Then, Now, and Mexico
Apr 30, 2016 4:40:09 GMT -5
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Post by Logan on Apr 30, 2016 4:40:09 GMT -5
THEN
The cigarette smoke flourished in a chaotic way of dancing from the Pall Mall’s cherry, finally finding its destination sucked into a ceiling fan. Tobacco and I had an off and on again relationship. Never quite needed them, mostly enjoyed them from blue moon to blue moon, more so when things were looking up. The loss on Aftermath couldn’t have been more of a victory. A feeling subsided within that the right plays were being called and finally properly executed as well. Originally when booting up The Family, a vision did exist, despite the initial failure. A goal set in stone to bring faces and heels, good and evil, everyone together for a common gain – to cross the barriers of rather or not a partnership depended on who was hated or loved.
It all turned out to be a steaming pile of shit. Every single time the wheels hit the tracks it became derailed. It was time for insurance that the track could stay on the ground and that the wheels could keep spinning… and that policy was Seth Lerch.
He entered his office, waving the tip of his noise in disapproval of cigarette smoke, carrying a stack of papers in one hand and a coffee in the other.
Logan: Relax. I was just looking for a place to put this out.
The cigarette dropped into his fresh cup of java while in passing on his way behind the desk. I turned to the camera while he occupied himself with cursing over the tainted coffee.
Logan: Don’t worry. He cannot hear me right now. You see, this is the meeting Seth and I had a few weeks prior to Fifteen. He called me over to make an appearance for the show; little did he know the offer I intended to make him went beyond a simple appearance.
He got himself tidied into his office chair, spinning a complete three-sixty before slapping a hand down onto his desk and breaking my attention from the camera.
Seth Lerch: I was thinking this; you come in at Fifteen and hit Torture with a Connector to build for your return match at Ultimate Showdown.
Logan: No dice.
Seth Lerch: You don’t want to face Torture in the ten year anniversary match?
The look he received from me answered that question. That match was going to happen even if Torture died before then and his corpse needed to be excavated.
Seth Lerch: Then…
Logan: How long have I been a member here, Seth?
Seth Lerch: Since the start.
Sitting up from the chair, my eyes toured the walls of his office, studying the various photographs of WCF’s past and present that decorated them.
Logan: June of Twenty Double Zero to be exact.
Most people referred to the year as two thousand. They were idiots. Nobody ever said nineteen thousand during the nineties, so why begin now.
Seth Lerch: What are you getting at?
He said from a pair of folded arms behind his desk.
Logan: This match with Torture later in the year is nothing more than petty revenge.
I quickly continued before he could interrupt.
Logan: However petty revenge I will gladly have. I’m looking at the bigger picture though, maybe a picture that will be added onto one of these walls.
He perked an eyebrow.
Logan: It never should have come to this.
Seth Lerch: To what?
Logan: The brief returns, the one off segments or matches or random appearances for shows like Fifteen. That isn’t me. Save that sort of deal for guys like Corey Black. I crave more. I need more.
I retook my spot in the chair and the two of us met eye to eye across the table.
Logan: I’m not getting any younger. Once upon a time I was feared by every member you employed. I ruled this company. I want to remember what it feels like to be top of the food chain again. Honestly… what purpose do I have here if I’m not considered the best? Now, here is my proposal, I want a match at Fifteen, and no I don’t expect to be generously gifted a title shot as Jayson Price was – that would appear far too suspicious.
Seth Lerch: I’m listening.
Logan: Final Destination.
He itched at his chin, considering it.
Logan: And not only that… but I want you to guarantee my victory as well. I also want a pack of guys. I’m going to need them to ensure my spot back on top and for the support of getting there. If you cannot give me that I don’t have a reason to ever return here, much less Fifteen.
Seth Lerch: Okay. Done.
That was easy.
Seth Lerch: To make your win at Final Destination believable, all you need to do is climb the ladder and I’ll take care of the rest.
Logan: It’s probably best we’re not seen teaming up. I want people to believe in my abilities again, to fear me once more.
Seth Lerch: Right. I’ll put together a group for you. If anyone gets suspicious over your victory at Fifteen and links it back to me you could always deny it.
Logan: Or give them what they want to hear.
Seth Lerch: Huh?
Logan: If they connect the dots then I’ll betray you that very night to further make it appear we’re not working together.
Seth Lerch: That works.
There was no reason to ask what he himself was getting out of this. We both knew the answer; Logan. Hey, he was quite the mark. We stood and shook hands. Fast forward a month and the two of us were sitting inside his home in Oley, shooting back Millers. Ages had passed since we hung out this much. I, surprisingly enough, was beginning to enjoy the company. His office portrayed a sample of what he kept within his home. The WCF memorable and Star Wars figures were all there, along with Nintendo merchandise. One of the shelves in his living room held an unopened Darth Vader figure, the copyright on the backside of the box dating nineteen eighty four. Lord only knew the amount of money he paid for this or how many WCF jobbers received pay cuts to gain his private collection. Either way, a point needed to be made. The thirty year old Star Wars plastic peeled back easier than a desperate whores underwear. He spat out beer through his nostrils upon sighting me holding the Vader toy.
Logan: This is who I need to be right now.
He still found trouble catching his breath from the choked up Miller.
Logan: Did Darth Vader have to deal with the drama team of Sarah Twilight and Katherine Phoenix when he was building the Death Star? Unless they want to re-re-release that shit and CGI them into it… then no.
My hand went for the equally old Emperor Palpatine box.
Seth Lerch: NO.
Logan: Fine. I’m trying to make a point though. WCF is our galaxy and I’m supposed to be ruling it right now, blowing up planets.
Seth Lerch: Patience.
The frustration boiled up and steamed from my mouth.
Logan: Patience?! I’ve went along with everything you’ve told me. With open arms I welcomed Sarah, Charon, Dag, and Katherine. I did that for you, Seth, because I had the same faith for you that you put in me for winning Final Destination.
Seth Lerch: Let’s not put the entire fault on me for that. You and I sat right here and discussed putting The Family together albeit drunk.
Logan: Sure… but the Cooper thing?
Seth Lerch: I kind of thought that would escalate the group further into the spotlight.
Logan: It didn’t. I stuck with it out of respect for you. We lost Charon afterwards. He was the backbone to the Cooper business. Dag Riddik is the only one who hasn’t abandoned us, and he doesn’t even know you’re the one pulling the strings behind the curtain.
Seth Lerch: Dag Riddik. He’s turning out to be quite the home grown star isn’t he? It took a few broken eggs to make that Dag omelet, but there you have it. He’s loyal to you, Logan. Very loyal. And soon he’ll be just as loyal to me as well.
Logan: What?
Seth Lerch: Once he witnesses your true side, Logan, the side that displays your own undying devotion to me then he’ll be sure to follow suit. I believe it’s time we finally made this group of ours work and for that to happen is for me to step out of the shadows and become a public member of The Family.
He certainly had my attention.
Logan: It’s going to make you a target. You sure we’re ready for this? It’s just me and Dag right now.
Seth Lerch: I admit… I’m probably going to end up getting attacked by random people over it, but at the same time it might bring in enough people to finally build a powerhouse behind you that can protect you when we’re ready to cash in the briefcase. Everyone in WCF already works for me. I’m sure there are a few that figure, hell, might as well get in a stable with him. Especially a couple of greedy new guys hungry for a spotlight.
He knew I respected him. Maybe it was time I told him just how much.
Logan: Seth, without you I am nothing. You made WCF. I owe you my life –
Seth Lerch: Stop.
He wasn’t very good with compliments. This was more than that. This was my heart bleeding from the mouth.
Logan: I have to get this off my chest, man. We’ve both had our differences in the past. The two consecutive Payback glass matches, we gave each other hell, but we were young then. I mean, think, back when you and I used to be at each others throats we had no idea this plan would still be operating a decade down the road. We’ve been friends more than we’ve been enemies. Now though I’ve learned to appreciate you more than ever. I might have used WCF to make myself a star, but without WCF there would have never been a Logan. Thank you, Seth.
A swig of beer helped swallow the lump in my throat.
Logan: I love you, man.
We both grabbed at one another awkwardly before finally turning it into an embrace – a genuine hug. I owed this man my life and it was liberating to let him know this. Through teary eyes I squeezed him tighter.
Logan: You’re the best, Seth. The best.
Seth Lerch: We’ll get you back on top, buddy. Don’t worry.
He patted my back.
NOW
A press conference was held following the announcement of the Trios Cup teams and the official tournament that would begin that Sunday. I was standing near the back of the stage, out of sight for the time being. Skipping the usual fancy vest and tie appearance, I kept things casual, wearing a WCF t-shirt and blue jeans. Eventually a woman wearing a headset motioned me over following an introduction, which is when I came onto the stage and glued myself behind a podium.
Logan: Good to be here. I look forward to answering any and all questions.
I lied through my teeth. Seth made the suggestion to me earlier that I show up to help hype up the Trios Cup. Not a single ounce of joy would this press conference ever bring me. This was for Lerch. A number of reporters held hands above heads. My eyes honed in on a black haired woman wearing more makeup than a corpse in an open casket.
Question: What made you decide to choose James Chevalier as your third partner for Trios?
He was one of WCF’s newest editions, James Chevalier, better known as The Game.
Logan: The decision wasn’t mine. Seth Lerch put him on the team. I probably know as much about him as you, which might not be a lot, however Seth Lerch is a really good judge of character so I’m sure looking ahead this Sunday, The Game will work out for the best.
The same reporter fired off another question.
Question: Corey Black has gotten the best of you on your last few encounters. How does it feel going up against an opponent this Sunday that you’ve faced for the better part of fourteen years?
Logan: Haha. Really? Statistics don’t matter. It’s not about what you could bring to the table yesterday, because nobody gives a fuck about yesterday. It’s about right now. What can Corey Black bring to the table on Sunday? Am I going to stand here and write him off? No. However at the same time I’m not here to make a big deal out of him either. Corey Black and I are literally the two only consistent forces that have held this high amount of longevity in WCF. Ever. Period. This isn’t an easy sport. I can’t tell you how many times a chair has bounced off my head, yet I’m still here, and so is he. The difference though? He cannot drop a foot in any generation of WCF and kick a door in. I can. Corey Black’s career came via luck and special circumstances, such as XIII, where he certainly had no business facing Skyler Striker much less defeating him.
But he beat Jonny Fly… right? A modern superstar and future Hall of Famer, the only Hall of Fame material WCF has even produced in the last decade. Yeah, Jonny Fly was great, but did Corey Black really go the distance with that dude? No. I don’t buy that bullshit career on the line match for a second. Jonny Fly wanted to depart and he gave Corey Black the ultimate rub, why did he? No clue. Maybe for keeping Pantheon alive for so long. I don’t really know. If Jonny Fly truly did not want to leave WCF and legit got beat by Corey Black, well, we know Fly.. dude is a lawyer, he would have found a way back by now. He got burned out and needed a way out. For some reason Corey Black was his guy. So, to me, that victory over Fly doesn’t mean a damn thing.
