The Hot Fry Hustle and Church Crashing
May 28, 2015 10:18:09 GMT -5
Logan, Corey Black, and 5 more like this
Post by Jonny Fly on May 28, 2015 10:18:09 GMT -5
[Scene Begins]
We’re at Jonny Fly’s ConAgra Foods production facility in Oakland, California. Serious business is taking place. We’ve got a cameraman, Steve Orbit, and Fly standing on the warehouse floor. Orbit is standing off to the side texting some bitches as the cameraman films Fly. We switch to that camera’s view, tight on the face of Fly. Just all face. It’s a beautiful image to be sure, but he appears to be less than happy.
Fly: Hello Flydophiles. Can someone tell me what the hell just happened? I don’t know if you guys know this or not, but I was away for a while…
…he says sarcastically.
Fly: …so I’m still trying to catch up. You see, I was prepared to come out this week and spend all my time talking about how fucking tedious Joey Flash is, or completely futile of a wrestler is Zombie McMorris, and of course just how much I’ve been looking forward to the chance to show Beckman where his true place is in this company’s history.
Fly takes in a deep sigh and breathes out slowly.
Fly: Alas, these points seem to have been made for me. McMorris’ ineffectiveness, Flash’s hubristic attitude, and Beckman’s embellished skill have their team sitting on the bench. Such a shame. Meanwhile, Orbit and I are sitting here trying to figure out who or what the fuck is a Dark Rider’s Gang. Am I correct to say that this wasn’t supposed to happen? These guys weren’t supposed to embarrass BOTH of the Imperium teams, right? Fuck man. I guess I’m going to have to take that Imperium Kool-Aid I was drinking back to the store.
Fly smirks sarcastically and motions for the camera to begin following him. He walks through the open space on the main floor of the warehouse with the cameraman tight to his side.
Fly: Perhaps I should take a step back here. To most of the roster, it may not be DRG’s inclusion in this final that is odd. It may be the fact that Steve Orbit and I came back from a little siesta and magically found our way into this match. Of course, magic is something only children believe in. So here’s a newsflash for the little kids on the roster, this is my fourth Trios Cup tournament. I thought I’d established that already. Don’t you guys fuckin’ think I know how to win? You think Orbit, Black, and I just wished upon a star and became great wrestlers? Should we introduce standardized testing in this company? How dumb are some of you?
Fly pauses in an open doorway that leads from the main warehouse floor into a hallway consisting of administrative offices.
Fly: This is for all the teams that are going to be sitting at home or backstage watching the Asesinato Mayo Trios Cup finals, and not actually wrestling in the match – I told you this was going to happen from the very start. People today think they can just go on WCF television and talk about how ‘shitty’ their opponents are, or annoy them to holy hell on Twitter, and then they’ll magically – there’s that word again – win matches. ANYONE can do that. Nobody has any substance behind what they say. It’s fuckin’ comical. This goes out to Pantheon who’s still licking their wounds, Logan’s team which is probably still in hiding, both or Torture’s jobbertastic teams, and the two Imperium teams that want to blame their losses on Seth Lerch. By the way, that’s like…the antithesis of original, guys. Instead of doing something seventeen billion wrestlers before you have done, how about looking in the fuckin’ mirror for a change. That’ll show you why you lost. HEY – maybe get a black brother who’s a ridiculously talented wrestler and try again next year. Seems to be working out for me!
Fly flashes his trademark smirk again, and continues walking. He heads straight down the hallway to his office, continuing to talk as he walks.
Fly: People need to get the fuck over themselves. It’s time to be humbled, and that’s what Orbit and I are going to do. Nobody is the next Jonny Fly. Nobody is the next Steve Orbit. You’re not better than us. I’m not talking about what we did back wheneverthefuck. I’m talking about right now. This very fuckin’ second. I’m a fair judge of talent, see Pantheon’s roster over the years, and I don’t see much out there. Sorry to rain on the parade, people. Without Orbit and I around, this company was Cairo, Beckman, and then the rest of you. How boring was that?
Fly says the last words while looking back at the camera. He reaches for the door to his office and opens it. He walks behind his desk and takes a seat. Settled, he looks back up at the camera.
Fly: Don’t tell me you haven’t noticed. Beckman and Cairo have been the only motherfuckers REALLY competing for the World Title over the last six months. All the rest of you been fighting for scraps like raccoons in a Taco Bell dumpster. This tournament is going to change that, one way or the other. Beckman and Cairo are out, taking their overpromoted teams with them. It was always going to come down to Orbit, Black, and Fly versus whoever. The dust has settled and Dark Riders Gang stands tall.
Fly: These Dark Rider guys are a different breed. They’re not Pantheon. They’re not Imperium trying to be Pantheon. Nor are they just some random group fused together trying to get a seat at the table. They’re really the anti-stable. Just a bunch of bikers that travel around and wreck shit. Hey, I love wrecking shit too. If I didn’t have to smack these motherfuckers in the face this week, I’d probably go over with a dozen of Orbit’s bitches and party with them. Hell, I might do it anyway.
Fly looks over to the right of the camera where Orbit is now sitting, still taking in Fly’s monologue outside of the view of the camera lens. Fly smiles slyly and then turns back to the camera.
Fly: They knew they were the underdogs on their side of the bracket, and they fucking owned it. They put that chip on their shoulder and let the motivation carry them through some tough matches. They’re going to be motivated again. Beating Imperium is one thing, but beating us has a historical affect. They certainly know that. That’s before even talking about the stakes of this match, the World Title shot, and those new shiny Trios Champion belts. I don’t underestimate Bates, Battle, and Gonzo. We’re going to walk all over them, but that doesn’t mean I’m underestimating what they’ll bring to the table. I just…have been here before.
Fly: I’ve been in every match imaginable against every caliber of opponent. There is nothing I haven’t seen before. For as great as DRG has been in this tournament, there is nothing they can do that we can’t handle. We’re not going to be caught underestimating a team in the fuckin’ finals of the Trios Cup. This isn’t going to be some nonsense about new guys busting through against the old guys. DRG can save that lame shit for another match. This is simply whether or not Thomas Bates, Gemini Battle, and Deuce Murdock can match the one on one skill of Jonny Fly, Steve Orbit, and Corey Black.
Fly: A lot of wrestlers have been down this road before. It’s a street that leads back to the midcard, where the members of Dark Riders Gang reside at this current moment. These guys are reaching for the stars, literally and figuratively. Someone has to lose. That’s how this business works. Someone always has to lose. Careers like mine are made by utterly destroying the hopes and dreams of wrestlers like Thomas Bates, Gemini Battle, and Deuce Murdock. You don’t get to where I’m by being upstaged by unqualified wrestlers. You eat, and you keep eating…forever.
Fly: That’s what I’m here to do. That’s what Orbit and Black are here to do. We’re not here to prop up the roster. We’re not here to feed egos of the over-sensitive and pretentious newbs. We’re not here to be stepping stones. We’re not names you get to put on your resume to enhance your profile. Last week I certainly wasn’t going to let MY stable get one over on me. You’re not going to catch me doing the Logan farewell tour, jobbing every fucking week for the LOL’s. No – this is the real deal. This is the real Jonny Fly. The legend who is still legendary. Mr. Trios Cup…and I’m keeping my god damn crown, whether anyone likes it or not.
Fly pauses. His mean mug melts away and is replaced by a smile.
Fly: Now, let that be my introduction to what should a fun week.
As Fly finishes the statement, we here a noise at the door. A man has just appeared in the doorway. His fancy black suit, dress pants, and patent leather shoes can’t hide an expression of concern on the man’s face. This is individual is older, probably mid-50’s. He has broad shoulders but not particularly tall, no more than six foot. We can perceive a certain arrogance from this individual as he walks into the office without invitation. The camera moves from the individual back to Fly, who’s expression has returned to one of unhappiness. Keeping his eyes fixed on the intruder, Fly points toward the cameraperson.
Fly: You. Take off. Make sure you get that tape to WCF.
As instructed, the cameraman turns away from Fly and heads back toward the door. He begins to close the door behind him, but leaves it open just a crack. He continues rolling from behind the crack in Fly’s office door. Our scene continues.
Fly: Chester Blackwood. I don’t believe you should be here.
The words illustrate that Fly knows this individual. Instead of responding, Blackwood walks toward Fly’s desk. He takes a quick second to exchange a stare with Orbit and then promptly takes a seat in the second chair across from Fly. Orbit and Fly stare at him, waiting for him to state his purpose.
Blackwood: Do you two remember the first time we met?
These words insinuate that Orbit too knows this man.
Blackwood: I seem to keep playing that conversation over in my head. It reminds me of a movie that you really like the first time you watch it. Then you watch it again, and like it less. Then you watch it again, and you like it even less, and so on. Eventually, you come to despise it. When it comes on while you’re watching television and you immediately change the channel to block it out. Unfortunately for me, I can’t block out our arrangement, now can I?
Fly’s eyes lower. He doesn’t respond. Orbit adjusts in his seat as they both wait for the man to continue. Blackwood reaches underneath his suit jacket and pulls out a folder. He sets the folder on the desk and opens it, allowing the top document to be fully visible to both Fly and Orbit.
Blackwood: Do you gentlemen like charts?
Neither Fly nor Orbit look down at the folder, nor the document that is now exposed.
Blackwood: No need to be shy. Take a look.
Orbit is the first to reach for the document. Fly continues his icy stare from the other side of the desk. Orbit reads through the document and hastily tosses it back onto the desk.
Orbit: One month? Ain’t nothing worth evaluating in one month. You ‘sposed to be some big businessman, you know that.
Blackwood smiles meekly and nods his head, almost agreeing with Orbit’s point.
Blackwood: You would be correct Mr. Orbit, however what we’re doing here has a very limited shelf life. We’ve talked about this before. It’s only a matter of time until what we’re doing is discovered. I’m not going to be around when that happens. By then I intend to have completely washed my hands of the both of you. However, I’ve been led to believe that my investment would be returned tenfold. We’re four months into this venture, not one month, and you’re not even close to fulfilling that promise.
Finally, Fly picks up the piece of paper off the desk. He takes about ten seconds to look it over before, like Orbit, tossing it back onto the desk in disgust. He responds to Blackwood.
Fly: These numbers are wrong. You come all the way down here just to throw your weight around under the guise of fake numbers?
Blackwood: You call the numbers wrong. I call them right. The real point is inarguable; sales are down this month. May sales are even lower than they were last month, when our little scheme wasn’t even in affect. Sales rose in February, March, and April. Now they’ve fallen sharply in May. That leads me to wonder, what has changed?
Blackwood snaps his fingers.
Blackwood: I got it!
He rises to his feet and now begins pacing around the room.
Blackwood: You two have been wrestling this last month, haven’t you? You’ve been out gallivanting about in Mexico and ignoring your work here.
Blackwood turns and leans over putting both hands onto the desk. He leans forward until he’s just a foot or so away from Fly’s face.
Blackwood: I thought you said this wrestling shit was behind you.
Fly leans backward, creating space between him and Blackwood.
Fly: At the time I said that, it was behind us.
Blackwood: That means you’ve taken it upon yourself to change the terms of our agreement.
Fly: What we do in our spare time was not part of any agreement, nor should it be any of your concern.
Blackwood stands back up straight and turns toward Orbit.
Blackwood: What do you have to say about all this?
Orbit: The plan is straight. It’s still gold. You’re trippin’ over nothing. You need to find some patience.
Blackwood turns away from both Fly and Orbit. He looks backward toward the door, almost staring straight at our camera. He appears to be in thought. After a few moments, he turns back around and slowly retakes his seat. He again looks toward Fly.
Blackwood: Let’s try this again. Do you admit that there’s been a problem with sales this month?
Fly: I’d want to check my own figures. Still, we’ve suspected there might be a decline.
Blackwood: Well there we go. The first step to fixing a problem is admitting you have one, so at least that’s a start. What is it that you intend to do about this ‘possible decline?’
Fly looks quickly toward Orbit. Orbit looks back to Fly. Neither have an answer to the question.
Blackwood: That’s what I thought. If I may, perhaps it’s time we push the envelope a little more. Each bag is dusted with just a small amount of the product, correct?
Fly: Correct.
Blackwood: Double it. Four vials per gallon. Then be prepared to double production and distribution. Get a team on the ground getting our product into new stores. Hell, give it to them for free. They’re customers will be so addicted the stores will have to come back to us for more. Lastly, and most importantly to both of you, stay out of the wrestling ring. No distractions. Not until you’ve made me my money, then you’re free to do whatever the fuck you want.
The previous words are stated in a stern tone, one that brings silence over the room. Eventually, Fly manages a response.
Fly: We can’t double the product. Tell him Steve.
Chester Blackwood quickly turns to Orbit, his brow scrunched ever so slightly as if already doubting what he’s going to be told.
Orbit: Too much of the powder changes the flavor. Trust me, Fly and I been experimentin’ with this shit for months. Hell man, I think if we’d double this shit it’d be visible at that point. It’s not a smart play. You’d be opening the door for the whole scheme gettin’ exposed.
Blackwood: I don’t care. That’s your problem. Figure it out.
