Closing Time

[Evan De Parker]

"Closing time
One last call for alcohol so finish your whiskey or beer
Closing time
You don't have to go home but you can't stay here..."

Our cameras catch the final glimpses of several small shops in the downtown area of southern Montreal. Beverage and liquor stores are dimming their lights and rotating their signs so they read in dull, crimson letters CLOSED, discouraging any poor fellow that wanders down the road at 1:00 in the morning looking to add a little extra bite to his Coke.

Seemingly leaping ahead in time, we catch the lights of a bar-- the name of which is hidden from view-- as they go from brilliant and thriving to a dull flicker until finally fading out entirely, the glass still giving off a faint glow from the heat.

Like clock work, a few people make their way out of the bar, their jackets in hand... Some were simply too drunk to search for the correct way to put them on. Some felt as if there was no need for them, since the liquor was providing more than enough protection against the night air.

Regardless, our camera restlessly moves to the next location, clearly in search of something. Somebody.

And then we find them.

Evan Envi, dressed in a dark navy polo is seated behind a large wooden table that masks a lot of his attire and in turn, a lot of his body language. He looks a bit uneasy in this situation, as does his accomplice-- Sienna Harrison sits to Evan's right, dressed in a form-fitting white shirt, a black jacket pulled securely around her figure. If Evan looks uneasy, Sienna looks like an absolute wreck.

"I'm really confused as to what you thought you were doing!"

Our cameras, which we soon realize are all cameras located within the room that Evan and Sienna are being held in, reconsider their location and show us a view more empathetic of Envi and company-- they are sitting across from two men; a bald, stocky, angry man dressed in a brown suit that seemed almost comically retro, and a slightly older, slimmer police officer who was holding a bag of ice to his left eye. A young, large officer stands at the door several feet behind the two of them, his arms crossed in front of his abdomen, giving Envi a nice, long look at the weapons attached to his belt.

Sienna opens her mouth to respond but quickly closes it again, for fear of saying the wrong thing.

Luckily, Evan Envi does not have this problem.

"Well, sir, we weren't really doing anything illegal. We thought we were doing something completely productive to my cause."

"Mmhmm. And what would that be? Reporting information to the Taliban?"

Evan frowns slightly at the comment, not entirely sure how to comprehend it. This may or may not be due to the mildly French accent that accompanies the associate director as he raises his voice. Rather than question anything, Evan shrugs and continues.

"I wrestle, sir. For Action Packed Wrestling. I'm Evan Envi-- I'm SURE you've heard of me, Directeur."

The associate director turns to the officer-- rather constable, known as Constable Riley from Evan's understanding.

"I haven't heard of him. Have you, Riley?"

Constable Riley shakes his head, his gaze downcast. He looks truly miserable... To the point that Evan would be legitimately surprised if he uttered more than two words at a time this morning.

"I'm not sure what your business is, Mr. Harrison--"

"Envi."

The associate director gives Evan an incredulous look. Without much warning, he slams a fist down on the table and jumps to his feet.

Mind you, it isn't much of a jump. The man, while muscular, has a very low center of gravity. To call him "imposing" would be clearly subjective and entirely inaccurate.

"I HAVE YOUR NAME RIGHT HERE!"

"What you have, sir, is my property. And considering that we're not under arrest, I think I have the right to ask for that back. Sienna, go get my license."

Sienna looks at Evan out of the corner of her eye, clearly frightened. She doesn't move an inch, though Evan doesn't look too surprised about it. Again, he shrugs and turns to the assistant director whose face resembles the color of a watermelon's interior.

"You must not pay too much attention to what goes on in these parts, sheriff."

The assistant director's jaw drops at the audacity.

"SHERIFF?!"

"Sorry, Directeur. But let's be honest... I'm a few days away from competing in the Bell Center for the North American Championship. I'm gonna be your champion too, ya know. And some people would thank me for providing all of that publicity... When people buy tickets to Mayhem, Quebec makes money.

"Likewise, when Evan Envi holds the North American Title, the world takes notice, Directeur. Think about this: increased tourism, Canadian-patriotic merchandise, the whole shebang. I was thinking about helping YOU guys out first, and you wanna bring Sienna and I in here for questioning? We were out there spreading the word and you accuse us of 'disturbing the peace' and attempting to-- What were the words you used?"

