Post by Jules on Mar 15, 2013 11:12:24 GMT -4
Book I: Beginnings
Chapter VII
Chapter VII
He hated every last second of it, but now Lenny was going home. To Cher. To comfort. To doing whatever he wanted whenever he wanted to do it. No more of this ‘lockdown’ bollocks and Mr. Black following hither and thither, those quacks and their tests and analysis, sports scientists, nutritionists, they even tried getting doing some New Age hippy nonsense called Pilates. Didn’t they know he was ‘The Guv’nor’, a lean, mean fighting machine MADE IN HACKNEY; a proper nasty bastard feared across the whole of London’s underworld? These Yanks, they respected nothing; and they didn’t understand him.
But at least now he was on his way to a little bit of Shangri-La. Cher would welcome him with a warm embrace, reassure him that he knew best. She’d run a bath, then give him the rubdowns he’d been missing. A nice steak dinner and a couple of bottles of vino, the tart would be up for anything.
Lenny smiled as he slipped his key into the lock, turned the lock and opened the door, breathing in that chillaxing smell of home.
“Cher, I’m home.”
A few seconds later Cher entered the reception area, a confused expression on her face.
“What are you doing here?”
“Come here love,” he said, pulling her in for a hug. “Aren’t you pleased to see me?”
She gave him a kiss and stepped out of his embrace.
“Yeah, of course, but I wasn’t expecting you back until after Rasslemania. Mr. Black seemed insistent about that.”
“Yeah, well that lawyer can shove it up his arse,” Lenny spat as he took off his coat and hung it up.
“Lenny,” there was a worried tone in Cher’s voice. “What have you done?”
“Nuffin’ babe, nothing at all to worry about. I just took back control of my life.”
“Lenny,” Cher’s eyes widened as he told her this, “please tell me you didn’t hit him.”
“Hit him?” Lenny was genuinely shocked that Cher would think, although with their previous it wasn’t completely unreasonable. “I wouldn’t give that slag the privilege. Nah, I walked out.”
“And does he know about this?”
“Yeah, I left him a note. Told him I’ve had enough of his airy-fairy nonsense.”
Cher put a hand to her head.
“Look at Rocky, he didn’t need none of that cock and bull: just a couple of rocks and the odd mountain climb. Well I’m sure I can find a few boulders to lift and chuck about down in Central Park; if not I’ll just grab a couple of the rotund Americans that are plentiful around here, slug ‘em around a bit, sweat some of that fat off them. Yeah, we got the Empire State Building, run up and down that every day and I’ll be in tip-top shape come Rasslemania. Those slags I got to face won’t know what hit them.”
“Lenny,” her tone was stern.
“Nah Cher, don’t start love. I can see that look in your face. I thought you’d be pleased to see me, to have your bloke back, welcome with open arms ‘The Guv’nor’.”
“Do you realise what you’ve done – what harm you may have caused?”
“You don’t understand, babe. That greasy fucking lawyer and his little entourage of propellerheads had me rolling around and twisting my joints around some giant bouncy ball.”
“That’s Pilates, Len. It’s supposed to be really good; helps strengthen your muscles-”
“Trust, there’s nothing wrong with these muscles. Even the Incredible Hulk is jealous of the old Guv’nor.”
“Improves flexibility, reduces injury risk-”
Lenny shook his head dismissively.
“Increases personal discipline.”
Lenny gave her a stabbing glare.
“Celebrities rage about it. That Jennifer Aniston-”
“Who?”
“Her off Friends, was married to Brad Pitt.”
“That desperate hag!”
“She swears by it; said it cured her bad back.”
“I couldn’t give a monkey’s arsehole if it helped her lick her own minge-”
“Lenny!” she exclaimed at his vulgar retort. “Don’t say things like that.”
“Listen love, you know it makes sense. That rubbish isn’t for me. On top of that, that mug had me eating vegetables, and pasta. He said steak every night wasn’t a healthy diet.”
“I’m going to call him, let him know you’re here.”
Lenny grabbed her by the shoulder. “Cher, don’t babe. I’m here now.”
“Len, what if decides to cut you loose? What we going to do then?”
“Don’t worry babe, I’ve got my face known now. It won’t take me long to find some work in this business.”
“Not if we lose our visas. Remember ‘Touchstone’ is our sponsor, without them, without Mr. Black we’re back on the first plane to London, and you know I am not going back to London. You promised me, and you owe me that at least.”
Lenny dropped his head; he knew she was right. At the time there alternatives were non-existent; they had put all their eggs in this one basket, and that it could be taken away without a moment’s notice was a frightening thought.
