Post by Joey Flash on Jan 14, 2015 8:02:02 GMT -5
Time to play the game
Alessandra Allegri felt the small hand grip hers tightly as they entered past the security and into the back area where the WCF locker rooms. She looked down at the little boy joyfully walking through the halls, taking in every sight in awe and wonder. His shaggy black hair bouncing as he tried to pick up the pace, Alessandra smiled to herself and obliged. They continued further until the far end of the corridor, the only room in this wing. her eyes narrowed.
Alessandra: Vincenzo.
Her lifelong friend and bodyguard who had been tailing her stepped forward, a sullen look on his face.
Vincenzo: Yes?
Alessandra closed her eyes and took a deep breath.
Alessandra: Deal with this, or I will.
Vincenzo knew exactly what this meant, no blood needed to be spilled today. He turned and walked away without saying a word. A quiet voice came from Alessandra's side.
Christian: Where is Uncle Vinny going?
Alessandra looked at her son, eyes bright and wide staring straight at her. She smiled.
Alessandra: He'll be back soon Christian, don't worry.
Vincenzo opened the door to the room, the small scent present from outside now hitting him sharply in the skull like a right hook. He narrowed his eyes at the wastrel in front of him, shutting the door to, to prevent Alessandra & Christian hearing.
Vincenzo: Mr. Malignaggi. Put that out right now. Your fiancée and son are here.
Joey looked half lidded at the man, lowering the blunt after taking a long toke, he couldn't quite see who the hell it was, so took the safe route.
Joey: Get out.
Vincenzo walked across to him, thrusting his face directly in Joey's.
Vincenzo: You don't tell me what to do runt. I wish I had put a bullet between your eyes when I had first seem you slumped on our porch five years ago, you’ve brought nothing but shame and ruin to the lady since. I do not know what Miss Allegri does hanging around with a waster like you, but you are not going to upset her or Christian on my watch. Now pull yourself together.
Joey understood who this was, ah Vinny, you picked the wrong day to piss me off, Joey thought. Joey stood up, staggering to his feet and cocked his head at Vincenzo.
Joey: What? You want to get out of my face right now before I personally beat you to death right now. What I do, is my own matter.
Vincenzo rolled his eyes, and shoved Flash back into his seat with one hand roughly.
Vincenzo: It is not in my job description to crush my lady's fiancée... please do as I say peaceably. Or else, you'll have her to deal with. I'm giving you the easy way out. God knows why.
Joey: You walk out that door right now, and nothing will happen. Leave.
Vincenzo: Nothing will happen to me either way. I'm doing you a favour here, you wretch.
Joey stood up once more, places a hand onto the shoulder of Vincenzo, looks at him and smiles a wide grin.
Joey: I am going to kill you, Vincenzo.
Vincenzo sighed, before cracking Flash round the side of the head, causing him to fall.
Vincenzo: Don't threaten me. I've killed many better men than you.
Joey pulled his hand back from his mouth. Blood.
Joey: Do it then. Coward.
Vincenzo sneered, booting Joey in the face once more for measure and turned away from Flash, walking back outside the door to Alessandra. He whispered in her ear.
Vincenzo: Joey's been attacked. Nothing serious. From the smell, it seems the guy who attacked him was on drugs, it smells of the stuff in there.
Alessandra: WHAT? Come on Chris, let's go see daddy...
Alessandra & Christian went into the room, where Joey was tending to his mouth.
Christian: Why daddy bleed?
Joey looked at the boy, for a moment an ounce of regret flowed through him. Joey stood up and pointed at Vincenzo.
Joey: You hear me motherfucker, I'M GOING TO KILL YOU!!!
Alessandra: JOSEPH! LANGUAGE!
Christian blinked.
Christian: Wots muvverfucker?
Joey paused for a second, mouth slack enough for a trickle of drool to run down. He laughed to himself.
Joey: It's what you could call me, kid.
Christian: Daddy muvverfucker?
Alessandra groaned.
Alessandra: In a sense. Joey, are you okay?
Joey held his head between his hands.
Joey: Why did you bring him?
Alessandra: Because he wanted to see his father! I didn't know you were going to be...
She stopped short. Joey didn't respond for a moment.
Joey: Don't be stupid.
Christian: Hug!
Christian ran over to hug his daddy. Joey raised his head, only anger in his mind. There was no anger here, all he saw was a scared little child. His scared child. Joey felt sick. He put a hand out meekly and patted Christian on the head.
Joey: Good to see ya son, I'll take ya for a tour in a minute if you're good, go see Uncle Vinny and get ready, I'll show you the ring if ya want.
Christian: YAY! RINGY!
Alessandra: Joseph... you sure you're okay?
Joey looked at Christian, who rushed toward the door and half opened it he ran toward Vincenzo and took his hand, Vincenzo looked back in toward Flash with a scowl.
Christian: Come soon!!
The door closed with a loud slam. The anger rose once more.
Joey: What the fuck do you think bitch?
Alessandra was taken aback by this.
Alessandra: What the fuck happened to you?!
Joey: Now I have even you questioning me, fuck me.
Joey felt in his pocket and smiled, he pulled the remains of the blunt of out, in the other hand a lighter. He lit, and quickly inhaled.
Joey: Back...the fuck...off.
Alessandra: What the fuck are you doing?
Joey quickly took one more long puff, before flicking the minuscule remains at Alessandra.
Joey: Shut up.
Joey didn’t know what to say, he didn’t know what to do. He could hardly say to her ‘Oh darling, I had a suspicion that you are plotting to have me murdered’. He couldn’t tell her that his every waking thought was not on his wrestling, not on his child, not on their love and their relationship, but on fear for his own life. He wanted to sink to his knees and tell her everything, he wanted her to know everything, Facchetti, the girls, the three men, everything. In place of courage and speech he found only anger he took a step toward her and pushed her toward the wall, slapping his hand next to her head.
Joey: What’s this, you’re scared?
He looked into her eyes and found nothing of the sort, he found a cold sheen across her gaze that seemed to bury itself into his very gut.
Alessandra: I forgave you for hitting me, I’ll forgive you for this as well, but if I ever see you like this around our child there will be consequences, do you understand?
Joey laughed.
Joey: Consequences? Fuck I’m game, let it fucking rip bitch.
Alessandra reached a hand out and stroked his hair.
Alessandra: I won’t tell you a second time Joseph.
She smiled and he felt all of his resolve shatter.
Alessandra: If you want to make our child happy you’ll clean yourself up and come play.
With that, she left. Joey slumped to the floor. What the fuck was that? Is this just him being high getting paranoid or reading into things that aren’t there? He felt a cold chill run through his spine. He had been emasculated and intimidated by his own fiancée without so much as a second thought. What was going on? Joey held his head in his hands and cradled his knees.
