Post by Steele on Jul 12, 2018 15:13:50 GMT -5
Thursday, 12th July, 2018. 9.00am.
Dagenham, East London.
Danny Boy Davis sipped his steaming mug of Tetley and leaned back in his chair as his mother brought him a breakfast fit for a king. Sausages, bacon, eggs, beans, black pudding. The works. A proper English breakfast.
“Thanks mum,” he said, “It’s nice to be back home and off the road, even if it’s just for a day. At least I’m working in England again.”
He picked up a squeezy bottle of Heinz ketchup and popped the cap, squeezing a generous helping onto his plate.
“How’s the job going Danny?” asked Mrs Davis.
“It’s alright. I’m working for one of the up-and-coming stars right now, Jackson Steele. Former champion in the AWF - and a future champion too if he plays his cards right. Only he’s been going off the rails a bit lately. I thought Del was bad, but Jackson’s going at it like he’s trying to break a record or sumfink.”
“I always knew that Derek was a little troublemaker.” Said Danny’s mother. “Even when he was a little boy, he’d been in and out of that nick more times than your old man.”
“Yeah…” mused Danny, “…and dad ain’t no saint. What’s he in for this time?”
“Oh, assault, battery. The usual stuff.”
“At his age?” Danny said, gobsmacked. “He’s seventy-two!”
“Well you know how he gets when he’s got a few pints in him, Danny.”
“Yeah. Just like Del.”
Danny picked up his knife and fork, and skewered his sausage. He began to saw through it when his phone rang. The ringtone was distinctive, and could mean only one thing.
Trouble.
Danny sighed and put down his cutlery, fishing around in his jeans pocket for his mobile. He pressed the green icon and held the phone up to his ear.
“What’s happened, Del? This is meant to be my day off.”
At the other end of the line, Del was panicking.
“Danny, I know you’re on yer holiday and all but I tried to stop him and he’s gone off and I can’t find him and I don’t know where to even begin and Jesus Danny he’s gonna get himself killed or someone’s gonna kick his face in or summat Danny seriously this is not good and oh Christ what am I gonna do-”
Danny pinched the bridge of his nose as he listened to Del spewing his entire stream of consciousness down the line.
“Alright Del, calm down. Del. Del... DEL!”
But Del had rung off. Danny went into “professional mode, and straight away tried to call Jackson.
As he’d predicted, there was no answer.
He decided the next step would be to check social media. He fired up Twitter, and sitting right at the top of his feed he saw;
Danny closed his eyes in despair.
.::AT THAT MOMENT, IN CENTRAL LONDON::.
Traffic packed the roads and the pavements were awash with pedestrians as the people of London went to-and-fro to work and school, carried out errands or just busied themselves sightseeing.
A group of schoolchildren stood at a Pelican crossing, waiting patiently for the green light to show them that it was safe to cross. As they reached the island in the middle of the road, they heard a distant sound that somehow stood out conspicuously against the everyday noises of the morning traffic. A song of some kind, it sounded regal and inspiring. Anthemic.
Lijepa naša domovino,
Oj junačka zemljo mila,
Stare slave djedovino,
Da bi vazda sretna bila!
At that moment a yellow Vauxhall Cavalier rounded a distant corner and the schoolchildren could see there was a man standing up out of the sunroof, wearing a red and white checkered shirt. The car was driving in the bus lane, and the man was clutching a megaphone. He brought the loudhaler up to his lips, and delivered his message.
“’It’s coming home?’ Is it fuck! All you stupid Limey mouth-breathers got all worked up for absolutely NOTHING and you ended up like you always do, whether you’re playing soccer or jacking off… empty-handed and disappointed!”
As the car came closer to the children, they could see the man driving was having an absolutely wonderful time, laughing his head off as he swigged from a can of Tennant’s Super.
“You can keep on about the ‘Spirit of 66’ but you all know deep down that it’s never gonna happen! James Corden, Rowan Atikinson, Jimmy Savile, your boys took one hell of a beating!”
One of the boys squinted. “Is that… Jackson Steele?” He thought out loud.
Of course it was Jackson Steele. Wearing a Croatia football shirt.
“If you know what’s good for you, if you ever want to see GOLD return to these shores, then you’ll get behind me! Jackson Steele! Because I am the last hope for this pathetic nation to make a mark on the world stage when I bring the X-Crown Championship back to Anonymous Xtreme Wrestling on July 29th!”
The lights on the other side of the road turned red, and the green man appeared to beckon the pedestrians across the final stretch. One boy stepped into the road, and his friend had to pull him back as the Cavalier kept on going, the driver swerving in and out of traffic, in and out of the bus lane, to find the quickest route through the throng.
“Come and see the greatest show on Earth,” boomed Jackson, “as seven no-hopers play England opposite my heroic Croatia, in the most one-sided contest since… well, last night!”
Many of the people on foot were by now staring incredulously as the drunk-driver continued to weave his way down the road, toting the porn-star-turned-wrestler-turned-actor who continued to lambast the crowd. Several people of foreign persuasion applauded his message, as the majority began to jeer and boo him.
“Yes! I agree! Boo! Boo England! Boo their pitiful showing! Boo the manager! Boo the trainers! Boo the physiotherapists! Boo the fact that they FAILED to live up to your expectations so you could live vicariously through them! So that you could pretend that you were somebody special! I’m all you have left! And now every single one of you should be down on your knees, praying that the Canadian can step in and sweep up this pathetic mess that YOU all created and bring glory back to this island for the first time in a hundred years!”
It was at that point the crowd snapped. They rushed into the street, surrounding the car. Jackson dropped his megaphone and tried to dive back in through the sunroof, but he was pulled out by a pair of burly men with no shirts on. Several of the mob climbed up onto the car.
