Post by Deleted on Dec 7, 2013 1:31:40 GMT -5
So much for that...
After dominating most of the evening and the match, he got the victory snatched away from him by Caleb Fourchon at the end. As a result of that piece of bad luck, Caleb is now competing for the chance to earn a shot at the Television Title. Furthermore, Mod doesn't even get the satisfaction of wrestling on the next show, instead being relegated to driving the gear around, as per the orders of Sarah Twilight. Oh God, how he'd love to tell her what a massive cunt she is while he crams his entire fist down her excessively dumb face. But that's life.
Probably the most interesting thing to occur after his match was a call he got from his father in prison. When Mod picked up the phone, he saw that he had received the call while in the ring. He called back and was immediately connected to...
Reception: Michigan State Penal Services. Please type the inmate number you wish to reach at this time...
Mod types in his father's penal code, and the phone is immediately directed to the prison where his father is being held. It took a few minutes for the call to be routed, as Mod thought of all the mistakes he had made during the match. He really couldn't think of any, other than he got hit at the wrong time, and it slowed him down enough to end the match on someone else's terms. And now bad luck is dictating his career because some chick named Sarah Twilight has a wild hair up her ass. He'd like to stick something else up there...
The line opens up, and the first thing out of the phone he hears is his old man's crackly voice saying...
Old Man: What's up, fucker?
Mod: What's going on, you miserable old fart?
Old Man: See you got your ass kicked on the tube. Did that big, mean man hurt your feelings, fucker?
Mod: Oh God, I don't know what I'm going to do with myself! I think I'm going to cry myself to sleep tonight!
Old Man: Glad to hear you still have some humility. Of course, I lost a shitload of money on you tonight. Now every fuckface here is trying to get a piece of the old man!
Mod: Sorry to hear that.
Old Man: Sure you are. But that's okay. Kicking ass runs in the family. And I didn't foresee that little worm in the ring with you getting that cheap shot in on you like that.
Mod: The shot was clean, but...
Old Man: Bullshit, man! Everyone saw it in here! Hence why most of the guys have laid off of me for collection. I don't know why you didn't give him his own cheap shot to remind him of you.
Mod: There wouldn't have been much point. The match is over. I'll get another shot at him soon enough, once I'm off of just carting the gear around.
Old Man: Lost your spot already? Well that was quick.
Mod: The boss of the show is a real cunt.
Old Man: You're talking about that fine piece of red-headed ass, right? From here, its painfully obvious she needs the dick. And I leave it to you to give her the dicking down she needs.
Mod: Look, I don't have much of a job right now as it is, and the last thing I want to do is fuck what I do have up.
Old Man: Do I detect a higher pitch in your voice? Did you turn into a pussy without your old man there to guide you through these tough times? I thought I taught you how to get the pussy already.
Mod: Sit there and bust balls, old man. At least my cracker ass isn't stuck in prison looking at man ass.
Old Man: Speaking of gay shit, what's this I hear that you're stuck dealing with some queer?
Mod: Ugh... Let's not get me started on that guy. That guy, or whatever the fuck he is, won't leave me alone. All because I called some idiots some gay shit.
Old Man: You can't just say shit like that anymore. Next thing you know, GLAAD is all up inside your ass, literally. Just where they want to be.
Mod: Oh, ha ha ha. See you got jokes, old man.
Old Man: I'm serious. GLAAD is the new NAACP, man. Just trying to find anything to get their panties in a twist.
Mod: Well, this guy won't leave well enough alone. Just riding me about everything. I even agreed to meet him face to face on some show he's supposed to host. Of course, the show fell through this week. I don't know when we're going to have this face to face. Hopefully real soon, and I got something for him once I do get to see him.
Old Man: What you do? Bug his phone and caught him having gay phone sex or something?
Mod: You'll have to see for yourself, won't you? Just don't take anything I do on the show personally. Its a parody more than anything.
Old Man: Oh God... You're going to do a musical number, aren't you?
Mod just laughs a bit, while he hears his old man in the background say...