Fly’s heard just about enough. Never the timid type, he rises from his seat. Now towering over Chester Blackwood, he begins to speak with more force.
Fly: Like it or not, this is my plant. Steve and I will make the decision on whether or not to increase the product. As an investor, your opinion on the matter has been noted and will be considered. That’s all you’re going to get out of us. Now, go_the_fuck_home.
Orbit joins Fly on his feet. The tension in the room is unmistakable. From his seat, Blackwood looks from Fly over to Orbit. He smiles, slaps his hands on the arms of his chair, and joins the men on his feet. He takes two steps toward the door before turning back around.
Blackwood: You’re right, you know. This is your plant. Everyone knows it. Tax records would prove it. Hell, you’ve probably been dumb enough to put it on television, haven’t you? Who do you think they’re going to blame if it were to…slip…of what’s really going on here?
Chester Blackwood smiles. With the subtle threat delivered, he promptly turns back toward the door. As he begins to move toward it our scene goes black temporarily. The audio remains on and we’re able to hear the sound of a door opening and quickly closing. Then we hear footsteps. The steps pass and as they become faint, the sound of a door opening is heard again. Our scene springs back to life. We can infer that the cameraman quickly hid while Blackwood exited the office. Now that he’s gone, he shoots back into the office where Orbit and Fly remain at their seats.
Orbit: Shit man, that could of fuckin’ gone better.
Fly lowers his head into his hands as he speaks.
Fly: We’ve got to figure this out. I hate to admit it, but he may have a point. Going and partying in Mexico for the last three weeks has hurt our business. We have a lot at stake here.
Orbit: Forget that old mellow motherfucker. This is our bit.
Fly: He holds some of the cards. It’s his money that let us get this started. He can pull the rug out from under us if he gets impatient. That would get messy real quick.
Orbit: He can fuckin’ try.
Fly looks up and over at Orbit.
Fly: We need to come up with a game plan, Steve. We’re either all in on this or we’re not. We’re either here making money hand over fist, or we’re traveling around the world trying to satisfy that wrestling itch.
Orbit: Shit man, we already went over all this. We’re doin’ both. Case closed.
Fly: Just..
Fly holds out his hand in Orbit’s direction, signaling that he needs a second.
Fly: …let me think.
Fly leans his head all the way back in his chair. Now looking toward the ceiling, he closes his eyes. As he does, our scene immediately switches.
[Scene Ends]
January 24th, 2015 – New York City
We’re at Café Grumpy in the Chelsea Neighborhood of Manhattan. Specifically, we’ve opened in the backyard patio of the café. It’s a quaint area with no more than six two-person tables filling the space. The floor is brick, and vines are growing up the barrier walls separating the space from the buildings next door giving the space an almost European feel. It’s dusk outside, but our scene is plenty illuminated by the many lights of the City.
With it being late, and considering it’s a cold time of year, only Jonny Fly and Steve Orbit can be seen sitting on the patio. The two are layered with nearly identical black peacoats. Wait, just kidding, Orbit’s isn’t black. It’s lime green. Both men are wearing gloves, scarves, and holding a cup of coffee in their hands trying to stay warm.
This night will mark Jonny Fly’s last in New York City. The man that essentially grew up on these streets, and where he’d resided his entire life – minus a four year stint in witness protection – would be leaving the city he loves. Toward the end of last year, as his wrestling career slowed considerably, Fly’s vertiginous relationship with the FBI reached full circle. He was being used a consultant in the intelligence branch of the FBI’s New York City field office. The man who once dotted their top wanted posters, but who knows the New York City criminal underworld like no other, now their top resource against his own kind.
It was all so…fake. Who was he to put people in jail? Who was he to work with the very people who’d spent a decade trying to run him off the streets? He became involved with one of the female agents – but it wouldn’t last. This wasn’t him. A change was needed. The New York City Mansion that wrestling fans know so well, that’s gone. That female agent? She’s gone as well - literally. For Jonny Fly, after tonight, New York City does in fact sleep.
There’s just one more thing to do. One more meeting to be had. It’s time to craft the post New York City life. We zoom in on Fly and Orbit as they sip their coffee and wait for their guest to arrive.
Orbit: You got your shit packed?
Fly: I’m not taking anything.
Orbit: Nothin’?
Fly: It’s all gone. Clean slate.
Orbit: Damn son, not even some rubbers?
Fly: …what are those?
Orbit: You’re fuckin’ with me right? You know those uncomfortable things you gotta put on your dick so you don’t get some golddiggin’ bitch pregnant?
Fly: I was kidding. I know what a rubber is.
Orbit: Shit man, I don’t know when you’re jokin’ around yet. We gonna need to work on this being brothers shit.
Fly smiles at the comment and nods in agreement.
Fly: I’m just glad we know. Like – really know.
Orbit: I’m still tryin’ to process it, ya know? Still tryin’ to wrap my head around this. I just – I don’t even know. Crazy shit.
Fly: Either way, Ancestry.com doesn’t lie. Meredith was telling the truth. I’m excited to make this next step. It’s going to be like old times for us, back when we almost ran THIS city.
A sly smile forms on Orbit’s face as recalls the duo’s dealings in New York City in late 2013 before they knew the true depth of their relationship. We hear the sound of a door opening. Fly and Orbit look over from their table to see a man walking toward them. It’s the same man, Chester Blackwood, from the earlier scene. Blackwood looks excited as he approaches the table. He grabs a chair from another table nearby and places it in between Fly and Orbit and takes a seat. He sticks out his hand in Orbit’s direction.
Blackwood: Chester Blackwood. It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Mr. Orbit…Mr. Fly.
Orbit shakes the man’s hand. Fly follows suit. With introductions over, Fly gets right into business.
Fly: Considering you’re here, I think it’s safe to say that you already know all about us and our plan. You’re on board?
Blackwood: Jonny Fly and Steve Orbit. Former professional wrestlers. Now looking to make a bunch of money. I know enough to be intrigued, yes. But, for the money you two are requesting I’d like for you to indulge me once more. Start from the top.
Fly: Fair enough. I have a contract pending with ConAgra Foods to take over one of their plants in Oakland, California. The plant will only produce the Andy Capps’ Hot Fries from that point forward. However, and it’s of great personal sadness that I have to say this, Hot Fries don’t sell worth a shit.
Orbit cuts in on the conversation.
Orbit: We’re trying to make Oprah money over here, you know what I’m sayin’? It ain’t enough to just produce this shit and let people buy it. We’re fixin’ the game. We’re gonna lace this shit with a powder form of Opium. It’ll make Hot Fries addicting as fuck to anyone eatin’ them. People gonna buy a shit ton more, more people buyin’ the more money we be makin’.
Fly: It’s the perfect plan. We’re done wrestling. That shit’s too easy. We’re on to bigger and better things, much bigger…much better. The world spends 374 billion dollars on snack food. We’re going to turn that industry upside down, drug it with Opium, and fuck it in the ass.
Chester Blackwood laughs at the comment.
Blackwood: Where are you getting the Opium?
Fly points at Blackwood.
Fly: From you, essentially. That’s why we need the money. Orbit has space underneath Club Violet for the cultivation of the opium poppy plant. He’s already retrofitting the space to serve as an indoor greenhouse. Once it’s going, it’ll serve as a consistent source of the materials needed to create the power form of Opium. It just costs money we don’t have.
Blackwood: Who’s going to be overseeing the process?
Orbit: Fly and I mostly. But I’m also putting one of my most trusted girls through that botany degree program at University of California, Berkeley. It’s basically the study of plants and all that bullshit. She’ll be working at the club most days putting that schoolin’ to work for us.
Blackwood: She’ll know how to turn the Opium Poppy into powder form?
Orbit: Nah man, that’s already covered. The girl’s just gonna be managin’ the other bitches who I’m gonna have doin’ the grunt work. They’ll extract the liquid form the pods, collect it, and then leave it to dry. We gotta separate room dedicated to taking the dried opium liquid and refining that shit into a powder. Then it’s just collecting it and transferring the shit over to Fly’s place.
Fly: It’ll be a seamless operation. My employees won’t even need to know what’s going on. The powder will be mixed with the seasoning before it’s even coated on the fries during the production process. We receive shipments of the hot fry seasoning in gallon tubs from ConAgra. We’ll add two vials of the opium per gallon before it’s sent to the production line.
Blackwood: I see.
Chester Blackwood brings his hand to his chin and rubs it as he thinks through the plan that’s been laid out in front of him.
Blackwood: There’s one question I have that I’m not quite sure about at this point. I’ve done my research, both of you are fairly wealthy. You have esteemed careers as professional wrestlers. You’ve both been involved with a number of successful business ventures. Record show you both have plenty of holdings in the form of real estate, businesses, cars, investment accounts, all that good stuff. If you have this great plan, and you have the money, why seek outside help?
Fly: It wasn’t cheap getting ConAgra to cede over control of one its plants.
Orbit: My shit is tied up in the club. Plus, there’s some bitches out there than owe me some money. It’s a pimp’s curse. I’ve been tellin’ Fly for weeks that I need to hire a fuckin’ collection agency. All he keeps telling me to do is shoot ‘em.
Fly shrugs, smiling just a bit.
Fly: We’ve put our fair share into the project already. The fact is, every enterprise needs startup capital. We want to be able to expand quickly. The more we can produce, the quicker we can expand, and the more money we’ll all make. But let me be very clear here, we’re looking for a silent investor. I assume you know what that means?
Blackwood: You want me to give you money and then disappear.
Fly: Well…those are your words. I’m not so brash as to define it as such. Basically, we want you to help fund this project and entrust us to make the right decisions. In the effort of honesty and full disclosure, Steve and I aren’t people that subscribe to the philosophy of appeasement. We don’t want to be bothered by someone who’s going to make us jump through hurdles just because they want to have some control. If that doesn’t work for you, then there’s really nothing else to discuss. This is our one non-negotiable.
Blackwood again reaches toward his chin as he continues to think over the proposal.
Blackwood: Let me be completely honest with both of you. This isn’t just about the money for me. I’m a Board Member for the Frito Lay Corporation. You ever heard of Chester’s Fries?
Fly’s eyes sparkle at the words. He most certainly knows of his favorite snack’s main competitor.
Fly: …what about them?
Blackwood: You’re looking at the name sake, gentlemen. I don’t see this just an opportunity to make some money. I make enough money, I don’t need to deal in shady enterprises to make more, no offense. My appetite in this world isn’t money-driven. I want my product to succeed. As you’ve already eluded, the fry snack food segment isn’t that great. It’s not a big enough market to sustain two large brands. Therefore, one of them is eventually going to die off. That’s just the way business works. I see this as an opportunity to speed up that timeline and handpick the loser.
Fly cocks his head to the side.
Fly: You want to…kill off Andy Capps’ Hot Fries?
Blackwood: Precisely.
Fly: WHOA – hold up…
Fly breathes out slowly. He’s nearly hyperventilating. This is something he was clearly unprepared for. Blackwood tries to ease Fly’s mind.
Blackwood: Have you two considered what your end game is going to be? You’ll never be able to get away with this forever. The FDA or a state regulatory agencies will eventually come in for a routine inspection. You may be able to hide what you’re doing, or you may not. You’d be smart to have some sort of out-plan.
Orbit and Fly both nod their heads.
Orbit: Yeah, we’re gonna dump this shit back on ConAgra. That’s the only play. They’re tainting the seasoning, shipping it to us, and all we’re doing is producing the shit. People hate corporations, ain’t nobody gonna believe they didn’t have anything to do with this.
This is exactly what Blackwood wanted to hear.
Blackwood: Perfect. So think about it, you’re essentially killing Hot Fries anyway. This is going to come out, it’s going to be a big news story, and people are no longer going to buy Hot Fries. Instead, they’re going to buy Chester’s Flaming Hot Fries. It works for all of us.
Fly hears the rationale but you can sense that it still hurts him. He hangs his head.
Orbit: Fly? What’s wrong, bro?
Fly raises his head. He’s now smiling.
Fly: You know what…nothing. Nothing is wrong at all. Let’s do it. If we get the money, and you stay out of our way, we’ll help you bury ConAgra. No problem.
Blackwood claps his hands excitement.
Blackwood: Excellent. Just one more thing. I want your word that you’re in this one-hundred percent. This is an investment for me. I want to be sure that you two are as committed to this venture as I am.
Fly: Don’t worry about that. We’re in this all the way.
Blackwood: Then I believe we have an agreement. Let the Hot Fry hustle begin!
Blackwood sticks his hand out and shakes hands with Orbit and Fly, signaling the completion of their agreement. He rises from his seat.
Blackwood: The check will be coming. We should keep our communication to a minimum from here on out. When this does go sour, an executive from FritoLay talking with the people running a plant from ConAgra would be suspicious. This will protect all three of us.
Fly: Agreed.
Orbit: No sweat.
Chester Blackwood nods his head before turning and exiting the patio. As he walks back inside, Fly and Orbit turn back to one another.
Fly: It looks like we’re in business.
Orbit: You ever thought about what we’re going to do if this dude rats on us?
Fly responds, without hesitation…
Fly: We’ll kill him. Once we get his money, I don’t give a fuck.
It’s now Orbit who responds without hesitation.
Orbit: I was hoping you’d say that.
