Post by Steele on Jul 24, 2018 14:38:46 GMT -5
“Jesus Christ, Boss. How much do you weigh?” panted Danny Boy Davis. Steele groaned.
“Two and a…. no, wait… two hundred and… one? Thirty one?” he slurred.
“Yeah right. I think you oughta see about gettin’ your bio updated. There’s no way you’re 231!” Danny wheezed.
Danny helped Jackson along the corridor of his hotel, the former AWF Champion was propped up on Danny’s shoulder and teetering precariously. In fact, Steele was barely doing any of the work to keep himself upright.
“I so fucking am 231 Danny, and you know what? I’ll… I’ll prove it at the Night of Nights when they do the… weigh-in thing… you’ll see I’m 231 then. And everyone in that match will see me… wuuuuuuuarrghhhchch!”
Jackson suddenly projectile vomited up the door of another hotel guest. The puke was a deep red colour, which under any other circumstances might set alarm bells ringing. But Danny was fully aware of just how much wine his boss had consumed tonight.
“Fackin’ hell Boss, d’you wanna get us kicked out of here or sumfink?” Danny chided.
Speeding up, Danny whisked Jackson to the door of his hotel room and leaned his near-comatose charge up against the frame. Danny patted the pockets of his jeans as he searched for his card-key, before the door opened from the inside. Del Trevor stood in the doorway.
“Quick, get in ‘ere.” Del demanded. “There’s filth out lookin’ for ya.”
The fact that “The Filth” were looking for Jackson was entirely understandable. Earlier in the evening Jackson had been part of a rather regrettable incident in Notting Hill Gate which ended in a patron of a wine bar being thrown through a window.
“Let’s hope nobody saw us come in ‘ere.” said Danny as he gingerly laid Jackson down on the bed.
“At least he’s booked in under a fake name.” said Del.
Danny nodded. “Yeah, too right. And I slipped some cash to the manager when we came in. So hopefully he won’t stooge us out if they come looking.”
Del went over to the window and pulled the curtains apart slightly. He looked out across the city, lit up like a Christmas tree in the dark of night. Here and there Del could see the flash of sirens, hear their wails above the nightlife.
“Wonder if they’re looking for us?” he thought out loud.
“Who knows.” replied Danny. “There’s a lot goes on in the old City, they ain’t gonna send out the blues and twos for every single punch-up. Still, not every single punch-up involves an international celebrity throwing someone through a window…”
“Well… let’s just hope the manager keeps his mouth shut then.” Del mused.
“I’d be surprised if they found us here. I took a lot of detours to make sure nobody was following us.”
“Still, we’re only a couple miles across the park.”
Danny nodded. He turned round towards the bed, and noticed Steele was gone. A note of panic shot through him, until he noticed that the main door to the room was securely bolted.
“Where’s the Boss?” he asked. Del nodded to the closed bathroom door.
“Probably on the big white phone to God” he joked.
Danny shook his head and picked up his jacket which was hanging over the back of a chair. Rifling through the pockets, he pulled out a pack of cigarettes and opened the window wide.
“Fuck the smoking ban” he said as he lit one up, “I ain’t had a gasper in hours.”
As Danny leaned as far out of the window as he could, Del’s ears pricked up as he heard sounds coming from inside the bathroom.
“...all of you THINK you’ve got what it takes… but you’ve got NOTHING on… nothing on… on me. Stackson… I mean, Jackson Steele!”
“Is he cutting a fucking promo?” asked Del. “He’s pissed out of his skull!”
Danny took the biggest drag he’d ever taken to finish his cigarette, and flicked the butt down to the ground several stories below. “I’ve got a bad feeling about this” he muttered as he pulled his phone out of his pocket.
The notification at the top of the screen read; ’Jackson Steele is live now’
Danny pressed the icon and loaded up Facebook on his phone. Immediately the screen was taken over by Steele’s face, bruised and bloody from his earlier altercation, streaming live from just feet away behind a locked door.
“The XHF is meant to be the biggest showcase of… of… of… TALENT! In the world! But they’ve made a biiiiig mistake with the line-up for the Four-Ring Snircus match, by leaving all the talent on the bench! Let’s run down everybody in the match with actual… actual… TALENT! Yeah? So first off… there’s ME!”
