Post by Steve Orbit on Dec 1, 2013 12:50:55 GMT -5
Scene opens in a hotel room. Steve Orbit's hotel room. He's fast asleep, no doubt dreaming of all the money he's about to make through his NYC casino/brothel/crackhouse venture with Jonny Fly. However, the dollar bills dancing in his head are suddenly interrupted by the vibration of his iPhone on the nightstand. Orbit jumps up, reaching for the phone. He examines the screen before answering the call. On speakerphone. So we can hear it. How thoughtful of him.
Steve Orbit: Hey!
A familiar female voice.
Havana Ginger: Steve, we need to talk. You alone?
Orbit looks to his side. He lifts up the sheets and looks underneath. Nobody there.
Steve Orbit: Yeah. What's up?
Havana Ginger: Aight, listen-- these fuckin' feds have been following me around for the past couple weeks. I don't know what the fuck to do.
There's a bit of panic in her voice.
Steve Orbit: Whatchu mean?
She pauses.
Steve Orbit: Havana, what happened?
Havana Ginger: Tonight, when I got to my apartment... one of 'em was here. Asking me all kinda questions about all kinda shit.
Steve Orbit: What kinda questions?
Havana Ginger: About you, Steve! What type of shit are you into, are you sellin' drugs-- have I ever seen you KILL anybody? What's your relationship with Jonny Fly, he was really grillin' me about everything.
Orbit runs his hand over his forehead. He mouths "fuck", but remains calm.
Steve Orbit: So... what the fuck did you tell him?
Havana Ginger: I didn't tell him shit, nigga. I told him I don't even know you like that.
Steve Orbit: He believed that?
Havana Ginger: Hell no. But I held you down and he left after like a half hour. I'm just sayin', these mother fuckers got a hard-on for you-- bad. If they talkin' to me, that means they gonna be talkin' to everybody you know. Everybody who's ever had anything to do with you.
Steve Orbit: ... Yeah. You probably right.
Havana Ginger: Anyway, I can't deal with this shit right now. I got enough goin' on, so--
Orbit raises his voice.
Steve Orbit: YOU can't deal with it? You ain't the one they closin' in on, girl! Shit.
Havana Ginger: Well, maybe if you weren't such a fuckin' scumbag, hangin' around with that gangsta-ass white boy Jonny Fly--
Steve Orbit: 'Vana! Chill. Just chill, aight? I got this under control. It's nothin'. They ain't got shit on me. They thought they could break you-- they couldn't. They don't know who the fuck you are, baby! You one of the coldest bitches I know-- in a good way, I mean. You hard as a mother fucker.
Havana Ginger: Save the slick talk, nigga. I'm just givin' you the heads up. Lay low for a while or somethin'.
Steve Orbit: Yeah-- that's not really an option right now, but I ain't worried about shit. And you ain't gotta worry neither. Aight?
Havana Ginger: Yeah, aight.
Steve Orbit: Thanks for the call.
Havana Ginger: Aight.
Steve Orbit: Yeah.
The call ends. Orbit immediately begins dialing another number and, again, speakerphone. A few moments of ringing and then a familiar, yet groggy male voice is heard.
Jonny Fly: Hello?
Steve Orbit: Yo, Fly.
Jonny Fly: Steve? What's up?
Steve Orbit: We need to talk. You alone?
We hear the sounds of Jonny Fly kicking at least one girl out of his bed.
Jonny Fly: Yeah.
Steve Orbit: The fuckin' feds are closing in on me, man. Havana just called me-- they following her all over the place, asking her questions. I'm sure they're crawling all over my Club and my old neighborhood. What the fuck? Why are they so interested in me all of a sudden?
Jonny Fly: ... Because you're hanging around with me. You know the Bureau is obsessed with me, Steve-- how many times do we have to go over this? You knew the risk you were taking from the start.
Steve Orbit: Yeah, and you told me don't worry about it. So I didn't, and now it's lookin' like I should be fuckin' worried.
Jonny Fly: Steve, the feds don't have shit on us. Zip. Zero. They're turning up the heat, that's all. They do this once in a while. They're hoping to spook you and make you slip up. But you won't, because you're not some amateur. Right?
Steve Orbit: Oh, I ain't worried about slippin'. I just don't like having these mother fuckers on my back, harassin' my friends.
Jonny Fly: You'll get used to it. I have.
Steve Orbit: ...
Jonny Fly: It's a small price to pay when you consider the big picture. Remember that.
Steve Orbit: Yeah, aight.
Jonny Fly: Just keep doing what you're doing and don't worry about anything.