The cold-blooded words of Orbit and Fly provide closure for the scene. As it dissolves away, we return to our previous scene.
[Scene Ends]
[Scene Begins]
Back in the office, Jonny Fly opens his eyes. He redirects his gaze back toward Orbit.
Fly: You know what, we warned this motherfucker. I was very clear with him about his role. Who the fuck does he think he is coming in here and telling us what to do? I’m not giving up wrestling on the eve of the motherfuckin’ Trios Cup finals.
Orbit: Me neither, homie. We said we we’re comin’ back to take home the crown and that’s what we’re gonna do.
Fly: So then it’s settled. As far as Blackwood, we’ve told each all along we’re willing to do what it takes to get rid of him if need be. You still agree with that?
Orbit: Fuck yeah. We’re the ones makin’ this shit happen. That motherfucker is just a nuisance.
Fly: My man. That’s music to me ears brotha.
Fly reaches across the desk and he and Orbit exchange a ‘pound.’
Fly: Let’s get the fuck out of here. We need to get back to Mexico. We’ll deal with this after we’re the fuckin’ Trios Champs. Call your people. We need to have men watching the club and this facility while we’re gone.
Orbit: Consider it done.
Fly: …and Steve.
Orbit: Yo?
Fly opens the middle drawer of his desk. Reaching into the drawer he pulls out a silver Ruger SR1911 pistol and sets it onto the desk.
Fly: From here on out. You don’t ever know what an old white guy’s got up his sleeves.
Orbit: You know that’s right. But my shit is custom…
Orbit reaches under his shirt and reveals a gold plated Springfield XDS 9mm pistol. Fly laughs at the comment and takes the gun off the desk for himself.
Fly: Well, alright then. Hey, I’ve got some intel on where the Dark Riders Gang is holding up for the week. You want to go pay them a visit?
Orbit doesn’t have to say anything. His wicked smile says enough. He and Fly walk out of the office and close the door behind them. The scene comes to a close.
[Scene Ends]
[Scene Begins]
We begin at the Holiday Inn Plaza Universidad in Mexico City, Mexico. Our establishing shot shows a while building that is more long than wide, with a parking garage jutting out from the side to form the buildings ‘L’ shape. The hotel’s main entrance is encased in glass and from our position we spot two figures dressed largely in black approaching the entrance. As we zoom in we can identify these two individuals as Jonny Fly and Steve Orbit. Both are dressed in black leather boots, black leather gloves, black leather jackets, and with black leather chain wallets exposed. Each man is wearing a bandana and cradling a helmet under their arm as they enter the hotel.
Our scene switches to the hotel lobby. Fly and Orbit pause and scan their surroundings. This seems like a nice place. Directly in front of the duo is a sitting area with red couches and seats. Behind that is the main lobby area where hotel patrons can check in and have a tiny Mexican man take their luggage to their room. Everything is decorated to a very modern feel. Fly and Orbit can’t be bothered with that stuff. They’re not here to be a hotel guest.
Orbit: Bro, are you sure they gonna be here? This don’t look right. You really think these motorcycle clowns stayin’ at a Holiday Inn?
Fly: Yes. Have you never watched their little videos? They’re ALWAYS at a Holiday Inn. They must be members of another club, the IHG Rewards Points club. Anyway, this is the closest Holiday Inn to the arena AND…
Fly points off to the left where there’s a sign that reads “Motorcycle Church Meeting – Banquet Room A.”
Orbit: Bro, that’s says church.
Fly: That just means they’re in a meeting. I read it in the Bikers Guidebook. That’s about the sum total of preparation I’ve done for this match.
Orbit: These are some confusing motherfuckers. Come on, let’s go answer some prayers.
Orbit and Fly walk to the left and past the sign. They continue down a long corridor until they come to another corridor that heads right. Fly and Orbit look around and spot an arrow for Banquet Room A pointing off to the right. They follow the arrow and head down the second corridor until they reach a pair of double doors labeled as the room they’re looking for. Fly reaches for the handle…
Fly: Game face. Remember our cover.
Orbit: I got my shit down. We’re members of the Dark Dark Riders Gang, a disenfranchised racially diverse sect of the club that seeks to educate the Dark Riders about their discriminatory practices when it comes to allowing African-American bikers to join. Then, after we got them all confused and shit, we’re gonna Pimp Slap all them in the face and string ‘em from Mexican palm trees.
Fly: Wait…what?
Orbit: Don’t even sweat it, bro. I got this shit.
Orbit pushes the double doors open…
Fly: HEY! We’re not hanging anyone from a tree!
Orbit is already inside the room.
Fly: Steve! I’m serious!
Orbit isn’t listening.
Fly: God dammit!
Fly walks into the room. It’s a large space with classroom style seating. There’s about 10 rows with six seats each all facing toward the front of the room. There’s about two dozen bikers in the room, mostly older, and all wearing the traditional leather garb but with yellow trim on the jacket. Each of them are facing the front of the room where there’s another man standing behind the podium. This individual seems to be even older with a white beard and a cross necklace. He, as well as the rest of the room, look toward Fly and Orbit who’ve now interrupted their gathering.
Orbit: Yo! Ya’ll know who it is. We the Dark Dark Riders and we’re tired of your little group holdin’ down our people. Just cause we black don’t mean we can’t ride bikes. That’s some stereotypical bullshit. This shit is going to stop. We want to speak to motherfuckin’ Thomas Uriel Bates and all those other white honkeys…NOW!
Whispers and murmurs arise from the crowd. Everyone is looking back and forth at one another, confusion all around. Fly takes in a deep breath. He backs up his brother.
Fly: What, you old fucks can’t hear or are you choosing to ignore my brother because of the color of his skin? TYPICAL. You motherfuckers should spell club with a K. Now, tell us where Bates is hiding! Hell, we’ll settle for Gonzo or Battle.
The man at the front of the room motions for silence from the group. He takes a few steps away from the podium in the direction of Fly and Orbit before speaking to them.
“Sirs, my name is Edmund Fitzgerald. I’m the Shepard of the Canadian chapter of the Soldiers For Jesus Motorcycle Club. You are interrupting our sermon.”
Uhh…what?
Orbit: Hey! Old guy! Don’t you fuckin’ lie to me! Do you know who I am? I demand you take us to your leader. He’s the big fat fuck with the doctorate degree in old irrelevant bullshit.
Fitzgerald: Sir, I would ask you to not use that language in here. This room is a place of worship. I assure you, we do not know these men of which you speak.
Fly and Orbit look at one another. With just a glance, they use their brotherly powers to understand what the other is thinking. They’re still not buying this. They begin to move to the front of the room.
Fly: Do we look dumb to you? Look what the fuck you’re all wearing. Smell the air.
Orbit: It smells like straight old rancid leathery VAGINA up in here.
Fly: Exactly. You’re trying to tell me this a church?
Fitzgerald: Yes, in fact.
Fly and Orbit have now reached the front of the room. They circle around Edmund Fitzgerald. Fly begins chuckling to himself.
Fly: Come on man, cut the act. We’re here for Thomas Uriel Bates, Gemini Battle, and Gonzo Murdock. I know they’re here in Mexico City. I know they always stay in a Holiday Inn, and I know this is the only Holiday Inn where some bum ass motorcycle group is holding up. That’s not a coincidence. Your holier than thou motorcycle club ploy is fucking stupid. We all know bikers are all criminals who don’t give a shit about laws and want to do nothing but fight other people and drive in pretty patterns taking up the whole fuckin’ road. Tell me I’m wrong!
Fitzgerald: You’re wrong.
Fly: What!?
Fitzgerald: Bikers are a fraternity, not a gang. We’re not outlaws. That’s how movies or shows may portray us, but by and large bikers are upstanding citizens. In fact, bikers as a whole have changed over the years. Our groups are typically well to do, hence how we can afford the bikes, the equipment, and the time to ride around the country. It’s just an escape from the regular monotony of life, and we do it with friends and companions. People who we trust and can share our feelings with.
Orbit: Hah. Feelings. What type of shit is this dude on?
Fitzgerald: On the contrary, I’m being quite honest with you. We’re not the people you’re looking to find. I’ll also tell you it’s quite evident that the two of you are not members of any motorcycle club, despite your disguises.
Fly and Orbit scowl at the comment. They look down at their attire and then scan the room looking at everyone else’s. They’re missing patches and other items signifying any motorcycle club affiliation. Their boots are more wrestling boot-like versus biker’s boots. Their chain wallets are made by Gucci. It’s a fairly easy disguise to see through.
Fitzgerald: Our group here is unique in that we’ve combined our passion for riding and companionship with our passion for the Lord Jesus Christ. We’re here on our annual vacation. We’ve rode south from Canada and are now taking in the sights of another culture. If I may – would you two gentlemen have an interest in joining us for the day and learning more about our club? We’re always looking to take wayward souls into our flock.
Fly and Orbit cringe. All of a sudden they want to run away.
Orbit: Man, I ain’t ridin’ around singing hymns and shit. Not happenin’.
Fly: Yeah, I have a…thing…I need to do. Really important. You guys have fun doing…whatever the fuck this is.
Fly and Orbit turn and briskly walk away from Shepard Fitzgerald. As they leave our scene transforms to the small Holiday Inn hotel bar minutes later where Fly and Orbit are now sitting, having struck out on their quest to find the Dark Riders Gang. There are two bottles of Corona in front of each of them, one empty, and one full. On the other side of the bar, the female bartender – a petite Mexican woman with black hair and who would rate about a seven and a half on a ten point scale - is leaning over the bar entranced by the conversation going on in front of her.
Orbit: It was fuckin’ weird. One of them fairy bikers travelers was eyein’ me up the whole time like I was a Kit-Kat bar. I may be black but I ain’t crispy, you know what I’m saying?
Bartender: Yeah, we tend to get some weird groups in here. They come here because Mexico City is a big party town where they won’t be judged. What brings you guys into town?
Fly: We’re wrestlers with the WCF.
Bartender: Oh yeah, the wrestling organization that’s been in town all month. How cool! I’ve wanted to get over to the arena and watch one of the shows but they’ve always been sold out. Anyway, you boys let me know if you need anything…anything…
She says the last word with a little bit more emphasis and a suggestive wink. Fly and Orbit gawk as she walks away.
Orbit: I think I should offer that bitch a job at the club.
Fly: Maybe. But then you’d have to help her relocate to the states with her 36 family members. No pussy is worth that type of coin.
Orbit: Fuck man, that’s a good point.
Orbit takes a sip from his beer, still eyeing up the bartender from afar.
Orbit: Ah well. Check it bro, this Trios shit is comin’ up fast. I still can’t believe we gonna be facing the Dark Riders. All those teams in the tournament – Pantheon, Imperium 1, Imperium 2, Team of Torture 1, Team of Torture 2, Sentinels – these are the fools that made it all the way to the finals? Shit blows my mind.
Fly: I think those other teams just plain choked. I don’t know. I mean, the dude in charge over there is actually decent. Bates. The other guys don’t fit in the club at all. It’s fairly laughable.
Orbit: For real though. The one dude is a straight CIA operative. Or was, I guess. He’s on some Cyrogenix shit, but that’s played out. Yet another motherfucker stealing shit I’ve already done. Yet all these dudes acting like we old news. We can’t hang. Then they go out and do shit we already done. Oh wait, I forgot. Gonzo’s also some writer! Let me tell you somethin’ about writers. They’re all nerds. ALL OF THEM. Some motherfuckers are out there writing fake ass wrestlin’ shit. You believe that, Fly? They out there writin’ fantasies about our lives. Fuckin’ pathetic.
Fly laughs at the comment, agreeing with the sentiment. Fake wrestling writing? Totally weird. Right?
Fly: Man, Gonzo’s just a hodgepodge of gimmicks all clumped into one grief ridden jobber…who apparently now rides a motorcycle. I don’t even try to keep track anymore. I quit a long time ago. It’s all so god damn ridiculous.
Orbit: But even though he’s the one named Gonzo, he ain’t even the fuckin’ clown in the group! That dude Gemini Battle – shit son, some stripper named motherfucker ain’t ever going to beat me, I’ll tell you that right now. That’s the truth. I’ve lost to some people over the years, but if there’s anyone I do know how to beat, it’s a fuckin’ stripper.
Fly Jesus fuckin’ christ, I…
Fly looks around real quick.
Orbit: What?
Fly: Just making sure those Jesus bikers didn’t hear that. Anyway, for fuck sake what in the world is a Gemini Battle? Is he supposed to be some zodiac killer? Do you know what the astrological sign is for a Gemini? Two twins dancing around and fucking one another. I’m serious. Look it up. Every time that dude gets on television I feel like I’ve been transported to an aisle seat on the short bus. Let’s go through this together and you tell me if I got this right, Steve. First, he’s really, really, really rich. Like, more than you and I put together, plus the entire country of Mexico.
Orbit: Check.
Fly: He hates his family.
Orbit: Correct. Hey! Something we have in common with him.
Fly: He owns his own battle station.
Orbit: Check. Clearly a Star Wars nerd.
Fly: He’s evil.
Orbit: So he says.
Fly: He wants to dominate the world.
Orbit: I mean, who doesn’t.