"Inciting a riot."

"Yeah, you see, I don't think that's what was happening."

"No? Let's... Let's put this into perspective. There was over $82,000 in property damage in less than twenty minutes, Mr. Harrison."

"Envi."

"Well, excuse me... Mr. Envi, you shot Mr. Riley here in the face with... With..."

The director's face turns toward Sienna who makes a small squeal upon making eye contact. Looking as if she's on the verge of tears, she throws both hands over her mouth and slowly shakes her head.

"I believe he's referring to your potato cannon-megaphone hybrid, sis. Which I personally thought was really effective. It really got the people goin'. Everybody was into it."

The director takes a seat once more, burying his face into his hands. He slides his fingers back through his brown hair, muttering something under his breath for a few seconds. Constable Riley glances uneasily toward him, but recoils as the assistant director slams a fist on the table again.

"EVERYBODY WAS INTO IT BECAUSE YOU SHOT A CONSTABLE IN THE FACE, MR. HARRISON!"

"...Envi."

"You made all of those teenagers-- all of those sex-crazed and alcohol-craving young adults think it was perfectly okay-- perfectly NORMAL to shoot an officer of the law!"

"Well, that wasn't on purpose."

"It malfunctioned! It was an accident and we're sorry! I'm sorry! Pleasedon'tsendustojail."

"They can't send us to jail, Sienna... They never arrested us. They-- this guy didn't even want to charge us with anything."

Constable Riley keeps his gaze downward, not wanting to take part in the conversation that was storied around himself.

"Do you have any remorse for what you've caused?"

"Well, I'm really upset that we didn't capture the whole thing on camera. That would have gotten the message through to Sam Parker, methinks."

"Sam Parker? Is there another one of you lunatics running around?"

"No, no, hahaha. Well... I mean, maybe, but he's not really one of us. He's just this guy--"

"REALLY American."

"--Super American, you wouldn't like him at all. Anyway, he's my opponent for Mayhem at the Bell Center on Sunday night... I'm facing him for the North-American Championship and he's been missing for a few days. Not missing in the literal sense but... Well, he just hasn't found his calling yet. Wrestling isn't it, and tomorrow I plan on letting him know.

"My goal tonight was to get people hyped for the event. It's not often that I get to come to Montreal, so I wanted to make sure that these fans were just as bloodthirsty and hungry as my American fans."

"They are."

"Yeah, I see that."

Evan winks at Constable Riley, who once again looks downward. Finally, he speaks, throwing a sideways glance at the assistant director. He lowers the ice that has been pressed against his eye and we see a large bruise, which has already began to morph into a sickening blend of red, black, yellow, and green. His eye is completely swollen shut and appears as if a miniature seashell has been mashed into the left side of his face.

"Just let them go. Please. Just... Get them outta here."

The assistant director takes a long, drawn out sigh and shakes his head, still trying to process the situation.

"You expect me to pay the fines for what you think I caused dozens of people to do. I get that. And you'll make that money back, Directeur. This isn't a gimmick, this North-American Championship... It's very real. And it holds a lot of weight.

"The world will be watching, and I'm the guy representing the United States. Mexico. Canada. I'm the best in the world, Directeur, and I know it doesn't apply here, where you have the ability to throw cuffs on my wrists and haul me off into a cell for assault... But I also know that if I had been anyone else, you'd have done it by now, and with a smile on your face.

"You know that by APW being here, you guys are gonna be rolling in money. It's not a miracle, but it's definitely enough to keep you all comfortable and secure for a while. We're like regular old taxpayers right now, aren't we?"

Evan winks again. He nods to Sienna, who immediately stands up. Evan cautiously makes his way to the door, as if testing to see if any of the law enforcement officers before him were going to attempt to halt his efforts... But alas, they did not. A satisfied smile on his face, he moves along the wall toward the door and turns to Constable Riley once more.

"I know you guys are gonna be watching what I do to Sam Parker on Sunday... And I know you're gonna be watching with smiles on your faces. Remember, cats, I'm representing you.

"...Ta-taaa!"

With that, the officer steps out of the way of the door, a questionable look on his face as Evan walks confidently out the door, a free man... As if that had ever been in question.

Sienna spares one look at the three men in the room before turning and running after her younger brother, out of the range of our security cameras.