Post by Johnny Reb on Sept 21, 2010 12:40:17 GMT -5
Monday night, following Slam
The Inveterate Confederate sits on a bench in the locker room, ignoring the activity going on around him as his colleagues gather up their gear and prepare to leave. Don Jesus is at his side, inspecting a myriad of superficial cuts and bruises before he upends an entire bottle of peroxide over Johnny’s head. Sputtering, Reb gropes blindly for a towel and hastily wipes the excess from his face.
Johnny: Damnit, Chuy! Give a guy a warnin’ ‘fore you do that shit!
Don Jesus: Sorry, Bernardo.
He shrugs, not sounding sorry at all.
Johnny: I don’t get it. First Oblivion’s circus midgets, now that sideshow freak Greenfever… Why do people keep bitin’ me?
Don Jesus: Apparently, Bernardo, you has a flavor.
Johnny: Yeah, well I hope he gets indiges…tion…
Reb trails off with a sigh, catching sight of Hank Brown, who stands several feet away, gesturing impatiently at them.
Johnny: Listen, Hank, can we do this another time? I’m not really in the mood to –
Brown holds up a hand to forestall any further protest, shaking his head slowly.
Hank: Sorry, Johnny. I actually need to borrow Chuy for a minute.
Reb shrugs noncommittally, his brow furrowed in momentary puzzlement. Don Jesus gives him a nod, and Johnny gets the hint. He grabs his towel and wanders off to shower, leaving the two men alone. Chuy watches until he’s out of sight, then turns to Hank.
Don Jesus: You have news for me, Bernardo?
Hank nods slowly, reaching into his checkered sport coat and withdrawing a manila envelope. Don Jesus takes it, pulling out several sheets of paper and looking them over with a frown.
Don Jesus: Where did you get – ?
Hank: Don’t ask.
Chuy looks at him askance.
Don Jesus: Ok… So, what am I looking at, Bernardo?
Hank: A bank statement. Her bank statement.
The aging Mexican shoots Hank a withering glance.
Don Jesus: I know that. What does it mean?
Hank: I’m not sure yet. But check this out. Most of this stuff is pretty normal: hotel fees, restaurant bills, couple of paychecks. Then here…here…and here…
He points at specific spots on the printout.
Don Jesus: Those are some pretty big deposits.
Brown nods slowly.
Hank: And then withdrawals, in almost the same amount, hours later… You might be right; there could be something going on here…
Meanwhile…
Johnny leans against the tiled wall of the shower, letting hot water cascade over his body, easing the stiffening of tired muscles. With one hand, he pushes drenched hair out of his face and lets out an exhausted sigh. His mind wanders over the events of the last few weeks.
Winning the tag titles for a third time wasn’t exactly a huge surprise, considering the competition…or lack thereof. Nor, on further reflection, was the dissolution of the New Confederacy. It had, in retrospect, been a long time coming. Doc had changed, and drastically so. There had been a time when both men were on the same page, week after week, always prepared to face the next challenge side by side. And no matter what personal issues arose, when the bell rang, they worked as a cohesive unit; synchronized like a fine timepiece, dominating the tag division like no other team could.
Now…
Reb sighs again, wondering what happened, how things got to this point. Lost in thought, his vision obscured by rising steam, he doesn’t notice the slender, feminine figure moving toward him. Gentle fingers caress his shoulders, making him start. He turns to look, his gaze settling on the nude form of Dixie Pride.
Johnny: Dixie! How…? What…?
She puts a finger to his lips, stilling his inquiries for the moment.
Dixie: Shhhh… Didn’t mean to startle ya, sugar.
Her low, sultry voice soothes his jangled nerves. He pulls her close, bending down to kiss her softly.
Johnny: I didn’t know you were here tonight. Damn, I’m glad to see you.
A quick glance below his waist brings a mischievous smile to her face.
Dixie: I can tell…
She trails a hand down his chest, tracing a clear line amid the droplets of water on his skin. The drops form into a rivulet, following the trail down to his navel; Johnny’s eyes widen slightly as Dixie does something very naughty.
Johnny: Um… baby, what are you…?
Dixie: Don’t you like it, Johnny?
Johnny: I… yeah, but… what if somebody else walks in?
The young woman licks her lips in a predatory sort of way, grinning.
Dixie: Let ‘em watch.
Reb leans back against the wall, closing his eyes to enjoy the sensations she evokes for several seconds. Then he opens them again, taking her by the shoulders to look at her.
Johnny: Let’s continue this back at my hotel.
Still smiling at him, Dixie pretends to think about it.
Dixie: Hmm…maybe. But first… what’s Hank doin’ out there?
Johnny: Talkin’ to Chuy.
Dixie: ‘Bout what?
Her voice is full of innocent curiosity as she continues her sensual caress. Reb shakes his head slightly.
Johnny: Dunno. Don’t care. Let’s get outta here.
She gazes at him reproachfully, pouting.
Dixie: But it might be important.
Johnny: It’s just Hank. How important could it be?
Abruptly, she steps away from him and out of the running water, reaching for a towel. Her expression is one of mild disappointment. Johnny simply stares at her, stunned, trying to figure out what just happened.
Johnny: Wait!
Dixie: Ya never know what’s important an’ what ain’t, till ya find out. Y’know how to get in touch with me…
Wrapping the towel around herself, Dixie turns her back on him and quietly disappears into a cloud of steam. Hurriedly, Johnny shuts off the water and grabs his own towel, stalking after her, calling out her name, and imploring her to come back. His feet slip on the slick floor as he emerges into the locker room once more. He catches himself against the side of a locker. Chuy looks up, wondering; neither Hank nor Dixie is anywhere to be seen.
Johnny: Where’d she go?
Don Jesus: Who, Bernardo?
Johnny: Dixie! She was just here…
A scowl flits across the older man’s face.
Don Jesus: What did she want?
Reb blinks, confused.
Johnny: She was all over me, an’ askin’ questions, an’… Hey, just what did Hank wanna talk to you about, anyway?
Chuy sighs heavily and pats the surface of the bench he’s seated on.
Don Jesus: Sit down, Bernardo. I think we need to have a talk…