Fly: He’s teaming with the Dark Riders Gang.
Orbit: Of course.
Fly: He’s a legit genius.
Orbit: Allegedly. I’d wanna see the tests to prove it.
Fly rolls his eyes and shakes his head in a manner of disgust. He reaches for his beer and takes a large drink.
Fly: This entire thing is so fuckin’ bizarre that I don’t even know what to say. I guess I’ll take a stab at it. So here we have this rich boy who abandons his family and vows to correct their wrongs.
…then he builds a battle station.
…then he’s evil.
…then he proclaims ambition to dominate the world.
…then he signs with the WCF and becomes a professional wrestler.
…then he jobs for three months.
…then he joins a stable and learns how to ride a motorcycle.
…then he’s holding hands with his girlfriend on the beach as he prepares for the Trios Cup finals.
Orbit starts laughing out loud.
Fly: AND I’M SUPPOSED TO BELIEVE THIS GUY IS SMART!? This is legitimately the dumbest fucking thing I’ve ever seen in my decade plus in the industry, Steve. Defilers of logic is EXACTLY what they should call themselves, because the whole fucking premise behind their group lacks_basic_fucking_logic.
Orbit: Hey, did I tell you Gemini writes poetry too?
Jonny Fly falls out of his chair. Literally. He’s fallen and he can’t get up. Orbit helps him back onto his stool where he proceeds to drink the entirety of his beer. He regains some measure of composure.
Fly: Look, if you want to avow the wrongs of your family, then do it! Don’t become some merchant of evil with your own battle station and world domination minions. “Hey hypocrisy, it’s me Gemini. Don’t mind me while I just go out and do the same shit my parents did that got my vagina all hot and bothered in the first place.”
Just an update, Steve Orbit is still laughing.
Fly: It’s not that I don’t love evil motherfuckers. I’ve been down that road. That shit’s fun. But if you’re going to be evil, BE_FUCKING._EVIL. Don’t join a motorcycle gang that with a mission statement that clearly reads “NOT AN OUTLAW GANG.” Don’t become pussy whipped by the first piece of ass you can manage. Jesus Christ, the depths some fuckin’ jobbers go to find relevance continues to amaze me. This dude has taken his whole persona and driven a stake through it. Who the hell could take him serious anymore? Good luck selling people that you’re some eccentric and evil war monger while you take orders from some scholarly oaf/two-bit wrestler/biker boob.
Orbit: I wasn’t kiddin’ about that poetry shit. That’s legit.
Fly: I can’t even…I have nothing else to say.
Orbit: Well then…
Fly: Wait, fuck that. Sorry bro. I'm not done. I'm not even close to done. I know he might be trying to change his ways. That just confuses me even more. That’s some Logan shit. One day he’s funny, the next day he’s talking to snakes, the next day he mercurial and treacherous, the next day he’s a redheaded woman, and then the next day he’s playing house with a schizophrenic. This is a wrestling company. Not a habitat for chameleons. Stop changing your colors every month. No wonder none of these fuckers are consistent in the ring, they’re not even consistently the same fuckin’ person.
Fly takes another sip of his drink. Orbit follows suit, waiting for Fly to continue.
Fly: I’ve heard this dude Battle is supposedly some legendary Japanese wrestler. He was hot shit over there in Corey Black land at some point or another. I don’t know. I’m just wondering what he’s done since he’s been over here playing with the big boys. How many titles does he have?
Orbit: Nada.
Fly: That’s right, none. He’s lost every big match. He’s lost to people within his own stable. He’s biker roadkill Bates scooped off the fuckin’ road and brought back to life. Now he thinks he’s going to win the Trios Cup? This guy shouldn’t even be sniffing a match like this. He’s in a new world right now, and he’s going to be exposed for what he is – the weak link on that team. The weakest wrestler in the entire match. Bates should have left him on the road. His team would be better for it this week. I’d advise Gemini to go barricade himself back in his battle station. He’s going to need that much protection to prevent me from humiliating him back to the comic book he came from.
Orbit: Heh. So I was thinkin’ about it as we were coming in. That dude Gonzo was in War right?
Fly: Yep, that was him. He had a good showing too. I remember back then nobody knew who he was and that shit kind of came out of nowhere. Here we are, over six months later, and that’s still probably still the highlight of his career. He’s just floating in the wind or whatever. Not doing much of anything as far as I can tell.
Orbit: Do you think we should tell him we stole the heroin?
Fly: Wait, what?
Orbit: Oh, nothin.’
Fly: You didn’t…
Orbit: Nope. No way. Not me.
Fly looks at Orbit suspiciously as his half-brother itches his arm. It’s a good thing Fly feels like talking more shit, deciding to ignore the comment.
Fly: In a weird way, I’ve always liked Gonzo. He sometimes reminds me of Phantasm. I’ve got a soft spot for that shit. He’s an adventurous motherfucker. Always scheming and up to some crazy farfetched nonsense. I don’t even mean that in a bad way. Phantasm and I built Pantheon together on that platform. But he’d be the first to tell you that because he was that way, I had to be the person to lead the group. I was the one who got results. I was our equalizer. He did his shit, like Gonzo does his, but I was the motherfucker scoring win, after win, after win. I see the same within the Dark Riders. Bates is the dude scoring all these Trios Cup pinfalls. He’s the only one over there holding a belt. He’s not just the leader by title, he’s the leader by example.
Fly: Think about the comparison for a second, and then take a look back at history. Unless someone from Pantheon is talking about him, nobody brings up Phantasm anymore. For all his skill, and it was considerable, he’s been lost to the archives. He never reached the top of the mountain. He never got close. He disappointed in some of his biggest matches. He provides us with a lesson that Gonzo should study and understand. Being a great wrestler requires results, above all else. You can be as talented as anyone, doesn’t matter if you don’t do anything with it. It doesn’t matter how good of a fighter you are, or what your background is, or what the fuck is going on with your life. All that matters is that pinfall. If you can’t consistently get it, you’ll never amount to shit.
Fly: I know Gonzo’s type. It’s a very thin line that separates the skilled from the preeminent. A lot of wrestlers are skilled. You have to find a way to be more than that. It’s a mindset. That’s what you’ll find always separates the World Champions from the fodder. Gonzo looks at last year’s War match as the moment he put himself on the map. But where’d that momentum go? The United States Title? Come on, son. That’s not some grand follow up performance. Where was the assault on the Main Event scene? To date, he’s still on the map. I know that – because he’s fucking lost somewhere on it. He has no direction. He doesn’t know what he’s doing. He’s a square motherfucker trying to stick himself into a round motorcycle tailpipe. Complete and eternal obscurity, that’s where Murdock’s story ends.
Orbit: Speakin’ of history. I’m still tryin’ to wrap my head around this Bates guy. Dude was a professor? Why the fuck is he wrestling?
Fly: I think this is the curse of the inferiority complex. All of these wrestlers today are trying to overcompensate for a two-line resume. They know they don’t have shit so the play up their background. “I’m really tough and gritty, but also smart, rich, and sophisticated. I swear!” That shit’s not real. Bates can take that fancy degree in a subject that’ll never get anyone a job from the worst school in the mid-south and burn that motherfucker up in his Harley’s muffler. Nobody cares. There’s no academics on the canvas. That’s my school, my world, and Thomas Bates is going to graduate there with another degree – a B.A. in Flyjobbing.
Fly reaches down and picks up his beer, finishing it.
Fly: This is old hat, all these guys trying to be ‘Mr. Total Package.’ It’s unoriginal as hell. If you look close enough, and ignore the obvious physical differences, Battle and Bates are running same damn ruse. They’re these smart, rich, and pedigreed wrestlers. They have purpose and cause, even though one of them is a complete nutjob. But no! They’ll stand up for what they believe is right…and then everyone will turn off their televisions. Yawn. Wake me up when this Lifetime movie is over. I wish we could have found the Dark Riders here. I’d have told them to do something fuckin’ entertaining already.
Orbit: Like what?
Fly: Burn a bar down. Fuck an old lady. Start a god damn biker gang war. Start with those Soldiers of Jesus misfits, do the world a favor. There’s nothing better than a biker feud. That shit gets crazy enough, but add Jesus into it? Shit man. They’d finally be big time. Santa Seth will put extra thousand dollar bills in your stocking for that publicity. Alas, these closet queens seems content being pedestrian all they’re going to do is travel around from show to show, stay in Holiday Inns, and hold snooze fest meetings.
Orbit: Hey, isn’t that basically what Pantheon did after I left?
Fly NO!
Orbit: Sorry bro, I didn’t mean to dig at old wounds and shit.
Fly: Look, here’s the deal. I’ve said this before. Wrestling isn’t a team sport. What we do individually, even in tournaments like the Trios Cup, will define us. Pantheon is the originator of the stable wars that seem to still be plaguing this company, and I’m the originator of Pantheon. I’ll tell everyone this about stables – having buddies backstage doesn’t win you matches. Having team members that you know and trust is nice, but it’s entirely overrated. You win and lose as individuals. This match isn’t two teams of three facing off against one another. It’s one on one. The two people in the ring at that given time. I’m in my third straight Trios Cup final because I understand that, and I’ve teamed with people capable of winning a one-on-one match against ANYONE – even today.
Orbit: Except Price.
Fly: I wasn't counting him, because he's dead.
Orbit: You think we get an invite to that funeral?
Fly: I don't give a fuck. Steve, these guys don’t think we can hang. Once you cut through all the fluff and bullshit, that’s all they’re going to say in their television appearances. That’s going to be the big speech. It’s primitive wrestling trash talk at its finest. That’s all they have to say, same old monotonous bullshit. I’ve heard it all before. Every wrestler who I’ve ever encountered has told me they were going to be the person to end me. They were going to succeed where everyone else has failed. It never happens. They always fail, and it’s only then they begin to ask the questions they should have asked in the first place:
…how does Jonny Fly win so god damn much?
Fly: That’s the puzzle nobody has been able to solve. These guys – the Dark Riders – all they see is one single future that they’ve fantasized. They see titles and glory, in a company where Jonny Fly and Steve Orbit either don’t exist or have retired for good. They see us as weak and ripe for their picking. That’s cute, but also very dense. It’s yet another knock on their collective intelligence. The Dark Riders have absolutely no conscious of what it’s going to take to beat us. Just because they SEE and WANT that future, doesn’t mean they possess the skill or wherewithal to make it reality. They don’t…but I most certainly do.
Fly: I know what it takes to make a vision a reality in this industry. I’ve buckled down and won every big match or tournament possible. Tell me, is it just young wrestlers allowed to conceptualize the future? Is it just noobs that possess desire and ambition? Perhaps that’s what’s continued to set me apart from the other wrestlers who’ve been content to sit on their accomplishments. I’m NEVER content. There’s always another challenge, another obstacle, another motherfucker’s dreams to annihilate. I want to transcend history. That’s why I’m here. That’s why I’m going to be on this tournament’s winning team once again. That’s why on Sunday I’m going to show an all new crop of wrestlers the very simple truth about Jonny Fly – I’m everlasting. There has never, and will never, be someone quite like me again.
Fly: The Dark Riders will not end me, and I know they won’t end you. I will not step aside. I will not fall victim to ages, eras, or whatever the fuck it’s being called now. If a wrestler, or a team, wants to beat me, they better be put on their fuckin’ big boy pants. I don’t give out charitable donations to anyone’s resume. There’s a reason we’ve seen several wrestlers labeled as perhaps the “next Jonny Fly” of late. You never see anyone called the next Logan, Gravedigger, Torture, Bobby Cairo, Slickie T, or even Corey Black. That’s because unlike those wrestlers, my replacement in WCF lore still hasn’t been found. People are out there still searching…and they’ll keep searching…until any of these motherfuckers actually beat me.
Orbit: All I gotta say to that shit is ONE 2014, bitch.
Fly laughs at the comment and nods his head in agreement.
Fly: Yeah, well you also aren’t out there declaring me dead. I’m alive and well. Wrestlers have spent the past several years trying to catch up to the competitive level I created when I first started in WCF. I’m this company’s mother goose. The creator of the hierarchy. The standard bearer. Even when I’m not in the company, people are chasing me – my history, accomplishments, and unprecedented dominance. I’m flipping the script here. I’m on the attack. I’m coming for the Dark Riders. I’m taking them the fuck out. The Trios Cup is, and forever will be, MINE. Which reminds me…
Fly takes out his phone and types Amazon.com into a web browser.
Orbit: What?
Fly: I need to order some pudding. It’s tradition, you know.
Fly places the order through his phone for one-thousand four count snack packs.
Orbit: Alright, you tryin’ to go get some girls?
Fly: MAN – I was just thinkin’ the same thing. But I need to back to Oakland. I have a “meeting” with that Casey Noble skank from Design on a Dime.
Orbit looks at Fly questioningly.
Fly: You’ll see. Plus, we need to check up on things at the club and the plant.
Orbit: Fuck bro, I almost forgot about that. The game ain’t ever easy.
Fly: …and it’s the challenge we love.
Orbit: Damn straight. I hope someone tells that to the Dark Riders.
Fly lays a $50 dollar bill on the bar as he and Orbit rise to their feet. They say their goodbyes to the bartender, with Orbit slipping her his business card, and they proceed out of the hotel bar. Our scene slowly fades to black.