Old Man: I'm never going to hear the end of this, aren't I?
Mod: A lesser man couldn't deal with it, but I'm sure you can. So enough about me. How's prison?
Old Man: The chicks here are fugly and the food sucks. But at least I'm working sheet metal. How'd you like the gift I sent you for the truck?
Mod: The plates are on the truck and the trailer. I'm good for a few years.
Old Man: Good. See? I'm still making you stuff after all of these years. But on a better note, I'm being considered for parole.
Mod: Already? What about the whole Truth in Sentencing shit I keep hearing about?
Old Man: Ah, I'm getting old, and I'm a first time felon. I'm starting to cost them too much money. I got a board hearing coming up soon, and I'd like for you to be there. I'm trying to get Audrey and Sean to come up for the hearing as well.
Mod: You know they hate you, right?
Old Man: They can't hate me forever, Mark. I was doing the best I could with what little I had.
Mod: Armed robbery was how you were going to solve your problems? Seriously? You taught us all better than that.
Old Man: Tell that to your brother. I heard he's in AdSeg again because he can't keep his mouth shut. He's going to die in there, I know it.
Mod: Mats is doing that bad? I haven't heard from him in awhile. AdSeg would explain it.
Old Man: Stupid fucker is going to get himself killed. Last thing I want is to bury another son.
A strange clicking noise can be heard on the phone, before the Old Man says...
Old Man: Well, that's my cue. Time to get off the phone. I'll see you later, fucker. Try not to embarrass me anymore this upcoming week.
Mod: Now I'm going to try even harder now.
Old Man: Of course you are. Do what you need to do. I'm proud of you either way. Stay safe.
Mod: You, too.
The phone clicks off, before he presses "End Call" on his phone. He shakes his head, before stripping off his wrestling gear to get ready for a shower...
===================================================================================================
The song "Don't Stop Believing" by Journey finishes inside the cab of MD's truck, as he remembers a sexual encounter he had on a train when he was 17 with a girl from Indiana. He finds the humor in the fact that the song was written almost 30 years prior to that encounter, yet it rang true on that evening.
The next song on the radio was "The Runner" by Manfred Mann's Earth Band. A decent selection of oldie rock hits have been piling up as he takes his load into the next town. This time it was Las Vegas, the City of Sin. MD couldn't wait to pull into town and party his ass off. Perhaps before pulling in, he might take a trip to one of the Ranches outside of Clark County to get his fill of poontang. Perhaps a lithe little redheaded thing that looked like Sarah Twilight. Granted, he hated her personality, but his attraction for her physically almost overrides his better judgment. It almost doesn't even bother him when she supervises and criticizes how he straps down the equipment anymore. He even thinks she goes out of her way to give him a hard time because she perhaps has some feelings for him in that way. But he puts that out of his head. It would be ridiculous of him to think in such a way. After all, she could have anybody. Why waste her time with someone so unproven? Although he has been booked in a match after all, against two longtime veterans in the company.
He had a few interactions with Doc "The Cock" Henry prior to this match-up. Seemed like the guy will nail anything that remotely resembles a woman, considering his interest in raYne. Ugh... The thought sent a shiver through Deuce's body. The bile started to rise up into his mouth a little bit, but he swallowed it down and takes a sip of Coca-Cola from his huge travelling cup. The soda had gone warm and has been watered down a bit from the melted ice, but that was to be expected. Life of a trucker, after all. Other than his overactive libido, he seems like an alright guy. It is business as usual.
"The Villain" Adam Young, on the other hand, he had heard very little about, other than he had some beef already with Doc Henry. Maybe his old lady wanted a piece of "The Cock", and that sparked a feud between the two of them. Before his time, Deuce thinks to himself. What he does know is that Doc has laid a beating into "The Villain" a few times in the past, with the latest edition during Helloween. And "The Villain" has already taken some shots at Mod Deuce himself. Some of those things were true about his home city falling to pieces, and Deuce did try to do something about it. He never voted for Kwame Kilpatrick, he worked security, and he made legitimate contributions to society. Much more than what Adam Young could say about himself. Hypocritical asshat is what he is. Regardless, Mod never really had much love for the city, but he won't ever tell anybody that. He's just not a city kind of guy, but that's where all the fun toys are, for some fucked up reason.