Joey: Come play? I’ll play the game bitch.
Joegar Targaryen, Father of Dragons
The rain was beating heavier and heavier as Joey Flash trudged the streets of late night Manhattan. He left his house as it was light spitting and braved it with a sport jacket, now it was a near fucking typhoon and each raindrop was smashing into him with force of a small wrecking ball. Shielding his eyes he finally managed to find somewhere open, it was probably kicking out time in an hour so he hoped the rain at least would cool off by then.
He opened the door and was met with a cocktail bar, not the upmarket dive he was expecting. Light jazz music filtered through the air coupled with a backing track of the low buzz of highbrow conversation. Joey scanned the room to find most tables and seats filled with people, even a woman in a cocktail dress, you’re brave lady. Joey approached the bar and plumped himself onto a tall stool, wringing water from his hair. A tall thin barman was cleaning a glass behind the bar looking at him.
Joey: What a night for it.
The barman smiled.
Joey: If it’s this busy now I can’t imagine what it’s like otherwise.
Barman: Don’t be fooled sir, we’re only like this because of the rain, and most people just seem to pass us by normally.
Joey: Well, I’d be guilty of that too. You’re lucky.
Barman: Just business sense sir. What’ll it be?
Joey: Got a menu?
Barman: Absolutely.
He hands Joey a menu. Joey studies intently for a moment.
Joey: I’ll take the Metal Dragon.
The barman looks confused, he flicks through a cocktail book next to the till on his counter.
Barman: Metal Dragon…Metal Dragon…ahh I can’t find it.
Joey: You can’t find it? Let me show you.
Joey climbs up onto the bar and hops off to the same side as the barman who is looking both anxious and scared. The buzz of conversation in the place has stopped, everyone has their eyes on the situation unfolding in front of them.
Barman: Look, if you’re trying to rob us we have CCTV; I’m going to call the police.
Joey looks over the bar toward the rest of the patrons.
Joey: Does anyone else want to try the Metal Dragon?
The cocktail dressed woman raises her hand and staggers over.
Cocktail dress: I wanna try.
Joey: See, the lady wants it. The people want it, I want it.
Barman: That’s it I’m calling the cops…
Joey looks behind the Barman to find the CCTV camera; he jumps up and rips it off the wall. The barman staggers back in despair.
Barman: What, what are you doing? Just take the money okay?
Joey looks toward the people in the bar once more.
Joey: Who else wants a free bar tonight? Lock in motherfuckers.
They all cheer as Joey wraps the CCTV camera over the barman’s head knocking him unconscious as he slumps out of sight behind the bar. Time to get my Tom Cruise on, Joey thought. A couple of men had already locked and barricaded the entrance before the barman’s body had hit the floor. What had been a high brow upper class cocktail bar seemed to descend into a dirty Irish pub on St Patrick's day in a matter of moments.
Joey: A Metal Dragon…okay let’s get this shit stared.
Joey picks up two bottles of rum.
Joey: Ready, take notes. We begin with 2oz of being a massive faggot.
He pours some rum in a glass.
Joey: Add another 2oz of self-important preachy bullshit.
He grabs some lemon juice.
Joey: Half an oz of jobber juice.
Then a small bottle.
Joey: A dash of being so completely and utterly outmatched in his second match in the WCF…and viola, here we have the ‘Metal Dragon’.
The bar applauds, Joey hands the drink to cocktail dress who subsequently necks it and whoops in delight. More people push to the front and Joey is bombarded with people asking him for a Metal Dragon. He continues making his delicious new recipe as he talks to his customers.
Joey: This was an interesting week for me ladies and gents. Still the champ, this is nearly two months now, sheesh ya boy dominating like a motherfucker. Oblivion got cast right where his name suggests, see ya sucka, you’re Occy and Crows problem now. They’ll walk straight through each of you fucking losers. It’s not going to be a contest, well, not a fair or even one. The only disappointment I have is I didn’t get enough done on Slam, they run a fuckin tight security ship out there. I only got half of you, mayhaps I’ll come for the other half next week eh? En garde.
I’m not sweating reprisals; none of you will have the nuts to do anything about it anyway. I could have your child by the throat and you’d tell me ‘Ahh Joey, just keep doing that, I won’t bother stepping on your toes, squeeze a little tighter if you like.’ This atmosphere, this federation breeds cowards and weakness. I will single-handedly squeeze the pus from the gaping sore of cowardice here. We have this fucker Deuce pretty much auctioning a US Title shot to the highest bidder, what, you’re gonna force more people to jump through hoops? Lemme tell you what, anyone who wants to actually fight a title match and not put up with the endless bullshit, bring it the fuck on, I’m waiting. No having to grovel writing pathetic letters, just say ‘I want to fight Joey Flash’ and it’s done, the match will be made. Deuce, if you want it too? I’ll put my title up as I do every single week, you don’t have to do a damn thing, you can hide your precious US Title in a safety deposit box while I stomp the shit out of you, though the way things are going your belt will probably get defended next in about 2035 anyway, so not that it matters.
Jayson Price, ‘Princess’ huh? Nah you just a straight up camel cunt. You want a match? You’re begging people to fight you? I’m your huckleberry, that’s just my game. The Television Title is a caveat to me beating your brains in. Stop hiding behind a computer screen and actually fight like a man for once, oh wait that happened this week and you got smashed straight back into the crib like the child you are. Tick tock, coward.
Joey continues making cocktails at a rapid pace, although ruining his little recipe every single time. The rum had run out and he was onto gin.
Joey: It’s time to get down to business. Metal Dragon, hello friend, welcome to the WCF, did you enjoy your debut? What a stunning performance for you man. You put the entirety of the fed on watch of this guy who just might one day manage to make a name for himself in the company. I have high hopes for you, out of all the new comers who have come through the doors this past month you undoubtedly hold the most potential, it’s going to be an honour to baptise you into this federation and give such an up and coming talent a shot at their first title, maybe you’ll use your victory over me to propel yourself into the upper echelon of the WCF right away…psyche you’re a fucking faggot. That guy “
” who was on the roster for about a month probably has more of a future here than you do.
It’s been nearly two months or so I’ve held this belt Dragon. Do you know what the Television Title is here? Let me give you a lesson. Fuck it; consider this your induction to the WCF, Dr Flash checks in again. This title’s general nature is to be contested by newcomers to the federation, many promising names, many future legends, Hall of Famers have held this belt. It really is a stepping stone to greatness. This title is defended each and every week, it changes hands more than any belt in this company, it’s the little goal of incentive to pull the newer wrestlers in and entrench them into the roster, once you capture this belt, you will likely lose after a couple of weeks and end up more established, higher regarded and ranked in the federation. All good so far?