[Scene Ends]
We’re at Jonny Fly’s ConAgra Foods production facility in Oakland, California. Serious business is taking place. We’ve got a cameraman, Steve Orbit, and Fly standing on the warehouse floor. Orbit is standing off to the side texting some bitches as the cameraman films Fly. We switch to that camera’s view, tight on the face of Fly. Just all face. It’s a beautiful image to be sure, but he appears to be less than happy.
Fly: Hello Flydophiles. Can someone tell me what the hell just happened? I don’t know if you guys know this or not, but I was away for a while…
…he says sarcastically.
Fly: …so I’m still trying to catch up. You see, I was prepared to come out this week and spend all my time talking about how fucking tedious Joey Flash is, or completely futile of a wrestler is Zombie McMorris, and of course just how much I’ve been looking forward to the chance to show Beckman where his true place is in this company’s history.
Fly takes in a deep sigh and breathes out slowly.
Fly: Alas, these points seem to have been made for me. McMorris’ ineffectiveness, Flash’s hubristic attitude, and Beckman’s embellished skill have their team sitting on the bench. Such a shame. Meanwhile, Orbit and I are sitting here trying to figure out who or what the fuck is a Dark Rider’s Gang. Am I correct to say that this wasn’t supposed to happen? These guys weren’t supposed to embarrass BOTH of the Imperium teams, right? Fuck man. I guess I’m going to have to take that Imperium Kool-Aid I was drinking back to the store.
Fly smirks sarcastically and motions for the camera to begin following him. He walks through the open space on the main floor of the warehouse with the cameraman tight to his side.
Fly: Perhaps I should take a step back here. To most of the roster, it may not be DRG’s inclusion in this final that is odd. It may be the fact that Steve Orbit and I came back from a little siesta and magically found our way into this match. Of course, magic is something only children believe in. So here’s a newsflash for the little kids on the roster, this is my fourth Trios Cup tournament. I thought I’d established that already. Don’t you guys fuckin’ think I know how to win? You think Orbit, Black, and I just wished upon a star and became great wrestlers? Should we introduce standardized testing in this company? How dumb are some of you?
Fly pauses in an open doorway that leads from the main warehouse floor into a hallway consisting of administrative offices.
Fly: This is for all the teams that are going to be sitting at home or backstage watching the Asesinato Mayo Trios Cup finals, and not actually wrestling in the match – I told you this was going to happen from the very start. People today think they can just go on WCF television and talk about how ‘shitty’ their opponents are, or annoy them to holy hell on Twitter, and then they’ll magically – there’s that word again – win matches. ANYONE can do that. Nobody has any substance behind what they say. It’s fuckin’ comical. This goes out to Pantheon who’s still licking their wounds, Logan’s team which is probably still in hiding, both or Torture’s jobbertastic teams, and the two Imperium teams that want to blame their losses on Seth Lerch. By the way, that’s like…the antithesis of original, guys. Instead of doing something seventeen billion wrestlers before you have done, how about looking in the fuckin’ mirror for a change. That’ll show you why you lost. HEY – maybe get a black brother who’s a ridiculously talented wrestler and try again next year. Seems to be working out for me!
Fly flashes his trademark smirk again, and continues walking. He heads straight down the hallway to his office, continuing to talk as he walks.
Fly: People need to get the fuck over themselves. It’s time to be humbled, and that’s what Orbit and I are going to do. Nobody is the next Jonny Fly. Nobody is the next Steve Orbit. You’re not better than us. I’m not talking about what we did back wheneverthefuck. I’m talking about right now. This very fuckin’ second. I’m a fair judge of talent, see Pantheon’s roster over the years, and I don’t see much out there. Sorry to rain on the parade, people. Without Orbit and I around, this company was Cairo, Beckman, and then the rest of you. How boring was that?
Fly says the last words while looking back at the camera. He reaches for the door to his office and opens it. He walks behind his desk and takes a seat. Settled, he looks back up at the camera.
Fly: Don’t tell me you haven’t noticed. Beckman and Cairo have been the only motherfuckers REALLY competing for the World Title over the last six months. All the rest of you been fighting for scraps like raccoons in a Taco Bell dumpster. This tournament is going to change that, one way or the other. Beckman and Cairo are out, taking their overpromoted teams with them. It was always going to come down to Orbit, Black, and Fly versus whoever. The dust has settled and Dark Riders Gang stands tall.
Fly: These Dark Rider guys are a different breed. They’re not Pantheon. They’re not Imperium trying to be Pantheon. Nor are they just some random group fused together trying to get a seat at the table. They’re really the anti-stable. Just a bunch of bikers that travel around and wreck shit. Hey, I love wrecking shit too. If I didn’t have to smack these motherfuckers in the face this week, I’d probably go over with a dozen of Orbit’s bitches and party with them. Hell, I might do it anyway.
Fly looks over to the right of the camera where Orbit is now sitting, still taking in Fly’s monologue outside of the view of the camera lens. Fly smiles slyly and then turns back to the camera.
Fly: They knew they were the underdogs on their side of the bracket, and they fucking owned it. They put that chip on their shoulder and let the motivation carry them through some tough matches. They’re going to be motivated again. Beating Imperium is one thing, but beating us has a historical affect. They certainly know that. That’s before even talking about the stakes of this match, the World Title shot, and those new shiny Trios Champion belts. I don’t underestimate Bates, Battle, and Gonzo. We’re going to walk all over them, but that doesn’t mean I’m underestimating what they’ll bring to the table. I just…have been here before.
Fly: I’ve been in every match imaginable against every caliber of opponent. There is nothing I haven’t seen before. For as great as DRG has been in this tournament, there is nothing they can do that we can’t handle. We’re not going to be caught underestimating a team in the fuckin’ finals of the Trios Cup. This isn’t going to be some nonsense about new guys busting through against the old guys. DRG can save that lame shit for another match. This is simply whether or not Thomas Bates, Gemini Battle, and Deuce Murdock can match the one on one skill of Jonny Fly, Steve Orbit, and Corey Black.
Fly: A lot of wrestlers have been down this road before. It’s a street that leads back to the midcard, where the members of Dark Riders Gang reside at this current moment. These guys are reaching for the stars, literally and figuratively. Someone has to lose. That’s how this business works. Someone always has to lose. Careers like mine are made by utterly destroying the hopes and dreams of wrestlers like Thomas Bates, Gemini Battle, and Deuce Murdock. You don’t get to where I’m by being upstaged by unqualified wrestlers. You eat, and you keep eating…forever.
Fly: That’s what I’m here to do. That’s what Orbit and Black are here to do. We’re not here to prop up the roster. We’re not here to feed egos of the over-sensitive and pretentious newbs. We’re not here to be stepping stones. We’re not names you get to put on your resume to enhance your profile. Last week I certainly wasn’t going to let MY stable get one over on me. You’re not going to catch me doing the Logan farewell tour, jobbing every fucking week for the LOL’s. No – this is the real deal. This is the real Jonny Fly. The legend who is still legendary. Mr. Trios Cup…and I’m keeping my god damn crown, whether anyone likes it or not.
Fly pauses. His mean mug melts away and is replaced by a smile.
Fly: Now, let that be my introduction to what should a fun week.
As Fly finishes the statement, we here a noise at the door. A man has just appeared in the doorway. His fancy black suit, dress pants, and patent leather shoes can’t hide an expression of concern on the man’s face. This is individual is older, probably mid-50’s. He has broad shoulders but not particularly tall, no more than six foot. We can perceive a certain arrogance from this individual as he walks into the office without invitation. The camera moves from the individual back to Fly, who’s expression has returned to one of unhappiness. Keeping his eyes fixed on the intruder, Fly points toward the cameraperson.
Fly: You. Take off. Make sure you get that tape to WCF.
As instructed, the cameraman turns away from Fly and heads back toward the door. He begins to close the door behind him, but leaves it open just a crack. He continues rolling from behind the crack in Fly’s office door. Our scene continues.
Fly: Chester Blackwood. I don’t believe you should be here.
The words illustrate that Fly knows this individual. Instead of responding, Blackwood walks toward Fly’s desk. He takes a quick second to exchange a stare with Orbit and then promptly takes a seat in the second chair across from Fly. Orbit and Fly stare at him, waiting for him to state his purpose.
Blackwood: Do you two remember the first time we met?
These words insinuate that Orbit too knows this man.
Blackwood: I seem to keep playing that conversation over in my head. It reminds me of a movie that you really like the first time you watch it. Then you watch it again, and like it less. Then you watch it again, and you like it even less, and so on. Eventually, you come to despise it. When it comes on while you’re watching television and you immediately change the channel to block it out. Unfortunately for me, I can’t block out our arrangement, now can I?
Fly’s eyes lower. He doesn’t respond. Orbit adjusts in his seat as they both wait for the man to continue. Blackwood reaches underneath his suit jacket and pulls out a folder. He sets the folder on the desk and opens it, allowing the top document to be fully visible to both Fly and Orbit.
Blackwood: Do you gentlemen like charts?
Neither Fly nor Orbit look down at the folder, nor the document that is now exposed.
Blackwood: No need to be shy. Take a look.
Orbit is the first to reach for the document. Fly continues his icy stare from the other side of the desk. Orbit reads through the document and hastily tosses it back onto the desk.
Orbit: One month? Ain’t nothing worth evaluating in one month. You ‘sposed to be some big businessman, you know that.
Blackwood smiles meekly and nods his head, almost agreeing with Orbit’s point.
Blackwood: You would be correct Mr. Orbit, however what we’re doing here has a very limited shelf life. We’ve talked about this before. It’s only a matter of time until what we’re doing is discovered. I’m not going to be around when that happens. By then I intend to have completely washed my hands of the both of you. However, I’ve been led to believe that my investment would be returned tenfold. We’re four months into this venture, not one month, and you’re not even close to fulfilling that promise.
Finally, Fly picks up the piece of paper off the desk. He takes about ten seconds to look it over before, like Orbit, tossing it back onto the desk in disgust. He responds to Blackwood.
Fly: These numbers are wrong. You come all the way down here just to throw your weight around under the guise of fake numbers?
Blackwood: You call the numbers wrong. I call them right. The real point is inarguable; sales are down this month. May sales are even lower than they were last month, when our little scheme wasn’t even in affect. Sales rose in February, March, and April. Now they’ve fallen sharply in May. That leads me to wonder, what has changed?
Blackwood snaps his fingers.
Blackwood: I got it!
He rises to his feet and now begins pacing around the room.
Blackwood: You two have been wrestling this last month, haven’t you? You’ve been out gallivanting about in Mexico and ignoring your work here.
Blackwood turns and leans over putting both hands onto the desk. He leans forward until he’s just a foot or so away from Fly’s face.
Blackwood: I thought you said this wrestling shit was behind you.
Fly leans backward, creating space between him and Blackwood.
Fly: At the time I said that, it was behind us.
Blackwood: That means you’ve taken it upon yourself to change the terms of our agreement.
Fly: What we do in our spare time was not part of any agreement, nor should it be any of your concern.
Blackwood stands back up straight and turns toward Orbit.
Blackwood: What do you have to say about all this?
Orbit: The plan is straight. It’s still gold. You’re trippin’ over nothing. You need to find some patience.
Blackwood turns away from both Fly and Orbit. He looks backward toward the door, almost staring straight at our camera. He appears to be in thought. After a few moments, he turns back around and slowly retakes his seat. He again looks toward Fly.
Blackwood: Let’s try this again. Do you admit that there’s been a problem with sales this month?
Fly: I’d want to check my own figures. Still, we’ve suspected there might be a decline.
Blackwood: Well there we go. The first step to fixing a problem is admitting you have one, so at least that’s a start. What is it that you intend to do about this ‘possible decline?’
Fly looks quickly toward Orbit. Orbit looks back to Fly. Neither have an answer to the question.
Blackwood: That’s what I thought. If I may, perhaps it’s time we push the envelope a little more. Each bag is dusted with just a small amount of the product, correct?
Fly: Correct.
Blackwood: Double it. Four vials per gallon. Then be prepared to double production and distribution. Get a team on the ground getting our product into new stores. Hell, give it to them for free. They’re customers will be so addicted the stores will have to come back to us for more. Lastly, and most importantly to both of you, stay out of the wrestling ring. No distractions. Not until you’ve made me my money, then you’re free to do whatever the fuck you want.
The previous words are stated in a stern tone, one that brings silence over the room. Eventually, Fly manages a response.
Fly: We can’t double the product. Tell him Steve.
Chester Blackwood quickly turns to Orbit, his brow scrunched ever so slightly as if already doubting what he’s going to be told.
Orbit: Too much of the powder changes the flavor. Trust me, Fly and I been experimentin’ with this shit for months. Hell man, I think if we’d double this shit it’d be visible at that point. It’s not a smart play. You’d be opening the door for the whole scheme gettin’ exposed.
Blackwood: I don’t care. That’s your problem. Figure it out.
Fly’s heard just about enough. Never the timid type, he rises from his seat. Now towering over Chester Blackwood, he begins to speak with more force.