However, it seems that the only way either man are effective is the numbers game, which worried Deuce a bit. After all, he hasn't made many friends since his arrival. And with the rules the way they have been, its any douchebag can win as long as they have their friends fight their battles for them. Nobody seems to want to square up and fight their own battles these days. Everyone's a coward.
Fortunately, MD is huge, and with the long trips and very little time to go to the gym, he's only getting bigger. 345 pounds might not be so accurate these days. Maybe its time to get himself back into a gym when he gets to Las Vegas. Or burn off all the excess weight with a hooker at a Ranch in a sauna. That would be more fun. Just make sure she's a redhead, and everything would be perfect.
Goddammit! He's got a serious match coming up, and all he wants to think about is whores? Seriously? Who the fuck is going to take him seriously? raYne? Well, there's another story... What to do about their eventual interview? IF there's even going to be an interview. Sarah already vetoed "The Storm Front" once, and it may get vetoed yet again. Maybe putting stock into something that may or may not happen is a bad idea. But at least he had a few ideas for getting under raYne's skin. Really make "it" boil with rage for when the eventual match came. Really throw he or she off her game, and make raYne pay for the anguish and grief with blood.
Then his thoughts drifted to his father. Early parole? Scary concept, but it would be nice to see the old man once again out of prison fatigues. That last talk really scared him, though. His brother on the verge of getting murdered in prison? It would shatter the family to have two Jorgensen sons murdered before their time. It was difficult to deal with the last time, when Lars was murdered during a bank robbery, just as he was reassembling his life once again. If only Mom was alive to see this all, she would probably die of a heart attack instead of cancer.
Now his mood was shot, as "The Runner" completed playing and commercials started on the radio. He turns off the radio and pulls out a pad from the bag next to him in the cab. He places it on the steering wheel in a clip-on holder and turns the pad on. It immediately brings up a GPS locator, indicating to him the next place he could fuel up, which was in El Paso, Texas. He groaned, knowing what a bad stretch of highway that was. Even worse, it was somewhat difficult to get someone who actually spoke English to get things done. As he looked at his mileage and fuel gauge, it looked as if he didn't have much of a choice, unless he wanted to risk pulling into Las Cruces on fumes. He still had a few hours to make a decision before sticking to it.
Either way, Las Vegas was close behind, and then we'll have a good time then. You know we'll have a good time then...
Ugly Kid Joe's version of Cat's in the Cradle plays on the radio, and Deuce's mind wanders into the chorus pattern for a few moments. Then he thinks to himself that maybe he could get himself one of those hot Latin women he'd heard about in one of the truck stops up ahead. He'd heard that a few titty bars were nearby some of the stops. Maybe he'd go in and have himself a warm-up before Vegas...
===================================================================================================
"Cherry Pie" by Warrant is heard throughout the club, after Deuce hands the doorman a $20 and is promptly patted down, as a voluptuous Latin woman is shaking everything her mother gave her, and then some, at the guys in front of the stage. Deuce smirks a bit at the show, as he looks around at several other mini-stages, each with a handful of men drooling on the stages and women. Deuce controls his chubby, as he's handed his bottle of Jack Daniels and a bottle of Coca-Cola after the club deems his stuff worthy of the BYOB rules. Yeah, this was a different thing. BYOB in a bar of any sort was unheard of in Detroit.
Deuce grabbed a chair by the wall and sat down, surveying the entire bar. The bouncers in the club were relaxed, save one guy who was standing next to the stage. He was sweating buckets as he watched this tiny number bounce up and down on a guy in a chair in the crowd. It was bad news all the way around. He'd smile as she turned to face him. She didn't have a clue, and he didn't have the balls to tell her, but he would attack a paying customer who was obviously NOT in love with this chick because it would be convenient. What a loser.