Steve Orbit: Aight. Later.
Jonny Fly: Bye.
The call ends. Orbit places the phone back on the nightstand and lays in the bed, staring at the ceiling. Doubt he'll be sleeping, by the look of things. Fade out.
==
Scene opens at Paradise Cove-- a secluded, private beach in Los Angeles. There are very few people, sparsely laid out across the beachfront. In the distance, we see two people standing in the water at waist level. As the camera gets closer, we realize we are looking at Steve Orbit and Havana Ginger. Havana is in a tiny white bikini. They're far enough out that no feds could possibly hear what they are saying. But we can. Because we RULE.
Steve Orbit: Yeah, I just... I got a bad feeling, man.
Havana Ginger: You're paranoid.
Steve Orbit: Nah. It's deeper than that, girl.
Orbit grabs Havana and embraces her. She gives him an awkward look.
Steve Orbit: I don't know who's watching. We just havin' fun at the beach.
She strokes the back of his head with her fingers.
Steve Orbit: Listen, I need you to help me. Can you help me out?
Havana Ginger: Depends.
She leans in and they kiss.
Havana Ginger: What's in it for me?
Steve Orbit: You know I'll take care of you. I always take care of you. I got a bunch of mother fuckin' cash I need to get out of my possession. And I need you to take the house and put it in your name.
Havana Ginger: I thought we were selling the house.
Steve Orbit: Change of plans. I already took it off the market. I'm signing it over to you, the paperwork is in your mailbox right now. You know what I'm sayin'? I need some shit to fall back on in case shit gets fucked up. You can explain the cash with all the appearances you do. They won't link it to me-- they can't. Can you do that for me?
Havana Ginger: Yeah. I got you.
Steve Orbit: Aight. I'ma have you meet a couple of my boys-- just old friends, guys from the 'hood that they won't expect. They'll bring you the money. Just put it somewhere safe, like... in a bank, or somethin', you know what I'm sayin'? Don't just put it under the mattress. Clean it up. Document it, make some shit up. I know you can figure it out.
Havana grins.
Havana Ginger: No problem. I'll talk to some of my friends, they know all about that stuff.
Steve Orbit: I bet. So we good?
Havana nods. Orbit motions to the shore. They walk towards the beach, hand in hand. Fade out.
==
Back at Orbit's hotel, he's standing on the balcony overlooking the ocean. He's wearing a fluffy pink robe and smoking a cigar. He takes a long pull and then taps it out on the railing. He heads back into the room, closing the glass slider behind him. He sits on the edge of the bed and begins to speak into the camera, letting us know what's on his mind.
Steve Orbit: You see, the G Code is very important when you're dealing with business. Particularly, a business that can get you twenty-five to life. Let me break it down for all you squares out there-- the G Code is the unwritten law of the street. It's somethin' that I grew up with... I would say it's the closest thing to a set of morals or mother fuckin' values that was instilled upon me as a child and as a young man. You don't do the crime if you can't do the mother fuckin' time. If you fuck up and you go down, you go down by yourself. You don't take your niggas down with you. You be a man and you own up to your shit. When you ain't got shit, your word means a whole lot, and if you lose that... you lose everything. In some cases, you lose your life.
Orbit puts his head down and takes a deep breath. Maybe he's referencing the murder of Jonny Fly's former right hand man, Tom Salemone.
Steve Orbit: Nah, fuck that. You don't lose it, you give it away. You know the fuckin' rules when you get into the game. The police will say anything to fuck with you. They'll try to get inside your head, they'll try to make you think they can help you. All they wanna do is put you in a cell with the same people you gonna tell on. What kind of life is that? You gotta fight through that shit. Some people are strong enough to hold on. Some aren't. It's survival of the fit out here, you know what I'm sayin'? For real.
Orbit pauses, collecting his thoughts once again.
Steve Orbit: Enough about my personal affairs, though. On a professional level, I gotta prepare myself for another main event. Another week in the spotlight. I ain't mad at that. S-PAC, though? Fuck. Last time I saw these fools, all three of 'em anyway, was at Helloween. We know how that turned out. I did my best to hold together my weak ass team-- but those fools dropped like flies and left me on my own out there. I never teamed with D-Day or Eric Price before, and based on that performance, I don't ever wanna team with neither one of the mother fuckers again.
That's another story. This week, it's me and Fly. We ARE the main event. We can carry Purse's ass. I ain't worried about that. Purse can hold his own-- he's got his little issues with Jonny, and I don't even know how he feels about me, but it don't matter. He'll do his thing, and if he don't-- you can be damn sure me and Fly will do our part. And that's more than enough to back down S-PAC.
