Post by Joey Flash on Dec 4, 2014 15:49:48 GMT -5
Five Years Ago
Mullins’ jaw dropped as he heard the news.
Mullins: Are you fucking kidding me? Take me there, now.
10 minutes later.
Mullins stared at the car wreck with horror; metal twisted and mangled like it had been dropped in a compactor for five seconds and then plonked on the side of the road. The blue finish torn off the bonnet by the tree he didn’t know where tree ended and car began. His gaze turned to the ground next to the wreck as he climbed out the car.
Mullins: No…
The next few minutes went by in slow motion for Mullins; his heart went up through his throat and straight into the fucking stratosphere as he saw the bodies. A woman and two young girls lay as mangled as the vehicle, gore dashed across the pavement like someone just threw a bucket of red paint across the asphalt. He approached the bodies, but he knew, there were no Jane Doe’s. This was Robert Facchetti’s family, his wife and his two young girls. Mullins approached the closest cop tending the scene.
Mullins: How the fuck did this happen? They were in protective custody.
The cop shrugged and looked to the floor.
Cop: I don’t know.
Mullins rested his hands on his head and backed away toward his car. His mind was racing, how, how could this happen? Malignaggi you fucking scumbag, his witnesses, the witnesses that would have ended Joseph Malignaggi’s freedom for the rest of his worthless life were laid prone and lifeless on the side of the road. Mullins punched the door of his car.
Heads were going to fucking roll.
Five Years Ago - An hour earlier
Alessandra Allegri stepped out of the shower and threw the soft pink towel around her body. It was done. She stared at herself in the mirror, plucking eyebrow hair, she mused about how truly pitiful it was. It didn’t take any intimidation or threats to find out the leverage the police had on Joseph, all it took was the right amount of money to the right people. She had two contacts inside the NYPD, one was a captain called Sam James, a silly man built from hubris and loathe of his lack of progression. He spilled quicker than a carton of milk meeting a pit of spikes when it was suggested he could do to benefit well from simply giving a few words, names and addresses, an easy night’s work for ten grand.
She wondered if he would sleep knowing that the ten thousand helped pay for the death of two little girls. Somehow she thought he would be tucked up in bed and sleeping like a baby. Within the hour of getting the information she needed, she was sweeping the neighbourhood for a quick scout, she saw the house and found a lone policeman stood at the door. She giggled to herself at the sheer lack of care and stupidity. Ten minutes later three lovely delivery men appeared and introduced the policeman to the back of their van before driving him away to spend the rest of his short life wondering why he was given such a tough job with so little help. Alas.
The women were alone in the house, nary even a guard to be seen. She was even wondering whether this was a trap as her men bundled them into their car at gunpoint. It wasn’t a trap, it was carelessness. It was an easy enough piece of work to make it look like an accident, though Guillermo had to take one hell of a battering ejecting himself from a car at 60mph before the impact, she would have to thank him especially, maybe even feed him some grapes as he recovered.
The mother and one of the little girls had died on impact but one of the other girls had survived, this made Alessandra angry that she had to dirty her hands, but dirty she did. She even said ‘Sorry, it’s not your fault’ as she smothered the child to a timeless sleep, she was proud of herself for her kindness.
Plucking finished, she picked up her hairbrush and began running it gently through her long black hair. The Facchetti’s were dead, she felt a twinge of sadness at the fact that it should have never come to this, if Joseph were not as reckless those children would never have seen him and they would still be alive today.
The things I do for love.
Five Years Ago, later that day.
Mullins threw a glass across the room that barely missed Captain James.
Mullins: Fuck you. You assigned only one patrolman? What is your fucking problem?
Captain James rested his hat on the table and stared at Mullins with a deep furrowed brow.
James: I understand you’re upset-
Mullins: Upset? My witnesses are dead.
Mullins stopped himself, was that what mattered? Was that what really mattered to him?
Mullins: Children are dead.
James: An accident.
Mullins: An ac- Are you being serious with me right now? A family we had in witness protection decide to suddenly take a drive along the countryside road in the middle of the night after the man we assigned to watch them vanishes without a fucking trace?
James paused for a moment.
James: I’ve already submitted the report.
Mullins felt his face flush red with anger.