A barmaid brought Deuce a glass with ice in it, and he hands her a dollar for her troubles. He starts filling the glass half-way with Jack, before he cracks open the Coca-Cola. He takes a pull of the mixture, feeling the burn in his mouth for the first time in a long time. He wasn't concerned about getting drunk, he had the cab of his truck should anything come of this. But this was turning into one of those places, a place to sit and get drunk. He noticed most of the dancers were attached in some way to the security in the bar. What kind of place is this? You can't make a ho a housewife, and why would these ho's who could become housewives want a guy who goes into harms way on purpose for minimum wage? Totally nuts.
He felt the stupidity of this whole thing continue, and he started replacing the caps on his beverages, when that tiny little Latina number comes up and says...
Dancer: So how about it, cowboy? You want a lapdance?
Deuce: How much? My mom won't let me spend too much money.
Dancer: What? Are you serious?
Deuce: Not really. My mom passed away, but I'm seriously on a budget.
Dancer: Well, that's the first time I've ever heard something like that. You a trucker?
Deuce: Among other things. It ain't the best thing I do, though. I have other skills.
Dancer: Like what?
Deuce: I have a knack for engines, electronics, and my tongue. And I'd feel really bad if that guy by the wall was to get up and attack me because he's jealous I'm with you.
Dancer: What? Him? He's harmless. He just got out of the Army and he's got some PTSD stuff going on. He'll be okay.
Deuce: He's mean-mugging every motherfucker in here that you've danced on. I think he needs some attention.
Dancer: Well I'm not over there with him, I'm over here with you. And there is a company policy about messing with each other.
Deuce: A policy that nobody here seems to pay attention to. I've looked around and I see everyone here looking around. Even some of the ladies on stage look concerned with some of the customers. No, I'm going to avoid this fight. All of them saw me walk in, and all of them look like they have something to prove in one way or another. Especially your boyfriend over there...
The dancer looks upset, but she walks away after this, right up to the security guard in question. After a few sips of his drink and a few words between the dancer and guard, the guard walks up and gets right into Deuce's face, saying.
Security: Sir, you need to take your drugs elsewhere. I don't know how you got them in, but dealing to anybody on premesis is illegal and you need to go.
Deuce: Wow! Well, not only do I have no drugs on or in me, but I see what this is about. I upset your lady friend there by pointing out the obvious and now you want to railroad me out of here. I'm afraid you're going to have to try harder than that to get me up out of this seat. I'm just enjoying the scenery, so please get out of my face because you're ruining my view.
Security: Sir, I'm not going to ask you again. I want you to leave these premesis immediately.
Deuce: Why? So I can kick your ass in front of this girl, have the cops come here, and I get to explain that you tried to roust me with some bullshit about having drugs on me AFTER I got searched at the door? I may be young, but I wasn't born yesterday. Now I'm warning you for the last time, do not play these games with me, or I'll toss you across this bar and break your other leg just as bad as the one you broke before.
The man's eyes go wide, as he lunges forward and wraps his hands around Deuce's throat. Deuce gets to his feet, but the man holds on. Deuce breaks the hold around his neck with an upward swing of his arm, before bringing that same arm down across the man's shoulder sending him down to the floor with a thud. Deuce then drops a knee across the chest of the man as he attempts to get to his feet. Deuce feels the air from his lungs evacuate his body. Deuce drops his knee on him again, as he bounces on the man's chest with his knee.
The stripper starts running and screaming, and Deuce gets back to his feet. He grabs his booze and starts for the door in a slow, deliberate manner. The doorman stops him and says...
Doorman: What the hell is going on in there?
Deuce doesn't bother giving him an answer, as he plows through him after hearing the question. A lie would be obvious, and the truth would set him backwards in his timetable. He gets out the door and makes a break for the truck. Right as he gets in his truck, he sees both the doorman and the other security officer coming out of the club. It was too late. His plugs were already warm and he fires up the truck. Both men start for the truck, albeit they were both running gingerly from their assault earlier on. Deuce laughs as he pulls his truck out onto the onramp to I-10, leaving both of those guys in the dust.