Which brings me back to my earlier point. What has Corey Black done for us lately? He trained Crystal Knight, the most generic one dimensional babyface a personality could ever allow. That’s it. That’s what he has done. He took a hot girl and showed her how to hit some ropes. Is this supposed to make me feel intimated heading into Slam? Meanwhile, what have I done besides compete with top modern talent week in and week out, bury Steve Orbit almost EVERY week for two months straight. Corey Black may have luck in his corner from time to time, from year to every other year, but between the two of us? I’m more consistent. I can take a loss. I can rise up. Corey Black makes sure he is carefully booked to maintain some false reputation which he believes he is actually top shit in this company today. You take any mid carder in the roster today, dare say any jobber and Corey would buckle knees and take a pin. That’s why he isn’t on the weekly shows like I am after all this time. Corey Black is afraid of losing. He’s scared that reputation he believes he holds will crumble if he ever tried to face WCF’s latest crop. And believe me, no, he wouldn’t survive.
Take Steve Orbit for example. Can anyone in this room tell me why he returned? He can’t be about the paychecks, dude is smart and already has a business. He brings in money. What is it then? The FUN of it all? Give me a break. Everyone here is here to win. Simple as that. And Steve Orbit hasn’t won more than two matches in twenty sixteen. Keep in mind, compared to Black or me, Orbit is still a rookie. He’s been sparring it out with WCF since about twenty twelve. There was a time when he found his groove and was hot shit. Made a name for himself. But it was never against me. I already proved that. So, basically, if Corey Black made a full time return you’d be looking at another Steve Orbit twenty sixteen run. Dude would be on the losing end of the side every single week. And again… why? If you can’t cut it in WCF and pick up a win at the very least twice a month then what’s your business here? This is the type of nonsense that separates me from these other so called legends in our company. Once more, yesterday doesn’t have a jack of an ass to do with anything. It’s today that matters. This Sunday most importantly. Corey Black is out of his element. This isn’t a One appearance or an XIII. Bitch, you’re actually facing HUNGRY REAL wrestlers. This isn’t another event you dive into once or twice a year.
You’re way past your prime, dude. Your prime wasn’t even that good to begin with. You flourished in the days of… wait… when Seth wasn’t running shit? Exactly. How many of your World Championship wins have come from XIII? A show YOU control. Give me a break, Corey. You never been mentioned in the same sentence of legendary greatness as me when people think back to big victories. You’ve been here, what, fourteen years and still haven’t picked up a War win? Oh. I heard your shit backstage. That match is too hard for Corey. Yeah. Corey Black can’t shine unless he has a two month polished up notice on whoever he’s facing once a year. You’re no legend of this company. You’ll never be compared to me. You can’t get shit done week in and week out here. I even heard you were wrestling, actively competing, for another company right now. What did you do go back to the Indys? Damn, Corey. At least TRY to make it in WCF’s current flock before you cut off your balls and kick it in another federation.
What’s even more funny? Your Trios team. Jayson Price… really man? Is that guy even going to show up and if he even does has he washed the taste of Joey Flash’s balls out of his mouth? That’s the guy you picked… haha. I nearly cracked a rib from laughter when I found out who we were up against this week. Jayson Price, the one hit wonder, YEAH.. ONE HIT. His first World title win, like yours, Corey, was rigged as fuck considering it happened at an XIII. We both know Jayson never had no business winning that belt much less competing for it at the time. So, he brings EVERYTHING he has in his body and wins the belt at Fifteen. That single effort to finally legitimately earn the right to be WCF champion crippled him. It really did. It took so much out of him he had trouble defeating Seth Lerch a month later in his RETIREMENT MATCH.
No disrespect to Seth Lerch, but he isn’t a wrestler. This is the way Jayson Price goes out – struggling to pick up a win against Seth? Wait… wasn’t that a retirement match? His very last? And wasn’t that like a week or two ago?
Which begs the question… what in the boudle fuck is Jayson Price doing in the ring this Sunday? I thought he went to rehab for the eighteenth time. That’s your partner, Corey, and you think that guy is going to help you this Sunday. I need more ribs to crack. This shit is too funny. Jayson Price, or Jay Price, or whatever the fuck you guys keep changing your names who gives a shit what you’re called. That guy left everything on the table at Fifteen, picked up the belt from Wade, actually won the belt legit for the first time in his five year stretch to even get there, then he left broken. His title run is about as memorable as what I ate for breakfast a week ago. Who knows. I honestly can’t even remember the run of Jayson Price and it was like two months ago. Dude won the belt. Dude had a segment. Dude fucked off and didn’t compete, then dude lost his belt. Kind of sounds like you, Corey. Is that why you picked this drop out to be your partner, you two share the common bond of being shit competitors? I have offered this place enough consistency to outmatch both of you fucks when the cards are on the table. Jayson Price has never been a name to fear and neither have you, Corey.
Jayson Price is STILL a young man. I can remember the days he first started. Everyone put their money on that guy, thought he was hot shit, but soon as he started taking trips to Connector City he started getting injuries. It just wasn’t me either. After I turned that dude out from hot new shit into just another jobber, it was like every other week he started getting injured. If he wants to change his name again change it to Jayson Glass. Doesn’t take a lot to break that guy. I honestly started to believe this dude was faking injures to get out of matches. I mean, what gives? This dude is in his twenties. He barely has scars. Is he seriously that prone to injuries or is he rocking a vagina underneath them Price panties? But here we go, Corey, you have to admit it yourself… you seen his title run, we both know Price is a joke. Nobody even mentions his time as World Champion because that shit was awful. That is who you want to throw your once a year appearance into? Come on, dude. Honestly. By winning the WCF championship he set that shit back. People were more engaged with United States belts and lesser titles, at least people holding them were willing to compete. Jayson Price did not. He laid down and let Joey Flash spread his cheeks. It’s sad. Well, not really. I mean, it’s not like we didn’t all expect it. When Jayson first won the belt do you know how many pools everyone had betting on how soon he’d lose it? Literally not another name in WCF’s long ass history could make people behave that way unless it’s Jayson Price. And that’s what is really sad, Corey Black, you think… you honestly BELIEVE that putting Jayson Price on your team gives you some type of coolness to your own self. If you can’t see that guy for who he is, which is a bum, then you’re just as lost as he is.
It’s basically what you did with Pantheon. Speaking of which, wasn’t that a stable started by Jonny Fly, Jeff Purse, and The Unstable Elements? What business did you even have being a part of that, much less recreating that LONG after Jonny Fly wiped his hands clean with that group. You got a hard on for Fly? Sure you do. You’ll get a boner for anyone that’ll put you in a spotlight, but there is more to the story than that. You brought Pantheon back out for one purpose and one purpose only.. you needed to remain relevant. Not that you ever really were, but your desperation to remain in the scene brought you scraping the nuts off a Jonny Fly idea he had abandoned a YEAR prior just so WCF might hopefully think of you as a big deal again. Hey, Corey, your Pantheon sucked a load of dick. As long as you have been here you have never actually lead a group, not even one that was created off your back. Do you know to the day people still mention ToT? Dude, I created that group literally… no fact… yeah.. fifteen YEARS AGO. You’ve got nothing, Corey. You needed to ride the nuts of Fly to recreate a stable he wasn’t even involved with. Sounds like desperation. Know why? Because you thought people might actually take you serious over it. You thought you could be a leader. You haven’t ever led shit.
You know what I have that Corey Black doesn’t have? Dag Riddik. Finest International Champion in WCF since myself. Know what Jayson Price doesn’t have? Dag Riddik. The most ruthless and talented new comer in WCF history since myself. Dag Riddik is my friend, my partner, my pitbull that I feed boudles like Black and Price to for treats. They don’t have Dag Riddik, I do. The math is simple. We win. Do you think a has been or never was drunk in rehab is going to take his Sunday off from group meetings because he’s too weak to handle a drink and come out to Slam and beat us? Yeah right. Or how about Corey Black, you think a motherfucker that wears purple in the ring can handle Dag Riddik, or me, or even our partner handpicked by Seth Lerch, The Game? GIVE ME A BREAK. Some of you might be thinking why I’ve held my tongue on Teo Del Sol. Truth is I hardly know the guy other than the fact that he’s holding a championship that is just as much a gimmick title as the Internet one. From what I gather, Teo is a wannabe Mexican. So, if you want to know your enemy you’ve got to become your enemy. On to Mexico City.
Question: You only answered like two questions!
MEXICO
Deep within the Valley of Mexico, the streets of Mexico City packed itself with hundreds and hundreds of locales. Viewing through the tinted car window, traveling at a top speed of five miles per hour to accommodate the citizens and not maul them down in the road with a ton of automobile, though secretly wishing that was a valid option, they all walked along near shoulder to shoulder. It was like a herd of zombies from a scene on one of those shows. Minus the makeup. The destination in mind was first the nearest bar, since the hotel had already been obtained and used via a night’s full sleep. The sun was beginning to set behind a pale stoned structure large enough to spot from two or three miles. It’d be dark soon, and then I’d really get a taste of Mexico. The cab driver, God bless him for spending the last three hours idling the car between five and ten miles per hour, had finally made the destitation. I don’t assume I myself would have found the patience to navigate through these herd of bystanders without at least a casualty or two. The man definitely held the patience of a monk.
Cab Driver: We’re here, Senor.
From within my wallet the cabbie received a ten which he generously accepted. The bar itself was a mix of tourist attraction. Not a legitimate alcohol fueled dwelling of Mexico where a person could be knifed then stepped over on pursuit to another drink. This bar was more American friendly.
Bartender: What will it be?
While in Mexico.
Logan: Tequila.
He slid a shot near my hands. I slid it back.
Logan: A bottle. Two glasses.
Cradling the two empty glasses between an index and middle finger, I journeyed to one of the darker corners of the bar to sit beside an equally dark haired beauty. Sitting a glass in front of her and flowing the tequila into it, I introduced myself.
Logan: The name is Logan. Know what that means in your language?
She perked one of her finely manicured eyebrows.
Logan: Logan.
Then her brow eyes rolled back, taking the joke, if that’s what it was, without as much as a grin.
Logan: You looked thirsty.
She was alone. She appeared to be the type that had this encounter a hundred times over with American visitors. The scar on her chin suggested at least one of those hundred encounters did not flourish so kindly. The risk one took when choosing the career of a whore.
Gloria: Gloria.
She held out her hand. I kissed it a single time.
Logan: Bottoms up.
Not hers of course. Later perhaps. We both drank from our glasses. Hours and an empty bottle later, she was giggling with the joy that only a drunk could. As was I. I considered myself having a high tolerance to pain, Corey Black promos, and alcohol. However the liquid had burned its way through every vein in the body and made walking a chore. I recall ordering a food, not what exactly, but whatever showed up looked more like a flower. How in the world was this supposed to crave my drunken munchies? Nevertheless I sliced up the small green… plant.. and forked a chunk into my mouth much to the amusement of Gloria.
Logan: You must be hungry as well, giggle lips.
I offered her a bite on the end of the fork. She laughed and shook her head.
Gloria: No, no, no.
Watching her figure, perhaps. She did have a body to maintain in her line of work. Though I didn’t quite see this… cactus… holding down many calories. I finished the last bite. What the hell did I actually just eat? Whatever it was did not put any brakes on the hunger.
Logan: You’re not hungry?
Gloria: Not for that, senor.
Understandably so. The taste was a mixture of bitter and sweet all at once. Bitter at first, however sweet through the third or fourth chew. The fork and knife on the plate appeared to be bending, as if Neo from the Matrix had joined us to pull a prank with his ‘bend the spoon’ act. Interesting. The effects of alcohol had never played tricks like this before. Or was it something else. Such as the unknown meal I had only consumed and not my company.
Logan: The hogwash underneath this table is troubling me.