Maybe I haven't gave S-PAC the respect they deserve. When they're a unit-- when they a three man team, they're dangerous. I'll give 'em that. Individually, they a hot mess, but together... maybe it's Scott Savage's voodoo powers, I dunno, but they seem to pull shit off as a team. Don't get me wrong-- they ain't gonna pull off shit at Slam. This is it for S-PAC. This is the time they bit off more than they chew. Waylon and Atreyu fumbled the Tag Titles to Odin and Cairo a couple weeks back-- yet, these mother fuckers wanna sit around and talk about how unstoppable they are.
There is a team in the WCF that's unstoppable, guys. It's not the Thickness, either. It's Jonny Fly and Steve Orbit. If y'all been payin' attention for the last couple months-- you'd see that. You'd see me and Fly winning every single mother fuckin' week in the main event. Why would this week be any different? Gable and Atreyu know all about it. We made everybody forget about those Tag titles-- we showed y'all how to be dominant. We showed y'all how to do this tag team shit the real way and the right way.
But I know-- when all three of y'all are together, it's like the tri-force and y'all formin' like mother fuckin' Voltron. It ain't gonna matter this week. Purse is a wildcard on my team, but he's a wildcard that I know personally. And I personally know he don't like to lose, especially to no cracked-out redneck, no Hollywood reject, and no rambling pseudointellectual fuckin' analyst of bullshit.
I still don't even understand the purpose of S-PAC. Y'all best goal was to get a run with the Tag belts-- it's done. It's over. Y'all had your time. Y'all got your win at Helloween. Nobody give a fuck about stables and y'all still hangin' on. When you guys lost the Tag belts, that was it. Your moment was done. You got nowhere to go from here. Your best bet right now is to go your seperate ways and try to re-establish yourselves in mother fuckin' singles competition. Nobody is interesting in S-PAC, man-- it's not that y'all are unstoppable, it's that you're not important enough to try to stop. Nobody cares.
I'ma end it in terms that Gable can appreciate. This is like a fuckin' movie that everybody has seen before. It's like a re-run every fuckin' week. S-PAC talked a bunch of shit and got put in their place. Jonny Fly wins in the end-- and Steve Orbit is the co-star. Purse is makin' his ass a cameo this week. Guest star on the show. The show's called "how to beat the fuck out of everybody and not lose to a bunch of punks". "For dummies". Hope y'all enjoy the show.
Orbit winks at the camera, and we're done. Fade out.
Steve Orbit: Hey!
A familiar female voice.
Havana Ginger: Steve, we need to talk. You alone?
Orbit looks to his side. He lifts up the sheets and looks underneath. Nobody there.
Steve Orbit: Yeah. What's up?
Havana Ginger: Aight, listen-- these fuckin' feds have been following me around for the past couple weeks. I don't know what the fuck to do.
There's a bit of panic in her voice.
Steve Orbit: Whatchu mean?
She pauses.
Steve Orbit: Havana, what happened?
Havana Ginger: Tonight, when I got to my apartment... one of 'em was here. Asking me all kinda questions about all kinda shit.
Steve Orbit: What kinda questions?
Havana Ginger: About you, Steve! What type of shit are you into, are you sellin' drugs-- have I ever seen you KILL anybody? What's your relationship with Jonny Fly, he was really grillin' me about everything.
Orbit runs his hand over his forehead. He mouths "fuck", but remains calm.
Steve Orbit: So... what the fuck did you tell him?
Havana Ginger: I didn't tell him shit, nigga. I told him I don't even know you like that.
Steve Orbit: He believed that?
Havana Ginger: Hell no. But I held you down and he left after like a half hour. I'm just sayin', these mother fuckers got a hard-on for you-- bad. If they talkin' to me, that means they gonna be talkin' to everybody you know. Everybody who's ever had anything to do with you.
Steve Orbit: ... Yeah. You probably right.
Havana Ginger: Anyway, I can't deal with this shit right now. I got enough goin' on, so--
Orbit raises his voice.
Steve Orbit: YOU can't deal with it? You ain't the one they closin' in on, girl! Shit.
Havana Ginger: Well, maybe if you weren't such a fuckin' scumbag, hangin' around with that gangsta-ass white boy Jonny Fly--
Steve Orbit: 'Vana! Chill. Just chill, aight? I got this under control. It's nothin'. They ain't got shit on me. They thought they could break you-- they couldn't. They don't know who the fuck you are, baby! You one of the coldest bitches I know-- in a good way, I mean. You hard as a mother fucker.