Every now and then an anomaly occurs, it happened with Jonny Fly and it happened with John Gable. Those were interesting cases. Here you have two absolute elites who entered the federation, did well winning the Television Title and by gosh the months went by and week after week they defended, they dominated…and they were still Television Champion. That’s rare air here Dragon, now let me put it into perspective here.
Imagine you’re walking into the federation smack bang when someone like that had captured the Television Title, and then times the skill, talent and compete level by five. It’s unbelievable isn’t it? Sacrilege I hear the people cry, but every person who comes into a match of me has come brash as fuck, balls swinging and chest puffed out swearing ‘He’s nothing, I’ll put this jobber back where he belongs!’ then left with their words being fed back to them and slinking off with their tail between their legs.
In my second match here I fought someone who is widely considered, and fuck it, I consider him one of the very best in the WCF, Zombie McMorris. This is a guy who could have taken this title and gone on a run comparable to John Gable, he could have sat and swatted away fly after fly while defending his spot as king of the castle, and it would have made for amazing viewing. Vapor Kings held damn near every title in the federation and would have continued to do so for the foreseeable future, they thought they’d reached Nirvana they had it going to good, and then Joey Flash appeared and well, whatever, nevermind.
Joey had now run out of gin, and the customers were running out of patience.
Joey: Fucking hang on.
He struggled below the bar and found some much needed Vodka.
Joey: Problem solved.
He began throwing the drinks around a whirling dance of mixology once more.
Joey: This guy called Joey Flash appeared; he won his first match and got his title shot in his very second match. I wonder what Z-Mac was thinking at that time? Was he worried? Was he anxious? Or was he thinking of me as I’m thinking of you right now, a pitiful excuse for a performer who has no business being in the ring with him. Will you surprise me like I surprised him? Will you wrench that title away from my iron grasp? I think deep down he had an inkling of what might be coming his way, an all-consuming typhoon sweeping the WCF and consuming all and sundry in front of it. I look at you and…I just don’t get that seem feel. I get the feeling of someone who will take such a psychological and physical battering in this match that you will either high tail it straight out of the federation or will continue to wallow around the card, fighting meaningless matches because you can’t possibly breach the unbreakable barrier in front of you.
I guess what I’m saying to you is it’s not a bad thing. There are two options in this fight roll over and get slaughtered or be valiant, fight back…and still lose. You’ve really been thrown into the lions pit without a weapon here. Light work…hmm I feel like I’ve not given you a proper baptism here. Am I done with you?
He pauses.
Joey: Not even close. CLOSING TIME CUNTS, GET THE FUCK OUT.
The crowd of boozed up patrons angrily shout at Joey, who responds by knocking the closest one clean out.
Joey: Any more complaints? Pick him up, and get him the fuck out. Leave.
The drunks unblock and bar the the door and trail out, cocktail slides a napkin across the bar toward Joey. He picks it up and reads her number with a lipsticked kiss beneath it. Joey pulls her close, rips the paper up and blows it in her face.
Joey: Out, now.
The woman dives across to slap Joey but is quickly held back by a couple of guys who share a knowing glance that they will happily take the offer that Joey so cruelly refused. The bar empties one by one leaving only Joey and the KO’d bartender left. Joey pours the man a drink and leaves it by his prone body.
Joey: Sorry buddy, this is on me.
Joey pings the till and takes all the money, pocketing it before plopping a ten dollar note in its place. A happy profit of about a grand and free drinks, a nice nights work. Joey grabs a bottle of whiskey and sits down at a table among the carnage, pours himself a shot and necks it.
Joey: This is going to be very bad for you Dragman, this is going to be life changing. Dr Flash, back again, I understand your problems in the past, I relate and I empathise, let me give you a little program you might familiar with, it will help you succeed here. This is called Joey Flash’s twelve step program to success and fortune in the World Championship Federation.
Step One: Catch the eye of the owner and manage to make it through your contract signing without giving Seth Lerch the Simon Phoenix treatment with the pen. CHECK ONE, PASSED!
Step Two: Observe and understand the environment and study the people and gain a bit of knowledge about the wrestlers and the hierarchy here. CHECK TWO, PASSED!
Step Three: Get matched against first opponent and compete in the match, this is a big one and it’s the hardest step for people to take, so I’m so pleased you’ve made it this far. CHECK THREE, PASSED!
Step Four: Win a match in the WCF, this is an even harder task to accomplish and well wow, you’ve managed it so far, congratulations. CHECK FOUR, PASSED!
Step Five: Under absolutely no circumstances fuck with and or/have the misfortune to challenge/get matched against Joey Flash for the Television Title…oh, oh no.
You were doing so well, I’m so sorry. Oh god. Your wagon just crashed straight head on into a titanium wall. Fuck twelve steps, you’re never even going to venture to #6, you poor poor man. Let’s get it popping you alcoholic faggot. I bet your parents were real proud when you told them your dream as a child was to be an MD, your mother got all a tizz and was running around telling all their friends their little boy was going to become a doctor someday. All the while in your little head you were thinking ‘Huh? Doctor? What is mommy talking about; I’m going to be a METAL DRAGON!’ and thus the boy whose parents hoped would become a doctor ended up as a down and out failure of a son, an alcoholic and disgrace to his chosen profession.
By everything you say, it seems like you’ve done nothing but fail and crush your own talent under the weight of that buzz and onset of depression. You’ve broken relationships, friendships and opportunities for one sip at the fountain of intoxication. I bet poor mommy and daddy aren’t too proud any more, you’d have done anything to make them happy and proud of the little boy they had such high hopes for, anything but apparently getting sober. I guess blood is thicker than water, but not liquor eh? But now, now you’re clean. Congratulations.
So you think it’s time to redeem yourself, make a name for yourself and finally make the name ‘Metal Dragon’ something to be proud of and thus here you are in all your monotonous boredom. What’s next, you’re going to be thanking god for your recovery? You are nothing but a dull shell of the man you used to be, another brainwashed mindless ‘sober’ drone. It's like you're Tony Stark when you were drinking that booze it was the equivalent of giving you the Iron Man suit, you’re interesting, skilled, tough and could rip the heads off mother fuckers, you a straight up badass, but strip you off that and you’re nothing but a meek mild mannered stuck up preachy self-entitled cunt.
AA is proud of you man, but I’m going to take you down each of those steps and throw you back into the abyss. It’s for my own entertainment more than anything else; ‘I’m finally clean ma!’ you’ll swear down the phone while sipping on your last fifth, tears in your eyes. I enjoy nothing more than making a man destroy himself and everything around him, we begin here. You’re a train wreck waiting to happen, and that titanium wall is getting straight across your tracks. Full speed ahead MD.
Joey sinks another shot.