Mullins: You submitted the report…you fucking cocksucker Sam; did Malignaggi get to you as well?
James: Joseph Malignaggi? He’s been sat in a cell for the past week, he has no allies or friends, of that I can assure you, you know as well as I do John, it’s an accident.
Mullins: I- It has to be him, why else would this-
James: An accident. That’s all.
Mullins pictured the face of Joseph Malignaggi smiling at him as he was being carted away. He reached into his pocket and tossed his badge on the table, removed his pistol from its holster and moved to place it on the table after ejecting the cartridge.
Mullins: You are really going to just sweep this under the rug aren’t you?
James: There is nothing to sweep John; this is just a horrific turn of events.
Mullins: I’m done. You’ve broken me; you know you think finally you do some good in this scum sucking fucking department and this is what happens, you let innocent children die because I don’t know, you can’t do your fucking job right. You’re either incompetent or on the take. I know you’re not stupid, and I know absolute horseshit when I see it. You motherfucker.
Mullins reached across the table and landed a right hand on the face of Captain James, knocking him out of his seat. Before either of them could react further two policemen were holding Mullins back and carting him out of James’ office.
James: Give him a couple of hours in the cells to calm down…then give him his personal effects from his desk. I want him out by the end of the day.
Mullins was removed from the room, he was done and he was broken. He stared down at the floor. The only image that remained in his mind as he was being dragged away was that smiling face of Malignaggi, it was this moment in time where Detective John Mullins lost every goal, every drive and every happiness in his life and replaced it with one simple goal. Destroy Joseph Malignaggi.
Present Day - 04/12/2014
Joey retched into the toilet, still nothing. He tried again but no avail, finally managing to drag his head away from the bowl, hair stuck to his face with sweat. He stood up, brushing his hair back, leaving only a straggling stand in his mouth which he picked out. He looked at himself in the mirror for a moment, making it a point to check his eyes before leaving the restroom. Upon exiting, the hustle and bustle of the WCF Arena washed over him again. A small man was trying to get some coffee, even though the machine said ‘Out of Order’. Joey groaned to himself and continued to a small lounge area around fifteen meters away where he flopped onto the nearest seat available. The room was still quiet, which was good, boy did his head ache.
To his dismay, a camera crew rounded the corner, with the obvious intent of finding a wrestler, more than likely himself. He thought about slinking away, but decided now was as good a time as any. The camera approached and Joey quickly attached a smile to his face as they arrived.
Joey: Hello there, oh no Hank this time huh?
Cameraman: No.
Joey: Good.
Joey stands up slowly, losing his balance for a moment before steadying himself using the arm of the seat; he nods he was OK again to the camera crew and lost his smile for the first time.
Joey: Ryan Blake, punk pussy how that taste? You got absolutely crushed; I hope you give the same to your next opponents so they can hopefully rid this place of your wack ass for good. Maybe I’ll come do it myself, I’m undecided.
The match with you did tell me a couple of interesting things about myself though; the biggest one is how much I’m fuckin enjoying this.
You see this title provides something that nothing else in this federation does, and that is the constant barrage of challenges. What better way for me to display my skills in front of a worldwide audience? Every week having to fight someone new, shit or get off the pot, it’s certainly an interesting prospect; something which I truly believe may be able to force me to get up for the matches, force me to fight hard, because that is all I truly want. Now I didn’t expect it from you nor my next opponent, it’s not a bad thing because I don’t expect it from any one person, but the volume...it’s something no other superstar will face.
I said before, the wrestler makes the title, and the Television Title in my hands will become the pinnacle of this company, you may win the World Title and walk around being able to call yourself ‘Champion’, but everyone will know that holding that holding this title, defending it every week, shirking no responsibilities and ducking no challengers, THAT is a champion.
Who the champ got this week you wonder? Gimmie a drumroll.
Cameraman: …
Joey: Like this.
Joey repeatedly taps the seat.
Joey: Fuck it you’re no fun. It’s Ultimate Destroyer.
This might be fun, or it might be soul destroying. I think fun. I did say I want to avoid Godzilla in a steel cage, but I’m pretty sure I can tool up this knock off Jason Voorhees easy enough. Another day another fucking wackjob.