Against the onslaught, the car stood no chance. The fenders were bent, the windscreen smashed. Door panels were kicked in, and Jackson found himself at the mercy of the large, tattooed, shirtless men.
As he feared for his life, he was relieved to see the blue and red flashes illuminating the area around him.
.::SEVERAL HOURS LATER::.
Danny Boy Davis and Del Trevor stood together outside the imposing Victorian-era police station in the Borough of Kensington as they waited for Jackson to show. Finally, they noticed the front doors swing open, and Jackson emerged and descended the steps towards them.
“Free at last, free at last! Thank God almighty, I am free at last!” quipped Jackson, as he made the peace sign on both hands. Thankfully, he was no longer wearing his Croatia shirt.
Danny just shook his head.
“I take one day off and you go and get yourself arrested. You being charged?”
Jackson shrugged.
“I dunno. Something about offensive language and all that but they haven’t got a lot else to go on. Poor old Hamish is getting done for drink-driving though so it could be worse.”
“Maybe it’s not my place, Boss, but you outghta be careful from now on. V’s already pissed off that you’re putting AXW in the news for all the wrong reasons, and this ain’t gonna help.”
Jackson waved him off.
“I’m putting AXW in the news. I bet it’s all anybody’s talking about now. At least it’ll take their minds off of the football.”
Danny looked at Jackson askance. “By bringing it up and blasting the Croatian national anthem? Are you on something?”
“I’m on fire, that’s what I’m on.” Retorted Jackson.
“You’re on borrowed time, more like.” Danny shot back. “They ain’t gonna forget this in a hurry.”
Jackson scoffed. “Relax, yeah? Everybody needs a villain to hate. I’m just giving the people what they want. You seem to forget what I do, Danny, and that’s make waves. It’s no good to me if people forget who I am. Right now, I’m the most hated man in England! People will pay good money for Night Of Champions to watch me get my comeuppance.”
“So you’re gonna lay down in the title match?” asked Del, confused. Jackson rolled his eyes.
“No, of course I’m not gonna lay down!” he snapped. “They’ll tune in to see if I get my comeuppance, but they’re not actually gonna get that satisfaction!”
“Right.” Said Del, not entirely sure he understood.
“And don’t you worry about V. Once he sees the numbers and the asses in seats, sees the people tuning in and buying tickets for AXW to see the NEW X-Crown Champion, Jackson Steele, then he’ll see that I was right all along. Controversy creates cash, to quote Eric Bischoff.”
“It’s a dangerous game, Boss.” warned Danny. “And not just with V. You don’t wanna wind up on the wrong end of the law too many times and find yourself getting deported.”
“Pfft. Deported?” scoffed Jackson. “This is Britain. You can’t go half a block without bumping into a dozen people who are here illegally. If they can’t even get rid of the ones who are here illegally in the first place, how the hell are they gonna get ride of a bona fide star like me without stirring up a huge backlash?”
Danny rubbed his forehead and ran a hand over his buzz cut. There really was no telling Jackson.
“Maybe you’re right, Boss.” He lied, ceding the argument to Jackson. At least it wasn’t him who would be sent packing out of the country… but Jackson was his livelihood right now. He knew he would have a hard battle trying to keep him headed straight.
Danny and Del led Jackson to the nearby car park, where a nondescript black Mercedes was waiting. Danny opened the back door for Jackson to enter, as Del climbed into the passenger seat. Danny hopped in the driver’s side and fired up the engine before guiding the car out onto the road.
“So, you got a plan yet?” asked Danny over his shoulder.
“For what?” came the reply from Jackson.
“For the match, of course. This Four-Ring Circus dealy. What even is that?”
Jackson shrugged. “Fuck if I know. Sounds like another one of Mongo’s fever dreams come to life. Anyway, I don’t need a plan. All I need to do is turn up, put some guys through the wringer, and walk out with my brand-new collection of belts. Simple.”
“Yeah well don’t count on us being able to help you out. I don’t know much about this type of match but I do know that there are a bunch of steel cages involved.”
“Do you think I need your help, Danny? Have you forgotten who you work for? I’m Jackson fucking Steele! The Real Deal! ‘Power’ Steele! Whenever it looks like there’s no way out, I find my own way. Those rings might be surrounded by steel cages, or filled with weapons, or filled with fucking sharks for all I care, but they’re gonna be just as hazardous to my opponents as they are to me. Maybe Hardcore Harry will be a tough nut to crack in a hardcore environment but the others? Nah. One of them’s a freaking girl! If they pair me off with her at the start I’ll be laughing. I won’t know whether to fuck her or fight her! But either way, she’s gonna be going down. On me or to me, I don’t care which.”
Danny looked in the rear view mirror at Jackson, who looked incredibly impressed with his wordplay.
“Diamond’s in the match too, isn’t he?” Del asked.
“Yeah, replacing Storm who’s finally retired and gone into a care home or something like that. But it doesn’t matter which one of them is in the match, I’ve beaten them both before and I’ll do it again, no worries.” said Jackson, confidently.
“Diamond’s improved a lot since you last wrestled him, Boss.” was the cautious response from Danny. “Former X-Crown Champion and all that. He’s gonna be going at it hell for leather to try and get those belts back.”
“Let him. He can go as hell-for-leather as he wants but it won’t make the damnedest bit of difference. When I make a promise, I intend to keep it. And I promise that..."
"Hey, where are we going?”
Danny’s stomach growled as Jackson realised that the car wasn’t headed towards the hotel in Pall Mall, and was instead travelling East.
“When I make a promise, I intend to keep it too, Boss. And I ain’t had me fackin' breakfast yet.”
Danny guided the car into the lane marked “DAGENHAM” and floored it.