On the screen, Jackson made a big show of scratching his chin and making it look like he was really thinking hard.
“And that’s it! Just me! Who else you got? You’ve got Hardcore Harry! Is he going to be a threat? You’ve got to be kidding me! The guy’s like… ninety years old! He’s older than Kanyon! And then there’s Steve Awesome… um… who? See this is what I’m talking about! The XHF Network is SUPPOSED to be the TOP LEVEL of super-stardom in professional wrestling but instead… instead… they’ve had to resort to bringing back these so-called ’legends!’ Because there ain’t enough real TALENT to make up the numbers!”
“It’s like that old song… Jokers- no, clowns- clowns? Yeah I think that’s right.”
Danny shook his head as he watched Jackson stumbling over his words. Considering how supremely wasted he was, it had been going… well, not necessarily good but… alright.
“Clowns to the left of me” said Jackson as he held up his right hand, “Jokers to the right. And here I am, stuck in the middle. Because not only have the clowns of the past come out to play, in Hardcore Harry and Steve Awesome… but today’s jokers have joined in!”
“Jack Diamond, Raiden Ishimori, Zolo… I don’t even know how you say it but that crazy weird chick! Rob Riot! And least of all The Anemone! Nobody in this match can hold a candle to me! Nobody! Jack Diamond had a cup of coffee with the X-Crown by taking it off of a man who was on his way out of the business and then when he lost it, he still weaseled and wormed his way into this match because the new champion couldn’t keep up! And Anemone! You! You sat on top of AXW for months because quite simply you didn’t have a Jackson Steele to keep you in check!”
“As for Raiden Ishimori, Rob Riot… and… that other chick…”
Jackson was suddenly overtaken by the urge to vomit again. Which he did, for some considerable time. Completely on-camera. Danny watched in awe as what must have been a record number of disgusted reaction emojis flashed across the feed.
“See what you do to me! You make me sick just thinking about you being in this match! In my match! In my ring!”
“Should we stop him, Danny?” Del said, his ear pressed up against the bathroom door.
“Just… nah.” Sighed Danny. “At least he’s finally focusing on the match.”
Steele wiped his mouth with his sleeve and then burped. His eyes widened as he felt like he was going to be sick again, but nothing came of it.
“On Sunday, we’re going to be locked inside a steel cage. Four steel cages. A four-steel… steel cage… It doesn’t matter how many steel cages there’s gonna be, alright? All that matters is that I’ve got something to hurt each and every one of you with! Now I might not have the reputation of someone like Hardcore Harry but believe me, I can be a real mean bastard when I put my mind to it… just ask the stupid fucking prick in Notting HIll who tried to step up to me earlier tonight and ended up getting himself thrown through a plate-glass window…”
“Danny…” Del said, sounding worried. Danny stood up.
“On Sunday night, I’m gonna be pretending that each and every one of you is that snot-nosed little fuckstick! And while I’m putting you all through your own little personal version of hell, those razor-sharp steel walls are gonna be home, sweet home for me! They’re gonna feel like… like… a plush hotel! Like right here, in the Sofitel in Pall Mall!”
“Fuck!” exclaimed Danny. Jackson had not only admitted to assault but also blown his own cover in front of thousands of viewers live on Facebook.
“Get him out of there, Del!” commanded Danny.
Del started throwing his shoulder into the door, but found it to be surprisingly sturdy. Danny added his weight and there was an almighty crash as the wood caved in, throwing splinters and shards all over the tiny bathroom. Jackson wheeled round in shock as Danny’s burly hands grabbed him and pulled him out of the room. His phone hit the floor, and the screen smashed.
Somewhere far away, the entire sorry scene played out in living colour on the screen of a rose gold iPhone X.
A perfectly-manicured thumb hovered over the screen as the video concluded, and then swiped it away. A small red counter over the ‘messages’ icon steadily increased in number by the second. It could mean only one thing. Everybody wanted to get an opinion, a scoop, on Steele’s latest indiscretion.
The woman sighed, and pulled up her contacts screen. She scrolled down the list of names, and hit Steele’s name. Holding the phone up to her ear, she heard the ringer give way instantly to the voicemail message.
”This is Jackson. Leave a message after the beep.”