“Okay,” Lenny nodded, “we’ll call him. But do we have to do it now? I mean, I’ve taken the trouble to get here, surely we have some time first for a little ‘reunion’.”
He drew her close, she giggled, following his line of thought precisely. Their heads moved together towards a passionate clinch, and at the moment when their lips made contact there was a violent banging at the apartment’s front door.
“I swear down, I’m going to fucking murder whatever slag is making that racket-”
Lenny stomped to the door and pulled it open with intent, only to find himself seized upon by two beasts of men. They moved quickly to pin him down to the floor, and they knew what they were doing, professionals see, and in spite of his squirming, Lenny couldn’t even gain back a fraction of an inch. After a couple of seconds Lenny realised this and relaxed, but he was still snarling.
In walked Mr. Black and this set Lenny off again, raging and squirming, pure hatred in his eyes directed right at Mr. Black, who looked down without even so much as a flinch or acknowledgement.
“Mr. Lansbury, we are very disappointed in you. I had anticipated you would try to escape ‘lockdown’ at some point, but that you would make the chase so obvious,” he paused, “well I guess I over-estimated you.”
“Mr. Black,” Cher began in an imploring voice, “I had no idea. If I had known I would have told him to leave.”
“I understand Miss Underwood, and I am glad that you can see that what we are trying to do is for Mr. Lansbury’s benefit, even if he cannot see that himself.”
Lenny looked at Cher, he could see the heartbreak on her face. He knew she was just a stooge in all of this, it wasn’t her fault, she was just protecting them both. That he had put her in this predicament was entirely his fault. He couldn’t blame her, so instead turned his rage towards the lawyer.
“Black, when I get out of this I swear I’m going to ki-”
One of the brutes plunged a needle into Lenny’s neck, the fast-acting sedative did the job before the threat could be issued.
*
From the archives of Action Packed Wrestling: The Guv’nor’s Gab (transcript #6)
The feminists will be giving themselves the big GEE when they see that the Meltdown main event at the biggest extravaganza in the wrestling calendar contains three women. Fuck the Spice Girls and all that zig-a-zig-wank bollocks, this is real girl power, know what I’m saying.
Yeah, I’m sure that crazy madam who chucked herself under the King’s horse all them years ago is feeling mighty proud of this day when women can have their heads slapped around on equal terms with men.
Now before there is a big public outcry, leave it out, ‘cause The Guv’nor’s just trying to push your buttons. Ain’t nobody a bigger fan of the ladies than old Guv’nor here, and I’m certainly not going to stand in the way of anyone who thinks they have the bottle to step through the ropes and face up to these fists. Trust, lovies, I’ve seen many a man shrivel like wet spinach when he’s realised he’s having a little friendly meet and greet with The Guv’nor’s knuckles, and I’ve know some birds to give it the big one. Gender hasn’t got a thing to do with it, and it’s not my job to judge whether anyone in the back is up to the task; I just let my fists do the talking, and let people be their own judge of whether they can handle that kind of verbal.
So if Sienna thinks it in the interest of fairness to spread this across the sexes, then it’s fine by me. I’m all for equal opportunities: everyone is entitled to have their head smashed about from corner to corner by yours truly.
The first of these cheeky little minxes is Robina Hood, Sienna’s own little favourite. Now whether that fact, little lady, is the reason for your inclusion in the ladder match is neither here nor there in my book. I leave the whinging about entitlements to slags like Nathaniel Havok. The fact is your in this match, nothing I or anyone says will change that; and if you’re in this match I doubt you’re thinking it’s for the purpose of decoration. You’ll come to fight, and you’ll come to fight hard just like have since you first walked through the door.
We do have a little previous, don’t we darling? You know what how it feels to be inside the ring with The Guv’nor, and don’t be afraid to tell the world how that feels. It didn’t work out so well, did it? Nevertheless, it does give you a slight advantage because you have possession of something them other two don’t: namely, you know the feeling of the Gypsy Kiss, and you know it’s about as sensual and as affectionate as a claw hammer to the back of the head.
Of course, having shaken your bit of crumpet The Guv’nor’s way gives you some kind of advantage. Not because you’ve been able to scout me close-up, but because you can prepare yourself this time for the level of hurt you will feel. What do Niobe Martin and Amy Zing know about that?
Here’s what I am telling you Robina, this is me marking your cards, treacle. I’m sure you think this is your big chance to prove to Sienna that she is right to put so much faith in you, you are her ‘perfect megastar’ after all. Except that ‘perfect megastar’ has been more like the ‘perfect disappointment’ of late. Twice you have been charged with settling debts on Sienna’s account, and twice you have failed: first against me, then last week when you couldn’t stop Amy Zing getting at your boss. Well there won’t be a third time’s a charm, lovey, not if I have anything to say with it. When it comes to the Rasslemania, I promise that environment will become a ‘perfect nightmare’ for you.
