Post by Jules on Jun 10, 2013 7:43:01 GMT -4
Book III: Nemesis
Chapter I
From the archives of Action Packed Wrestling: The Guv’nor’s Gab (transcript #17)
I always wanted to visit Las Vegas. For a likely lad it’s one of them places that’s always on the bucket list. Who wouldn’t want to spend some time in a City built on pure decadence? I watched all those gangster movies and used to imagine myself as Michael Corleone, or as Joe Pesci in Casino, wasting a bunch of wise guys, smashing two shades of shit out some rich slag who thought he could order me around, and banging every showgirl in town. On top of that I’ve never been averse to the occasional flutter.
Yeah, Vegas and The Guv’nor would be an ace combination, a proper marriage made in heaven, know what I’m saying?
But my first trip to Sin City isn’t strictly for pleasure, although I’m sure in my own inimitable way I’ll find some. This is business, and I don’t take gambles when that needs taking care of. Although since we’re in the Mecca of gamers, grafters, and chancers I’m sure Sienna Harrison has got it in her mind to stack the odds against me. I know Vegas works: the bright lights are there to draw in the marks, then every gaming house in the city fleeces them with a few romancing sets of big tits and the illusion this could be their night. The house always wins, right? Yeah, and I can already see that Sienna’s ‘skim’ in all of this is seeing me lose the North American Championship.
So we’ll see what fun there is to be had, what kind of games Sienna can lay down on the floor. Roulette? How about the Russian type? Truth or bluff? Let’s see your best poker face, Sienna.
*
I always wanted to visit Las Vegas. For a likely lad it’s one of them places that’s always on the bucket list. Who wouldn’t want to spend some time in a City built on pure decadence? I watched all those gangster movies and used to imagine myself as Michael Corleone, or as Joe Pesci in Casino, wasting a bunch of wise guys, smashing two shades of shit out some rich slag who thought he could order me around, and banging every showgirl in town. On top of that I’ve never been averse to the occasional flutter.
Yeah, Vegas and The Guv’nor would be an ace combination, a proper marriage made in heaven, know what I’m saying?
But my first trip to Sin City isn’t strictly for pleasure, although I’m sure in my own inimitable way I’ll find some. This is business, and I don’t take gambles when that needs taking care of. Although since we’re in the Mecca of gamers, grafters, and chancers I’m sure Sienna Harrison has got it in her mind to stack the odds against me. I know Vegas works: the bright lights are there to draw in the marks, then every gaming house in the city fleeces them with a few romancing sets of big tits and the illusion this could be their night. The house always wins, right? Yeah, and I can already see that Sienna’s ‘skim’ in all of this is seeing me lose the North American Championship.
So we’ll see what fun there is to be had, what kind of games Sienna can lay down on the floor. Roulette? How about the Russian type? Truth or bluff? Let’s see your best poker face, Sienna.
*
“It was a stupid thing to do!”
Mr. Black was livid, and his tone conveyed that. He paced backwards and forwards across the length of the large floor to ceiling window in his office; the unmistakeable landscape of Manhattan’s business district providing an awe-inspiring backdrop. On the other side of his desk was Lenny Lansbury, who Black had called in for a thorough dressing down and an explanation.
It was two days after the June 3rd edition of Meltdown when The Guv’nor surprised one and all by announcing a secret deal to tie him to Meltdown, opposed to the expected draft to either Overdrive or Asylum. It shocked the world. It caused Sienna to endure a night of tears and vomiting. It left Mr. Black and his ‘Touchstone’ organisation seething. They had a lot riding on this draft.
“To go behind my back, to go behind Touchstone’s back like this-”
“I didn’t go behind anybody’s back,” Lenny protested.
“You did not consult me. This is a direct violation of the terms of our contract, which states Touchstone is the primary interest party in the future of your career and any decisions made about it.”
“Then fire me,” Lenny taunted.
Mr. Black shot Lenny a fiery look.
“Believe me, I would have liked nothing better than wash my hands of you,” Black said with thinly veined intent. “But it’s been rejected from above,” he added with a tinge of disappointment.
“Unfortunately we have come too far to go back now. But you will fix this, Mr. Lanbsury.”
“Fix what? I negotiated a better deal for myself and, consequently, Touchstone. If you hadn’t been sitting around with your thumb up your arse for the past four months, I might have got this deal done sooner. More money, more merchandise, better promotion.”
“But on Meltdown!” Mr. Black blasted. “Our plan was Overdrive or Asylum. Every decision, every step, every cent we have spent on you has been about this draft---- and you blew it!”