So let me get this perfectly straight, your reason for living is the destruction of mankind? That’s interesting, so as a little destroyer you did the little career test at school, I got ‘Librarian’, fucked up right? You, fucking you man it was unreal, you answered the questions with all the little rage inside you and it actually came up with ‘ULTIMATE DESTROYER OF HUMANITY’. That was you expelled from school and drove you to your ultimate life goal. I’m impressed.
So little destroyers life continued and he decided rather than study and follow his goal by taking a career in the military or politics that may in some small way facilitate his very honourable career choice he decided ‘I know how to destroy the world. This is a sure fire plan. I’ll become a wrestler!’
Joey slow claps.
Pinky and the Brain would love to have you on their brain trust. We got a regular Tesla up in here. I’m fucking baffled. Not only that, he decided when penning his wrestling name to rather than go for ‘Big Ugly Bastard, Retardo the Large or The Notorious F.A.T.’ he went with the creative ‘Destroyer’ but that didn’t seem anyway near impressive or scary enough, so the bastard pondered for many a moon and thought ‘I’ve finally got it!’ and added the word ‘Ultimate’ before his name. That’ll scare em.
On top of that, this motherfucker was born and raised in nuclear waste, probably birthed by nuclear waste and raised by nuclear waste. His brother Bruce Banner wants a card for Christmas. That green glow is probably more a fungal infection than the fact he is radioactive…I mean fucking hell do I need a hazmat suit to wrestle you? Rather than taking a PED test before a fight do you need to be surrounded by scientists with Geiger counters to determine whether you can wrestle? You need to be placed in a landfill site rather than be wrestling bro, for your own good.
Oh. I get it now; I know why you’re so tall…and why your head is abnormally large. You are a midget who happened to get unluckily caught in a nuclear blast, survived and mutated into the gigantic ambling freak we know and love. You ginormous motherfucker how’s the weather up there? Fucking ugly and depressing.
It’s tough to understand what your deal is, you run about with no rhyme or reason attacking anything that moves, you interfere in matches that have no personal relevance to you, you want to be some force of nature that attacks whenever wherever but you just come across as a mindless buffoon who tries to cater to his own self-importance. You’re that man on the street raving about god and how everyone’s going to hell that everyone just walks past with their heads down. You’re that child who comes into another kids party screaming and bawling and is given a cookie and told to sit in the corner. No one cares what you do or what your goals are, they are just happy to see you out of the way when you invariably appear once more.
Case in point, you made a challenge for your ‘enemies’ to face you at the next PPV, we waited and waited to see what would come of it and surprise fucking surprise not one whiff of a response. No one cares about you man, the people you think are your enemies are the ones crossing the road not wanting to deal with your worthless ass.
I’ll tell you what Retardo the Large, I’ll fight you at any PPV you want, I’ll fight you at any bar you want in any nuclear test site you want, and I’ll still fuck you up. Ain’t a thing to me to put deluded punks out of their misery, the bigger they are the harder they fall; if an Ultimate Destroyer fell with no one around would it make a sound? I don’t think anyone would care either way.
Zip him up. See you in the ring, cunt.
Five Years Ago, The next day.
Joey was led out of the remand cells in handcuffs and taken to be checked out. After what seemed to take hours Joey was uncuffed and taken toward the entrance. The man leading him gave him a shove toward the door.
Man: Your adoring public await. Your cab is across the road.
Joey: Huh?
Joey found out the second he pushed the doors open what he meant, a hundred flashlights went off in his face as a cacophony of questions flew through the air in his direction as he shoved through the sea of people and began descending the stairs. He felt himself getting tugged in every which way.
‘Did you order the hit?’
‘Did you know Mr Facchetti’s family?’
The questions turned to something else completely as he continued down the stairs.
‘Murderer’
‘Justice for the Facchetti’s’
‘You rancid cunt’
‘Die motherfucker'
He didn’t give anyone a second glance, just trudged through until he reached the door of his taxi. He didn’t even look back as he closed the door after himself. The driver turned.
Driver: Where to?
Joey: Anywhere, just…just drive.