Speaking of nightmares, we have Niobe Martin. I got to be honest, I find it difficult to comprehend how some bimbo with peroxide blonde hair and big round tits could be anyone’s nightmare – AU CONTRAIRE! Admittedly, that look isn’t for me, it’s a bit too flashy and fake - I prefer my bacon served with a little bit of fat – but that’s all by the by, know what I’m saying.
But you got to be careful with these nicknames, it’s a bit like leaving your fly open – sooner or later it’s going to leave you red faced. For some it works, look at Nathaniel: ‘Enforcer of Sorrow’ works for me because I cry every time I see that man butchering the respect people have for professional wrestling. But his time will come. What I’m getting at Niobe is that I’m just not seeing the nightmare. You may not be my type, but if I woke up to find you giving me the whole headscissors treatment, I’d think I’d landed in some portion of heaven (I never say no a free lunch). If you ever get bored of that poser Tommy Knoxville, come and see The Guv’nor, I’ve got a particular wrist lock you can try out on me, know what I’m saying?
Nah, I’m just having the crack with you, love. I know you want to prove yourself around here, Niobe; I know you want people to start taking you serious. It is a sad state of affairs that people take one look at you and they think you’re not up to the task. Just look at that Tommy Knoxville: he doesn’t respect you. He makes out it’s all because of his affection, but the hard-nosed truth is that geezer don’t respect you as a fighter. Why else would he turn his nose up at you last week?
You’re not stupid, I’m sure you know that; the last laugh will be on him though if you walk away with the title, right? But that’s what you’re up against. Maybe you could do something different, maybe in this business only those women who look like diesel dykes get any sort of respect. But I urge you sister, keep the faith. I’ve had my eye on you since I got here; I’ve seen you know you’re way around the ring. Your match with Robina proved how tough you are, I’ve got no doubt you can take a punch standing, and you’re not afraid of the feel of steel on your flesh.
But darling, don’t think your good looks will stop me smashing a hole right through your face, and it doesn’t mean I like or respect you any less. Sometimes it’s just pleasant to watch the world burn, or to destroy something ‘beautiful’....especially when it’s standing between me and the thing I want.
1990s Girl Power calling, they want their love child back! That’s right, Amy Zing, the best thing to come out of Hong Kong since Kung-Po Chicken! Here we have a woman who’s got the front to walk right up to any bloke and demand the same terms. Like all those ladettes in the 90s who would go pint for pint with any man, would dare to undertake any work a man could do; feminism giving it large to manhood. Yet, for all that emancipation them slags ain’t afraid to get their tits out if it gets a little rise out of the lads.
Yeah figure that one out, but Amy, you’re the resident psychologist so I’m sure you have an explanation. It’s probably something to do with empowerment, but I’m not sure where the power lies when you’re dependent on the erections of men who see you only as an object with a great set of tits and a sweet little fanny. Yeah, I seen the spread – yours Amy, and the magazine’s! Hahaha!
Still I can’t get my head around all of that, but then I’m not one of those intellectuals. I just see it that a woman who needs to fuck some old man to make herself famous is going to have a warped sense of what’s what. But let’s be frank here, that’s all irrelevant to the task at hand. Whatever Amy’s mind of contradictions thinks, I still know this is a nutty bitch who certainly isn’t a afraid to stick it the men around here – well about as much of a man as Young Mannie is these days.
Kudos to you though Amy for that. You didn’t come to APW and settle for squabbling among the kittens, trying to be head whore in Duvall’s little harem. You went for an instant gravy impact by targeting the males on the roster, making a straight line for none other than the North American Championship. Okay, maybe you did walk in the footsteps of Audrey and Kay, but you never shrank away from them, know what I’m saying?
The long and short of it all Amy is that you can fight, you can terrorise, and you can make a genuine play in this ladder match. You’ve even beaten the man himself, which even I can’t say I’ve done. But you’ve been down this road before Amy, this isn’t your first time (though I’m sure you told Hef it was), and you have the stain of failure all over you.
For all the bottle you showed in taking on Young Mannie and his little firm of plastic gangsters you only ever got success in minor battles – the odd scuffle here, the occasional backstage attack there – you never once beat him when it mattered, and ultimately you lost that war because it’s Mannie who gets to say he is a former North American Champion, it’s Mannie who has earned himself an Asylum contract. When you weigh up the kind of no-good bastard Young Mannie is, well it don’t look so smart for you sweetcheeks.