My hand grabbed at my mouth to silence the incoherent gibberish. Why did I say that? Was there seriously a hogwash underneath the table, near our feet? What the hell was a hogwash? I was afraid to look. Having trouble forming literal sentences, and at the fear of sounding like Oblivion, I looked to Gloria, then pointed to the plate, then pointed to myself, then shrugged. Hopefully she didn’t interoperate that as me saying, ‘Me. Plate?’ rather as, ‘What the fuck did I just eat? You damn whore’.
Gloria: Oh. Peyote.
The fearful lump in the throat finally went down. For a moment I believed that was my tongue.
Logan: Peyote! Did not believe we were outside…
Something touched my foot. I wasn’t checking to find out what. That hogwash could do without my attention.
Logan: The menu.
I tried to read it over. It looked like Spanish. Wait.. it was in Spanish. I was in Mexico. Well, at least I had the knowledge of where I was going for me. Either way I denied seeing Peyote on it.
Logan: No peyote manning.
Matter of factly pointed my finger down to the menu.
Logan: None!
Gloria: That was served especially for you, senor.
Logan: Oh. I am truly flattered.
Just when I thought I had regained my vocal skills something took me by surprise – biting my foot.
Logan: THE HOGWASH!
The next hour or two, who precisely knew how much time had passed, felt blackened with zero recognition of what had transpired since rolling over the table to escape the mighty jaws of an invisible creature. Gloria had left, I presume, along with my wallet, I also presumed because I wasn’t sure what I was feeling in the rear pocket was actually a wallet or just part of my butt cheek.
Cab Driver: Senor. It’s late. Get in.
The slammed the barks parking near the feet of my confused state. The sky was black thanks to the lack of street lights. The stars couldn’t shine any more beautifully. One of them even winked at me. I winked back. What a nice star. Very well mannered.
Cab Driver: GET IN.
The drivers face was one of complete intensity and urgency. As if he was rushing a woman in labor to the hospital.
Logan: I’m not pregnant.
I felt at my stomach.
Cab Driver: Tel Del Sol, senor. He is holding Seth Lerch for ransom. He demands a payment of ten dollars!
No wonder he looked urgent. This was completely urgent.
Logan: Better let me drive!
The cab door handled proved more difficult to move than the fat cabby over into the passenger seat. He buckled up. I had no desire to lasso a vagina strap over my body. Without acquiring directions, the gas pedal sunk beneath my feet into a destination my gut told me Teo might be holding Seth. The car suddenly stopped when we hit the corner of a large building seconds after taking off.
Logan: I really didn’t see that… building.
The fearful cab driver raised both his eyebrows. I further explained.
Logan: Peyote.
Cab Driver: Ohhhh.
No words had to be spoken between the two of us. We had an understanding as I exited the driver seat and opted to sit in the back. He shuffled his weighty figure back behind the wheel and put us in reverse. While on route to recuse Seth Lerch from the evil Teo Del Sol and his ridiculous ten dollar ransom, I began pondering the man’s intentions. Was it still babyface to hold a man hostage, even if the hostage was a quote on quote bad guy? Isn’t he breaking some laws of wrestling or simply television psychology here? Perhaps Teo was so upset with the announcement of his partners for the Trios Cup that he was left with no choice but to go insane.
Either way, Seth Lerch was a valuable asset. Ignoring this ransom would be an act of career suicide if Teo were serious enough to act on his threat provided his demands were not met. He must’ve had him tied up now, pretending to be Mexican and speaking in broken English. Holmes this and Holmes that was most likely words used to intimidate my poor captured Family comrade. He was probably circling Seth Lerch now, wearing his mask, ripping up coupons of Taco Bell before the victims eyes. Pure torture. He was good. Maybe I had underestimated the cunning Teo Del Sol.
Logan: STEP ON IT.
Sometime later we arrived to an abandon warehouse. Not entirely vacant of course, considering Teo and Seth resided within. The smell in the air radiating from the building had suggested this once to be a coffee factory. The ground beans held an everlasting aroma difficult to not linger, even after years of absence. It’d be a few more before the smells in this area finally succumbed and became buried beneath God awful desert sands. I lifted the steel handle, pulled the door open, and spotted two hyenas in the mist of sexual intercourse. The cabby had followed and bumped into my back, forcing my eyes to readjust and make out that the pair of hyenas were in fact Seth Lerch and Teo Del Sol, and they were in fact not engaging in any sexual activities. This Teo was more powerful than I originally believed if he was able to manipulate sight.
Logan: So you think you’re a wizard and a Mexican. Huh?
I said at the top of my lungs, shoulder ramming the door in as well to make my entrance known. Seth Lerch was standing up right, hands behind his back, curiously growling. Teo on the other hand was on all fours, a snare exiting his mouth as well.
Logan: Didn’t expect me to show, Teo? Well I did. And I have ten dollars.
The growl of Teo heightened.
Logan: One thing you should realize about me, Mr. Sol.
My dramatics paid off, sliding the concrete floor on hard heels and landing next to Teo. I smacked his mask covered cheek with a ten dollar bill.
Logan: I don’t negotiate with terrorists. Release my friend at onc –
The son of a bitch nipped my hand and drew blood. I turned to the fat cabby, fully expecting some form of assistance, however he had disappeared. This American business was probably too much for him. When I turned back to Teo and Seth it was then that I realized my eyes had betrayed me, as I was staring at two hyenas, one of which I had only just slapped in the face with money.
The scene switched over to Dag Riddik. He was in his hotel room, adjacent to the one his currently delusional partner had slept in. He was on the phone with Seth, having a conversation about someone’s sudden disappearance. He remembered last placing my whereabouts at a bar nearby, so naturally he headed there to see if anyone had any answers. Despite it still being in the AM, the bar was still crowded with tourists of all shapes, sizes, and nationalities. Dag approached the bar booth, signaling over for the man behind it.
Dag Riddik: Seen this man?
He showed the barkeep a picture of me from his phone. It was a photograph of me standing atop a dead alligator from our days in Cooper Land.
Bartender: No, senor.
Dag Riddik: Look again.
A woman with hair as black as the bars wall paper peered out from the distance, observing Riddik as well as the photograph on his mobile. From the corner of his eye he spotted her spotting him. Dag had developed an eye in the back of his head. A sixth sense of incoming danger. He needed it being one of the most hated wrestlers employed by WCF. It kept him strong. Kept that belt around his waist. However, now, searching for me, he could use that sixth sense in this situation as well. He approached the woman, noticing the scar on her chin before her exposed cleavage.
Dag Riddik: Something catch your eye?
It was Gloria.
Gloria: No, no. You need company?
He perked a brow. Now wasn’t the time. Besides, she wasn’t of his race. He pulled her aside, the flesh of her arm peeking out between his grasping fingers.
Dag Riddik: Where is he?
Gloria: Burrito?
Dag Riddik: Don’t bullshit me you bean eating whore.
He spoke through gritted teeth.
Dag Riddik: Where is he?
His loyalty for myself knew no boundaries. Within my sixteen year existence in WCF he was the best man I ever had on my team.
Dag Riddik: I have a hotel nearby. If you’d like, I could pay you for your services, but trust me our ideas of fun may be quite different. Have you ever had your toenails removed with a pair of pillars?
She played stupid, pretending not to understand much of his English. He held the mobile to her face to give her a closer look of my picture.
Gloria: El Logan Papa.
Dag Riddik: What?
Gloria: Leader of Chickas Without Souls.
Dag Riddik: This guy in the photo?
He was quite puzzled by this news.
Gloria: Yes, senor. News travel…
She had trouble with her English.
Gloria: Very fast. I see him last night. He buy land and run the chickas in Mexico City now.
Dag Riddik: Where is this land?
Gloria: Very far. He was here last night.
She forgot to mention feeding me peyote. Of course.
Dag Riddik: Where is the land?
Gloria: He kill chickas when they speak of his hideout. He here last night fighting… ‘hogwash’.
Dag Riddik: Hogwash?
Gloria: He cannot be seen by eyes. He take cab. Leave.
He could see it in her eyes that was all she really knew. His judge of character was pinpoint perfect. Reading people. I always joked he’d made an excellent poker player. Even I suspected at times that he knew Seth Lerch was working with us behind the scenes just by the look he gave me sometimes. Riddik left the bar to notice a cab wrecked into the corner of a building. He approached the scene which had yet to be cleaned up. Another tourist attraction of Mexico. Inside the driver’s seat of the wrecked cab he found a boot; a boot that he brought to his nose and sniffed.
Dag Riddik: Logan.
I awoke with the last thing on my mind being talking hyenas and Teo Del Sol’s wizardry of making them talk. My eyes tried to adjust, however dark thick fog blinded them. Breathing felt like a chore as well. Especially through the nostrils. Whenever I tried to suck in air it felt like fluid leaked into the back of my throat. Was I drowning? With a panic, I felt life restore to my limbs, which kicked and tried to swim towards any surface of air. The water soaked my head, leaving wet locks of hair floating in front of my vision. I bit down on my tongue only to feel it was blocked by some plastic device. After the brief struggle, I managed to escape the harsh sea, and prevent drowning, by picking my head up from… a pale of water? I felt my face and ripped that ‘plastic device’ from my mouth – a snorkel. Here I was, surrounded by endless desert, with a bucket of water and a snorkel, and with a complete lack of knowledge why I was snorkeling in a bucket of water in the middle of the desert. The flippers attached to my feet made walking quite difficult. For some reason, unknown to myself at the time, I outspokenly blamed this predicament on Teo.
Logan: Are you happy with what you’ve accomplished here today, Teo? The ransom may’ve ended in your favor but you can bet even ten more dollars that I WILL have Seth Lerch returned to me you hyena shifting bastard. You and I have never met face to face, man to man, snorkel to snorkel, yet we will, and this Sunday on Slam are you going to display your wizard talent to the world of professional wrestling and turn into a hyena, or better yet, turn MY Seth Lerch into a hyena on live television? Of course not. You’re not dumb enough to expose yourself so willingly. You will face me and I will face you. No more tricks. No ransoms. I could make this easy for you, I really could. If you returned Seth to me before Sunday I promise you will be guaranteed not to be the one who gets pinned when team Asshole Blackhole Sun loses. That’s the best terms I can provide. A whole lot better than yours. That was some dirty shit you pulled, Teo. You even fuckin’ bit me too. Tyson Del Sol. You’ve went from pretending to be a Mexican wrestler to a African boxer. Hats off. You’re more strung out than a motherfucker wondering the desert in a snorkel and a pair of flippers.
But what of your tag team, Teo? What about those guys. The public eye believes Corey Black put this together on some drunken whim. That’s easy to believe considering how a Wine Cooler could make Price stumble into another rehab center. But how did you really do it, Teo? I’ve seen your magic first hand. What else can you do? And if you really do have the power to brain wash fools into teaming with you could’ve at least picked two better people to go into Trios Cup with.
Corey Black for example. Within the last, what, six years… maybe more, if I cared enough about him to actually follow that long ass dreadful career I might know. The guy should have hung it up before you were even a teenager, Teo. But, Teo, let’s take Corey for example. Even if you hadn’t used your magic, turned someone into a hyena, let’s say for arguments sake that this guy actually approached you with the idea of teaming up to compete with for Trios. What in the world, if that were the actual scenario, made you agree? You’re still a young cat. Besides the hocus pocus fuckery you have things going for you. One day you might get your break. Not this Sunday. But perhaps one day. So, please, Teo, walk me through the situation when a dude that hasn’t had a match since January, and THAT was his first match in like a year, comes up to you and says hey let’s team up for the biggest tournament of the year. How in the world did you suspect that sounded reasonable?