It was like a whirlwind, Joey had been sat with his back to the wall, waiting for any of Robert’s men to slink in with a blade and just end it. Then like this, he was free. He had found out this very morning that the two people they needed to identify him had passed away in a car accident. Joey thought it was a joke until he got dragged from his cell. It wasn’t until just moments ago until he had found out who the witnesses had been. It hit him like a bombshell. Lucia and Emily. He had held them when they were born, he played soccer with them as little ones, he read them stories, they had fought over who Joey liked better, and they had even called him ‘Uncle’.
It broke his heart to have hurt them with the business with their father, but this…this was excruciating. Joey felt his chest tighten and his breathing speed up as the tears flowed from his face hitting the leather interior of the cab with a metronomic thwak. Fuck fuck fuck. Why had they been driving, what were the people watching them doing? He would have done a thousand lifetimes in the hardest prison in the world if they were still alive, if they could still smile and laugh and play.
The next hour of Joey’s life was a blur as he wandered the streets. He broke in between laughter and sobbing, it would have made one hell of a ‘Ten Hours Walking in New York as Joey Flash’. He finally crumpled and slumped in an alley beside a large building.
It had been over two hours and it was starting to get dark and cold. Joey felt a chill run all the way through his body, what was his life? This is where he belonged. Suddenly Joey recoiled in pain as he felt something smash on his head, a bottle of beer shattered on the ground next to him. He looked up to see two men looking through the window.
Man 1: What a fuckin shot, got that bum right on the head.
Man 2: Yeah with a waste of your drink idiot.
Man 1: I’m not stupid, that was yours.
A third voice overpowered both of them.
Man 3: GET BACK IN THE RING YOU LOWLIFES, I DIDN’T SAY IT WAS QUITTING TIME.
The two men quickly scooted from the window as the third man appeared and shouted down to Joey.
Man 3: And you! Get in here, it’s freezing. I’ll fix you a hot drink.
Joey stared for a moment, incredulous.
Man 3: It will get cold.
He slammed the window shut. Joey stood up and ambled to the front of the large building squinting to see the banner above the door.
“Bronxchester Wrestling Gym”
Joey was here in body, but his mind was a million miles away in a pit of confusion and sadness. Joseph Malignaggi was a free man and here in body he was, he took the step into the building. He had no idea that what would start as a simple drink of coffee would change his life forever.
Mullins’ jaw dropped as he heard the news.
Mullins: Are you fucking kidding me? Take me there, now.
10 minutes later.
Mullins stared at the car wreck with horror; metal twisted and mangled like it had been dropped in a compactor for five seconds and then plonked on the side of the road. The blue finish torn off the bonnet by the tree he didn’t know where tree ended and car began. His gaze turned to the ground next to the wreck as he climbed out the car.
Mullins: No…
The next few minutes went by in slow motion for Mullins; his heart went up through his throat and straight into the fucking stratosphere as he saw the bodies. A woman and two young girls lay as mangled as the vehicle, gore dashed across the pavement like someone just threw a bucket of red paint across the asphalt. He approached the bodies, but he knew, there were no Jane Doe’s. This was Robert Facchetti’s family, his wife and his two young girls. Mullins approached the closest cop tending the scene.
Mullins: How the fuck did this happen? They were in protective custody.
The cop shrugged and looked to the floor.
Cop: I don’t know.
Mullins rested his hands on his head and backed away toward his car. His mind was racing, how, how could this happen? Malignaggi you fucking scumbag, his witnesses, the witnesses that would have ended Joseph Malignaggi’s freedom for the rest of his worthless life were laid prone and lifeless on the side of the road. Mullins punched the door of his car.
Heads were going to fucking roll.
Five Years Ago - An hour earlier
Alessandra Allegri stepped out of the shower and threw the soft pink towel around her body. It was done. She stared at herself in the mirror, plucking eyebrow hair, she mused about how truly pitiful it was. It didn’t take any intimidation or threats to find out the leverage the police had on Joseph, all it took was the right amount of money to the right people. She had two contacts inside the NYPD, one was a captain called Sam James, a silly man built from hubris and loathe of his lack of progression. He spilled quicker than a carton of milk meeting a pit of spikes when it was suggested he could do to benefit well from simply giving a few words, names and addresses, an easy night’s work for ten grand.