Joey: It’s going to be an interesting match for me, my goal is singular, to slap the sobriety out of you and beat the drunken bitch back in you. It’s funny, getting clean is the reason you stepped back in the ring, and getting knocked clean the fuck out is why you’ll leave again. You provide no entertainment to anybody the way you are, certainly not to me. So I’m going to crush you, and hey, I’d rather see you die young than live your life like a bitch.
And another shot.
Joey: See, what we have here, it ain’t what you want it to be Dragman. There is no redemption story for you here, there is no Rocky moment. You’re not going to take my belt and parade it around your friends and family as some affirmation you’ve turned your life around. It will only be affirmation on your place in this world, a down and out waste of talent, money and a WCF contract. Let me get back to my original point, I’ve wasted enough breath on you.
I’m not a Jonny Fly; I’m not a John Gable. I’m in a stratosphere so far beyond that it’s sickening. The WCF is wiping their brows with relief that there isn’t an event like War or Ultimate Showdown on the horizon where I could just stride straight to the top with minimal effort. It’s come to my realisation that…I don’t care. It’s not the belt that makes the man and shit, right? My status is evident to anyone who competes against me, watches me or so much as looks into my eyes. I am building a dynasty in front of your very eyes and you MD are another brick in the wall. The Television Title is the most prestigious belt in the whole company right now, and you have a chance to be the man to carry that torch for the remainder of the year, sorry let me slap that dream from your mind right now. So bring your best, it won’t be good enough. I’ll go 50% and still slay you dragon. Joegar Targaryen, King of Dragons, I run this shit.
Bodybags on deck punk, it’s over. This match is like putting a Cadillac engine in a 2010 car, it might be a classic, but only on my part.
Sam-I-Am
Light crept through the curtains of Joey Flash’s room and across his sleeping face as a buzz of a phone call preceded the blaring of Joey’s ring tone which brought Joey hastily back into the land of the living. He looked to see his fiancée had already left the house for work leaving an empty spot in the bed next to him. Joey reached a half blinded and groggy grasp toward the phone and pulled it toward his ear. Whoever it was, Joey was angry, they had woken him from one hell of a dream.
Joey: Hello?
A man’s voice spoke from the receiver.
Man: Can I speak to a Mr Malignaggi please?
Joey held the phone away from him and looked at the screen for the number. ‘Unknown’. So some motherfucker decided to call his personal number with ‘Unknown’ and then wondered whether it was him answering. Okay.
Joey: That’s me.
Man: Ah excellent. We have processed your order and have dispatched the tickets with our courier. They should be with you this very morning.
Processed his order? Joey looked at the phone in bemusement once more.
Joey: Uh, what tickets?
Man: I’m Sam and I’m with EuroAir, this morning you called with regards to three first class tickets about flying with us to Palermo on Wednesday the 14th.
Joey: Uhh, I’ve been asleep. I’ve not called about any tickets man.
Sam: I’m sorry, your account has already been charged and due to the late booking of the tickets we will be unable to re-sell your seats they are non-refundable.
Joey: Are you shitting me?
Sam: P-pardon?
Joey: I said are you shitting me? Sam, was it?
Sam: Indeed, and if you don’t mind, we don’t appreciate such language-
Joey: Well Sam, wanna know what I don’t appreciate, is some little bastard calling me, waking me up from my dream when I was happily in the middle of Scarlett Johansson and Christina Hendricks sucking my mushroom tip to tell me I ordered a bunch of tickets that are ‘non-refundable’. What in holy shit man? Let me talk to your manager.
A long pause, Joey checked to see if the line was still open, it was.
Joey: Sammy boy? Hello? Oh Sammy boy the pipes the pipes are-
Sam: Hello Mr Malignaggi, sorry for the wait, my manager is pre-disposed at the moment, but I can answer any queries you have.
Joey: Okay Sam, big one here, I didn’t buy those tickets. So, no thank you.
Sam: Well Mr Malignaggi, it is out of your checking account, Bank of America, Account Number 457813481…
Joey was speechless. What the fuck.
Joey: How’d you get that account number?
Sam: It’s right here on your order receipt sir.
Joey: Okay, enough, whoever this is haha funny fucking joke, how’d you get my number?
Sam: You provided it this morning, we have the call log if you’d like?
Fucking call log? Was he sleep calling travel companies now?
Joey: I-uh, really let me talk to your manager.
Sam: As I said, my manager is pre-disposed right now.
This was going nowhere, and was only serving to get Joey unnecessarily worried and riled up. He decided to pressure Sam a little.
Joey: I know who you are, I’m going to get this number traced you know.
Sam: I’m Sam, and you can call our customer service number if you need further information or want to talk to me again.
Joey: I don’t want to talk to you again you motherfucker; I want to know who called you this morning using my name and my bank account to pay for these fucking tickets, I’m tracing your number as we speak…
Sam: I doubt that…
With that a ding-dong of the doorbell made Joey shudder and jump in surprise.
Sam: That must be our courier.
Joey: I’m not done with you, hold the line, I’m sending those tickets straight fucking back.
Joey dropped the phone onto the soft bedding and tottered downstairs attired only in some purple tight fitting boxer shorts. He leapt the last three steps of the stairway and plopped onto the marble floor, he reached the door and pulled it open to find nobody there. Joey dashed from the porch into the front garden to see a man on a motorbike speeding away from the bottom of the driveway.
Joey: MOTHERFUCKER COME BACK HERE!
Joey sighed and on approaching the front door he saw a brown envelope on the doorstep. He picked it up and turned it over in his hands to find the word ‘Flash’ written on the front. He looked back outside for a moment before pulling the door closed behind him. He sprinted back upstairs, something was not right here, not right at all. Joey picked his phone up and saw that the called had been ended. Marvellous, just lovely.
He ripped the envelope open and out plopped four pieces of paper. Three tickets, both from JFK to Falcone–Borsellino. The third piece of paper Joey picked up was a small note.
“Hello Joseph. I'm sorry about the other day. Thought I’d surprise you with a little trip away. It’s been long enough, time for you and our son to meet the family.
Alessandra”
Joey felt his heartbeat pick up as he sank back to the bed. This was some shit ripped straight from the twilight zone, this Sam guy, the shady delivery guy, the unaddressed letter with a handwritten fucking note. What on earth was going on here? This shit had to stop and this shit had to stop right quick. What was she thinking? Was it even her doing this? Of course, how’d they get his number, his fucking bank details? Joey was in a daze of utter confusion and worry, was this one big conspiracy to kill him, to get him to drive himself mad? Was he just seeing things that aren’t there? Rational Joey told him this was just a woman doing something for the man she loved and wanting him to meet her family for the first time…the journey Joey’s gut and feelings took him on was much worse.
The gut and feelings that had kept him alive and kept him surviving for this long told him that Joey was taking a one way ticket straight to hell.