I know you’re a nice guy, Teo, but sometimes you have to say no. It’s what you should’ve said. You should have said no, fuck off you leach sucking bastard. Because Teo you have to realize is that is exactly what Corey Black is – through and through. He surrounds himself with people far more talented than himself and then refuses to compete because he fears that losing, which he would, might somehow taint his already bullshit legacy of XIII World title wins. Think about it, Teo, you’re teaming up with a guy that had been here YEARS before Jonny Fly ever arrived. So, Jonny Fly comes in, destroys Corey Black, creates a successful group, then leaves.
What does Corey do? The raping he received from Fly ruined him so badly he became Fly’s shadow. Some new guys shadow. Corey Black is supposed to be one of the old, old, old OG guys, yet at the drop of a dime a new guy can impress the pants off of him and make him spread his legs begging for that Fly dick. He recreated Pantheon. What was it really? An obsession? Or to ride the coat tails of success that Jonny Fly had left so Corey Black might find himself in that spotlight again and feel… cool.
I believe it was the latter. Trust me, Teo. I know as a rookie you found it in yourself to defeat this supposedly magnificent Jonny Fly. People cheered for you. Wow. What an upset huh? No. I called it when everybody else couldn’t because their mouths were too busy on them Fly balls. I called it. I said Jonny Fly was a one year wonder, and he was. That dude came in here for a solid year, gave it his all, lost to jobbers on the way like FPV and Jayson Price only because he knew at that time in WCF Seth Lerch was wrapped around his finger. He framed Seth Lerch in a murder that was eventually resolved, but at the time, he had Seth under his complete control. He lost those matches on purpose to build up his stats when he’d receive his guarantee rematches for the belt. You want to know what’s funny, Teo? At the end of this enormous Fly career that everyone speaks so highly of… he was a flake. After beating him without breaking a sweat over a dozen times, Jonny Fly finally jobbed out to your partner, Cory Black. Gave him the rub.
I suppose the man had a heart after all. He knew he was on his way out. He had nothing left to give as he had already given it his very all. The one hit wonder of Fly had become washed over by new talents such as Dune, Flash, and Bates. He had nothing left. He couldn’t compete with the current talent, as shown at Ultimate Showdown last year, so he decided to ride off into the sunset with any legacy left he might have gained… and Corey Black helped him. Now. Despite all I have said of Jonny Fly, you think Corey would’ve used this defeat of Fly, rigged as it may have been, to his advantage. Nope. Quite the opposite. Corey Black leaves on the same bus as Fly and for a moment I believed maybe he himself finally retired. Thank you, Jesus. Anyone else in their right mind would’ve said hey, I just beat one of the top guys WCF ever offered in its SIXTEEN year history… but he didn’t. He kept his mouth shut. He didn’t use the victory as a means of slipping his way back into the scene, because honestly, even with the false victory over Jonny Fly, Corey Black simply cannot handle WCF’s current crop.
That’s okay, Teo. I’ll handle it for him. Just as I handled you. Another surprising development in this team is the addition of Jayson Price. Correct me if I’m wrong, Teo, but didn’t that dude retire a week or so ago? So. Here is your team. Corey Black, a so called accomplished star of WCF who’s major victories came produced by his own show, XIII. And Jayson Price… a man who participated in more World Title matches than the current roster of new people combined who have joined in the last entire year, and only came away with two wins – both with a total regime lasting just shy over a month. You get where I’m going? It doesn’t matter if Jayson Price ever won a World Championship. It matters most WHEN Jayson Price defends a World Championship, which has never successfully happened. If he were booked the very next week after his current World title win he would’ve broken his own record of shortest title holder in WCF World title history. So, sum that up, Teo… that’s who you have riding into this thing.
Jayson Price. The has been that never had anything.
Corey Black. A fifteen year jobber who only wins if it’s called XIII.
Go ahead. Check the records. The man never lost any show he’s hosted. The only reason he isn’t pulling a Hulk Hogan and putting himself into championship matches now on XIII is because he’s finally realized the rest of the world caught up with his act. I do say, Teo, you really do have quite the judgment of character. What did you expect to get out of these two guys – an actual win? I can’t help but laugh. Know what else makes me chuckle to bits? The fact that every time I hear your partner, Jayson Price, speak… it’s always about accomplishments. Did you know he once prided himself on tying an elimination record in War that he went on about it for eight percent of his career until someone finally broke it? How is that a bragging point when he never actually won that damn match, or the five others he competed in?
I don’t understand it. I don’t know why people say the things they do, Teo. For example, look at your class, look around at the people you signed up with. They make big deals from petty wins, things that to me are another day at the office. Don’t you know when WCF holds some strange bizarre twisted hardcore match once a month on a PPV, MAYBE, that’s geared to make competitors bleed out a pint? That used to happen twice a week in WCF, when we had two shows a week, back when I was building this place you currently compete for brick by brick. That’s the difference between me, you, your partners, and even the people I spoke of before like Fly. I endured, Teo. I always have. I never needed to dub a show after a catchphrase or gimmick of myself to win a belt. You never see me bragging about winning a War three times while others make a deal out of losing it yet bringing up that they eliminated such many people. You never seen me pick up a beer and let it ruin my already terrible career and send me to rehab. You never, Teo, have ever seen me flourish for an entire year only to burn out and call it all quits.
I have endured. Countless generations have come and gone yet only I remain to actively compete and defeat the very best that WCF has spurted for over a decade and a half. We literally have fans that were born long after I made this place the global force that it is today. Do you know what makes me different from Corey Black and Jayson Price and even you, Teo? I am forever with WCF. There isn’t another single man in this company that has had success with the different amount of rosters I’ve faced. NO ONE. When you face me, Teo, you are facing the very heart and soul of WCF. I wear limegreen and black on the outside to the ring, and I may bleed red, but within my heart it only pumps and beats for one purpose… for WCF. There is only me, Logan. Not Corey Black. Not Gravedigger. I was here winning World Championships long before they even showed up.
There is only me, Teo. The beginning of WCF and the end of WCF. Because the day I die I’ll still be active in WCF whenever that day shall come, and when I do… this place may continue, but it’ll never be WCF without its Logan. Remember that, Teo, take it to your heart this Sunday when we wrestle. Remember that you’re not only fighting for a Trios victory that you’ll never see, but you’re fighting for the right to out do the man who you don’t even realize gave you a place to have a career. Without me, WCF would’ve never made it past a year of life. Without me, Teo, there is no Teo. Only some white dude playing video games with a dead end nine to five job. You’re welcome.
The scene switched back to Dag Riddik who was still hot on the trail of finding, well, me. His pursuit brought him to the middle of the desert, finding a house surrounded by rust buckets of automobiles. When he approached the front a woman of Mexican descent was there to greet him. Her English appeared better than Gloria’s. She introduced herself as Number One.
Dag Riddik: That’s really your name?
Number One: As by law of El Logan Papa I am only to be referred to as such.
Dag Riddik: Logan?! He’s here?
She looked puzzled, expecting Dag to be here for one of the girls. I had bought this land in the very recent hours, recruiting many whores of Mexico City to do their bidding and pay me a great percent.
Number One: Nobody sees El Logan Papa but the gifted ones.
Dag Riddik: Who are the gifted ones?
She lifted her upper lip to reveal a mouth absent of teeth. He now imagined why she was named, ‘Number One’, as in number one whore.
Dag Riddik: Do you see this?
He balled his fist and waved it near her face.
Dag Riddik: It will make your nose disappear. Do you want that?
Number One: No.
Dag Riddik: Then take me to Logan.
He followed her inside my whore house. Naked smelly Mexican women lay about the floor, drenched in sweat and other humanly fluids. She brought him up the staircase made of desert sand and half burnt wood that smelled equally as bad as the women. Near the top of the stairs I sat in a homemade throne, well, I was sitting on a collar. A whore on each side waved tortillas day and night at my face to fan me and keep me cool.
Logan: Dag Riddik… I remember that face. Weren’t you and I part of some type of Family thing once? Tell you what, it’s on the house. Sample any of these whores, just not the ones fanning me. I’m kind of hot.
Dag Riddik: …
I splashed some baby powder on a woman’s ass, and then rubbed that same baby powder on my face.
Logan: I can’t stop sweating. I never remember Virginia being this hot.
Dag Riddik: We’re in Mexico.
Logan: Whatever floats your boat. Are you hungry?
I offered him a plate of peyote.
Dag Riddik: This is the first and last time I will ever do this.
He slapped me. My eyes lit up.
Logan: You walk into the house of El Logan Papa and sting his cheek? You must have a death wish. Or…
He didn’t let me finish.
Dag Riddik: I want my leader back for the Trios Cup.
Logan: You’re the chosen one. The Trios Cup? That was years ago. I can’t remember specifically what happened but I recall arriving to Mexico City and then… well, it’s a blank. Did we win?
Dag Riddik: Enough peyote for you.
He grabbed me by the hand and yanked me off my cooler throne. I felt entirely helpless. Was then even Dag Riddik or another demon sent by Teo? I couldn’t tell the difference these days. Either way it was a safe bet to go with the latter.
Logan: HANDS OFF ME, DEMON.
He dragged me down the broken stairs.
Logan: SAVE ME, JESUS. EL LOGAN PAPA WILL RETURN. DO NOT STOP BEING WHORES JUST BECAUSE I’M AWAY!
My shouts did nothing. My memory over the last day or so in Mexico City was more of a blur than anything else. The next thing I recalled was waking up in a hotel room, head lay on a soaking wet pillow drenched by sweat. The peyote had finally worn off. Though a day or so had passed, I felt like I had only arrived here. The door opened and Dag Riddik entered my room.
Dag Riddik: How are you feeling?
Logan: No worse than Corey Black will feel after Slam.
Dag Riddik: Glad you’re back.
Logan: What happened?
I sat up in bed, nursing a throbbing head with both hands.
Dag Riddik: You’re better off not knowing.
Logan: Fair enough. Give me a moment.
He nodded and left the hotel room, closing the door behind him. Instead of focusing on what exactly had transpired I looked towards the future, towards Slam.
Logan: Even with a hangover that’ll probably last a month, I don’t need a rehab center. Let me put this in other words. Jayson Price, you’re a pussy. I can’t recall you ever being a threat more than week in this company, ever. Even when you were World Champ for a month, everyone knew that soon as it went up for grabs you’d never have a chance. Even Adam Young had you huffing and puffing to keep that strap around your waist, but when you faced someone BESIDES Young… we all knew that was it. You’d roll over and become content with simply winning the World title. We all knew that the night you won it. That’s bullshit, Jayson. Joey Flash should have pried it from your dead hands to win that belt, because you literally should have gone out dying. You’re already dead now. We both know you’ll never ever wear that gold again. That was your last opportunity and you pissed it away. Not me. I’m winning Trios. And then I’m winning the World title. And it’s NEVER going to leave my waist. I won’t be a one hit and done wonder like you, or even Corey for that matter… just take a look at his title runs. I’m going to change WCF and that change begins Sunday. With Seth Lerch at my side, we’ve finally realized what is truly important for this company that Seth and I built together… it’s me.. being on top, then, now, and forever. WCF will never see the last of me. My legacy will outlive this very company. And Slam is a chance that I will rip apart to with the likes of you, Corey, and Teo to rebuild that lost legacy. Once upon a time, Jayson, maybe during the first two months of your career before you became a sheet of glass and broke apart with every bump and every beer you drank, you might have been something then, but now… you’re being yanked out of your ninth visit from rehab to take another visit… to Connector City.