She wondered if he would sleep knowing that the ten thousand helped pay for the death of two little girls. Somehow she thought he would be tucked up in bed and sleeping like a baby. Within the hour of getting the information she needed, she was sweeping the neighbourhood for a quick scout, she saw the house and found a lone policeman stood at the door. She giggled to herself at the sheer lack of care and stupidity. Ten minutes later three lovely delivery men appeared and introduced the policeman to the back of their van before driving him away to spend the rest of his short life wondering why he was given such a tough job with so little help. Alas.
The women were alone in the house, nary even a guard to be seen. She was even wondering whether this was a trap as her men bundled them into their car at gunpoint. It wasn’t a trap, it was carelessness. It was an easy enough piece of work to make it look like an accident, though Guillermo had to take one hell of a battering ejecting himself from a car at 60mph before the impact, she would have to thank him especially, maybe even feed him some grapes as he recovered.
The mother and one of the little girls had died on impact but one of the other girls had survived, this made Alessandra angry that she had to dirty her hands, but dirty she did. She even said ‘Sorry, it’s not your fault’ as she smothered the child to a timeless sleep, she was proud of herself for her kindness.
Plucking finished, she picked up her hairbrush and began running it gently through her long black hair. The Facchetti’s were dead, she felt a twinge of sadness at the fact that it should have never come to this, if Joseph were not as reckless those children would never have seen him and they would still be alive today.
The things I do for love.
Five Years Ago, later that day.
Mullins threw a glass across the room that barely missed Captain James.
Mullins: Fuck you. You assigned only one patrolman? What is your fucking problem?
Captain James rested his hat on the table and stared at Mullins with a deep furrowed brow.
James: I understand you’re upset-
Mullins: Upset? My witnesses are dead.
Mullins stopped himself, was that what mattered? Was that what really mattered to him?
Mullins: Children are dead.
James: An accident.
Mullins: An ac- Are you being serious with me right now? A family we had in witness protection decide to suddenly take a drive along the countryside road in the middle of the night after the man we assigned to watch them vanishes without a fucking trace?
James paused for a moment.
James: I’ve already submitted the report.
Mullins felt his face flush red with anger.
Mullins: You submitted the report…you fucking cocksucker Sam; did Malignaggi get to you as well?
James: Joseph Malignaggi? He’s been sat in a cell for the past week, he has no allies or friends, of that I can assure you, you know as well as I do John, it’s an accident.
Mullins: I- It has to be him, why else would this-
James: An accident. That’s all.
Mullins pictured the face of Joseph Malignaggi smiling at him as he was being carted away. He reached into his pocket and tossed his badge on the table, removed his pistol from its holster and moved to place it on the table after ejecting the cartridge.
Mullins: You are really going to just sweep this under the rug aren’t you?
James: There is nothing to sweep John; this is just a horrific turn of events.
Mullins: I’m done. You’ve broken me; you know you think finally you do some good in this scum sucking fucking department and this is what happens, you let innocent children die because I don’t know, you can’t do your fucking job right. You’re either incompetent or on the take. I know you’re not stupid, and I know absolute horseshit when I see it. You motherfucker.
Mullins reached across the table and landed a right hand on the face of Captain James, knocking him out of his seat. Before either of them could react further two policemen were holding Mullins back and carting him out of James’ office.
James: Give him a couple of hours in the cells to calm down…then give him his personal effects from his desk. I want him out by the end of the day.
Mullins was removed from the room, he was done and he was broken. He stared down at the floor. The only image that remained in his mind as he was being dragged away was that smiling face of Malignaggi, it was this moment in time where Detective John Mullins lost every goal, every drive and every happiness in his life and replaced it with one simple goal. Destroy Joseph Malignaggi.
Present Day - 04/12/2014
Joey retched into the toilet, still nothing. He tried again but no avail, finally managing to drag his head away from the bowl, hair stuck to his face with sweat. He stood up, brushing his hair back, leaving only a straggling stand in his mouth which he picked out. He looked at himself in the mirror for a moment, making it a point to check his eyes before leaving the restroom. Upon exiting, the hustle and bustle of the WCF Arena washed over him again. A small man was trying to get some coffee, even though the machine said ‘Out of Order’. Joey groaned to himself and continued to a small lounge area around fifteen meters away where he flopped onto the nearest seat available. The room was still quiet, which was good, boy did his head ache.