After dominating most of the evening and the match, he got the victory snatched away from him by Caleb Fourchon at the end. As a result of that piece of bad luck, Caleb is now competing for the chance to earn a shot at the Television Title. Furthermore, Mod doesn't even get the satisfaction of wrestling on the next show, instead being relegated to driving the gear around, as per the orders of Sarah Twilight. Oh God, how he'd love to tell her what a massive cunt she is while he crams his entire fist down her excessively dumb face. But that's life.
Probably the most interesting thing to occur after his match was a call he got from his father in prison. When Mod picked up the phone, he saw that he had received the call while in the ring. He called back and was immediately connected to...
Reception: Michigan State Penal Services. Please type the inmate number you wish to reach at this time...
Mod types in his father's penal code, and the phone is immediately directed to the prison where his father is being held. It took a few minutes for the call to be routed, as Mod thought of all the mistakes he had made during the match. He really couldn't think of any, other than he got hit at the wrong time, and it slowed him down enough to end the match on someone else's terms. And now bad luck is dictating his career because some chick named Sarah Twilight has a wild hair up her ass. He'd like to stick something else up there...
The line opens up, and the first thing out of the phone he hears is his old man's crackly voice saying...
Old Man: What's up, fucker?
Mod: What's going on, you miserable old fart?
Old Man: See you got your ass kicked on the tube. Did that big, mean man hurt your feelings, fucker?
Mod: Oh God, I don't know what I'm going to do with myself! I think I'm going to cry myself to sleep tonight!
Old Man: Glad to hear you still have some humility. Of course, I lost a shitload of money on you tonight. Now every fuckface here is trying to get a piece of the old man!
Mod: Sorry to hear that.
Old Man: Sure you are. But that's okay. Kicking ass runs in the family. And I didn't foresee that little worm in the ring with you getting that cheap shot in on you like that.
Mod: The shot was clean, but...
Old Man: Bullshit, man! Everyone saw it in here! Hence why most of the guys have laid off of me for collection. I don't know why you didn't give him his own cheap shot to remind him of you.
Mod: There wouldn't have been much point. The match is over. I'll get another shot at him soon enough, once I'm off of just carting the gear around.
Old Man: Lost your spot already? Well that was quick.
Mod: The boss of the show is a real cunt.
Old Man: You're talking about that fine piece of red-headed ass, right? From here, its painfully obvious she needs the dick. And I leave it to you to give her the dicking down she needs.
Mod: Look, I don't have much of a job right now as it is, and the last thing I want to do is fuck what I do have up.
Old Man: Do I detect a higher pitch in your voice? Did you turn into a pussy without your old man there to guide you through these tough times? I thought I taught you how to get the pussy already.
Mod: Sit there and bust balls, old man. At least my cracker ass isn't stuck in prison looking at man ass.
Old Man: Speaking of gay shit, what's this I hear that you're stuck dealing with some queer?
Mod: Ugh... Let's not get me started on that guy. That guy, or whatever the fuck he is, won't leave me alone. All because I called some idiots some gay shit.
Old Man: You can't just say shit like that anymore. Next thing you know, GLAAD is all up inside your ass, literally. Just where they want to be.
Mod: Oh, ha ha ha. See you got jokes, old man.
Old Man: I'm serious. GLAAD is the new NAACP, man. Just trying to find anything to get their panties in a twist.
Mod: Well, this guy won't leave well enough alone. Just riding me about everything. I even agreed to meet him face to face on some show he's supposed to host. Of course, the show fell through this week. I don't know when we're going to have this face to face. Hopefully real soon, and I got something for him once I do get to see him.
Old Man: What you do? Bug his phone and caught him having gay phone sex or something?
Mod: You'll have to see for yourself, won't you? Just don't take anything I do on the show personally. Its a parody more than anything.
Old Man: Oh God... You're going to do a musical number, aren't you?
Mod just laughs a bit, while he hears his old man in the background say...
Old Man: I'm never going to hear the end of this, aren't I?