Scene ended.
The cigarette smoke flourished in a chaotic way of dancing from the Pall Mall’s cherry, finally finding its destination sucked into a ceiling fan. Tobacco and I had an off and on again relationship. Never quite needed them, mostly enjoyed them from blue moon to blue moon, more so when things were looking up. The loss on Aftermath couldn’t have been more of a victory. A feeling subsided within that the right plays were being called and finally properly executed as well. Originally when booting up The Family, a vision did exist, despite the initial failure. A goal set in stone to bring faces and heels, good and evil, everyone together for a common gain – to cross the barriers of rather or not a partnership depended on who was hated or loved.
It all turned out to be a steaming pile of shit. Every single time the wheels hit the tracks it became derailed. It was time for insurance that the track could stay on the ground and that the wheels could keep spinning… and that policy was Seth Lerch.
He entered his office, waving the tip of his noise in disapproval of cigarette smoke, carrying a stack of papers in one hand and a coffee in the other.
Logan: Relax. I was just looking for a place to put this out.
The cigarette dropped into his fresh cup of java while in passing on his way behind the desk. I turned to the camera while he occupied himself with cursing over the tainted coffee.
Logan: Don’t worry. He cannot hear me right now. You see, this is the meeting Seth and I had a few weeks prior to Fifteen. He called me over to make an appearance for the show; little did he know the offer I intended to make him went beyond a simple appearance.
He got himself tidied into his office chair, spinning a complete three-sixty before slapping a hand down onto his desk and breaking my attention from the camera.
Seth Lerch: I was thinking this; you come in at Fifteen and hit Torture with a Connector to build for your return match at Ultimate Showdown.
Logan: No dice.
Seth Lerch: You don’t want to face Torture in the ten year anniversary match?
The look he received from me answered that question. That match was going to happen even if Torture died before then and his corpse needed to be excavated.
Seth Lerch: Then…
Logan: How long have I been a member here, Seth?
Seth Lerch: Since the start.
Sitting up from the chair, my eyes toured the walls of his office, studying the various photographs of WCF’s past and present that decorated them.
Logan: June of Twenty Double Zero to be exact.
Most people referred to the year as two thousand. They were idiots. Nobody ever said nineteen thousand during the nineties, so why begin now.
Seth Lerch: What are you getting at?
He said from a pair of folded arms behind his desk.
Logan: This match with Torture later in the year is nothing more than petty revenge.
I quickly continued before he could interrupt.
Logan: However petty revenge I will gladly have. I’m looking at the bigger picture though, maybe a picture that will be added onto one of these walls.
He perked an eyebrow.
Logan: It never should have come to this.
Seth Lerch: To what?
Logan: The brief returns, the one off segments or matches or random appearances for shows like Fifteen. That isn’t me. Save that sort of deal for guys like Corey Black. I crave more. I need more.
I retook my spot in the chair and the two of us met eye to eye across the table.
Logan: I’m not getting any younger. Once upon a time I was feared by every member you employed. I ruled this company. I want to remember what it feels like to be top of the food chain again. Honestly… what purpose do I have here if I’m not considered the best? Now, here is my proposal, I want a match at Fifteen, and no I don’t expect to be generously gifted a title shot as Jayson Price was – that would appear far too suspicious.
Seth Lerch: I’m listening.
Logan: Final Destination.
He itched at his chin, considering it.
Logan: And not only that… but I want you to guarantee my victory as well. I also want a pack of guys. I’m going to need them to ensure my spot back on top and for the support of getting there. If you cannot give me that I don’t have a reason to ever return here, much less Fifteen.
Seth Lerch: Okay. Done.
That was easy.
Seth Lerch: To make your win at Final Destination believable, all you need to do is climb the ladder and I’ll take care of the rest.
Logan: It’s probably best we’re not seen teaming up. I want people to believe in my abilities again, to fear me once more.
Seth Lerch: Right. I’ll put together a group for you. If anyone gets suspicious over your victory at Fifteen and links it back to me you could always deny it.
Logan: Or give them what they want to hear.
Seth Lerch: Huh?
Logan: If they connect the dots then I’ll betray you that very night to further make it appear we’re not working together.
Seth Lerch: That works.
There was no reason to ask what he himself was getting out of this. We both knew the answer; Logan. Hey, he was quite the mark. We stood and shook hands. Fast forward a month and the two of us were sitting inside his home in Oley, shooting back Millers. Ages had passed since we hung out this much. I, surprisingly enough, was beginning to enjoy the company. His office portrayed a sample of what he kept within his home. The WCF memorable and Star Wars figures were all there, along with Nintendo merchandise. One of the shelves in his living room held an unopened Darth Vader figure, the copyright on the backside of the box dating nineteen eighty four. Lord only knew the amount of money he paid for this or how many WCF jobbers received pay cuts to gain his private collection. Either way, a point needed to be made. The thirty year old Star Wars plastic peeled back easier than a desperate whores underwear. He spat out beer through his nostrils upon sighting me holding the Vader toy.
Logan: This is who I need to be right now.
He still found trouble catching his breath from the choked up Miller.
Logan: Did Darth Vader have to deal with the drama team of Sarah Twilight and Katherine Phoenix when he was building the Death Star? Unless they want to re-re-release that shit and CGI them into it… then no.
My hand went for the equally old Emperor Palpatine box.
Seth Lerch: NO.
Logan: Fine. I’m trying to make a point though. WCF is our galaxy and I’m supposed to be ruling it right now, blowing up planets.
Seth Lerch: Patience.
The frustration boiled up and steamed from my mouth.
Logan: Patience?! I’ve went along with everything you’ve told me. With open arms I welcomed Sarah, Charon, Dag, and Katherine. I did that for you, Seth, because I had the same faith for you that you put in me for winning Final Destination.
Seth Lerch: Let’s not put the entire fault on me for that. You and I sat right here and discussed putting The Family together albeit drunk.
Logan: Sure… but the Cooper thing?
Seth Lerch: I kind of thought that would escalate the group further into the spotlight.
Logan: It didn’t. I stuck with it out of respect for you. We lost Charon afterwards. He was the backbone to the Cooper business. Dag Riddik is the only one who hasn’t abandoned us, and he doesn’t even know you’re the one pulling the strings behind the curtain.
Seth Lerch: Dag Riddik. He’s turning out to be quite the home grown star isn’t he? It took a few broken eggs to make that Dag omelet, but there you have it. He’s loyal to you, Logan. Very loyal. And soon he’ll be just as loyal to me as well.
Logan: What?
Seth Lerch: Once he witnesses your true side, Logan, the side that displays your own undying devotion to me then he’ll be sure to follow suit. I believe it’s time we finally made this group of ours work and for that to happen is for me to step out of the shadows and become a public member of The Family.
He certainly had my attention.
Logan: It’s going to make you a target. You sure we’re ready for this? It’s just me and Dag right now.
Seth Lerch: I admit… I’m probably going to end up getting attacked by random people over it, but at the same time it might bring in enough people to finally build a powerhouse behind you that can protect you when we’re ready to cash in the briefcase. Everyone in WCF already works for me. I’m sure there are a few that figure, hell, might as well get in a stable with him. Especially a couple of greedy new guys hungry for a spotlight.
He knew I respected him. Maybe it was time I told him just how much.
Logan: Seth, without you I am nothing. You made WCF. I owe you my life –
Seth Lerch: Stop.
He wasn’t very good with compliments. This was more than that. This was my heart bleeding from the mouth.
Logan: I have to get this off my chest, man. We’ve both had our differences in the past. The two consecutive Payback glass matches, we gave each other hell, but we were young then. I mean, think, back when you and I used to be at each others throats we had no idea this plan would still be operating a decade down the road. We’ve been friends more than we’ve been enemies. Now though I’ve learned to appreciate you more than ever. I might have used WCF to make myself a star, but without WCF there would have never been a Logan. Thank you, Seth.
A swig of beer helped swallow the lump in my throat.
Logan: I love you, man.
We both grabbed at one another awkwardly before finally turning it into an embrace – a genuine hug. I owed this man my life and it was liberating to let him know this. Through teary eyes I squeezed him tighter.
Logan: You’re the best, Seth. The best.
Seth Lerch: We’ll get you back on top, buddy. Don’t worry.
He patted my back.
NOW
A press conference was held following the announcement of the Trios Cup teams and the official tournament that would begin that Sunday. I was standing near the back of the stage, out of sight for the time being. Skipping the usual fancy vest and tie appearance, I kept things casual, wearing a WCF t-shirt and blue jeans. Eventually a woman wearing a headset motioned me over following an introduction, which is when I came onto the stage and glued myself behind a podium.
Logan: Good to be here. I look forward to answering any and all questions.
I lied through my teeth. Seth made the suggestion to me earlier that I show up to help hype up the Trios Cup. Not a single ounce of joy would this press conference ever bring me. This was for Lerch. A number of reporters held hands above heads. My eyes honed in on a black haired woman wearing more makeup than a corpse in an open casket.
Question: What made you decide to choose James Chevalier as your third partner for Trios?
He was one of WCF’s newest editions, James Chevalier, better known as The Game.
Logan: The decision wasn’t mine. Seth Lerch put him on the team. I probably know as much about him as you, which might not be a lot, however Seth Lerch is a really good judge of character so I’m sure looking ahead this Sunday, The Game will work out for the best.
The same reporter fired off another question.
Question: Corey Black has gotten the best of you on your last few encounters. How does it feel going up against an opponent this Sunday that you’ve faced for the better part of fourteen years?
Logan: Haha. Really? Statistics don’t matter. It’s not about what you could bring to the table yesterday, because nobody gives a fuck about yesterday. It’s about right now. What can Corey Black bring to the table on Sunday? Am I going to stand here and write him off? No. However at the same time I’m not here to make a big deal out of him either. Corey Black and I are literally the two only consistent forces that have held this high amount of longevity in WCF. Ever. Period. This isn’t an easy sport. I can’t tell you how many times a chair has bounced off my head, yet I’m still here, and so is he. The difference though? He cannot drop a foot in any generation of WCF and kick a door in. I can. Corey Black’s career came via luck and special circumstances, such as XIII, where he certainly had no business facing Skyler Striker much less defeating him.
But he beat Jonny Fly… right? A modern superstar and future Hall of Famer, the only Hall of Fame material WCF has even produced in the last decade. Yeah, Jonny Fly was great, but did Corey Black really go the distance with that dude? No. I don’t buy that bullshit career on the line match for a second. Jonny Fly wanted to depart and he gave Corey Black the ultimate rub, why did he? No clue. Maybe for keeping Pantheon alive for so long. I don’t really know. If Jonny Fly truly did not want to leave WCF and legit got beat by Corey Black, well, we know Fly.. dude is a lawyer, he would have found a way back by now. He got burned out and needed a way out. For some reason Corey Black was his guy. So, to me, that victory over Fly doesn’t mean a damn thing.
Which brings me back to my earlier point. What has Corey Black done for us lately? He trained Crystal Knight, the most generic one dimensional babyface a personality could ever allow. That’s it. That’s what he has done. He took a hot girl and showed her how to hit some ropes. Is this supposed to make me feel intimated heading into Slam? Meanwhile, what have I done besides compete with top modern talent week in and week out, bury Steve Orbit almost EVERY week for two months straight. Corey Black may have luck in his corner from time to time, from year to every other year, but between the two of us? I’m more consistent. I can take a loss. I can rise up. Corey Black makes sure he is carefully booked to maintain some false reputation which he believes he is actually top shit in this company today. You take any mid carder in the roster today, dare say any jobber and Corey would buckle knees and take a pin. That’s why he isn’t on the weekly shows like I am after all this time. Corey Black is afraid of losing. He’s scared that reputation he believes he holds will crumble if he ever tried to face WCF’s latest crop. And believe me, no, he wouldn’t survive.