“Hold on a second. Meltdown is my show---”
“It’s nobody’s show! Don’t you see it? APW has no term in Meltdown. It gives a fraction of the funding to Meltdown that goes to Overdrive and Asylum. Any time anyone shows the smallest potential they are taken from Meltdown and drafted elsewhere.”
“That can change. Maybe I’ve set a precedent, bruv.”
“The only precedent you’ve set is how to botch a potentially lucrative career. You have been North American Champion for three months; until Monday you had never been pinned in APW. Yet you are promoted less than some guys on the other shows who have barely won a match.”
Lenny tried to respond, but Mr. Black him off.
“I don’t want to hear it. The only thing that matters is that every day you spend on Meltdown from now on hurts your credibility even more. The model is, succeed and move on. Jeez, even succeed isn’t a criteria anymore judging by the last draft. You have committed career suicide. You’re an idiot and you’re going to fix it.”
“Hold on, what are you suggesting, bruv?”
“I’m suggesting nothing. I’m ordering you to go to Las Vegas, speak to Sienna, speak to Jeff; do whatever it takes but get this thing fixed.”
“Or what?”
Lenny’s tone was challenging and insubordinate.
“I’d recommend you don’t give too much thought to that.”
“What can you do? I’m tied into some shitty contract with you slags. What can be worse than that? If you’re threatening to fire me, go ahead. I welcome it.”
Mr. Black looked at Lenny with a smirk.
“Fire you? Why would we give you that pleasure? You continue to push and I promise Touchstone will put you away in some black hole where nobody will find you.”
“You’re threatening me? You think people won’t notice I’ve disappeared?”
“You assume they will care if you do. You’re not American, so why would the authorities here care. Besides, it doesn’t take much to put someone on a plan with a passport bearing your name and your number. As for your friends back home and the British authorities; I think they may just say ‘good riddance’.”
Lenny knew Mr. Black was right. He said nothing.
“Get it fixed and we never have to concern ourselves with that possibility. You’ve got one week to provide a resolution.”
*
From the archives of Action Packed Wrestling: The Guv’nor’s Gab (transcript #17- continued)
Last week the world stood up and took notice. I’m not going to try to get out it. I’m brash enough to tell the world when I’ve smashed some silly mugs face in, so I’m man enough to accept when I’ve taken a hit and been put on my arse.
Last week Robina Hood beat me. She didn’t get some sneaky count-out, she didn’t need a weapon or a distraction, she didn’t need anyone else to help her get it done. She beat me. No, let’s get it right: she pinned me.
I’m not going to pretend I’m okay with it, or that it doesn’t piss me off that my streak came to an end. But I can’t change it, and I can’t say she didn’t deserve it. It’s a strange thing to hate every breath a person takes, but have more respect for that person than some people you might call allies or friends. In all of this Robina Hood has never taken a backwards step. Yeah she’s done some things, taken some liberties with The Guv’nor, but I can’t say, in her shoes, I wouldn’t have done the same. Last week she got her reward, she got the win she wanted, she gets the spot at Test For The Best. She gets my congratulations because nobody can ever take away from her that she was the first person to really beat The Guv’nor.
But that was last week, and it’s gone now. I don’t like it, but I’ve put that smear on my masterpiece out of sight and out of mind. What happened last week doesn’t influence anything about this week, other than I’ll probably have an extra punch or two for Hood just because she’s get up in my mug once again.
If last week was settling of a personal score, this week is all about domination. I know the likes of Jace Savage and Niobe Martin are going to be rubbing their hands and licking their lips at what they saw last week. Finally, there’s a chink in the armour. Finally there is belief for all because The Guv’nor was beaten.
Yeah, well let me offer a word to the wise: whenever there has been something to prove The Guv’nor has come out strongest, he’s come out dominant.
Rasslemania IX, there were questions about whether I was championship material. In the aftermath, there were doubts about whether I was a champion. Going into Mayhem everyone wondered whether Robina was inside my head, had got the better of me; they wondered whether I could survive being locked inside a cage with a woman who had beaten me black and blue for weeks. It wasn’t easy, maybe it was a bit controversial, but at the end of the day The Guv’nor left as the champ.
Now a new question is being asked: is The Guv’nor really the dominant force on Meltdown?
Last week was an attack on the defence of that position, but I’m still standing, I’m still strong, and, more importantly, I’m still hungry to fight and scrap for the North American Champion. If last week proved that the Guv’nor isn’t impenetrable, then this week proves that when it counts, when the chips are down, The Guv’nor isn’t afraid to go all in.