Nevermind though, you’ve got yourself a new crusade, now you’re cutting the anti-establishment hero who takes on the boss through her greasy lawyer brother. I’ve got to be honest I never thought much of the type that went around and made themselves out to be some kind of hero to the people. My relationship to the fans is that if they want to cheer The Guv’nor, then it’s going to be one tasty tear up; but if they want to opt out of that, well it’s up to them. Yay or nay The Guv’nor goes out every night and does the same thing: smashing up slags and marking some cards.
Amy, you may have passed the test for a stripper, you have proven your credentials as a fighter, but can you really say you have what it takes for a bit of aggro MADE IN HACKNEY? Well I’m tossing away one of these stamps and I’m marking your cards as a ‘FAIL’ because at Rasslemania, only one person walks away with the title, and when he does the Meltdown era MADE IN HACKNEY will finally begin.
End.
The feminists will be giving themselves the big GEE when they see that the Meltdown main event at the biggest extravaganza in the wrestling calendar contains three women. Fuck the Spice Girls and all that zig-a-zig-wank bollocks, this is real girl power, know what I’m saying.
Yeah, I’m sure that crazy madam who chucked herself under the King’s horse all them years ago is feeling mighty proud of this day when women can have their heads slapped around on equal terms with men.
Now before there is a big public outcry, leave it out, ‘cause The Guv’nor’s just trying to push your buttons. Ain’t nobody a bigger fan of the ladies than old Guv’nor here, and I’m certainly not going to stand in the way of anyone who thinks they have the bottle to step through the ropes and face up to these fists. Trust, lovies, I’ve seen many a man shrivel like wet spinach when he’s realised he’s having a little friendly meet and greet with The Guv’nor’s knuckles, and I’ve know some birds to give it the big one. Gender hasn’t got a thing to do with it, and it’s not my job to judge whether anyone in the back is up to the task; I just let my fists do the talking, and let people be their own judge of whether they can handle that kind of verbal.
So if Sienna thinks it in the interest of fairness to spread this across the sexes, then it’s fine by me. I’m all for equal opportunities: everyone is entitled to have their head smashed about from corner to corner by yours truly.
The first of these cheeky little minxes is Robina Hood, Sienna’s own little favourite. Now whether that fact, little lady, is the reason for your inclusion in the ladder match is neither here nor there in my book. I leave the whinging about entitlements to slags like Nathaniel Havok. The fact is your in this match, nothing I or anyone says will change that; and if you’re in this match I doubt you’re thinking it’s for the purpose of decoration. You’ll come to fight, and you’ll come to fight hard just like have since you first walked through the door.
We do have a little previous, don’t we darling? You know what how it feels to be inside the ring with The Guv’nor, and don’t be afraid to tell the world how that feels. It didn’t work out so well, did it? Nevertheless, it does give you a slight advantage because you have possession of something them other two don’t: namely, you know the feeling of the Gypsy Kiss, and you know it’s about as sensual and as affectionate as a claw hammer to the back of the head.
Of course, having shaken your bit of crumpet The Guv’nor’s way gives you some kind of advantage. Not because you’ve been able to scout me close-up, but because you can prepare yourself this time for the level of hurt you will feel. What do Niobe Martin and Amy Zing know about that?
Here’s what I am telling you Robina, this is me marking your cards, treacle. I’m sure you think this is your big chance to prove to Sienna that she is right to put so much faith in you, you are her ‘perfect megastar’ after all. Except that ‘perfect megastar’ has been more like the ‘perfect disappointment’ of late. Twice you have been charged with settling debts on Sienna’s account, and twice you have failed: first against me, then last week when you couldn’t stop Amy Zing getting at your boss. Well there won’t be a third time’s a charm, lovey, not if I have anything to say with it. When it comes to the Rasslemania, I promise that environment will become a ‘perfect nightmare’ for you.
Speaking of nightmares, we have Niobe Martin. I got to be honest, I find it difficult to comprehend how some bimbo with peroxide blonde hair and big round tits could be anyone’s nightmare – AU CONTRAIRE! Admittedly, that look isn’t for me, it’s a bit too flashy and fake - I prefer my bacon served with a little bit of fat – but that’s all by the by, know what I’m saying.