END.
Alessandra Allegri felt the small hand grip hers tightly as they entered past the security and into the back area where the WCF locker rooms. She looked down at the little boy joyfully walking through the halls, taking in every sight in awe and wonder. His shaggy black hair bouncing as he tried to pick up the pace, Alessandra smiled to herself and obliged. They continued further until the far end of the corridor, the only room in this wing. her eyes narrowed.
Alessandra: Vincenzo.
Her lifelong friend and bodyguard who had been tailing her stepped forward, a sullen look on his face.
Vincenzo: Yes?
Alessandra closed her eyes and took a deep breath.
Alessandra: Deal with this, or I will.
Vincenzo knew exactly what this meant, no blood needed to be spilled today. He turned and walked away without saying a word. A quiet voice came from Alessandra's side.
Christian: Where is Uncle Vinny going?
Alessandra looked at her son, eyes bright and wide staring straight at her. She smiled.
Alessandra: He'll be back soon Christian, don't worry.
Vincenzo opened the door to the room, the small scent present from outside now hitting him sharply in the skull like a right hook. He narrowed his eyes at the wastrel in front of him, shutting the door to, to prevent Alessandra & Christian hearing.
Vincenzo: Mr. Malignaggi. Put that out right now. Your fiancée and son are here.
Joey looked half lidded at the man, lowering the blunt after taking a long toke, he couldn't quite see who the hell it was, so took the safe route.
Joey: Get out.
Vincenzo walked across to him, thrusting his face directly in Joey's.
Vincenzo: You don't tell me what to do runt. I wish I had put a bullet between your eyes when I had first seem you slumped on our porch five years ago, you’ve brought nothing but shame and ruin to the lady since. I do not know what Miss Allegri does hanging around with a waster like you, but you are not going to upset her or Christian on my watch. Now pull yourself together.
Joey understood who this was, ah Vinny, you picked the wrong day to piss me off, Joey thought. Joey stood up, staggering to his feet and cocked his head at Vincenzo.
Joey: What? You want to get out of my face right now before I personally beat you to death right now. What I do, is my own matter.
Vincenzo rolled his eyes, and shoved Flash back into his seat with one hand roughly.
Vincenzo: It is not in my job description to crush my lady's fiancée... please do as I say peaceably. Or else, you'll have her to deal with. I'm giving you the easy way out. God knows why.
Joey: You walk out that door right now, and nothing will happen. Leave.
Vincenzo: Nothing will happen to me either way. I'm doing you a favour here, you wretch.
Joey stood up once more, places a hand onto the shoulder of Vincenzo, looks at him and smiles a wide grin.
Joey: I am going to kill you, Vincenzo.
Vincenzo sighed, before cracking Flash round the side of the head, causing him to fall.
Vincenzo: Don't threaten me. I've killed many better men than you.
Joey pulled his hand back from his mouth. Blood.
Joey: Do it then. Coward.
Vincenzo sneered, booting Joey in the face once more for measure and turned away from Flash, walking back outside the door to Alessandra. He whispered in her ear.
Vincenzo: Joey's been attacked. Nothing serious. From the smell, it seems the guy who attacked him was on drugs, it smells of the stuff in there.
Alessandra: WHAT? Come on Chris, let's go see daddy...
Alessandra & Christian went into the room, where Joey was tending to his mouth.
Christian: Why daddy bleed?
Joey looked at the boy, for a moment an ounce of regret flowed through him. Joey stood up and pointed at Vincenzo.
Joey: You hear me motherfucker, I'M GOING TO KILL YOU!!!
Alessandra: JOSEPH! LANGUAGE!
Christian blinked.
Christian: Wots muvverfucker?
Joey paused for a second, mouth slack enough for a trickle of drool to run down. He laughed to himself.
Joey: It's what you could call me, kid.
Christian: Daddy muvverfucker?
Alessandra groaned.
Alessandra: In a sense. Joey, are you okay?
Joey held his head between his hands.
Joey: Why did you bring him?
Alessandra: Because he wanted to see his father! I didn't know you were going to be...
She stopped short. Joey didn't respond for a moment.
Joey: Don't be stupid.
Christian: Hug!
Christian ran over to hug his daddy. Joey raised his head, only anger in his mind. There was no anger here, all he saw was a scared little child. His scared child. Joey felt sick. He put a hand out meekly and patted Christian on the head.
Joey: Good to see ya son, I'll take ya for a tour in a minute if you're good, go see Uncle Vinny and get ready, I'll show you the ring if ya want.
Christian: YAY! RINGY!
Alessandra: Joseph... you sure you're okay?
Joey looked at Christian, who rushed toward the door and half opened it he ran toward Vincenzo and took his hand, Vincenzo looked back in toward Flash with a scowl.
Christian: Come soon!!
The door closed with a loud slam. The anger rose once more.
Joey: What the fuck do you think bitch?
Alessandra was taken aback by this.
Alessandra: What the fuck happened to you?!
Joey: Now I have even you questioning me, fuck me.
Joey felt in his pocket and smiled, he pulled the remains of the blunt of out, in the other hand a lighter. He lit, and quickly inhaled.
Joey: Back...the fuck...off.
Alessandra: What the fuck are you doing?
Joey quickly took one more long puff, before flicking the minuscule remains at Alessandra.
Joey: Shut up.
Joey didn’t know what to say, he didn’t know what to do. He could hardly say to her ‘Oh darling, I had a suspicion that you are plotting to have me murdered’. He couldn’t tell her that his every waking thought was not on his wrestling, not on his child, not on their love and their relationship, but on fear for his own life. He wanted to sink to his knees and tell her everything, he wanted her to know everything, Facchetti, the girls, the three men, everything. In place of courage and speech he found only anger he took a step toward her and pushed her toward the wall, slapping his hand next to her head.
Joey: What’s this, you’re scared?
He looked into her eyes and found nothing of the sort, he found a cold sheen across her gaze that seemed to bury itself into his very gut.
Alessandra: I forgave you for hitting me, I’ll forgive you for this as well, but if I ever see you like this around our child there will be consequences, do you understand?
Joey laughed.
Joey: Consequences? Fuck I’m game, let it fucking rip bitch.
Alessandra reached a hand out and stroked his hair.
Alessandra: I won’t tell you a second time Joseph.
She smiled and he felt all of his resolve shatter.
Alessandra: If you want to make our child happy you’ll clean yourself up and come play.
With that, she left. Joey slumped to the floor. What the fuck was that? Is this just him being high getting paranoid or reading into things that aren’t there? He felt a cold chill run through his spine. He had been emasculated and intimidated by his own fiancée without so much as a second thought. What was going on? Joey held his head in his hands and cradled his knees.