The beep sounded. She opened her mouth to speak, but no words came.
She hit the red button, and ended the call.
“Two and a…. no, wait… two hundred and… one? Thirty one?” he slurred.
“Yeah right. I think you oughta see about gettin’ your bio updated. There’s no way you’re 231!” Danny wheezed.
Danny helped Jackson along the corridor of his hotel, the former AWF Champion was propped up on Danny’s shoulder and teetering precariously. In fact, Steele was barely doing any of the work to keep himself upright.
“I so fucking am 231 Danny, and you know what? I’ll… I’ll prove it at the Night of Nights when they do the… weigh-in thing… you’ll see I’m 231 then. And everyone in that match will see me… wuuuuuuuarrghhhchch!”
Jackson suddenly projectile vomited up the door of another hotel guest. The puke was a deep red colour, which under any other circumstances might set alarm bells ringing. But Danny was fully aware of just how much wine his boss had consumed tonight.
“Fackin’ hell Boss, d’you wanna get us kicked out of here or sumfink?” Danny chided.
Speeding up, Danny whisked Jackson to the door of his hotel room and leaned his near-comatose charge up against the frame. Danny patted the pockets of his jeans as he searched for his card-key, before the door opened from the inside. Del Trevor stood in the doorway.
“Quick, get in ‘ere.” Del demanded. “There’s filth out lookin’ for ya.”
The fact that “The Filth” were looking for Jackson was entirely understandable. Earlier in the evening Jackson had been part of a rather regrettable incident in Notting Hill Gate which ended in a patron of a wine bar being thrown through a window.
“Let’s hope nobody saw us come in ‘ere.” said Danny as he gingerly laid Jackson down on the bed.
“At least he’s booked in under a fake name.” said Del.
Danny nodded. “Yeah, too right. And I slipped some cash to the manager when we came in. So hopefully he won’t stooge us out if they come looking.”
Del went over to the window and pulled the curtains apart slightly. He looked out across the city, lit up like a Christmas tree in the dark of night. Here and there Del could see the flash of sirens, hear their wails above the nightlife.
“Wonder if they’re looking for us?” he thought out loud.
“Who knows.” replied Danny. “There’s a lot goes on in the old City, they ain’t gonna send out the blues and twos for every single punch-up. Still, not every single punch-up involves an international celebrity throwing someone through a window…”
“Well… let’s just hope the manager keeps his mouth shut then.” Del mused.
“I’d be surprised if they found us here. I took a lot of detours to make sure nobody was following us.”
“Still, we’re only a couple miles across the park.”
Danny nodded. He turned round towards the bed, and noticed Steele was gone. A note of panic shot through him, until he noticed that the main door to the room was securely bolted.
“Where’s the Boss?” he asked. Del nodded to the closed bathroom door.
“Probably on the big white phone to God” he joked.
Danny shook his head and picked up his jacket which was hanging over the back of a chair. Rifling through the pockets, he pulled out a pack of cigarettes and opened the window wide.
“Fuck the smoking ban” he said as he lit one up, “I ain’t had a gasper in hours.”
As Danny leaned as far out of the window as he could, Del’s ears pricked up as he heard sounds coming from inside the bathroom.
“...all of you THINK you’ve got what it takes… but you’ve got NOTHING on… nothing on… on me. Stackson… I mean, Jackson Steele!”
“Is he cutting a fucking promo?” asked Del. “He’s pissed out of his skull!”
Danny took the biggest drag he’d ever taken to finish his cigarette, and flicked the butt down to the ground several stories below. “I’ve got a bad feeling about this” he muttered as he pulled his phone out of his pocket.
The notification at the top of the screen read; ’Jackson Steele is live now’
Danny pressed the icon and loaded up Facebook on his phone. Immediately the screen was taken over by Steele’s face, bruised and bloody from his earlier altercation, streaming live from just feet away behind a locked door.
“The XHF is meant to be the biggest showcase of… of… of… TALENT! In the world! But they’ve made a biiiiig mistake with the line-up for the Four-Ring Snircus match, by leaving all the talent on the bench! Let’s run down everybody in the match with actual… actual… TALENT! Yeah? So first off… there’s ME!”
On the screen, Jackson made a big show of scratching his chin and making it look like he was really thinking hard.