Fly: Like it or not, this is my plant. Steve and I will make the decision on whether or not to increase the product. As an investor, your opinion on the matter has been noted and will be considered. That’s all you’re going to get out of us. Now, go_the_fuck_home.
Orbit joins Fly on his feet. The tension in the room is unmistakable. From his seat, Blackwood looks from Fly over to Orbit. He smiles, slaps his hands on the arms of his chair, and joins the men on his feet. He takes two steps toward the door before turning back around.
Blackwood: You’re right, you know. This is your plant. Everyone knows it. Tax records would prove it. Hell, you’ve probably been dumb enough to put it on television, haven’t you? Who do you think they’re going to blame if it were to…slip…of what’s really going on here?
Chester Blackwood smiles. With the subtle threat delivered, he promptly turns back toward the door. As he begins to move toward it our scene goes black temporarily. The audio remains on and we’re able to hear the sound of a door opening and quickly closing. Then we hear footsteps. The steps pass and as they become faint, the sound of a door opening is heard again. Our scene springs back to life. We can infer that the cameraman quickly hid while Blackwood exited the office. Now that he’s gone, he shoots back into the office where Orbit and Fly remain at their seats.
Orbit: Shit man, that could of fuckin’ gone better.
Fly lowers his head into his hands as he speaks.
Fly: We’ve got to figure this out. I hate to admit it, but he may have a point. Going and partying in Mexico for the last three weeks has hurt our business. We have a lot at stake here.
Orbit: Forget that old mellow motherfucker. This is our bit.
Fly: He holds some of the cards. It’s his money that let us get this started. He can pull the rug out from under us if he gets impatient. That would get messy real quick.
Orbit: He can fuckin’ try.
Fly looks up and over at Orbit.
Fly: We need to come up with a game plan, Steve. We’re either all in on this or we’re not. We’re either here making money hand over fist, or we’re traveling around the world trying to satisfy that wrestling itch.
Orbit: Shit man, we already went over all this. We’re doin’ both. Case closed.
Fly: Just..
Fly holds out his hand in Orbit’s direction, signaling that he needs a second.
Fly: …let me think.
Fly leans his head all the way back in his chair. Now looking toward the ceiling, he closes his eyes. As he does, our scene immediately switches.
[Scene Ends]
January 24th, 2015 – New York City
We’re at Café Grumpy in the Chelsea Neighborhood of Manhattan. Specifically, we’ve opened in the backyard patio of the café. It’s a quaint area with no more than six two-person tables filling the space. The floor is brick, and vines are growing up the barrier walls separating the space from the buildings next door giving the space an almost European feel. It’s dusk outside, but our scene is plenty illuminated by the many lights of the City.
With it being late, and considering it’s a cold time of year, only Jonny Fly and Steve Orbit can be seen sitting on the patio. The two are layered with nearly identical black peacoats. Wait, just kidding, Orbit’s isn’t black. It’s lime green. Both men are wearing gloves, scarves, and holding a cup of coffee in their hands trying to stay warm.
This night will mark Jonny Fly’s last in New York City. The man that essentially grew up on these streets, and where he’d resided his entire life – minus a four year stint in witness protection – would be leaving the city he loves. Toward the end of last year, as his wrestling career slowed considerably, Fly’s vertiginous relationship with the FBI reached full circle. He was being used a consultant in the intelligence branch of the FBI’s New York City field office. The man who once dotted their top wanted posters, but who knows the New York City criminal underworld like no other, now their top resource against his own kind.
It was all so…fake. Who was he to put people in jail? Who was he to work with the very people who’d spent a decade trying to run him off the streets? He became involved with one of the female agents – but it wouldn’t last. This wasn’t him. A change was needed. The New York City Mansion that wrestling fans know so well, that’s gone. That female agent? She’s gone as well - literally. For Jonny Fly, after tonight, New York City does in fact sleep.
There’s just one more thing to do. One more meeting to be had. It’s time to craft the post New York City life. We zoom in on Fly and Orbit as they sip their coffee and wait for their guest to arrive.
Orbit: You got your shit packed?
Fly: I’m not taking anything.
Orbit: Nothin’?
Fly: It’s all gone. Clean slate.
Orbit: Damn son, not even some rubbers?
Fly: …what are those?
Orbit: You’re fuckin’ with me right? You know those uncomfortable things you gotta put on your dick so you don’t get some golddiggin’ bitch pregnant?
Fly: I was kidding. I know what a rubber is.
Orbit: Shit man, I don’t know when you’re jokin’ around yet. We gonna need to work on this being brothers shit.
Fly smiles at the comment and nods in agreement.
Fly: I’m just glad we know. Like – really know.
Orbit: I’m still tryin’ to process it, ya know? Still tryin’ to wrap my head around this. I just – I don’t even know. Crazy shit.
Fly: Either way, Ancestry.com doesn’t lie. Meredith was telling the truth. I’m excited to make this next step. It’s going to be like old times for us, back when we almost ran THIS city.
A sly smile forms on Orbit’s face as recalls the duo’s dealings in New York City in late 2013 before they knew the true depth of their relationship. We hear the sound of a door opening. Fly and Orbit look over from their table to see a man walking toward them. It’s the same man, Chester Blackwood, from the earlier scene. Blackwood looks excited as he approaches the table. He grabs a chair from another table nearby and places it in between Fly and Orbit and takes a seat. He sticks out his hand in Orbit’s direction.
Blackwood: Chester Blackwood. It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Mr. Orbit…Mr. Fly.
Orbit shakes the man’s hand. Fly follows suit. With introductions over, Fly gets right into business.
Fly: Considering you’re here, I think it’s safe to say that you already know all about us and our plan. You’re on board?
Blackwood: Jonny Fly and Steve Orbit. Former professional wrestlers. Now looking to make a bunch of money. I know enough to be intrigued, yes. But, for the money you two are requesting I’d like for you to indulge me once more. Start from the top.
Fly: Fair enough. I have a contract pending with ConAgra Foods to take over one of their plants in Oakland, California. The plant will only produce the Andy Capps’ Hot Fries from that point forward. However, and it’s of great personal sadness that I have to say this, Hot Fries don’t sell worth a shit.
Orbit cuts in on the conversation.
Orbit: We’re trying to make Oprah money over here, you know what I’m sayin’? It ain’t enough to just produce this shit and let people buy it. We’re fixin’ the game. We’re gonna lace this shit with a powder form of Opium. It’ll make Hot Fries addicting as fuck to anyone eatin’ them. People gonna buy a shit ton more, more people buyin’ the more money we be makin’.
Fly: It’s the perfect plan. We’re done wrestling. That shit’s too easy. We’re on to bigger and better things, much bigger…much better. The world spends 374 billion dollars on snack food. We’re going to turn that industry upside down, drug it with Opium, and fuck it in the ass.
Chester Blackwood laughs at the comment.
Blackwood: Where are you getting the Opium?
Fly points at Blackwood.
Fly: From you, essentially. That’s why we need the money. Orbit has space underneath Club Violet for the cultivation of the opium poppy plant. He’s already retrofitting the space to serve as an indoor greenhouse. Once it’s going, it’ll serve as a consistent source of the materials needed to create the power form of Opium. It just costs money we don’t have.
Blackwood: Who’s going to be overseeing the process?
Orbit: Fly and I mostly. But I’m also putting one of my most trusted girls through that botany degree program at University of California, Berkeley. It’s basically the study of plants and all that bullshit. She’ll be working at the club most days putting that schoolin’ to work for us.
Blackwood: She’ll know how to turn the Opium Poppy into powder form?
Orbit: Nah man, that’s already covered. The girl’s just gonna be managin’ the other bitches who I’m gonna have doin’ the grunt work. They’ll extract the liquid form the pods, collect it, and then leave it to dry. We gotta separate room dedicated to taking the dried opium liquid and refining that shit into a powder. Then it’s just collecting it and transferring the shit over to Fly’s place.
Fly: It’ll be a seamless operation. My employees won’t even need to know what’s going on. The powder will be mixed with the seasoning before it’s even coated on the fries during the production process. We receive shipments of the hot fry seasoning in gallon tubs from ConAgra. We’ll add two vials of the opium per gallon before it’s sent to the production line.
Blackwood: I see.
Chester Blackwood brings his hand to his chin and rubs it as he thinks through the plan that’s been laid out in front of him.
Blackwood: There’s one question I have that I’m not quite sure about at this point. I’ve done my research, both of you are fairly wealthy. You have esteemed careers as professional wrestlers. You’ve both been involved with a number of successful business ventures. Record show you both have plenty of holdings in the form of real estate, businesses, cars, investment accounts, all that good stuff. If you have this great plan, and you have the money, why seek outside help?
Fly: It wasn’t cheap getting ConAgra to cede over control of one its plants.
Orbit: My shit is tied up in the club. Plus, there’s some bitches out there than owe me some money. It’s a pimp’s curse. I’ve been tellin’ Fly for weeks that I need to hire a fuckin’ collection agency. All he keeps telling me to do is shoot ‘em.
Fly shrugs, smiling just a bit.
Fly: We’ve put our fair share into the project already. The fact is, every enterprise needs startup capital. We want to be able to expand quickly. The more we can produce, the quicker we can expand, and the more money we’ll all make. But let me be very clear here, we’re looking for a silent investor. I assume you know what that means?
Blackwood: You want me to give you money and then disappear.
Fly: Well…those are your words. I’m not so brash as to define it as such. Basically, we want you to help fund this project and entrust us to make the right decisions. In the effort of honesty and full disclosure, Steve and I aren’t people that subscribe to the philosophy of appeasement. We don’t want to be bothered by someone who’s going to make us jump through hurdles just because they want to have some control. If that doesn’t work for you, then there’s really nothing else to discuss. This is our one non-negotiable.
Blackwood again reaches toward his chin as he continues to think over the proposal.
Blackwood: Let me be completely honest with both of you. This isn’t just about the money for me. I’m a Board Member for the Frito Lay Corporation. You ever heard of Chester’s Fries?
Fly’s eyes sparkle at the words. He most certainly knows of his favorite snack’s main competitor.
Fly: …what about them?
Blackwood: You’re looking at the name sake, gentlemen. I don’t see this just an opportunity to make some money. I make enough money, I don’t need to deal in shady enterprises to make more, no offense. My appetite in this world isn’t money-driven. I want my product to succeed. As you’ve already eluded, the fry snack food segment isn’t that great. It’s not a big enough market to sustain two large brands. Therefore, one of them is eventually going to die off. That’s just the way business works. I see this as an opportunity to speed up that timeline and handpick the loser.
Fly cocks his head to the side.
Fly: You want to…kill off Andy Capps’ Hot Fries?
Blackwood: Precisely.
Fly: WHOA – hold up…
Fly breathes out slowly. He’s nearly hyperventilating. This is something he was clearly unprepared for. Blackwood tries to ease Fly’s mind.
Blackwood: Have you two considered what your end game is going to be? You’ll never be able to get away with this forever. The FDA or a state regulatory agencies will eventually come in for a routine inspection. You may be able to hide what you’re doing, or you may not. You’d be smart to have some sort of out-plan.
Orbit and Fly both nod their heads.
Orbit: Yeah, we’re gonna dump this shit back on ConAgra. That’s the only play. They’re tainting the seasoning, shipping it to us, and all we’re doing is producing the shit. People hate corporations, ain’t nobody gonna believe they didn’t have anything to do with this.
This is exactly what Blackwood wanted to hear.
Blackwood: Perfect. So think about it, you’re essentially killing Hot Fries anyway. This is going to come out, it’s going to be a big news story, and people are no longer going to buy Hot Fries. Instead, they’re going to buy Chester’s Flaming Hot Fries. It works for all of us.
Fly hears the rationale but you can sense that it still hurts him. He hangs his head.
Orbit: Fly? What’s wrong, bro?
Fly raises his head. He’s now smiling.
Fly: You know what…nothing. Nothing is wrong at all. Let’s do it. If we get the money, and you stay out of our way, we’ll help you bury ConAgra. No problem.
Blackwood claps his hands excitement.
Blackwood: Excellent. Just one more thing. I want your word that you’re in this one-hundred percent. This is an investment for me. I want to be sure that you two are as committed to this venture as I am.
Fly: Don’t worry about that. We’re in this all the way.
Blackwood: Then I believe we have an agreement. Let the Hot Fry hustle begin!
Blackwood sticks his hand out and shakes hands with Orbit and Fly, signaling the completion of their agreement. He rises from his seat.
Blackwood: The check will be coming. We should keep our communication to a minimum from here on out. When this does go sour, an executive from FritoLay talking with the people running a plant from ConAgra would be suspicious. This will protect all three of us.
Fly: Agreed.
Orbit: No sweat.
Chester Blackwood nods his head before turning and exiting the patio. As he walks back inside, Fly and Orbit turn back to one another.
Fly: It looks like we’re in business.
Orbit: You ever thought about what we’re going to do if this dude rats on us?
Fly responds, without hesitation…
Fly: We’ll kill him. Once we get his money, I don’t give a fuck.
It’s now Orbit who responds without hesitation.
Orbit: I was hoping you’d say that.
The cold-blooded words of Orbit and Fly provide closure for the scene. As it dissolves away, we return to our previous scene.