Mod: A lesser man couldn't deal with it, but I'm sure you can. So enough about me. How's prison?
Old Man: The chicks here are fugly and the food sucks. But at least I'm working sheet metal. How'd you like the gift I sent you for the truck?
Mod: The plates are on the truck and the trailer. I'm good for a few years.
Old Man: Good. See? I'm still making you stuff after all of these years. But on a better note, I'm being considered for parole.
Mod: Already? What about the whole Truth in Sentencing shit I keep hearing about?
Old Man: Ah, I'm getting old, and I'm a first time felon. I'm starting to cost them too much money. I got a board hearing coming up soon, and I'd like for you to be there. I'm trying to get Audrey and Sean to come up for the hearing as well.
Mod: You know they hate you, right?
Old Man: They can't hate me forever, Mark. I was doing the best I could with what little I had.
Mod: Armed robbery was how you were going to solve your problems? Seriously? You taught us all better than that.
Old Man: Tell that to your brother. I heard he's in AdSeg again because he can't keep his mouth shut. He's going to die in there, I know it.
Mod: Mats is doing that bad? I haven't heard from him in awhile. AdSeg would explain it.
Old Man: Stupid fucker is going to get himself killed. Last thing I want is to bury another son.
A strange clicking noise can be heard on the phone, before the Old Man says...
Old Man: Well, that's my cue. Time to get off the phone. I'll see you later, fucker. Try not to embarrass me anymore this upcoming week.
Mod: Now I'm going to try even harder now.
Old Man: Of course you are. Do what you need to do. I'm proud of you either way. Stay safe.
Mod: You, too.
The phone clicks off, before he presses "End Call" on his phone. He shakes his head, before stripping off his wrestling gear to get ready for a shower...
===================================================================================================
The song "Don't Stop Believing" by Journey finishes inside the cab of MD's truck, as he remembers a sexual encounter he had on a train when he was 17 with a girl from Indiana. He finds the humor in the fact that the song was written almost 30 years prior to that encounter, yet it rang true on that evening.
The next song on the radio was "The Runner" by Manfred Mann's Earth Band. A decent selection of oldie rock hits have been piling up as he takes his load into the next town. This time it was Las Vegas, the City of Sin. MD couldn't wait to pull into town and party his ass off. Perhaps before pulling in, he might take a trip to one of the Ranches outside of Clark County to get his fill of poontang. Perhaps a lithe little redheaded thing that looked like Sarah Twilight. Granted, he hated her personality, but his attraction for her physically almost overrides his better judgment. It almost doesn't even bother him when she supervises and criticizes how he straps down the equipment anymore. He even thinks she goes out of her way to give him a hard time because she perhaps has some feelings for him in that way. But he puts that out of his head. It would be ridiculous of him to think in such a way. After all, she could have anybody. Why waste her time with someone so unproven? Although he has been booked in a match after all, against two longtime veterans in the company.
He had a few interactions with Doc "The Cock" Henry prior to this match-up. Seemed like the guy will nail anything that remotely resembles a woman, considering his interest in raYne. Ugh... The thought sent a shiver through Deuce's body. The bile started to rise up into his mouth a little bit, but he swallowed it down and takes a sip of Coca-Cola from his huge travelling cup. The soda had gone warm and has been watered down a bit from the melted ice, but that was to be expected. Life of a trucker, after all. Other than his overactive libido, he seems like an alright guy. It is business as usual.
"The Villain" Adam Young, on the other hand, he had heard very little about, other than he had some beef already with Doc Henry. Maybe his old lady wanted a piece of "The Cock", and that sparked a feud between the two of them. Before his time, Deuce thinks to himself. What he does know is that Doc has laid a beating into "The Villain" a few times in the past, with the latest edition during Helloween. And "The Villain" has already taken some shots at Mod Deuce himself. Some of those things were true about his home city falling to pieces, and Deuce did try to do something about it. He never voted for Kwame Kilpatrick, he worked security, and he made legitimate contributions to society. Much more than what Adam Young could say about himself. Hypocritical asshat is what he is. Regardless, Mod never really had much love for the city, but he won't ever tell anybody that. He's just not a city kind of guy, but that's where all the fun toys are, for some fucked up reason.