But you got to be careful with these nicknames, it’s a bit like leaving your fly open – sooner or later it’s going to leave you red faced. For some it works, look at Nathaniel: ‘Enforcer of Sorrow’ works for me because I cry every time I see that man butchering the respect people have for professional wrestling. But his time will come. What I’m getting at Niobe is that I’m just not seeing the nightmare. You may not be my type, but if I woke up to find you giving me the whole headscissors treatment, I’d think I’d landed in some portion of heaven (I never say no a free lunch). If you ever get bored of that poser Tommy Knoxville, come and see The Guv’nor, I’ve got a particular wrist lock you can try out on me, know what I’m saying?
Nah, I’m just having the crack with you, love. I know you want to prove yourself around here, Niobe; I know you want people to start taking you serious. It is a sad state of affairs that people take one look at you and they think you’re not up to the task. Just look at that Tommy Knoxville: he doesn’t respect you. He makes out it’s all because of his affection, but the hard-nosed truth is that geezer don’t respect you as a fighter. Why else would he turn his nose up at you last week?
You’re not stupid, I’m sure you know that; the last laugh will be on him though if you walk away with the title, right? But that’s what you’re up against. Maybe you could do something different, maybe in this business only those women who look like diesel dykes get any sort of respect. But I urge you sister, keep the faith. I’ve had my eye on you since I got here; I’ve seen you know you’re way around the ring. Your match with Robina proved how tough you are, I’ve got no doubt you can take a punch standing, and you’re not afraid of the feel of steel on your flesh.
But darling, don’t think your good looks will stop me smashing a hole right through your face, and it doesn’t mean I like or respect you any less. Sometimes it’s just pleasant to watch the world burn, or to destroy something ‘beautiful’....especially when it’s standing between me and the thing I want.
1990s Girl Power calling, they want their love child back! That’s right, Amy Zing, the best thing to come out of Hong Kong since Kung-Po Chicken! Here we have a woman who’s got the front to walk right up to any bloke and demand the same terms. Like all those ladettes in the 90s who would go pint for pint with any man, would dare to undertake any work a man could do; feminism giving it large to manhood. Yet, for all that emancipation them slags ain’t afraid to get their tits out if it gets a little rise out of the lads.
Yeah figure that one out, but Amy, you’re the resident psychologist so I’m sure you have an explanation. It’s probably something to do with empowerment, but I’m not sure where the power lies when you’re dependent on the erections of men who see you only as an object with a great set of tits and a sweet little fanny. Yeah, I seen the spread – yours Amy, and the magazine’s! Hahaha!
Still I can’t get my head around all of that, but then I’m not one of those intellectuals. I just see it that a woman who needs to fuck some old man to make herself famous is going to have a warped sense of what’s what. But let’s be frank here, that’s all irrelevant to the task at hand. Whatever Amy’s mind of contradictions thinks, I still know this is a nutty bitch who certainly isn’t a afraid to stick it the men around here – well about as much of a man as Young Mannie is these days.
Kudos to you though Amy for that. You didn’t come to APW and settle for squabbling among the kittens, trying to be head whore in Duvall’s little harem. You went for an instant gravy impact by targeting the males on the roster, making a straight line for none other than the North American Championship. Okay, maybe you did walk in the footsteps of Audrey and Kay, but you never shrank away from them, know what I’m saying?
The long and short of it all Amy is that you can fight, you can terrorise, and you can make a genuine play in this ladder match. You’ve even beaten the man himself, which even I can’t say I’ve done. But you’ve been down this road before Amy, this isn’t your first time (though I’m sure you told Hef it was), and you have the stain of failure all over you.
For all the bottle you showed in taking on Young Mannie and his little firm of plastic gangsters you only ever got success in minor battles – the odd scuffle here, the occasional backstage attack there – you never once beat him when it mattered, and ultimately you lost that war because it’s Mannie who gets to say he is a former North American Champion, it’s Mannie who has earned himself an Asylum contract. When you weigh up the kind of no-good bastard Young Mannie is, well it don’t look so smart for you sweetcheeks.
Nevermind though, you’ve got yourself a new crusade, now you’re cutting the anti-establishment hero who takes on the boss through her greasy lawyer brother. I’ve got to be honest I never thought much of the type that went around and made themselves out to be some kind of hero to the people. My relationship to the fans is that if they want to cheer The Guv’nor, then it’s going to be one tasty tear up; but if they want to opt out of that, well it’s up to them. Yay or nay The Guv’nor goes out every night and does the same thing: smashing up slags and marking some cards.
Amy, you may have passed the test for a stripper, you have proven your credentials as a fighter, but can you really say you have what it takes for a bit of aggro MADE IN HACKNEY? Well I’m tossing away one of these stamps and I’m marking your cards as a ‘FAIL’ because at Rasslemania, only one person walks away with the title, and when he does the Meltdown era MADE IN HACKNEY will finally begin.
End.