[Scene Ends]
[Scene Begins]
Back in the office, Jonny Fly opens his eyes. He redirects his gaze back toward Orbit.
Fly: You know what, we warned this motherfucker. I was very clear with him about his role. Who the fuck does he think he is coming in here and telling us what to do? I’m not giving up wrestling on the eve of the motherfuckin’ Trios Cup finals.
Orbit: Me neither, homie. We said we we’re comin’ back to take home the crown and that’s what we’re gonna do.
Fly: So then it’s settled. As far as Blackwood, we’ve told each all along we’re willing to do what it takes to get rid of him if need be. You still agree with that?
Orbit: Fuck yeah. We’re the ones makin’ this shit happen. That motherfucker is just a nuisance.
Fly: My man. That’s music to me ears brotha.
Fly reaches across the desk and he and Orbit exchange a ‘pound.’
Fly: Let’s get the fuck out of here. We need to get back to Mexico. We’ll deal with this after we’re the fuckin’ Trios Champs. Call your people. We need to have men watching the club and this facility while we’re gone.
Orbit: Consider it done.
Fly: …and Steve.
Orbit: Yo?
Fly opens the middle drawer of his desk. Reaching into the drawer he pulls out a silver Ruger SR1911 pistol and sets it onto the desk.
Fly: From here on out. You don’t ever know what an old white guy’s got up his sleeves.
Orbit: You know that’s right. But my shit is custom…
Orbit reaches under his shirt and reveals a gold plated Springfield XDS 9mm pistol. Fly laughs at the comment and takes the gun off the desk for himself.
Fly: Well, alright then. Hey, I’ve got some intel on where the Dark Riders Gang is holding up for the week. You want to go pay them a visit?
Orbit doesn’t have to say anything. His wicked smile says enough. He and Fly walk out of the office and close the door behind them. The scene comes to a close.
[Scene Ends]
[Scene Begins]
We begin at the Holiday Inn Plaza Universidad in Mexico City, Mexico. Our establishing shot shows a while building that is more long than wide, with a parking garage jutting out from the side to form the buildings ‘L’ shape. The hotel’s main entrance is encased in glass and from our position we spot two figures dressed largely in black approaching the entrance. As we zoom in we can identify these two individuals as Jonny Fly and Steve Orbit. Both are dressed in black leather boots, black leather gloves, black leather jackets, and with black leather chain wallets exposed. Each man is wearing a bandana and cradling a helmet under their arm as they enter the hotel.
Our scene switches to the hotel lobby. Fly and Orbit pause and scan their surroundings. This seems like a nice place. Directly in front of the duo is a sitting area with red couches and seats. Behind that is the main lobby area where hotel patrons can check in and have a tiny Mexican man take their luggage to their room. Everything is decorated to a very modern feel. Fly and Orbit can’t be bothered with that stuff. They’re not here to be a hotel guest.
Orbit: Bro, are you sure they gonna be here? This don’t look right. You really think these motorcycle clowns stayin’ at a Holiday Inn?
Fly: Yes. Have you never watched their little videos? They’re ALWAYS at a Holiday Inn. They must be members of another club, the IHG Rewards Points club. Anyway, this is the closest Holiday Inn to the arena AND…
Fly points off to the left where there’s a sign that reads “Motorcycle Church Meeting – Banquet Room A.”
Orbit: Bro, that’s says church.
Fly: That just means they’re in a meeting. I read it in the Bikers Guidebook. That’s about the sum total of preparation I’ve done for this match.
Orbit: These are some confusing motherfuckers. Come on, let’s go answer some prayers.
Orbit and Fly walk to the left and past the sign. They continue down a long corridor until they come to another corridor that heads right. Fly and Orbit look around and spot an arrow for Banquet Room A pointing off to the right. They follow the arrow and head down the second corridor until they reach a pair of double doors labeled as the room they’re looking for. Fly reaches for the handle…
Fly: Game face. Remember our cover.
Orbit: I got my shit down. We’re members of the Dark Dark Riders Gang, a disenfranchised racially diverse sect of the club that seeks to educate the Dark Riders about their discriminatory practices when it comes to allowing African-American bikers to join. Then, after we got them all confused and shit, we’re gonna Pimp Slap all them in the face and string ‘em from Mexican palm trees.
Fly: Wait…what?
Orbit: Don’t even sweat it, bro. I got this shit.
Orbit pushes the double doors open…
Fly: HEY! We’re not hanging anyone from a tree!
Orbit is already inside the room.
Fly: Steve! I’m serious!
Orbit isn’t listening.
Fly: God dammit!
Fly walks into the room. It’s a large space with classroom style seating. There’s about 10 rows with six seats each all facing toward the front of the room. There’s about two dozen bikers in the room, mostly older, and all wearing the traditional leather garb but with yellow trim on the jacket. Each of them are facing the front of the room where there’s another man standing behind the podium. This individual seems to be even older with a white beard and a cross necklace. He, as well as the rest of the room, look toward Fly and Orbit who’ve now interrupted their gathering.
Orbit: Yo! Ya’ll know who it is. We the Dark Dark Riders and we’re tired of your little group holdin’ down our people. Just cause we black don’t mean we can’t ride bikes. That’s some stereotypical bullshit. This shit is going to stop. We want to speak to motherfuckin’ Thomas Uriel Bates and all those other white honkeys…NOW!
Whispers and murmurs arise from the crowd. Everyone is looking back and forth at one another, confusion all around. Fly takes in a deep breath. He backs up his brother.
Fly: What, you old fucks can’t hear or are you choosing to ignore my brother because of the color of his skin? TYPICAL. You motherfuckers should spell club with a K. Now, tell us where Bates is hiding! Hell, we’ll settle for Gonzo or Battle.
The man at the front of the room motions for silence from the group. He takes a few steps away from the podium in the direction of Fly and Orbit before speaking to them.
“Sirs, my name is Edmund Fitzgerald. I’m the Shepard of the Canadian chapter of the Soldiers For Jesus Motorcycle Club. You are interrupting our sermon.”
Uhh…what?
Orbit: Hey! Old guy! Don’t you fuckin’ lie to me! Do you know who I am? I demand you take us to your leader. He’s the big fat fuck with the doctorate degree in old irrelevant bullshit.
Fitzgerald: Sir, I would ask you to not use that language in here. This room is a place of worship. I assure you, we do not know these men of which you speak.
Fly and Orbit look at one another. With just a glance, they use their brotherly powers to understand what the other is thinking. They’re still not buying this. They begin to move to the front of the room.
Fly: Do we look dumb to you? Look what the fuck you’re all wearing. Smell the air.
Orbit: It smells like straight old rancid leathery VAGINA up in here.
Fly: Exactly. You’re trying to tell me this a church?
Fitzgerald: Yes, in fact.
Fly and Orbit have now reached the front of the room. They circle around Edmund Fitzgerald. Fly begins chuckling to himself.
Fly: Come on man, cut the act. We’re here for Thomas Uriel Bates, Gemini Battle, and Gonzo Murdock. I know they’re here in Mexico City. I know they always stay in a Holiday Inn, and I know this is the only Holiday Inn where some bum ass motorcycle group is holding up. That’s not a coincidence. Your holier than thou motorcycle club ploy is fucking stupid. We all know bikers are all criminals who don’t give a shit about laws and want to do nothing but fight other people and drive in pretty patterns taking up the whole fuckin’ road. Tell me I’m wrong!
Fitzgerald: You’re wrong.
Fly: What!?
Fitzgerald: Bikers are a fraternity, not a gang. We’re not outlaws. That’s how movies or shows may portray us, but by and large bikers are upstanding citizens. In fact, bikers as a whole have changed over the years. Our groups are typically well to do, hence how we can afford the bikes, the equipment, and the time to ride around the country. It’s just an escape from the regular monotony of life, and we do it with friends and companions. People who we trust and can share our feelings with.
Orbit: Hah. Feelings. What type of shit is this dude on?
Fitzgerald: On the contrary, I’m being quite honest with you. We’re not the people you’re looking to find. I’ll also tell you it’s quite evident that the two of you are not members of any motorcycle club, despite your disguises.
Fly and Orbit scowl at the comment. They look down at their attire and then scan the room looking at everyone else’s. They’re missing patches and other items signifying any motorcycle club affiliation. Their boots are more wrestling boot-like versus biker’s boots. Their chain wallets are made by Gucci. It’s a fairly easy disguise to see through.
Fitzgerald: Our group here is unique in that we’ve combined our passion for riding and companionship with our passion for the Lord Jesus Christ. We’re here on our annual vacation. We’ve rode south from Canada and are now taking in the sights of another culture. If I may – would you two gentlemen have an interest in joining us for the day and learning more about our club? We’re always looking to take wayward souls into our flock.
Fly and Orbit cringe. All of a sudden they want to run away.
Orbit: Man, I ain’t ridin’ around singing hymns and shit. Not happenin’.
Fly: Yeah, I have a…thing…I need to do. Really important. You guys have fun doing…whatever the fuck this is.
Fly and Orbit turn and briskly walk away from Shepard Fitzgerald. As they leave our scene transforms to the small Holiday Inn hotel bar minutes later where Fly and Orbit are now sitting, having struck out on their quest to find the Dark Riders Gang. There are two bottles of Corona in front of each of them, one empty, and one full. On the other side of the bar, the female bartender – a petite Mexican woman with black hair and who would rate about a seven and a half on a ten point scale - is leaning over the bar entranced by the conversation going on in front of her.
Orbit: It was fuckin’ weird. One of them fairy bikers travelers was eyein’ me up the whole time like I was a Kit-Kat bar. I may be black but I ain’t crispy, you know what I’m saying?
Bartender: Yeah, we tend to get some weird groups in here. They come here because Mexico City is a big party town where they won’t be judged. What brings you guys into town?
Fly: We’re wrestlers with the WCF.
Bartender: Oh yeah, the wrestling organization that’s been in town all month. How cool! I’ve wanted to get over to the arena and watch one of the shows but they’ve always been sold out. Anyway, you boys let me know if you need anything…anything…
She says the last word with a little bit more emphasis and a suggestive wink. Fly and Orbit gawk as she walks away.
Orbit: I think I should offer that bitch a job at the club.
Fly: Maybe. But then you’d have to help her relocate to the states with her 36 family members. No pussy is worth that type of coin.
Orbit: Fuck man, that’s a good point.
Orbit takes a sip from his beer, still eyeing up the bartender from afar.
Orbit: Ah well. Check it bro, this Trios shit is comin’ up fast. I still can’t believe we gonna be facing the Dark Riders. All those teams in the tournament – Pantheon, Imperium 1, Imperium 2, Team of Torture 1, Team of Torture 2, Sentinels – these are the fools that made it all the way to the finals? Shit blows my mind.
Fly: I think those other teams just plain choked. I don’t know. I mean, the dude in charge over there is actually decent. Bates. The other guys don’t fit in the club at all. It’s fairly laughable.
Orbit: For real though. The one dude is a straight CIA operative. Or was, I guess. He’s on some Cyrogenix shit, but that’s played out. Yet another motherfucker stealing shit I’ve already done. Yet all these dudes acting like we old news. We can’t hang. Then they go out and do shit we already done. Oh wait, I forgot. Gonzo’s also some writer! Let me tell you somethin’ about writers. They’re all nerds. ALL OF THEM. Some motherfuckers are out there writing fake ass wrestlin’ shit. You believe that, Fly? They out there writin’ fantasies about our lives. Fuckin’ pathetic.
Fly laughs at the comment, agreeing with the sentiment. Fake wrestling writing? Totally weird. Right?
Fly: Man, Gonzo’s just a hodgepodge of gimmicks all clumped into one grief ridden jobber…who apparently now rides a motorcycle. I don’t even try to keep track anymore. I quit a long time ago. It’s all so god damn ridiculous.
Orbit: But even though he’s the one named Gonzo, he ain’t even the fuckin’ clown in the group! That dude Gemini Battle – shit son, some stripper named motherfucker ain’t ever going to beat me, I’ll tell you that right now. That’s the truth. I’ve lost to some people over the years, but if there’s anyone I do know how to beat, it’s a fuckin’ stripper.
Fly Jesus fuckin’ christ, I…
Fly looks around real quick.
Orbit: What?
Fly: Just making sure those Jesus bikers didn’t hear that. Anyway, for fuck sake what in the world is a Gemini Battle? Is he supposed to be some zodiac killer? Do you know what the astrological sign is for a Gemini? Two twins dancing around and fucking one another. I’m serious. Look it up. Every time that dude gets on television I feel like I’ve been transported to an aisle seat on the short bus. Let’s go through this together and you tell me if I got this right, Steve. First, he’s really, really, really rich. Like, more than you and I put together, plus the entire country of Mexico.
Orbit: Check.
Fly: He hates his family.
Orbit: Correct. Hey! Something we have in common with him.
Fly: He owns his own battle station.
Orbit: Check. Clearly a Star Wars nerd.
Fly: He’s evil.
Orbit: So he says.
Fly: He wants to dominate the world.
Orbit: I mean, who doesn’t.
Fly: He’s teaming with the Dark Riders Gang.
Orbit: Of course.
Fly: He’s a legit genius.