However, it seems that the only way either man are effective is the numbers game, which worried Deuce a bit. After all, he hasn't made many friends since his arrival. And with the rules the way they have been, its any douchebag can win as long as they have their friends fight their battles for them. Nobody seems to want to square up and fight their own battles these days. Everyone's a coward.
Fortunately, MD is huge, and with the long trips and very little time to go to the gym, he's only getting bigger. 345 pounds might not be so accurate these days. Maybe its time to get himself back into a gym when he gets to Las Vegas. Or burn off all the excess weight with a hooker at a Ranch in a sauna. That would be more fun. Just make sure she's a redhead, and everything would be perfect.
Goddammit! He's got a serious match coming up, and all he wants to think about is whores? Seriously? Who the fuck is going to take him seriously? raYne? Well, there's another story... What to do about their eventual interview? IF there's even going to be an interview. Sarah already vetoed "The Storm Front" once, and it may get vetoed yet again. Maybe putting stock into something that may or may not happen is a bad idea. But at least he had a few ideas for getting under raYne's skin. Really make "it" boil with rage for when the eventual match came. Really throw he or she off her game, and make raYne pay for the anguish and grief with blood.
Then his thoughts drifted to his father. Early parole? Scary concept, but it would be nice to see the old man once again out of prison fatigues. That last talk really scared him, though. His brother on the verge of getting murdered in prison? It would shatter the family to have two Jorgensen sons murdered before their time. It was difficult to deal with the last time, when Lars was murdered during a bank robbery, just as he was reassembling his life once again. If only Mom was alive to see this all, she would probably die of a heart attack instead of cancer.
Now his mood was shot, as "The Runner" completed playing and commercials started on the radio. He turns off the radio and pulls out a pad from the bag next to him in the cab. He places it on the steering wheel in a clip-on holder and turns the pad on. It immediately brings up a GPS locator, indicating to him the next place he could fuel up, which was in El Paso, Texas. He groaned, knowing what a bad stretch of highway that was. Even worse, it was somewhat difficult to get someone who actually spoke English to get things done. As he looked at his mileage and fuel gauge, it looked as if he didn't have much of a choice, unless he wanted to risk pulling into Las Cruces on fumes. He still had a few hours to make a decision before sticking to it.
Either way, Las Vegas was close behind, and then we'll have a good time then. You know we'll have a good time then...
Ugly Kid Joe's version of Cat's in the Cradle plays on the radio, and Deuce's mind wanders into the chorus pattern for a few moments. Then he thinks to himself that maybe he could get himself one of those hot Latin women he'd heard about in one of the truck stops up ahead. He'd heard that a few titty bars were nearby some of the stops. Maybe he'd go in and have himself a warm-up before Vegas...
===================================================================================================
"Cherry Pie" by Warrant is heard throughout the club, after Deuce hands the doorman a $20 and is promptly patted down, as a voluptuous Latin woman is shaking everything her mother gave her, and then some, at the guys in front of the stage. Deuce smirks a bit at the show, as he looks around at several other mini-stages, each with a handful of men drooling on the stages and women. Deuce controls his chubby, as he's handed his bottle of Jack Daniels and a bottle of Coca-Cola after the club deems his stuff worthy of the BYOB rules. Yeah, this was a different thing. BYOB in a bar of any sort was unheard of in Detroit.
Deuce grabbed a chair by the wall and sat down, surveying the entire bar. The bouncers in the club were relaxed, save one guy who was standing next to the stage. He was sweating buckets as he watched this tiny number bounce up and down on a guy in a chair in the crowd. It was bad news all the way around. He'd smile as she turned to face him. She didn't have a clue, and he didn't have the balls to tell her, but he would attack a paying customer who was obviously NOT in love with this chick because it would be convenient. What a loser.
