents." The man pulls a stack of bills out of his pocket, fumbling with them for a few seconds before handing them over. The woman nods, taking the wad of bills and smoothly turning to place them in a counting machine.
The whir of the machine's motors cuts through the relative quiet of the shop, bills being pulled down and spat out into the machine's pocket. The woman moves the money to a drawer beneath the counter, passing a pair of quarters over to the big man, who quickly pockets them. After a few seconds, a lengthy receipt unfurls itself from the printer, followed by an identical receipt, and the woman passes them over as well. "Can I have you sign these? Your tracking number is up at the top of the receipt here, and Maureen will need it to receive her funds."
The big man nods, scratching out signatures, and pockets one of the receipts. "Thank you so much, miss. You have yourself a blessed day now." The woman nods, smiling politely back at the man, and the big man walks outside into the cool air and dim light of a late Cambridge afternoon. He fishes his phone out of his pocket, dialing a number, and puts the phone to his ear, tapping his foot against the concrete.
His face relaxes slightly as the person on the other end picks up, quietly breathing a sigh of relief. "Ma, it's Lucas...yeah, everything's okay. Just wanted to let ya know I got the Western Union sent. Let me know when yer ready." He pauses again, nodding, and looks around, breath fogging the air in front of him. After a few more seconds, a muffled noise comes from the phone, and he nods again, fishing the receipt out of his pocket. "Alright. Tracking number's six-five-three, nine-three-nine, nine-seven-one-two. Lemme know if ya need me to repeat anything."
After a moment, Lucas nods, chuckling. "Sure thing. Nine-thirty-nine, ninety-seven twelve. Got that?" After another pause, he nods again. "Alright. Should be available whenever ya get in. I'll call ya when I get back to the apartment. Love ya, Ma. God bless." He hangs up, sighing into the night, and begins walking down the pavement, somehow seeming much smaller than his massive frame as he wades through the foot traffic around him.
Lucas fishes a keyring out of his pocket, stopping next to a battered Ford pickup of indeterminate model and year. He unlocks the door, stepping up and in, and hauls the door shut, the steel door clanging shut and echoing in the cramped-for-a-giant cab. Lucas settles back into his seat, slipping his key into the ignition, and is about to turn it when he feels his phone vibrate with the buzz of a received e-mail.
He fishes his phone out of his pocket again, rubbing the bridge of his nose with his free hand as he unlocks the phone, checking his newest message. As his eyes flit across the screen, they widen, and a grin that can only be described as infectious spreads across his face. He quickly fumbles with his phone, dialing a number again, and presses it to his ear, shaking with nervous energy. "Come on, come on, pick up now..."
The voice on the other end of the phone picks up, and Lucas speaks up quickly, practically babbling in excitement. "Ma! Ma, I got it! I got the wrestling gig! ...yeah! The one in Boston! Spike Kane! Sweet Lord almighty, this is gonna be good. They say I've got a match on the 2nd. Not a whole lotta time to prep, but hot damn!" He pauses for a second, grin fading slightly, and hangs his head. "Sorry, Momma. But still. It's more work, and it's a gateway deal. Might be able to make somethin' big of this."
He exhales slowly, nodding. "I wanted to let you know, Ma. I'm gonna head home, hit the gym. Apparently I need to right now." Lucas chuckles, shaking his head. "Love you too, Ma. Talk later. God bless."
Lucas hangs up the phone, slipping back into his pocket. He shakes his head, grinning, and exhales. "Combat Wrestling, here I come." With that, he fires up the truck, engine cough-roaring its way to life, and he carefully pulls out of the parking space, merging out into traffic as we fade to black.
Com. Bat. Wrestling. How you all doin'? Name's Lucas Hunter. You ain't heard of me, but that's fine. I'm not comin' in with a chip on my shoulder or an ego. I got a few things in my pocket: I got strength, I got stamina, I got a little speed, I got a lotta time under my belt bouncing bums out on their rear end, and I got drive. What do the rest of ya got?
Lemme start with Waylon Stokes. You got aggression. You got fire. You call yourself the Sadistic Savage, if the reports're to be believed. Look, I get being fired up. It's how you motivate yourself. Hell, I've been in more than my share of barfights. No stranger to grabbin' weapons or goin' for the eyes. In that kind of wild brawl, you do what you gotta to survive. Ain't no problem with that.
Nah, my problem comes when you start antagonizing people who ain't here for a fight. Fans. Kids, for the love of mercy. They're just here to watch and have a good time. You wanna mess with them, I'm gonna have to show you the door. And like I said, I got plenty of experience throwin' belligerent idiots like you out. So you wanna be a bully, Waylon, be prepared for the consequences. Step on up, we'll see who the real big man is.
The Greatest Show on Earth himself. Muru. You got experience. Boy howdy, do you have experience. I remember watchin' you when I was a kid. I remember you made it all look so easy. I wanted to be like you. I wanted to dance with the lights on bright like you, I wanted the success, I wanted the chance to be a star like you. And now here I am, first time outside a bar or a VFW, wrestlin' you in the main event. It's like a dream come true, man.
But don't you think for a heartbeat that I'm gonna go easy just because you're an icon. Nah, it'll be the exact opposite. I'm gonna go as hard as I can to walk away with the duke. This is my first chance on anythin' like a national stage. I need to make the most of it. I know I'm gonna need every bit of strength and speed, grit and focus I got to beat you, and even then it ain't gonna be easy. It'll be an honor to fight you, sir. No hard feelings. But I gotta do this. I need this like you wouldn't believe.
And then there's the guy that feels like he's everythin' I'm not. The self-proclaimed King in the North, Ethan King. Lemme remind you of a little history lesson, Ethan: this country don't take too kindly to kings. You've got money, you've got schoolin' finest money can buy, you got to go to Japan and tear it up over there...oh yeah, I've seen the footage. I ain't gonna pretend you're some prissy rich boy who won't get his hands dirty. You're willing to go to some crazy ends to win, and you don't care what lines you gotta cross to get there, as long as the last one's the finish line.
I ain't the sharpest, I'll be the first to admit, but I do my homework. See, when you don't got it all off the starting line, you gotta work for it. You make it happen. You learn how to be patient, you learn how to line your shot up so that when you take it, you hit big. When you only get a few opportunities, you gotta make the most of 'em. This might be my one shot, Ethan. You got fallback plans, you got contingencies, you got a cushion if you fall. If I fall, I ain't got nothing but the cold hard ground waitin' for me. So I won't fall. I can't. And you won't make me.
You three each got something that makes you stand out, otherwise you wouldn't be here. Me? I'm not the best wrestler on the planet. Hell, I ain't even the best wrestler in the state. I know what I am: a man with a mission. A man with a target. Combat Wrestling needs a champion, and I'm fixin' to make sure it's my waist that belt's going around. I try to be civil outside the ring, but the moment that bell rings...
Hunt's on. See you all Friday.