Take Steve Orbit for example. Can anyone in this room tell me why he returned? He can’t be about the paychecks, dude is smart and already has a business. He brings in money. What is it then? The FUN of it all? Give me a break. Everyone here is here to win. Simple as that. And Steve Orbit hasn’t won more than two matches in twenty sixteen. Keep in mind, compared to Black or me, Orbit is still a rookie. He’s been sparring it out with WCF since about twenty twelve. There was a time when he found his groove and was hot shit. Made a name for himself. But it was never against me. I already proved that. So, basically, if Corey Black made a full time return you’d be looking at another Steve Orbit twenty sixteen run. Dude would be on the losing end of the side every single week. And again… why? If you can’t cut it in WCF and pick up a win at the very least twice a month then what’s your business here? This is the type of nonsense that separates me from these other so called legends in our company. Once more, yesterday doesn’t have a jack of an ass to do with anything. It’s today that matters. This Sunday most importantly. Corey Black is out of his element. This isn’t a One appearance or an XIII. Bitch, you’re actually facing HUNGRY REAL wrestlers. This isn’t another event you dive into once or twice a year.
You’re way past your prime, dude. Your prime wasn’t even that good to begin with. You flourished in the days of… wait… when Seth wasn’t running shit? Exactly. How many of your World Championship wins have come from XIII? A show YOU control. Give me a break, Corey. You never been mentioned in the same sentence of legendary greatness as me when people think back to big victories. You’ve been here, what, fourteen years and still haven’t picked up a War win? Oh. I heard your shit backstage. That match is too hard for Corey. Yeah. Corey Black can’t shine unless he has a two month polished up notice on whoever he’s facing once a year. You’re no legend of this company. You’ll never be compared to me. You can’t get shit done week in and week out here. I even heard you were wrestling, actively competing, for another company right now. What did you do go back to the Indys? Damn, Corey. At least TRY to make it in WCF’s current flock before you cut off your balls and kick it in another federation.
What’s even more funny? Your Trios team. Jayson Price… really man? Is that guy even going to show up and if he even does has he washed the taste of Joey Flash’s balls out of his mouth? That’s the guy you picked… haha. I nearly cracked a rib from laughter when I found out who we were up against this week. Jayson Price, the one hit wonder, YEAH.. ONE HIT. His first World title win, like yours, Corey, was rigged as fuck considering it happened at an XIII. We both know Jayson never had no business winning that belt much less competing for it at the time. So, he brings EVERYTHING he has in his body and wins the belt at Fifteen. That single effort to finally legitimately earn the right to be WCF champion crippled him. It really did. It took so much out of him he had trouble defeating Seth Lerch a month later in his RETIREMENT MATCH.
No disrespect to Seth Lerch, but he isn’t a wrestler. This is the way Jayson Price goes out – struggling to pick up a win against Seth? Wait… wasn’t that a retirement match? His very last? And wasn’t that like a week or two ago?
Which begs the question… what in the boudle fuck is Jayson Price doing in the ring this Sunday? I thought he went to rehab for the eighteenth time. That’s your partner, Corey, and you think that guy is going to help you this Sunday. I need more ribs to crack. This shit is too funny. Jayson Price, or Jay Price, or whatever the fuck you guys keep changing your names who gives a shit what you’re called. That guy left everything on the table at Fifteen, picked up the belt from Wade, actually won the belt legit for the first time in his five year stretch to even get there, then he left broken. His title run is about as memorable as what I ate for breakfast a week ago. Who knows. I honestly can’t even remember the run of Jayson Price and it was like two months ago. Dude won the belt. Dude had a segment. Dude fucked off and didn’t compete, then dude lost his belt. Kind of sounds like you, Corey. Is that why you picked this drop out to be your partner, you two share the common bond of being shit competitors? I have offered this place enough consistency to outmatch both of you fucks when the cards are on the table. Jayson Price has never been a name to fear and neither have you, Corey.
Jayson Price is STILL a young man. I can remember the days he first started. Everyone put their money on that guy, thought he was hot shit, but soon as he started taking trips to Connector City he started getting injuries. It just wasn’t me either. After I turned that dude out from hot new shit into just another jobber, it was like every other week he started getting injured. If he wants to change his name again change it to Jayson Glass. Doesn’t take a lot to break that guy. I honestly started to believe this dude was faking injures to get out of matches. I mean, what gives? This dude is in his twenties. He barely has scars. Is he seriously that prone to injuries or is he rocking a vagina underneath them Price panties? But here we go, Corey, you have to admit it yourself… you seen his title run, we both know Price is a joke. Nobody even mentions his time as World Champion because that shit was awful. That is who you want to throw your once a year appearance into? Come on, dude. Honestly. By winning the WCF championship he set that shit back. People were more engaged with United States belts and lesser titles, at least people holding them were willing to compete. Jayson Price did not. He laid down and let Joey Flash spread his cheeks. It’s sad. Well, not really. I mean, it’s not like we didn’t all expect it. When Jayson first won the belt do you know how many pools everyone had betting on how soon he’d lose it? Literally not another name in WCF’s long ass history could make people behave that way unless it’s Jayson Price. And that’s what is really sad, Corey Black, you think… you honestly BELIEVE that putting Jayson Price on your team gives you some type of coolness to your own self. If you can’t see that guy for who he is, which is a bum, then you’re just as lost as he is.
It’s basically what you did with Pantheon. Speaking of which, wasn’t that a stable started by Jonny Fly, Jeff Purse, and The Unstable Elements? What business did you even have being a part of that, much less recreating that LONG after Jonny Fly wiped his hands clean with that group. You got a hard on for Fly? Sure you do. You’ll get a boner for anyone that’ll put you in a spotlight, but there is more to the story than that. You brought Pantheon back out for one purpose and one purpose only.. you needed to remain relevant. Not that you ever really were, but your desperation to remain in the scene brought you scraping the nuts off a Jonny Fly idea he had abandoned a YEAR prior just so WCF might hopefully think of you as a big deal again. Hey, Corey, your Pantheon sucked a load of dick. As long as you have been here you have never actually lead a group, not even one that was created off your back. Do you know to the day people still mention ToT? Dude, I created that group literally… no fact… yeah.. fifteen YEARS AGO. You’ve got nothing, Corey. You needed to ride the nuts of Fly to recreate a stable he wasn’t even involved with. Sounds like desperation. Know why? Because you thought people might actually take you serious over it. You thought you could be a leader. You haven’t ever led shit.
You know what I have that Corey Black doesn’t have? Dag Riddik. Finest International Champion in WCF since myself. Know what Jayson Price doesn’t have? Dag Riddik. The most ruthless and talented new comer in WCF history since myself. Dag Riddik is my friend, my partner, my pitbull that I feed boudles like Black and Price to for treats. They don’t have Dag Riddik, I do. The math is simple. We win. Do you think a has been or never was drunk in rehab is going to take his Sunday off from group meetings because he’s too weak to handle a drink and come out to Slam and beat us? Yeah right. Or how about Corey Black, you think a motherfucker that wears purple in the ring can handle Dag Riddik, or me, or even our partner handpicked by Seth Lerch, The Game? GIVE ME A BREAK. Some of you might be thinking why I’ve held my tongue on Teo Del Sol. Truth is I hardly know the guy other than the fact that he’s holding a championship that is just as much a gimmick title as the Internet one. From what I gather, Teo is a wannabe Mexican. So, if you want to know your enemy you’ve got to become your enemy. On to Mexico City.
Question: You only answered like two questions!
MEXICO
Deep within the Valley of Mexico, the streets of Mexico City packed itself with hundreds and hundreds of locales. Viewing through the tinted car window, traveling at a top speed of five miles per hour to accommodate the citizens and not maul them down in the road with a ton of automobile, though secretly wishing that was a valid option, they all walked along near shoulder to shoulder. It was like a herd of zombies from a scene on one of those shows. Minus the makeup. The destination in mind was first the nearest bar, since the hotel had already been obtained and used via a night’s full sleep. The sun was beginning to set behind a pale stoned structure large enough to spot from two or three miles. It’d be dark soon, and then I’d really get a taste of Mexico. The cab driver, God bless him for spending the last three hours idling the car between five and ten miles per hour, had finally made the destitation. I don’t assume I myself would have found the patience to navigate through these herd of bystanders without at least a casualty or two. The man definitely held the patience of a monk.
Cab Driver: We’re here, Senor.
From within my wallet the cabbie received a ten which he generously accepted. The bar itself was a mix of tourist attraction. Not a legitimate alcohol fueled dwelling of Mexico where a person could be knifed then stepped over on pursuit to another drink. This bar was more American friendly.
Bartender: What will it be?
While in Mexico.
Logan: Tequila.
He slid a shot near my hands. I slid it back.
Logan: A bottle. Two glasses.
Cradling the two empty glasses between an index and middle finger, I journeyed to one of the darker corners of the bar to sit beside an equally dark haired beauty. Sitting a glass in front of her and flowing the tequila into it, I introduced myself.
Logan: The name is Logan. Know what that means in your language?
She perked one of her finely manicured eyebrows.
Logan: Logan.
Then her brow eyes rolled back, taking the joke, if that’s what it was, without as much as a grin.
Logan: You looked thirsty.
She was alone. She appeared to be the type that had this encounter a hundred times over with American visitors. The scar on her chin suggested at least one of those hundred encounters did not flourish so kindly. The risk one took when choosing the career of a whore.
Gloria: Gloria.
She held out her hand. I kissed it a single time.
Logan: Bottoms up.
Not hers of course. Later perhaps. We both drank from our glasses. Hours and an empty bottle later, she was giggling with the joy that only a drunk could. As was I. I considered myself having a high tolerance to pain, Corey Black promos, and alcohol. However the liquid had burned its way through every vein in the body and made walking a chore. I recall ordering a food, not what exactly, but whatever showed up looked more like a flower. How in the world was this supposed to crave my drunken munchies? Nevertheless I sliced up the small green… plant.. and forked a chunk into my mouth much to the amusement of Gloria.
Logan: You must be hungry as well, giggle lips.
I offered her a bite on the end of the fork. She laughed and shook her head.
Gloria: No, no, no.
Watching her figure, perhaps. She did have a body to maintain in her line of work. Though I didn’t quite see this… cactus… holding down many calories. I finished the last bite. What the hell did I actually just eat? Whatever it was did not put any brakes on the hunger.
Logan: You’re not hungry?
Gloria: Not for that, senor.
Understandably so. The taste was a mixture of bitter and sweet all at once. Bitter at first, however sweet through the third or fourth chew. The fork and knife on the plate appeared to be bending, as if Neo from the Matrix had joined us to pull a prank with his ‘bend the spoon’ act. Interesting. The effects of alcohol had never played tricks like this before. Or was it something else. Such as the unknown meal I had only consumed and not my company.
Logan: The hogwash underneath this table is troubling me.