Havana Ginger: Save the slick talk, nigga. I'm just givin' you the heads up. Lay low for a while or somethin'.
Steve Orbit: Yeah-- that's not really an option right now, but I ain't worried about shit. And you ain't gotta worry neither. Aight?
Havana Ginger: Yeah, aight.
Steve Orbit: Thanks for the call.
Havana Ginger: Aight.
Steve Orbit: Yeah.
The call ends. Orbit immediately begins dialing another number and, again, speakerphone. A few moments of ringing and then a familiar, yet groggy male voice is heard.
Jonny Fly: Hello?
Steve Orbit: Yo, Fly.
Jonny Fly: Steve? What's up?
Steve Orbit: We need to talk. You alone?
We hear the sounds of Jonny Fly kicking at least one girl out of his bed.
Jonny Fly: Yeah.
Steve Orbit: The fuckin' feds are closing in on me, man. Havana just called me-- they following her all over the place, asking her questions. I'm sure they're crawling all over my Club and my old neighborhood. What the fuck? Why are they so interested in me all of a sudden?
Jonny Fly: ... Because you're hanging around with me. You know the Bureau is obsessed with me, Steve-- how many times do we have to go over this? You knew the risk you were taking from the start.
Steve Orbit: Yeah, and you told me don't worry about it. So I didn't, and now it's lookin' like I should be fuckin' worried.
Jonny Fly: Steve, the feds don't have shit on us. Zip. Zero. They're turning up the heat, that's all. They do this once in a while. They're hoping to spook you and make you slip up. But you won't, because you're not some amateur. Right?
Steve Orbit: Oh, I ain't worried about slippin'. I just don't like having these mother fuckers on my back, harassin' my friends.
Jonny Fly: You'll get used to it. I have.
Steve Orbit: ...
Jonny Fly: It's a small price to pay when you consider the big picture. Remember that.
Steve Orbit: Yeah, aight.
Jonny Fly: Just keep doing what you're doing and don't worry about anything.
Steve Orbit: Aight. Later.
Jonny Fly: Bye.
The call ends. Orbit places the phone back on the nightstand and lays in the bed, staring at the ceiling. Doubt he'll be sleeping, by the look of things. Fade out.
==
Scene opens at Paradise Cove-- a secluded, private beach in Los Angeles. There are very few people, sparsely laid out across the beachfront. In the distance, we see two people standing in the water at waist level. As the camera gets closer, we realize we are looking at Steve Orbit and Havana Ginger. Havana is in a tiny white bikini. They're far enough out that no feds could possibly hear what they are saying. But we can. Because we RULE.
Steve Orbit: Yeah, I just... I got a bad feeling, man.
Havana Ginger: You're paranoid.
Steve Orbit: Nah. It's deeper than that, girl.
Orbit grabs Havana and embraces her. She gives him an awkward look.
Steve Orbit: I don't know who's watching. We just havin' fun at the beach.
She strokes the back of his head with her fingers.
Steve Orbit: Listen, I need you to help me. Can you help me out?
Havana Ginger: Depends.
She leans in and they kiss.
Havana Ginger: What's in it for me?
Steve Orbit: You know I'll take care of you. I always take care of you. I got a bunch of mother fuckin' cash I need to get out of my possession. And I need you to take the house and put it in your name.
Havana Ginger: I thought we were selling the house.
Steve Orbit: Change of plans. I already took it off the market. I'm signing it over to you, the paperwork is in your mailbox right now. You know what I'm sayin'? I need some shit to fall back on in case shit gets fucked up. You can explain the cash with all the appearances you do. They won't link it to me-- they can't. Can you do that for me?
Havana Ginger: Yeah. I got you.
Steve Orbit: Aight. I'ma have you meet a couple of my boys-- just old friends, guys from the 'hood that they won't expect. They'll bring you the money. Just put it somewhere safe, like... in a bank, or somethin', you know what I'm sayin'? Don't just put it under the mattress. Clean it up. Document it, make some shit up. I know you can figure it out.
Havana grins.
Havana Ginger: No problem. I'll talk to some of my friends, they know all about that stuff.
Steve Orbit: I bet. So we good?
Havana nods. Orbit motions to the shore. They walk towards the beach, hand in hand. Fade out.
==
Back at Orbit's hotel, he's standing on the balcony overlooking the ocean. He's wearing a fluffy pink robe and smoking a cigar. He takes a long pull and then taps it out on the railing. He heads back into the room, closing the glass slider behind him. He sits on the edge of the bed and begins to speak into the camera, letting us know what's on his mind.