A barmaid brought Deuce a glass with ice in it, and he hands her a dollar for her troubles. He starts filling the glass half-way with Jack, before he cracks open the Coca-Cola. He takes a pull of the mixture, feeling the burn in his mouth for the first time in a long time. He wasn't concerned about getting drunk, he had the cab of his truck should anything come of this. But this was turning into one of those places, a place to sit and get drunk. He noticed most of the dancers were attached in some way to the security in the bar. What kind of place is this? You can't make a ho a housewife, and why would these ho's who could become housewives want a guy who goes into harms way on purpose for minimum wage? Totally nuts.
He felt the stupidity of this whole thing continue, and he started replacing the caps on his beverages, when that tiny little Latina number comes up and says...
Dancer: So how about it, cowboy? You want a lapdance?
Deuce: How much? My mom won't let me spend too much money.
Dancer: What? Are you serious?
Deuce: Not really. My mom passed away, but I'm seriously on a budget.
Dancer: Well, that's the first time I've ever heard something like that. You a trucker?
Deuce: Among other things. It ain't the best thing I do, though. I have other skills.
Dancer: Like what?
Deuce: I have a knack for engines, electronics, and my tongue. And I'd feel really bad if that guy by the wall was to get up and attack me because he's jealous I'm with you.
Dancer: What? Him? He's harmless. He just got out of the Army and he's got some PTSD stuff going on. He'll be okay.
Deuce: He's mean-mugging every motherfucker in here that you've danced on. I think he needs some attention.
Dancer: Well I'm not over there with him, I'm over here with you. And there is a company policy about messing with each other.
Deuce: A policy that nobody here seems to pay attention to. I've looked around and I see everyone here looking around. Even some of the ladies on stage look concerned with some of the customers. No, I'm going to avoid this fight. All of them saw me walk in, and all of them look like they have something to prove in one way or another. Especially your boyfriend over there...
The dancer looks upset, but she walks away after this, right up to the security guard in question. After a few sips of his drink and a few words between the dancer and guard, the guard walks up and gets right into Deuce's face, saying.
Security: Sir, you need to take your drugs elsewhere. I don't know how you got them in, but dealing to anybody on premesis is illegal and you need to go.
Deuce: Wow! Well, not only do I have no drugs on or in me, but I see what this is about. I upset your lady friend there by pointing out the obvious and now you want to railroad me out of here. I'm afraid you're going to have to try harder than that to get me up out of this seat. I'm just enjoying the scenery, so please get out of my face because you're ruining my view.
Security: Sir, I'm not going to ask you again. I want you to leave these premesis immediately.
Deuce: Why? So I can kick your ass in front of this girl, have the cops come here, and I get to explain that you tried to roust me with some bullshit about having drugs on me AFTER I got searched at the door? I may be young, but I wasn't born yesterday. Now I'm warning you for the last time, do not play these games with me, or I'll toss you across this bar and break your other leg just as bad as the one you broke before.
The man's eyes go wide, as he lunges forward and wraps his hands around Deuce's throat. Deuce gets to his feet, but the man holds on. Deuce breaks the hold around his neck with an upward swing of his arm, before bringing that same arm down across the man's shoulder sending him down to the floor with a thud. Deuce then drops a knee across the chest of the man as he attempts to get to his feet. Deuce feels the air from his lungs evacuate his body. Deuce drops his knee on him again, as he bounces on the man's chest with his knee.
The stripper starts running and screaming, and Deuce gets back to his feet. He grabs his booze and starts for the door in a slow, deliberate manner. The doorman stops him and says...
Doorman: What the hell is going on in there?
Deuce doesn't bother giving him an answer, as he plows through him after hearing the question. A lie would be obvious, and the truth would set him backwards in his timetable. He gets out the door and makes a break for the truck. Right as he gets in his truck, he sees both the doorman and the other security officer coming out of the club. It was too late. His plugs were already warm and he fires up the truck. Both men start for the truck, albeit they were both running gingerly from their assault earlier on. Deuce laughs as he pulls his truck out onto the onramp to I-10, leaving both of those guys in the dust.