Joey: Come play? I’ll play the game bitch.
Joegar Targaryen, Father of Dragons
The rain was beating heavier and heavier as Joey Flash trudged the streets of late night Manhattan. He left his house as it was light spitting and braved it with a sport jacket, now it was a near fucking typhoon and each raindrop was smashing into him with force of a small wrecking ball. Shielding his eyes he finally managed to find somewhere open, it was probably kicking out time in an hour so he hoped the rain at least would cool off by then.
He opened the door and was met with a cocktail bar, not the upmarket dive he was expecting. Light jazz music filtered through the air coupled with a backing track of the low buzz of highbrow conversation. Joey scanned the room to find most tables and seats filled with people, even a woman in a cocktail dress, you’re brave lady. Joey approached the bar and plumped himself onto a tall stool, wringing water from his hair. A tall thin barman was cleaning a glass behind the bar looking at him.
Joey: What a night for it.
The barman smiled.
Joey: If it’s this busy now I can’t imagine what it’s like otherwise.
Barman: Don’t be fooled sir, we’re only like this because of the rain, and most people just seem to pass us by normally.
Joey: Well, I’d be guilty of that too. You’re lucky.
Barman: Just business sense sir. What’ll it be?
Joey: Got a menu?
Barman: Absolutely.
He hands Joey a menu. Joey studies intently for a moment.
Joey: I’ll take the Metal Dragon.
The barman looks confused, he flicks through a cocktail book next to the till on his counter.
Barman: Metal Dragon…Metal Dragon…ahh I can’t find it.
Joey: You can’t find it? Let me show you.
Joey climbs up onto the bar and hops off to the same side as the barman who is looking both anxious and scared. The buzz of conversation in the place has stopped, everyone has their eyes on the situation unfolding in front of them.
Barman: Look, if you’re trying to rob us we have CCTV; I’m going to call the police.
Joey looks over the bar toward the rest of the patrons.
Joey: Does anyone else want to try the Metal Dragon?
The cocktail dressed woman raises her hand and staggers over.
Cocktail dress: I wanna try.
Joey: See, the lady wants it. The people want it, I want it.
Barman: That’s it I’m calling the cops…
Joey looks behind the Barman to find the CCTV camera; he jumps up and rips it off the wall. The barman staggers back in despair.
Barman: What, what are you doing? Just take the money okay?
Joey looks toward the people in the bar once more.
Joey: Who else wants a free bar tonight? Lock in motherfuckers.
They all cheer as Joey wraps the CCTV camera over the barman’s head knocking him unconscious as he slumps out of sight behind the bar. Time to get my Tom Cruise on, Joey thought. A couple of men had already locked and barricaded the entrance before the barman’s body had hit the floor. What had been a high brow upper class cocktail bar seemed to descend into a dirty Irish pub on St Patrick's day in a matter of moments.
Joey: A Metal Dragon…okay let’s get this shit stared.
Joey picks up two bottles of rum.
Joey: Ready, take notes. We begin with 2oz of being a massive faggot.
He pours some rum in a glass.
Joey: Add another 2oz of self-important preachy bullshit.
He grabs some lemon juice.
Joey: Half an oz of jobber juice.
Then a small bottle.
Joey: A dash of being so completely and utterly outmatched in his second match in the WCF…and viola, here we have the ‘Metal Dragon’.
The bar applauds, Joey hands the drink to cocktail dress who subsequently necks it and whoops in delight. More people push to the front and Joey is bombarded with people asking him for a Metal Dragon. He continues making his delicious new recipe as he talks to his customers.
Joey: This was an interesting week for me ladies and gents. Still the champ, this is nearly two months now, sheesh ya boy dominating like a motherfucker. Oblivion got cast right where his name suggests, see ya sucka, you’re Occy and Crows problem now. They’ll walk straight through each of you fucking losers. It’s not going to be a contest, well, not a fair or even one. The only disappointment I have is I didn’t get enough done on Slam, they run a fuckin tight security ship out there. I only got half of you, mayhaps I’ll come for the other half next week eh? En garde.
I’m not sweating reprisals; none of you will have the nuts to do anything about it anyway. I could have your child by the throat and you’d tell me ‘Ahh Joey, just keep doing that, I won’t bother stepping on your toes, squeeze a little tighter if you like.’ This atmosphere, this federation breeds cowards and weakness. I will single-handedly squeeze the pus from the gaping sore of cowardice here. We have this fucker Deuce pretty much auctioning a US Title shot to the highest bidder, what, you’re gonna force more people to jump through hoops? Lemme tell you what, anyone who wants to actually fight a title match and not put up with the endless bullshit, bring it the fuck on, I’m waiting. No having to grovel writing pathetic letters, just say ‘I want to fight Joey Flash’ and it’s done, the match will be made. Deuce, if you want it too? I’ll put my title up as I do every single week, you don’t have to do a damn thing, you can hide your precious US Title in a safety deposit box while I stomp the shit out of you, though the way things are going your belt will probably get defended next in about 2035 anyway, so not that it matters.
Jayson Price, ‘Princess’ huh? Nah you just a straight up camel cunt. You want a match? You’re begging people to fight you? I’m your huckleberry, that’s just my game. The Television Title is a caveat to me beating your brains in. Stop hiding behind a computer screen and actually fight like a man for once, oh wait that happened this week and you got smashed straight back into the crib like the child you are. Tick tock, coward.
Joey continues making cocktails at a rapid pace, although ruining his little recipe every single time. The rum had run out and he was onto gin.
Joey: It’s time to get down to business. Metal Dragon, hello friend, welcome to the WCF, did you enjoy your debut? What a stunning performance for you man. You put the entirety of the fed on watch of this guy who just might one day manage to make a name for himself in the company. I have high hopes for you, out of all the new comers who have come through the doors this past month you undoubtedly hold the most potential, it’s going to be an honour to baptise you into this federation and give such an up and coming talent a shot at their first title, maybe you’ll use your victory over me to propel yourself into the upper echelon of the WCF right away…psyche you’re a fucking faggot. That guy “
” who was on the roster for about a month probably has more of a future here than you do. It’s been nearly two months or so I’ve held this belt Dragon. Do you know what the Television Title is here? Let me give you a lesson. Fuck it; consider this your induction to the WCF, Dr Flash checks in again. This title’s general nature is to be contested by newcomers to the federation, many promising names, many future legends, Hall of Famers have held this belt. It really is a stepping stone to greatness. This title is defended each and every week, it changes hands more than any belt in this company, it’s the little goal of incentive to pull the newer wrestlers in and entrench them into the roster, once you capture this belt, you will likely lose after a couple of weeks and end up more established, higher regarded and ranked in the federation. All good so far?