To his dismay, a camera crew rounded the corner, with the obvious intent of finding a wrestler, more than likely himself. He thought about slinking away, but decided now was as good a time as any. The camera approached and Joey quickly attached a smile to his face as they arrived.
Joey: Hello there, oh no Hank this time huh?
Cameraman: No.
Joey: Good.
Joey stands up slowly, losing his balance for a moment before steadying himself using the arm of the seat; he nods he was OK again to the camera crew and lost his smile for the first time.
Joey: Ryan Blake, punk pussy how that taste? You got absolutely crushed; I hope you give the same to your next opponents so they can hopefully rid this place of your wack ass for good. Maybe I’ll come do it myself, I’m undecided.
The match with you did tell me a couple of interesting things about myself though; the biggest one is how much I’m fuckin enjoying this.
You see this title provides something that nothing else in this federation does, and that is the constant barrage of challenges. What better way for me to display my skills in front of a worldwide audience? Every week having to fight someone new, shit or get off the pot, it’s certainly an interesting prospect; something which I truly believe may be able to force me to get up for the matches, force me to fight hard, because that is all I truly want. Now I didn’t expect it from you nor my next opponent, it’s not a bad thing because I don’t expect it from any one person, but the volume...it’s something no other superstar will face.
I said before, the wrestler makes the title, and the Television Title in my hands will become the pinnacle of this company, you may win the World Title and walk around being able to call yourself ‘Champion’, but everyone will know that holding that holding this title, defending it every week, shirking no responsibilities and ducking no challengers, THAT is a champion.
Who the champ got this week you wonder? Gimmie a drumroll.
Cameraman: …
Joey: Like this.
Joey repeatedly taps the seat.
Joey: Fuck it you’re no fun. It’s Ultimate Destroyer.
This might be fun, or it might be soul destroying. I think fun. I did say I want to avoid Godzilla in a steel cage, but I’m pretty sure I can tool up this knock off Jason Voorhees easy enough. Another day another fucking wackjob.
So let me get this perfectly straight, your reason for living is the destruction of mankind? That’s interesting, so as a little destroyer you did the little career test at school, I got ‘Librarian’, fucked up right? You, fucking you man it was unreal, you answered the questions with all the little rage inside you and it actually came up with ‘ULTIMATE DESTROYER OF HUMANITY’. That was you expelled from school and drove you to your ultimate life goal. I’m impressed.
So little destroyers life continued and he decided rather than study and follow his goal by taking a career in the military or politics that may in some small way facilitate his very honourable career choice he decided ‘I know how to destroy the world. This is a sure fire plan. I’ll become a wrestler!’
Joey slow claps.
Pinky and the Brain would love to have you on their brain trust. We got a regular Tesla up in here. I’m fucking baffled. Not only that, he decided when penning his wrestling name to rather than go for ‘Big Ugly Bastard, Retardo the Large or The Notorious F.A.T.’ he went with the creative ‘Destroyer’ but that didn’t seem anyway near impressive or scary enough, so the bastard pondered for many a moon and thought ‘I’ve finally got it!’ and added the word ‘Ultimate’ before his name. That’ll scare em.
On top of that, this motherfucker was born and raised in nuclear waste, probably birthed by nuclear waste and raised by nuclear waste. His brother Bruce Banner wants a card for Christmas. That green glow is probably more a fungal infection than the fact he is radioactive…I mean fucking hell do I need a hazmat suit to wrestle you? Rather than taking a PED test before a fight do you need to be surrounded by scientists with Geiger counters to determine whether you can wrestle? You need to be placed in a landfill site rather than be wrestling bro, for your own good.
Oh. I get it now; I know why you’re so tall…and why your head is abnormally large. You are a midget who happened to get unluckily caught in a nuclear blast, survived and mutated into the gigantic ambling freak we know and love. You ginormous motherfucker how’s the weather up there? Fucking ugly and depressing.
It’s tough to understand what your deal is, you run about with no rhyme or reason attacking anything that moves, you interfere in matches that have no personal relevance to you, you want to be some force of nature that attacks whenever wherever but you just come across as a mindless buffoon who tries to cater to his own self-importance. You’re that man on the street raving about god and how everyone’s going to hell that everyone just walks past with their heads down. You’re that child who comes into another kids party screaming and bawling and is given a cookie and told to sit in the corner. No one cares what you do or what your goals are, they are just happy to see you out of the way when you invariably appear once more.