My hand grabbed at my mouth to silence the incoherent gibberish. Why did I say that? Was there seriously a hogwash underneath the table, near our feet? What the hell was a hogwash? I was afraid to look. Having trouble forming literal sentences, and at the fear of sounding like Oblivion, I looked to Gloria, then pointed to the plate, then pointed to myself, then shrugged. Hopefully she didn’t interoperate that as me saying, ‘Me. Plate?’ rather as, ‘What the fuck did I just eat? You damn whore’.
Gloria: Oh. Peyote.
The fearful lump in the throat finally went down. For a moment I believed that was my tongue.
Logan: Peyote! Did not believe we were outside…
Something touched my foot. I wasn’t checking to find out what. That hogwash could do without my attention.
Logan: The menu.
I tried to read it over. It looked like Spanish. Wait.. it was in Spanish. I was in Mexico. Well, at least I had the knowledge of where I was going for me. Either way I denied seeing Peyote on it.
Logan: No peyote manning.
Matter of factly pointed my finger down to the menu.
Logan: None!
Gloria: That was served especially for you, senor.
Logan: Oh. I am truly flattered.
Just when I thought I had regained my vocal skills something took me by surprise – biting my foot.
Logan: THE HOGWASH!
The next hour or two, who precisely knew how much time had passed, felt blackened with zero recognition of what had transpired since rolling over the table to escape the mighty jaws of an invisible creature. Gloria had left, I presume, along with my wallet, I also presumed because I wasn’t sure what I was feeling in the rear pocket was actually a wallet or just part of my butt cheek.
Cab Driver: Senor. It’s late. Get in.
The slammed the barks parking near the feet of my confused state. The sky was black thanks to the lack of street lights. The stars couldn’t shine any more beautifully. One of them even winked at me. I winked back. What a nice star. Very well mannered.
Cab Driver: GET IN.
The drivers face was one of complete intensity and urgency. As if he was rushing a woman in labor to the hospital.
Logan: I’m not pregnant.
I felt at my stomach.
Cab Driver: Tel Del Sol, senor. He is holding Seth Lerch for ransom. He demands a payment of ten dollars!
No wonder he looked urgent. This was completely urgent.
Logan: Better let me drive!
The cab door handled proved more difficult to move than the fat cabby over into the passenger seat. He buckled up. I had no desire to lasso a vagina strap over my body. Without acquiring directions, the gas pedal sunk beneath my feet into a destination my gut told me Teo might be holding Seth. The car suddenly stopped when we hit the corner of a large building seconds after taking off.
Logan: I really didn’t see that… building.
The fearful cab driver raised both his eyebrows. I further explained.
Logan: Peyote.
Cab Driver: Ohhhh.
No words had to be spoken between the two of us. We had an understanding as I exited the driver seat and opted to sit in the back. He shuffled his weighty figure back behind the wheel and put us in reverse. While on route to recuse Seth Lerch from the evil Teo Del Sol and his ridiculous ten dollar ransom, I began pondering the man’s intentions. Was it still babyface to hold a man hostage, even if the hostage was a quote on quote bad guy? Isn’t he breaking some laws of wrestling or simply television psychology here? Perhaps Teo was so upset with the announcement of his partners for the Trios Cup that he was left with no choice but to go insane.
Either way, Seth Lerch was a valuable asset. Ignoring this ransom would be an act of career suicide if Teo were serious enough to act on his threat provided his demands were not met. He must’ve had him tied up now, pretending to be Mexican and speaking in broken English. Holmes this and Holmes that was most likely words used to intimidate my poor captured Family comrade. He was probably circling Seth Lerch now, wearing his mask, ripping up coupons of Taco Bell before the victims eyes. Pure torture. He was good. Maybe I had underestimated the cunning Teo Del Sol.
Logan: STEP ON IT.
Sometime later we arrived to an abandon warehouse. Not entirely vacant of course, considering Teo and Seth resided within. The smell in the air radiating from the building had suggested this once to be a coffee factory. The ground beans held an everlasting aroma difficult to not linger, even after years of absence. It’d be a few more before the smells in this area finally succumbed and became buried beneath God awful desert sands. I lifted the steel handle, pulled the door open, and spotted two hyenas in the mist of sexual intercourse. The cabby had followed and bumped into my back, forcing my eyes to readjust and make out that the pair of hyenas were in fact Seth Lerch and Teo Del Sol, and they were in fact not engaging in any sexual activities. This Teo was more powerful than I originally believed if he was able to manipulate sight.
Logan: So you think you’re a wizard and a Mexican. Huh?
I said at the top of my lungs, shoulder ramming the door in as well to make my entrance known. Seth Lerch was standing up right, hands behind his back, curiously growling. Teo on the other hand was on all fours, a snare exiting his mouth as well.
Logan: Didn’t expect me to show, Teo? Well I did. And I have ten dollars.
The growl of Teo heightened.
Logan: One thing you should realize about me, Mr. Sol.
My dramatics paid off, sliding the concrete floor on hard heels and landing next to Teo. I smacked his mask covered cheek with a ten dollar bill.
Logan: I don’t negotiate with terrorists. Release my friend at onc –
The son of a bitch nipped my hand and drew blood. I turned to the fat cabby, fully expecting some form of assistance, however he had disappeared. This American business was probably too much for him. When I turned back to Teo and Seth it was then that I realized my eyes had betrayed me, as I was staring at two hyenas, one of which I had only just slapped in the face with money.
The scene switched over to Dag Riddik. He was in his hotel room, adjacent to the one his currently delusional partner had slept in. He was on the phone with Seth, having a conversation about someone’s sudden disappearance. He remembered last placing my whereabouts at a bar nearby, so naturally he headed there to see if anyone had any answers. Despite it still being in the AM, the bar was still crowded with tourists of all shapes, sizes, and nationalities. Dag approached the bar booth, signaling over for the man behind it.
Dag Riddik: Seen this man?
He showed the barkeep a picture of me from his phone. It was a photograph of me standing atop a dead alligator from our days in Cooper Land.
Bartender: No, senor.
Dag Riddik: Look again.
A woman with hair as black as the bars wall paper peered out from the distance, observing Riddik as well as the photograph on his mobile. From the corner of his eye he spotted her spotting him. Dag had developed an eye in the back of his head. A sixth sense of incoming danger. He needed it being one of the most hated wrestlers employed by WCF. It kept him strong. Kept that belt around his waist. However, now, searching for me, he could use that sixth sense in this situation as well. He approached the woman, noticing the scar on her chin before her exposed cleavage.
Dag Riddik: Something catch your eye?
It was Gloria.
Gloria: No, no. You need company?
He perked a brow. Now wasn’t the time. Besides, she wasn’t of his race. He pulled her aside, the flesh of her arm peeking out between his grasping fingers.
Dag Riddik: Where is he?
Gloria: Burrito?
Dag Riddik: Don’t bullshit me you bean eating whore.
He spoke through gritted teeth.
Dag Riddik: Where is he?
His loyalty for myself knew no boundaries. Within my sixteen year existence in WCF he was the best man I ever had on my team.
Dag Riddik: I have a hotel nearby. If you’d like, I could pay you for your services, but trust me our ideas of fun may be quite different. Have you ever had your toenails removed with a pair of pillars?
She played stupid, pretending not to understand much of his English. He held the mobile to her face to give her a closer look of my picture.
Gloria: El Logan Papa.
Dag Riddik: What?
Gloria: Leader of Chickas Without Souls.
Dag Riddik: This guy in the photo?
He was quite puzzled by this news.
Gloria: Yes, senor. News travel…
She had trouble with her English.
Gloria: Very fast. I see him last night. He buy land and run the chickas in Mexico City now.
Dag Riddik: Where is this land?
Gloria: Very far. He was here last night.
She forgot to mention feeding me peyote. Of course.
Dag Riddik: Where is the land?
Gloria: He kill chickas when they speak of his hideout. He here last night fighting… ‘hogwash’.
Dag Riddik: Hogwash?
Gloria: He cannot be seen by eyes. He take cab. Leave.
He could see it in her eyes that was all she really knew. His judge of character was pinpoint perfect. Reading people. I always joked he’d made an excellent poker player. Even I suspected at times that he knew Seth Lerch was working with us behind the scenes just by the look he gave me sometimes. Riddik left the bar to notice a cab wrecked into the corner of a building. He approached the scene which had yet to be cleaned up. Another tourist attraction of Mexico. Inside the driver’s seat of the wrecked cab he found a boot; a boot that he brought to his nose and sniffed.
Dag Riddik: Logan.
I awoke with the last thing on my mind being talking hyenas and Teo Del Sol’s wizardry of making them talk. My eyes tried to adjust, however dark thick fog blinded them. Breathing felt like a chore as well. Especially through the nostrils. Whenever I tried to suck in air it felt like fluid leaked into the back of my throat. Was I drowning? With a panic, I felt life restore to my limbs, which kicked and tried to swim towards any surface of air. The water soaked my head, leaving wet locks of hair floating in front of my vision. I bit down on my tongue only to feel it was blocked by some plastic device. After the brief struggle, I managed to escape the harsh sea, and prevent drowning, by picking my head up from… a pale of water? I felt my face and ripped that ‘plastic device’ from my mouth – a snorkel. Here I was, surrounded by endless desert, with a bucket of water and a snorkel, and with a complete lack of knowledge why I was snorkeling in a bucket of water in the middle of the desert. The flippers attached to my feet made walking quite difficult. For some reason, unknown to myself at the time, I outspokenly blamed this predicament on Teo.
Logan: Are you happy with what you’ve accomplished here today, Teo? The ransom may’ve ended in your favor but you can bet even ten more dollars that I WILL have Seth Lerch returned to me you hyena shifting bastard. You and I have never met face to face, man to man, snorkel to snorkel, yet we will, and this Sunday on Slam are you going to display your wizard talent to the world of professional wrestling and turn into a hyena, or better yet, turn MY Seth Lerch into a hyena on live television? Of course not. You’re not dumb enough to expose yourself so willingly. You will face me and I will face you. No more tricks. No ransoms. I could make this easy for you, I really could. If you returned Seth to me before Sunday I promise you will be guaranteed not to be the one who gets pinned when team Asshole Blackhole Sun loses. That’s the best terms I can provide. A whole lot better than yours. That was some dirty shit you pulled, Teo. You even fuckin’ bit me too. Tyson Del Sol. You’ve went from pretending to be a Mexican wrestler to a African boxer. Hats off. You’re more strung out than a motherfucker wondering the desert in a snorkel and a pair of flippers.
But what of your tag team, Teo? What about those guys. The public eye believes Corey Black put this together on some drunken whim. That’s easy to believe considering how a Wine Cooler could make Price stumble into another rehab center. But how did you really do it, Teo? I’ve seen your magic first hand. What else can you do? And if you really do have the power to brain wash fools into teaming with you could’ve at least picked two better people to go into Trios Cup with.
Corey Black for example. Within the last, what, six years… maybe more, if I cared enough about him to actually follow that long ass dreadful career I might know. The guy should have hung it up before you were even a teenager, Teo. But, Teo, let’s take Corey for example. Even if you hadn’t used your magic, turned someone into a hyena, let’s say for arguments sake that this guy actually approached you with the idea of teaming up to compete with for Trios. What in the world, if that were the actual scenario, made you agree? You’re still a young cat. Besides the hocus pocus fuckery you have things going for you. One day you might get your break. Not this Sunday. But perhaps one day. So, please, Teo, walk me through the situation when a dude that hasn’t had a match since January, and THAT was his first match in like a year, comes up to you and says hey let’s team up for the biggest tournament of the year. How in the world did you suspect that sounded reasonable?