Orbit: Allegedly. I’d wanna see the tests to prove it.
Fly rolls his eyes and shakes his head in a manner of disgust. He reaches for his beer and takes a large drink.
Fly: This entire thing is so fuckin’ bizarre that I don’t even know what to say. I guess I’ll take a stab at it. So here we have this rich boy who abandons his family and vows to correct their wrongs.
…then he builds a battle station.
…then he’s evil.
…then he proclaims ambition to dominate the world.
…then he signs with the WCF and becomes a professional wrestler.
…then he jobs for three months.
…then he joins a stable and learns how to ride a motorcycle.
…then he’s holding hands with his girlfriend on the beach as he prepares for the Trios Cup finals.
Orbit starts laughing out loud.
Fly: AND I’M SUPPOSED TO BELIEVE THIS GUY IS SMART!? This is legitimately the dumbest fucking thing I’ve ever seen in my decade plus in the industry, Steve. Defilers of logic is EXACTLY what they should call themselves, because the whole fucking premise behind their group lacks_basic_fucking_logic.
Orbit: Hey, did I tell you Gemini writes poetry too?
Jonny Fly falls out of his chair. Literally. He’s fallen and he can’t get up. Orbit helps him back onto his stool where he proceeds to drink the entirety of his beer. He regains some measure of composure.
Fly: Look, if you want to avow the wrongs of your family, then do it! Don’t become some merchant of evil with your own battle station and world domination minions. “Hey hypocrisy, it’s me Gemini. Don’t mind me while I just go out and do the same shit my parents did that got my vagina all hot and bothered in the first place.”
Just an update, Steve Orbit is still laughing.
Fly: It’s not that I don’t love evil motherfuckers. I’ve been down that road. That shit’s fun. But if you’re going to be evil, BE_FUCKING._EVIL. Don’t join a motorcycle gang that with a mission statement that clearly reads “NOT AN OUTLAW GANG.” Don’t become pussy whipped by the first piece of ass you can manage. Jesus Christ, the depths some fuckin’ jobbers go to find relevance continues to amaze me. This dude has taken his whole persona and driven a stake through it. Who the hell could take him serious anymore? Good luck selling people that you’re some eccentric and evil war monger while you take orders from some scholarly oaf/two-bit wrestler/biker boob.
Orbit: I wasn’t kiddin’ about that poetry shit. That’s legit.
Fly: I can’t even…I have nothing else to say.
Orbit: Well then…
Fly: Wait, fuck that. Sorry bro. I'm not done. I'm not even close to done. I know he might be trying to change his ways. That just confuses me even more. That’s some Logan shit. One day he’s funny, the next day he’s talking to snakes, the next day he mercurial and treacherous, the next day he’s a redheaded woman, and then the next day he’s playing house with a schizophrenic. This is a wrestling company. Not a habitat for chameleons. Stop changing your colors every month. No wonder none of these fuckers are consistent in the ring, they’re not even consistently the same fuckin’ person.
Fly takes another sip of his drink. Orbit follows suit, waiting for Fly to continue.
Fly: I’ve heard this dude Battle is supposedly some legendary Japanese wrestler. He was hot shit over there in Corey Black land at some point or another. I don’t know. I’m just wondering what he’s done since he’s been over here playing with the big boys. How many titles does he have?
Orbit: Nada.
Fly: That’s right, none. He’s lost every big match. He’s lost to people within his own stable. He’s biker roadkill Bates scooped off the fuckin’ road and brought back to life. Now he thinks he’s going to win the Trios Cup? This guy shouldn’t even be sniffing a match like this. He’s in a new world right now, and he’s going to be exposed for what he is – the weak link on that team. The weakest wrestler in the entire match. Bates should have left him on the road. His team would be better for it this week. I’d advise Gemini to go barricade himself back in his battle station. He’s going to need that much protection to prevent me from humiliating him back to the comic book he came from.
Orbit: Heh. So I was thinkin’ about it as we were coming in. That dude Gonzo was in War right?
Fly: Yep, that was him. He had a good showing too. I remember back then nobody knew who he was and that shit kind of came out of nowhere. Here we are, over six months later, and that’s still probably still the highlight of his career. He’s just floating in the wind or whatever. Not doing much of anything as far as I can tell.
Orbit: Do you think we should tell him we stole the heroin?
Fly: Wait, what?
Orbit: Oh, nothin.’
Fly: You didn’t…
Orbit: Nope. No way. Not me.
Fly looks at Orbit suspiciously as his half-brother itches his arm. It’s a good thing Fly feels like talking more shit, deciding to ignore the comment.
Fly: In a weird way, I’ve always liked Gonzo. He sometimes reminds me of Phantasm. I’ve got a soft spot for that shit. He’s an adventurous motherfucker. Always scheming and up to some crazy farfetched nonsense. I don’t even mean that in a bad way. Phantasm and I built Pantheon together on that platform. But he’d be the first to tell you that because he was that way, I had to be the person to lead the group. I was the one who got results. I was our equalizer. He did his shit, like Gonzo does his, but I was the motherfucker scoring win, after win, after win. I see the same within the Dark Riders. Bates is the dude scoring all these Trios Cup pinfalls. He’s the only one over there holding a belt. He’s not just the leader by title, he’s the leader by example.
Fly: Think about the comparison for a second, and then take a look back at history. Unless someone from Pantheon is talking about him, nobody brings up Phantasm anymore. For all his skill, and it was considerable, he’s been lost to the archives. He never reached the top of the mountain. He never got close. He disappointed in some of his biggest matches. He provides us with a lesson that Gonzo should study and understand. Being a great wrestler requires results, above all else. You can be as talented as anyone, doesn’t matter if you don’t do anything with it. It doesn’t matter how good of a fighter you are, or what your background is, or what the fuck is going on with your life. All that matters is that pinfall. If you can’t consistently get it, you’ll never amount to shit.
Fly: I know Gonzo’s type. It’s a very thin line that separates the skilled from the preeminent. A lot of wrestlers are skilled. You have to find a way to be more than that. It’s a mindset. That’s what you’ll find always separates the World Champions from the fodder. Gonzo looks at last year’s War match as the moment he put himself on the map. But where’d that momentum go? The United States Title? Come on, son. That’s not some grand follow up performance. Where was the assault on the Main Event scene? To date, he’s still on the map. I know that – because he’s fucking lost somewhere on it. He has no direction. He doesn’t know what he’s doing. He’s a square motherfucker trying to stick himself into a round motorcycle tailpipe. Complete and eternal obscurity, that’s where Murdock’s story ends.
Orbit: Speakin’ of history. I’m still tryin’ to wrap my head around this Bates guy. Dude was a professor? Why the fuck is he wrestling?
Fly: I think this is the curse of the inferiority complex. All of these wrestlers today are trying to overcompensate for a two-line resume. They know they don’t have shit so the play up their background. “I’m really tough and gritty, but also smart, rich, and sophisticated. I swear!” That shit’s not real. Bates can take that fancy degree in a subject that’ll never get anyone a job from the worst school in the mid-south and burn that motherfucker up in his Harley’s muffler. Nobody cares. There’s no academics on the canvas. That’s my school, my world, and Thomas Bates is going to graduate there with another degree – a B.A. in Flyjobbing.
Fly reaches down and picks up his beer, finishing it.
Fly: This is old hat, all these guys trying to be ‘Mr. Total Package.’ It’s unoriginal as hell. If you look close enough, and ignore the obvious physical differences, Battle and Bates are running same damn ruse. They’re these smart, rich, and pedigreed wrestlers. They have purpose and cause, even though one of them is a complete nutjob. But no! They’ll stand up for what they believe is right…and then everyone will turn off their televisions. Yawn. Wake me up when this Lifetime movie is over. I wish we could have found the Dark Riders here. I’d have told them to do something fuckin’ entertaining already.
Orbit: Like what?
Fly: Burn a bar down. Fuck an old lady. Start a god damn biker gang war. Start with those Soldiers of Jesus misfits, do the world a favor. There’s nothing better than a biker feud. That shit gets crazy enough, but add Jesus into it? Shit man. They’d finally be big time. Santa Seth will put extra thousand dollar bills in your stocking for that publicity. Alas, these closet queens seems content being pedestrian all they’re going to do is travel around from show to show, stay in Holiday Inns, and hold snooze fest meetings.
Orbit: Hey, isn’t that basically what Pantheon did after I left?
Fly NO!
Orbit: Sorry bro, I didn’t mean to dig at old wounds and shit.
Fly: Look, here’s the deal. I’ve said this before. Wrestling isn’t a team sport. What we do individually, even in tournaments like the Trios Cup, will define us. Pantheon is the originator of the stable wars that seem to still be plaguing this company, and I’m the originator of Pantheon. I’ll tell everyone this about stables – having buddies backstage doesn’t win you matches. Having team members that you know and trust is nice, but it’s entirely overrated. You win and lose as individuals. This match isn’t two teams of three facing off against one another. It’s one on one. The two people in the ring at that given time. I’m in my third straight Trios Cup final because I understand that, and I’ve teamed with people capable of winning a one-on-one match against ANYONE – even today.
Orbit: Except Price.
Fly: I wasn't counting him, because he's dead.
Orbit: You think we get an invite to that funeral?
Fly: I don't give a fuck. Steve, these guys don’t think we can hang. Once you cut through all the fluff and bullshit, that’s all they’re going to say in their television appearances. That’s going to be the big speech. It’s primitive wrestling trash talk at its finest. That’s all they have to say, same old monotonous bullshit. I’ve heard it all before. Every wrestler who I’ve ever encountered has told me they were going to be the person to end me. They were going to succeed where everyone else has failed. It never happens. They always fail, and it’s only then they begin to ask the questions they should have asked in the first place:
…how does Jonny Fly win so god damn much?
Fly: That’s the puzzle nobody has been able to solve. These guys – the Dark Riders – all they see is one single future that they’ve fantasized. They see titles and glory, in a company where Jonny Fly and Steve Orbit either don’t exist or have retired for good. They see us as weak and ripe for their picking. That’s cute, but also very dense. It’s yet another knock on their collective intelligence. The Dark Riders have absolutely no conscious of what it’s going to take to beat us. Just because they SEE and WANT that future, doesn’t mean they possess the skill or wherewithal to make it reality. They don’t…but I most certainly do.
Fly: I know what it takes to make a vision a reality in this industry. I’ve buckled down and won every big match or tournament possible. Tell me, is it just young wrestlers allowed to conceptualize the future? Is it just noobs that possess desire and ambition? Perhaps that’s what’s continued to set me apart from the other wrestlers who’ve been content to sit on their accomplishments. I’m NEVER content. There’s always another challenge, another obstacle, another motherfucker’s dreams to annihilate. I want to transcend history. That’s why I’m here. That’s why I’m going to be on this tournament’s winning team once again. That’s why on Sunday I’m going to show an all new crop of wrestlers the very simple truth about Jonny Fly – I’m everlasting. There has never, and will never, be someone quite like me again.
Fly: The Dark Riders will not end me, and I know they won’t end you. I will not step aside. I will not fall victim to ages, eras, or whatever the fuck it’s being called now. If a wrestler, or a team, wants to beat me, they better be put on their fuckin’ big boy pants. I don’t give out charitable donations to anyone’s resume. There’s a reason we’ve seen several wrestlers labeled as perhaps the “next Jonny Fly” of late. You never see anyone called the next Logan, Gravedigger, Torture, Bobby Cairo, Slickie T, or even Corey Black. That’s because unlike those wrestlers, my replacement in WCF lore still hasn’t been found. People are out there still searching…and they’ll keep searching…until any of these motherfuckers actually beat me.
Orbit: All I gotta say to that shit is ONE 2014, bitch.
Fly laughs at the comment and nods his head in agreement.
Fly: Yeah, well you also aren’t out there declaring me dead. I’m alive and well. Wrestlers have spent the past several years trying to catch up to the competitive level I created when I first started in WCF. I’m this company’s mother goose. The creator of the hierarchy. The standard bearer. Even when I’m not in the company, people are chasing me – my history, accomplishments, and unprecedented dominance. I’m flipping the script here. I’m on the attack. I’m coming for the Dark Riders. I’m taking them the fuck out. The Trios Cup is, and forever will be, MINE. Which reminds me…
Fly takes out his phone and types Amazon.com into a web browser.
Orbit: What?
Fly: I need to order some pudding. It’s tradition, you know.
Fly places the order through his phone for one-thousand four count snack packs.
Orbit: Alright, you tryin’ to go get some girls?
Fly: MAN – I was just thinkin’ the same thing. But I need to back to Oakland. I have a “meeting” with that Casey Noble skank from Design on a Dime.
Orbit looks at Fly questioningly.
Fly: You’ll see. Plus, we need to check up on things at the club and the plant.
Orbit: Fuck bro, I almost forgot about that. The game ain’t ever easy.
Fly: …and it’s the challenge we love.
Orbit: Damn straight. I hope someone tells that to the Dark Riders.
Fly lays a $50 dollar bill on the bar as he and Orbit rise to their feet. They say their goodbyes to the bartender, with Orbit slipping her his business card, and they proceed out of the hotel bar. Our scene slowly fades to black.
[Scene Ends]