Steve Orbit: You see, the G Code is very important when you're dealing with business. Particularly, a business that can get you twenty-five to life. Let me break it down for all you squares out there-- the G Code is the unwritten law of the street. It's somethin' that I grew up with... I would say it's the closest thing to a set of morals or mother fuckin' values that was instilled upon me as a child and as a young man. You don't do the crime if you can't do the mother fuckin' time. If you fuck up and you go down, you go down by yourself. You don't take your niggas down with you. You be a man and you own up to your shit. When you ain't got shit, your word means a whole lot, and if you lose that... you lose everything. In some cases, you lose your life.
Orbit puts his head down and takes a deep breath. Maybe he's referencing the murder of Jonny Fly's former right hand man, Tom Salemone.
Steve Orbit: Nah, fuck that. You don't lose it, you give it away. You know the fuckin' rules when you get into the game. The police will say anything to fuck with you. They'll try to get inside your head, they'll try to make you think they can help you. All they wanna do is put you in a cell with the same people you gonna tell on. What kind of life is that? You gotta fight through that shit. Some people are strong enough to hold on. Some aren't. It's survival of the fit out here, you know what I'm sayin'? For real.
Orbit pauses, collecting his thoughts once again.
Steve Orbit: Enough about my personal affairs, though. On a professional level, I gotta prepare myself for another main event. Another week in the spotlight. I ain't mad at that. S-PAC, though? Fuck. Last time I saw these fools, all three of 'em anyway, was at Helloween. We know how that turned out. I did my best to hold together my weak ass team-- but those fools dropped like flies and left me on my own out there. I never teamed with D-Day or Eric Price before, and based on that performance, I don't ever wanna team with neither one of the mother fuckers again.
That's another story. This week, it's me and Fly. We ARE the main event. We can carry Purse's ass. I ain't worried about that. Purse can hold his own-- he's got his little issues with Jonny, and I don't even know how he feels about me, but it don't matter. He'll do his thing, and if he don't-- you can be damn sure me and Fly will do our part. And that's more than enough to back down S-PAC.
Maybe I haven't gave S-PAC the respect they deserve. When they're a unit-- when they a three man team, they're dangerous. I'll give 'em that. Individually, they a hot mess, but together... maybe it's Scott Savage's voodoo powers, I dunno, but they seem to pull shit off as a team. Don't get me wrong-- they ain't gonna pull off shit at Slam. This is it for S-PAC. This is the time they bit off more than they chew. Waylon and Atreyu fumbled the Tag Titles to Odin and Cairo a couple weeks back-- yet, these mother fuckers wanna sit around and talk about how unstoppable they are.
There is a team in the WCF that's unstoppable, guys. It's not the Thickness, either. It's Jonny Fly and Steve Orbit. If y'all been payin' attention for the last couple months-- you'd see that. You'd see me and Fly winning every single mother fuckin' week in the main event. Why would this week be any different? Gable and Atreyu know all about it. We made everybody forget about those Tag titles-- we showed y'all how to be dominant. We showed y'all how to do this tag team shit the real way and the right way.
But I know-- when all three of y'all are together, it's like the tri-force and y'all formin' like mother fuckin' Voltron. It ain't gonna matter this week. Purse is a wildcard on my team, but he's a wildcard that I know personally. And I personally know he don't like to lose, especially to no cracked-out redneck, no Hollywood reject, and no rambling pseudointellectual fuckin' analyst of bullshit.
I still don't even understand the purpose of S-PAC. Y'all best goal was to get a run with the Tag belts-- it's done. It's over. Y'all had your time. Y'all got your win at Helloween. Nobody give a fuck about stables and y'all still hangin' on. When you guys lost the Tag belts, that was it. Your moment was done. You got nowhere to go from here. Your best bet right now is to go your seperate ways and try to re-establish yourselves in mother fuckin' singles competition. Nobody is interesting in S-PAC, man-- it's not that y'all are unstoppable, it's that you're not important enough to try to stop. Nobody cares.
I'ma end it in terms that Gable can appreciate. This is like a fuckin' movie that everybody has seen before. It's like a re-run every fuckin' week. S-PAC talked a bunch of shit and got put in their place. Jonny Fly wins in the end-- and Steve Orbit is the co-star. Purse is makin' his ass a cameo this week. Guest star on the show. The show's called "how to beat the fuck out of everybody and not lose to a bunch of punks". "For dummies". Hope y'all enjoy the show.
Orbit winks at the camera, and we're done. Fade out.