Case in point, you made a challenge for your ‘enemies’ to face you at the next PPV, we waited and waited to see what would come of it and surprise fucking surprise not one whiff of a response. No one cares about you man, the people you think are your enemies are the ones crossing the road not wanting to deal with your worthless ass.
I’ll tell you what Retardo the Large, I’ll fight you at any PPV you want, I’ll fight you at any bar you want in any nuclear test site you want, and I’ll still fuck you up. Ain’t a thing to me to put deluded punks out of their misery, the bigger they are the harder they fall; if an Ultimate Destroyer fell with no one around would it make a sound? I don’t think anyone would care either way.
Zip him up. See you in the ring, cunt.
Five Years Ago, The next day.
Joey was led out of the remand cells in handcuffs and taken to be checked out. After what seemed to take hours Joey was uncuffed and taken toward the entrance. The man leading him gave him a shove toward the door.
Man: Your adoring public await. Your cab is across the road.
Joey: Huh?
Joey found out the second he pushed the doors open what he meant, a hundred flashlights went off in his face as a cacophony of questions flew through the air in his direction as he shoved through the sea of people and began descending the stairs. He felt himself getting tugged in every which way.
‘Did you order the hit?’
‘Did you know Mr Facchetti’s family?’
The questions turned to something else completely as he continued down the stairs.
‘Murderer’
‘Justice for the Facchetti’s’
‘You rancid cunt’
‘Die motherfucker'
He didn’t give anyone a second glance, just trudged through until he reached the door of his taxi. He didn’t even look back as he closed the door after himself. The driver turned.
Driver: Where to?
Joey: Anywhere, just…just drive.
It was like a whirlwind, Joey had been sat with his back to the wall, waiting for any of Robert’s men to slink in with a blade and just end it. Then like this, he was free. He had found out this very morning that the two people they needed to identify him had passed away in a car accident. Joey thought it was a joke until he got dragged from his cell. It wasn’t until just moments ago until he had found out who the witnesses had been. It hit him like a bombshell. Lucia and Emily. He had held them when they were born, he played soccer with them as little ones, he read them stories, they had fought over who Joey liked better, and they had even called him ‘Uncle’.
It broke his heart to have hurt them with the business with their father, but this…this was excruciating. Joey felt his chest tighten and his breathing speed up as the tears flowed from his face hitting the leather interior of the cab with a metronomic thwak. Fuck fuck fuck. Why had they been driving, what were the people watching them doing? He would have done a thousand lifetimes in the hardest prison in the world if they were still alive, if they could still smile and laugh and play.
The next hour of Joey’s life was a blur as he wandered the streets. He broke in between laughter and sobbing, it would have made one hell of a ‘Ten Hours Walking in New York as Joey Flash’. He finally crumpled and slumped in an alley beside a large building.
It had been over two hours and it was starting to get dark and cold. Joey felt a chill run all the way through his body, what was his life? This is where he belonged. Suddenly Joey recoiled in pain as he felt something smash on his head, a bottle of beer shattered on the ground next to him. He looked up to see two men looking through the window.
Man 1: What a fuckin shot, got that bum right on the head.
Man 2: Yeah with a waste of your drink idiot.
Man 1: I’m not stupid, that was yours.
A third voice overpowered both of them.
Man 3: GET BACK IN THE RING YOU LOWLIFES, I DIDN’T SAY IT WAS QUITTING TIME.
The two men quickly scooted from the window as the third man appeared and shouted down to Joey.
Man 3: And you! Get in here, it’s freezing. I’ll fix you a hot drink.
Joey stared for a moment, incredulous.
Man 3: It will get cold.
He slammed the window shut. Joey stood up and ambled to the front of the large building squinting to see the banner above the door.
“Bronxchester Wrestling Gym”
Joey was here in body, but his mind was a million miles away in a pit of confusion and sadness. Joseph Malignaggi was a free man and here in body he was, he took the step into the building. He had no idea that what would start as a simple drink of coffee would change his life forever.