I know you’re a nice guy, Teo, but sometimes you have to say no. It’s what you should’ve said. You should have said no, fuck off you leach sucking bastard. Because Teo you have to realize is that is exactly what Corey Black is – through and through. He surrounds himself with people far more talented than himself and then refuses to compete because he fears that losing, which he would, might somehow taint his already bullshit legacy of XIII World title wins. Think about it, Teo, you’re teaming up with a guy that had been here YEARS before Jonny Fly ever arrived. So, Jonny Fly comes in, destroys Corey Black, creates a successful group, then leaves.
What does Corey do? The raping he received from Fly ruined him so badly he became Fly’s shadow. Some new guys shadow. Corey Black is supposed to be one of the old, old, old OG guys, yet at the drop of a dime a new guy can impress the pants off of him and make him spread his legs begging for that Fly dick. He recreated Pantheon. What was it really? An obsession? Or to ride the coat tails of success that Jonny Fly had left so Corey Black might find himself in that spotlight again and feel… cool.
I believe it was the latter. Trust me, Teo. I know as a rookie you found it in yourself to defeat this supposedly magnificent Jonny Fly. People cheered for you. Wow. What an upset huh? No. I called it when everybody else couldn’t because their mouths were too busy on them Fly balls. I called it. I said Jonny Fly was a one year wonder, and he was. That dude came in here for a solid year, gave it his all, lost to jobbers on the way like FPV and Jayson Price only because he knew at that time in WCF Seth Lerch was wrapped around his finger. He framed Seth Lerch in a murder that was eventually resolved, but at the time, he had Seth under his complete control. He lost those matches on purpose to build up his stats when he’d receive his guarantee rematches for the belt. You want to know what’s funny, Teo? At the end of this enormous Fly career that everyone speaks so highly of… he was a flake. After beating him without breaking a sweat over a dozen times, Jonny Fly finally jobbed out to your partner, Cory Black. Gave him the rub.
I suppose the man had a heart after all. He knew he was on his way out. He had nothing left to give as he had already given it his very all. The one hit wonder of Fly had become washed over by new talents such as Dune, Flash, and Bates. He had nothing left. He couldn’t compete with the current talent, as shown at Ultimate Showdown last year, so he decided to ride off into the sunset with any legacy left he might have gained… and Corey Black helped him. Now. Despite all I have said of Jonny Fly, you think Corey would’ve used this defeat of Fly, rigged as it may have been, to his advantage. Nope. Quite the opposite. Corey Black leaves on the same bus as Fly and for a moment I believed maybe he himself finally retired. Thank you, Jesus. Anyone else in their right mind would’ve said hey, I just beat one of the top guys WCF ever offered in its SIXTEEN year history… but he didn’t. He kept his mouth shut. He didn’t use the victory as a means of slipping his way back into the scene, because honestly, even with the false victory over Jonny Fly, Corey Black simply cannot handle WCF’s current crop.
That’s okay, Teo. I’ll handle it for him. Just as I handled you. Another surprising development in this team is the addition of Jayson Price. Correct me if I’m wrong, Teo, but didn’t that dude retire a week or so ago? So. Here is your team. Corey Black, a so called accomplished star of WCF who’s major victories came produced by his own show, XIII. And Jayson Price… a man who participated in more World Title matches than the current roster of new people combined who have joined in the last entire year, and only came away with two wins – both with a total regime lasting just shy over a month. You get where I’m going? It doesn’t matter if Jayson Price ever won a World Championship. It matters most WHEN Jayson Price defends a World Championship, which has never successfully happened. If he were booked the very next week after his current World title win he would’ve broken his own record of shortest title holder in WCF World title history. So, sum that up, Teo… that’s who you have riding into this thing.
Jayson Price. The has been that never had anything.
Corey Black. A fifteen year jobber who only wins if it’s called XIII.
Go ahead. Check the records. The man never lost any show he’s hosted. The only reason he isn’t pulling a Hulk Hogan and putting himself into championship matches now on XIII is because he’s finally realized the rest of the world caught up with his act. I do say, Teo, you really do have quite the judgment of character. What did you expect to get out of these two guys – an actual win? I can’t help but laugh. Know what else makes me chuckle to bits? The fact that every time I hear your partner, Jayson Price, speak… it’s always about accomplishments. Did you know he once prided himself on tying an elimination record in War that he went on about it for eight percent of his career until someone finally broke it? How is that a bragging point when he never actually won that damn match, or the five others he competed in?
I don’t understand it. I don’t know why people say the things they do, Teo. For example, look at your class, look around at the people you signed up with. They make big deals from petty wins, things that to me are another day at the office. Don’t you know when WCF holds some strange bizarre twisted hardcore match once a month on a PPV, MAYBE, that’s geared to make competitors bleed out a pint? That used to happen twice a week in WCF, when we had two shows a week, back when I was building this place you currently compete for brick by brick. That’s the difference between me, you, your partners, and even the people I spoke of before like Fly. I endured, Teo. I always have. I never needed to dub a show after a catchphrase or gimmick of myself to win a belt. You never see me bragging about winning a War three times while others make a deal out of losing it yet bringing up that they eliminated such many people. You never seen me pick up a beer and let it ruin my already terrible career and send me to rehab. You never, Teo, have ever seen me flourish for an entire year only to burn out and call it all quits.
I have endured. Countless generations have come and gone yet only I remain to actively compete and defeat the very best that WCF has spurted for over a decade and a half. We literally have fans that were born long after I made this place the global force that it is today. Do you know what makes me different from Corey Black and Jayson Price and even you, Teo? I am forever with WCF. There isn’t another single man in this company that has had success with the different amount of rosters I’ve faced. NO ONE. When you face me, Teo, you are facing the very heart and soul of WCF. I wear limegreen and black on the outside to the ring, and I may bleed red, but within my heart it only pumps and beats for one purpose… for WCF. There is only me, Logan. Not Corey Black. Not Gravedigger. I was here winning World Championships long before they even showed up.
There is only me, Teo. The beginning of WCF and the end of WCF. Because the day I die I’ll still be active in WCF whenever that day shall come, and when I do… this place may continue, but it’ll never be WCF without its Logan. Remember that, Teo, take it to your heart this Sunday when we wrestle. Remember that you’re not only fighting for a Trios victory that you’ll never see, but you’re fighting for the right to out do the man who you don’t even realize gave you a place to have a career. Without me, WCF would’ve never made it past a year of life. Without me, Teo, there is no Teo. Only some white dude playing video games with a dead end nine to five job. You’re welcome.
The scene switched back to Dag Riddik who was still hot on the trail of finding, well, me. His pursuit brought him to the middle of the desert, finding a house surrounded by rust buckets of automobiles. When he approached the front a woman of Mexican descent was there to greet him. Her English appeared better than Gloria’s. She introduced herself as Number One.
Dag Riddik: That’s really your name?
Number One: As by law of El Logan Papa I am only to be referred to as such.
Dag Riddik: Logan?! He’s here?
She looked puzzled, expecting Dag to be here for one of the girls. I had bought this land in the very recent hours, recruiting many whores of Mexico City to do their bidding and pay me a great percent.
Number One: Nobody sees El Logan Papa but the gifted ones.
Dag Riddik: Who are the gifted ones?
She lifted her upper lip to reveal a mouth absent of teeth. He now imagined why she was named, ‘Number One’, as in number one whore.
Dag Riddik: Do you see this?
He balled his fist and waved it near her face.
Dag Riddik: It will make your nose disappear. Do you want that?
Number One: No.
Dag Riddik: Then take me to Logan.
He followed her inside my whore house. Naked smelly Mexican women lay about the floor, drenched in sweat and other humanly fluids. She brought him up the staircase made of desert sand and half burnt wood that smelled equally as bad as the women. Near the top of the stairs I sat in a homemade throne, well, I was sitting on a collar. A whore on each side waved tortillas day and night at my face to fan me and keep me cool.
Logan: Dag Riddik… I remember that face. Weren’t you and I part of some type of Family thing once? Tell you what, it’s on the house. Sample any of these whores, just not the ones fanning me. I’m kind of hot.
Dag Riddik: …
I splashed some baby powder on a woman’s ass, and then rubbed that same baby powder on my face.
Logan: I can’t stop sweating. I never remember Virginia being this hot.
Dag Riddik: We’re in Mexico.
Logan: Whatever floats your boat. Are you hungry?
I offered him a plate of peyote.
Dag Riddik: This is the first and last time I will ever do this.
He slapped me. My eyes lit up.
Logan: You walk into the house of El Logan Papa and sting his cheek? You must have a death wish. Or…
He didn’t let me finish.
Dag Riddik: I want my leader back for the Trios Cup.
Logan: You’re the chosen one. The Trios Cup? That was years ago. I can’t remember specifically what happened but I recall arriving to Mexico City and then… well, it’s a blank. Did we win?
Dag Riddik: Enough peyote for you.
He grabbed me by the hand and yanked me off my cooler throne. I felt entirely helpless. Was then even Dag Riddik or another demon sent by Teo? I couldn’t tell the difference these days. Either way it was a safe bet to go with the latter.
Logan: HANDS OFF ME, DEMON.
He dragged me down the broken stairs.
Logan: SAVE ME, JESUS. EL LOGAN PAPA WILL RETURN. DO NOT STOP BEING WHORES JUST BECAUSE I’M AWAY!
My shouts did nothing. My memory over the last day or so in Mexico City was more of a blur than anything else. The next thing I recalled was waking up in a hotel room, head lay on a soaking wet pillow drenched by sweat. The peyote had finally worn off. Though a day or so had passed, I felt like I had only arrived here. The door opened and Dag Riddik entered my room.
Dag Riddik: How are you feeling?
Logan: No worse than Corey Black will feel after Slam.
Dag Riddik: Glad you’re back.
Logan: What happened?
I sat up in bed, nursing a throbbing head with both hands.
Dag Riddik: You’re better off not knowing.
Logan: Fair enough. Give me a moment.
He nodded and left the hotel room, closing the door behind him. Instead of focusing on what exactly had transpired I looked towards the future, towards Slam.
Logan: Even with a hangover that’ll probably last a month, I don’t need a rehab center. Let me put this in other words. Jayson Price, you’re a pussy. I can’t recall you ever being a threat more than week in this company, ever. Even when you were World Champ for a month, everyone knew that soon as it went up for grabs you’d never have a chance. Even Adam Young had you huffing and puffing to keep that strap around your waist, but when you faced someone BESIDES Young… we all knew that was it. You’d roll over and become content with simply winning the World title. We all knew that the night you won it. That’s bullshit, Jayson. Joey Flash should have pried it from your dead hands to win that belt, because you literally should have gone out dying. You’re already dead now. We both know you’ll never ever wear that gold again. That was your last opportunity and you pissed it away. Not me. I’m winning Trios. And then I’m winning the World title. And it’s NEVER going to leave my waist. I won’t be a one hit and done wonder like you, or even Corey for that matter… just take a look at his title runs. I’m going to change WCF and that change begins Sunday. With Seth Lerch at my side, we’ve finally realized what is truly important for this company that Seth and I built together… it’s me.. being on top, then, now, and forever. WCF will never see the last of me. My legacy will outlive this very company. And Slam is a chance that I will rip apart to with the likes of you, Corey, and Teo to rebuild that lost legacy. Once upon a time, Jayson, maybe during the first two months of your career before you became a sheet of glass and broke apart with every bump and every beer you drank, you might have been something then, but now… you’re being yanked out of your ninth visit from rehab to take another visit… to Connector City.
Scene ended.