Every now and then an anomaly occurs, it happened with Jonny Fly and it happened with John Gable. Those were interesting cases. Here you have two absolute elites who entered the federation, did well winning the Television Title and by gosh the months went by and week after week they defended, they dominated…and they were still Television Champion. That’s rare air here Dragon, now let me put it into perspective here.
Imagine you’re walking into the federation smack bang when someone like that had captured the Television Title, and then times the skill, talent and compete level by five. It’s unbelievable isn’t it? Sacrilege I hear the people cry, but every person who comes into a match of me has come brash as fuck, balls swinging and chest puffed out swearing ‘He’s nothing, I’ll put this jobber back where he belongs!’ then left with their words being fed back to them and slinking off with their tail between their legs.
In my second match here I fought someone who is widely considered, and fuck it, I consider him one of the very best in the WCF, Zombie McMorris. This is a guy who could have taken this title and gone on a run comparable to John Gable, he could have sat and swatted away fly after fly while defending his spot as king of the castle, and it would have made for amazing viewing. Vapor Kings held damn near every title in the federation and would have continued to do so for the foreseeable future, they thought they’d reached Nirvana they had it going to good, and then Joey Flash appeared and well, whatever, nevermind.
Joey had now run out of gin, and the customers were running out of patience.
Joey: Fucking hang on.
He struggled below the bar and found some much needed Vodka.
Joey: Problem solved.
He began throwing the drinks around a whirling dance of mixology once more.
Joey: This guy called Joey Flash appeared; he won his first match and got his title shot in his very second match. I wonder what Z-Mac was thinking at that time? Was he worried? Was he anxious? Or was he thinking of me as I’m thinking of you right now, a pitiful excuse for a performer who has no business being in the ring with him. Will you surprise me like I surprised him? Will you wrench that title away from my iron grasp? I think deep down he had an inkling of what might be coming his way, an all-consuming typhoon sweeping the WCF and consuming all and sundry in front of it. I look at you and…I just don’t get that seem feel. I get the feeling of someone who will take such a psychological and physical battering in this match that you will either high tail it straight out of the federation or will continue to wallow around the card, fighting meaningless matches because you can’t possibly breach the unbreakable barrier in front of you.
I guess what I’m saying to you is it’s not a bad thing. There are two options in this fight roll over and get slaughtered or be valiant, fight back…and still lose. You’ve really been thrown into the lions pit without a weapon here. Light work…hmm I feel like I’ve not given you a proper baptism here. Am I done with you?
He pauses.
Joey: Not even close. CLOSING TIME CUNTS, GET THE FUCK OUT.
The crowd of boozed up patrons angrily shout at Joey, who responds by knocking the closest one clean out.
Joey: Any more complaints? Pick him up, and get him the fuck out. Leave.
The drunks unblock and bar the the door and trail out, cocktail slides a napkin across the bar toward Joey. He picks it up and reads her number with a lipsticked kiss beneath it. Joey pulls her close, rips the paper up and blows it in her face.
Joey: Out, now.
The woman dives across to slap Joey but is quickly held back by a couple of guys who share a knowing glance that they will happily take the offer that Joey so cruelly refused. The bar empties one by one leaving only Joey and the KO’d bartender left. Joey pours the man a drink and leaves it by his prone body.
Joey: Sorry buddy, this is on me.
Joey pings the till and takes all the money, pocketing it before plopping a ten dollar note in its place. A happy profit of about a grand and free drinks, a nice nights work. Joey grabs a bottle of whiskey and sits down at a table among the carnage, pours himself a shot and necks it.
Joey: This is going to be very bad for you Dragman, this is going to be life changing. Dr Flash, back again, I understand your problems in the past, I relate and I empathise, let me give you a little program you might familiar with, it will help you succeed here. This is called Joey Flash’s twelve step program to success and fortune in the World Championship Federation.
Step One: Catch the eye of the owner and manage to make it through your contract signing without giving Seth Lerch the Simon Phoenix treatment with the pen. CHECK ONE, PASSED!
Step Two: Observe and understand the environment and study the people and gain a bit of knowledge about the wrestlers and the hierarchy here. CHECK TWO, PASSED!
Step Three: Get matched against first opponent and compete in the match, this is a big one and it’s the hardest step for people to take, so I’m so pleased you’ve made it this far. CHECK THREE, PASSED!
Step Four: Win a match in the WCF, this is an even harder task to accomplish and well wow, you’ve managed it so far, congratulations. CHECK FOUR, PASSED!
Step Five: Under absolutely no circumstances fuck with and or/have the misfortune to challenge/get matched against Joey Flash for the Television Title…oh, oh no.
You were doing so well, I’m so sorry. Oh god. Your wagon just crashed straight head on into a titanium wall. Fuck twelve steps, you’re never even going to venture to #6, you poor poor man. Let’s get it popping you alcoholic faggot. I bet your parents were real proud when you told them your dream as a child was to be an MD, your mother got all a tizz and was running around telling all their friends their little boy was going to become a doctor someday. All the while in your little head you were thinking ‘Huh? Doctor? What is mommy talking about; I’m going to be a METAL DRAGON!’ and thus the boy whose parents hoped would become a doctor ended up as a down and out failure of a son, an alcoholic and disgrace to his chosen profession.
By everything you say, it seems like you’ve done nothing but fail and crush your own talent under the weight of that buzz and onset of depression. You’ve broken relationships, friendships and opportunities for one sip at the fountain of intoxication. I bet poor mommy and daddy aren’t too proud any more, you’d have done anything to make them happy and proud of the little boy they had such high hopes for, anything but apparently getting sober. I guess blood is thicker than water, but not liquor eh? But now, now you’re clean. Congratulations.
So you think it’s time to redeem yourself, make a name for yourself and finally make the name ‘Metal Dragon’ something to be proud of and thus here you are in all your monotonous boredom. What’s next, you’re going to be thanking god for your recovery? You are nothing but a dull shell of the man you used to be, another brainwashed mindless ‘sober’ drone. It's like you're Tony Stark when you were drinking that booze it was the equivalent of giving you the Iron Man suit, you’re interesting, skilled, tough and could rip the heads off mother fuckers, you a straight up badass, but strip you off that and you’re nothing but a meek mild mannered stuck up preachy self-entitled cunt.
AA is proud of you man, but I’m going to take you down each of those steps and throw you back into the abyss. It’s for my own entertainment more than anything else; ‘I’m finally clean ma!’ you’ll swear down the phone while sipping on your last fifth, tears in your eyes. I enjoy nothing more than making a man destroy himself and everything around him, we begin here. You’re a train wreck waiting to happen, and that titanium wall is getting straight across your tracks. Full speed ahead MD.
Joey sinks another shot.