“And that’s it! Just me! Who else you got? You’ve got Hardcore Harry! Is he going to be a threat? You’ve got to be kidding me! The guy’s like… ninety years old! He’s older than Kanyon! And then there’s Steve Awesome… um… who? See this is what I’m talking about! The XHF Network is SUPPOSED to be the TOP LEVEL of super-stardom in professional wrestling but instead… instead… they’ve had to resort to bringing back these so-called ’legends!’ Because there ain’t enough real TALENT to make up the numbers!”
“It’s like that old song… Jokers- no, clowns- clowns? Yeah I think that’s right.”
Danny shook his head as he watched Jackson stumbling over his words. Considering how supremely wasted he was, it had been going… well, not necessarily good but… alright.
“Clowns to the left of me” said Jackson as he held up his right hand, “Jokers to the right. And here I am, stuck in the middle. Because not only have the clowns of the past come out to play, in Hardcore Harry and Steve Awesome… but today’s jokers have joined in!”
“Jack Diamond, Raiden Ishimori, Zolo… I don’t even know how you say it but that crazy weird chick! Rob Riot! And least of all The Anemone! Nobody in this match can hold a candle to me! Nobody! Jack Diamond had a cup of coffee with the X-Crown by taking it off of a man who was on his way out of the business and then when he lost it, he still weaseled and wormed his way into this match because the new champion couldn’t keep up! And Anemone! You! You sat on top of AXW for months because quite simply you didn’t have a Jackson Steele to keep you in check!”
“As for Raiden Ishimori, Rob Riot… and… that other chick…”
Jackson was suddenly overtaken by the urge to vomit again. Which he did, for some considerable time. Completely on-camera. Danny watched in awe as what must have been a record number of disgusted reaction emojis flashed across the feed.
“See what you do to me! You make me sick just thinking about you being in this match! In my match! In my ring!”
“Should we stop him, Danny?” Del said, his ear pressed up against the bathroom door.
“Just… nah.” Sighed Danny. “At least he’s finally focusing on the match.”
Steele wiped his mouth with his sleeve and then burped. His eyes widened as he felt like he was going to be sick again, but nothing came of it.
“On Sunday, we’re going to be locked inside a steel cage. Four steel cages. A four-steel… steel cage… It doesn’t matter how many steel cages there’s gonna be, alright? All that matters is that I’ve got something to hurt each and every one of you with! Now I might not have the reputation of someone like Hardcore Harry but believe me, I can be a real mean bastard when I put my mind to it… just ask the stupid fucking prick in Notting HIll who tried to step up to me earlier tonight and ended up getting himself thrown through a plate-glass window…”
“Danny…” Del said, sounding worried. Danny stood up.
“On Sunday night, I’m gonna be pretending that each and every one of you is that snot-nosed little fuckstick! And while I’m putting you all through your own little personal version of hell, those razor-sharp steel walls are gonna be home, sweet home for me! They’re gonna feel like… like… a plush hotel! Like right here, in the Sofitel in Pall Mall!”
“Fuck!” exclaimed Danny. Jackson had not only admitted to assault but also blown his own cover in front of thousands of viewers live on Facebook.
“Get him out of there, Del!” commanded Danny.
Del started throwing his shoulder into the door, but found it to be surprisingly sturdy. Danny added his weight and there was an almighty crash as the wood caved in, throwing splinters and shards all over the tiny bathroom. Jackson wheeled round in shock as Danny’s burly hands grabbed him and pulled him out of the room. His phone hit the floor, and the screen smashed.
Somewhere far away, the entire sorry scene played out in living colour on the screen of a rose gold iPhone X.
A perfectly-manicured thumb hovered over the screen as the video concluded, and then swiped it away. A small red counter over the ‘messages’ icon steadily increased in number by the second. It could mean only one thing. Everybody wanted to get an opinion, a scoop, on Steele’s latest indiscretion.
The woman sighed, and pulled up her contacts screen. She scrolled down the list of names, and hit Steele’s name. Holding the phone up to her ear, she heard the ringer give way instantly to the voicemail message.
”This is Jackson. Leave a message after the beep.”
The beep sounded. She opened her mouth to speak, but no words came.
She hit the red button, and ended the call.