Joey: It’s going to be an interesting match for me, my goal is singular, to slap the sobriety out of you and beat the drunken bitch back in you. It’s funny, getting clean is the reason you stepped back in the ring, and getting knocked clean the fuck out is why you’ll leave again. You provide no entertainment to anybody the way you are, certainly not to me. So I’m going to crush you, and hey, I’d rather see you die young than live your life like a bitch.
And another shot.
Joey: See, what we have here, it ain’t what you want it to be Dragman. There is no redemption story for you here, there is no Rocky moment. You’re not going to take my belt and parade it around your friends and family as some affirmation you’ve turned your life around. It will only be affirmation on your place in this world, a down and out waste of talent, money and a WCF contract. Let me get back to my original point, I’ve wasted enough breath on you.
I’m not a Jonny Fly; I’m not a John Gable. I’m in a stratosphere so far beyond that it’s sickening. The WCF is wiping their brows with relief that there isn’t an event like War or Ultimate Showdown on the horizon where I could just stride straight to the top with minimal effort. It’s come to my realisation that…I don’t care. It’s not the belt that makes the man and shit, right? My status is evident to anyone who competes against me, watches me or so much as looks into my eyes. I am building a dynasty in front of your very eyes and you MD are another brick in the wall. The Television Title is the most prestigious belt in the whole company right now, and you have a chance to be the man to carry that torch for the remainder of the year, sorry let me slap that dream from your mind right now. So bring your best, it won’t be good enough. I’ll go 50% and still slay you dragon. Joegar Targaryen, King of Dragons, I run this shit.
Bodybags on deck punk, it’s over. This match is like putting a Cadillac engine in a 2010 car, it might be a classic, but only on my part.
Sam-I-Am
Light crept through the curtains of Joey Flash’s room and across his sleeping face as a buzz of a phone call preceded the blaring of Joey’s ring tone which brought Joey hastily back into the land of the living. He looked to see his fiancée had already left the house for work leaving an empty spot in the bed next to him. Joey reached a half blinded and groggy grasp toward the phone and pulled it toward his ear. Whoever it was, Joey was angry, they had woken him from one hell of a dream.
Joey: Hello?
A man’s voice spoke from the receiver.
Man: Can I speak to a Mr Malignaggi please?
Joey held the phone away from him and looked at the screen for the number. ‘Unknown’. So some motherfucker decided to call his personal number with ‘Unknown’ and then wondered whether it was him answering. Okay.
Joey: That’s me.
Man: Ah excellent. We have processed your order and have dispatched the tickets with our courier. They should be with you this very morning.
Processed his order? Joey looked at the phone in bemusement once more.
Joey: Uh, what tickets?
Man: I’m Sam and I’m with EuroAir, this morning you called with regards to three first class tickets about flying with us to Palermo on Wednesday the 14th.
Joey: Uhh, I’ve been asleep. I’ve not called about any tickets man.
Sam: I’m sorry, your account has already been charged and due to the late booking of the tickets we will be unable to re-sell your seats they are non-refundable.
Joey: Are you shitting me?
Sam: P-pardon?
Joey: I said are you shitting me? Sam, was it?
Sam: Indeed, and if you don’t mind, we don’t appreciate such language-
Joey: Well Sam, wanna know what I don’t appreciate, is some little bastard calling me, waking me up from my dream when I was happily in the middle of Scarlett Johansson and Christina Hendricks sucking my mushroom tip to tell me I ordered a bunch of tickets that are ‘non-refundable’. What in holy shit man? Let me talk to your manager.
A long pause, Joey checked to see if the line was still open, it was.
Joey: Sammy boy? Hello? Oh Sammy boy the pipes the pipes are-
Sam: Hello Mr Malignaggi, sorry for the wait, my manager is pre-disposed at the moment, but I can answer any queries you have.
Joey: Okay Sam, big one here, I didn’t buy those tickets. So, no thank you.
Sam: Well Mr Malignaggi, it is out of your checking account, Bank of America, Account Number 457813481…
Joey was speechless. What the fuck.
Joey: How’d you get that account number?
Sam: It’s right here on your order receipt sir.
Joey: Okay, enough, whoever this is haha funny fucking joke, how’d you get my number?
Sam: You provided it this morning, we have the call log if you’d like?
Fucking call log? Was he sleep calling travel companies now?
Joey: I-uh, really let me talk to your manager.
Sam: As I said, my manager is pre-disposed right now.
This was going nowhere, and was only serving to get Joey unnecessarily worried and riled up. He decided to pressure Sam a little.
Joey: I know who you are, I’m going to get this number traced you know.
Sam: I’m Sam, and you can call our customer service number if you need further information or want to talk to me again.
Joey: I don’t want to talk to you again you motherfucker; I want to know who called you this morning using my name and my bank account to pay for these fucking tickets, I’m tracing your number as we speak…
Sam: I doubt that…
With that a ding-dong of the doorbell made Joey shudder and jump in surprise.
Sam: That must be our courier.
Joey: I’m not done with you, hold the line, I’m sending those tickets straight fucking back.
Joey dropped the phone onto the soft bedding and tottered downstairs attired only in some purple tight fitting boxer shorts. He leapt the last three steps of the stairway and plopped onto the marble floor, he reached the door and pulled it open to find nobody there. Joey dashed from the porch into the front garden to see a man on a motorbike speeding away from the bottom of the driveway.
Joey: MOTHERFUCKER COME BACK HERE!
Joey sighed and on approaching the front door he saw a brown envelope on the doorstep. He picked it up and turned it over in his hands to find the word ‘Flash’ written on the front. He looked back outside for a moment before pulling the door closed behind him. He sprinted back upstairs, something was not right here, not right at all. Joey picked his phone up and saw that the called had been ended. Marvellous, just lovely.
He ripped the envelope open and out plopped four pieces of paper. Three tickets, both from JFK to Falcone–Borsellino. The third piece of paper Joey picked up was a small note.
“Hello Joseph. I'm sorry about the other day. Thought I’d surprise you with a little trip away. It’s been long enough, time for you and our son to meet the family.
Alessandra”
Joey felt his heartbeat pick up as he sank back to the bed. This was some shit ripped straight from the twilight zone, this Sam guy, the shady delivery guy, the unaddressed letter with a handwritten fucking note. What on earth was going on here? This shit had to stop and this shit had to stop right quick. What was she thinking? Was it even her doing this? Of course, how’d they get his number, his fucking bank details? Joey was in a daze of utter confusion and worry, was this one big conspiracy to kill him, to get him to drive himself mad? Was he just seeing things that aren’t there? Rational Joey told him this was just a woman doing something for the man she loved and wanting him to meet her family for the first time…the journey Joey’s gut and feelings took him on was much worse.
The gut and feelings that had kept him alive and kept him surviving for this long told him that Joey was taking a one way ticket straight to hell.
END.