He who dares, my son!
So Robina, it comes down to this. I don’t want to say this is like the morning after the Lord Mayor’s show, but it certainly blows away any sense of finality to last week’s event. Nevertheless, one never looks a gift horse in the mouth, and I’m not going to turn my nose up at a chance to re-write the record so to speak.
I won’t say this is a chance of redemption. I think that would be a little too dramatic, but I won’t deny it’s pissed me off no end all week to think that last week’s match may be the final say in our war. I’ve always been that sort of person who always had to have the final say on proceedings. Don’t know why because my dear old ma always tried to teach me humility, but I guess I’m just one of those geezers who always has to be right. And, well, at this moment I think it’s only right that I find you on Monday night and smash your bloody face in. I certainly owe you one or ten.
But Robina, all the obvious aside, what else is there to say to you? All the saying has been done between us, and now there is just actions, right? I think we both know that we are never going to like each other, even if there is a grudging respect. Every time we step into the ring together there is only going to be one outcome: blood and fury.
It’s so obvious this shit doesn’t even need to be sold. How many times have we done this – four or five? – and every time we steal the show, we put the whole arena on notice and give them something go home with. So let’s not beat about the bush in all this, know what I’m saying, bruv? We don’t have to play this out like it’s something new. It’s just me and you inside a ring with only our fists for speaking. Whether it’s inside a cage, for the championship, a tournament match, or just some exhibition in some grotty flea bit in South Carolina, we go to war. That’s how we do. I don’t need to say be prepared because if haven’t got it by now you never will.
The bad dreams end on Monday though, the bad dreams of me being pinned by you, Robina, over and over die when I blow you away once and for all.
Speaking of nightmares--- wait I think I’ve used this line before. Not to worry Niobe, I’m not going to labour that one again. I promise I won’t even mention your plastic tits this time --- oops --- even if they are still the most noticeable thing about you. Listen, you can’t blame a geezer for being observant; it’s not like I came and motorboated those two bulbous milk sacs.
But hey, sweetheart, I know you’re trying to make it on your own, and I know it probably gets the bees buzzing in your bonnet when somebody sees all that peroxide, botox and silicone and thinks ‘Bimbo!’ But at the end of the day you made those choices – you telling me that skanky hairdo, those oversized breasts and the permanent Joker smile are natural? Leave it out, princess! The Guv’nor ain’t no mug. You’ll probably try next to rump us all into thinking that lump in your shorts is just haemorrhoids.
Listen Niobe, I don’t know you’re trying to make it on your own terms, and it’s low of me to point out your obvious personal faults. After all, it’s all the fault of these glam mags, right? It’s not like a woman can be blamed for looking and carrying on like she’s chasing pavements every night. But your pimp has left town and now you’ve got to earn your corn on your own merits.
I’m being unfair, right? Well I’m just giving you the rub, sweetheart (not that kind!). Niobe, nobody needs to tell me what you can and can’t do. I was there in the ladder match, and you left with no disgrace. Do I think it reflects badly on you that you chose of all people as your mate that 100% certified mug Tommy Knox as a mate? Yeah, but the world needs losers as much as it needs winners.
In truth the best thing that could’ve happened is that the plastic hardman left town (a motorbike is a lot of noise if you ask me), because now you get the chance to do what he could never have done--- beat The Guv’nor. But don’t get your hopes up princess, because I like it rough and nasty. And even if that doesn’t mean I’m going to bend you over quite like Tommy does (don’t get your hopes up!), it does mean I will bend you over me knee and spank the ambition out of you.
Niobe you’ll come and you’ll fight, I know that, and you’ll doubtless bring all that Jackie Chan Kung Fu Judo Chop bollocks, but at the end of the day The Hackney Hammer breaks wills, it breaks spirit, it breaks down the really hard stuff, and it will break you.
Trust me, this isn’t the day for the Queen of Hearts to reign supreme. This is the domain on the King of Clubs and the weapon of choice is The Hammer. Hard hats optional, but highly recommended.
Speaking of hard hats, somebody said Jace Savage was in this match. Now now, sunshine, don’t get all haughty; it’s not like The Guv’nor is saying you’re fick or nuffin.
In truth though, I got a lot of sympathy for Jace Savage. I know what it’s like to have an arsehole for a father, but the difference between you and me Jace is that when my dad, who fucked off to get pissed for 18 years after I was born, turned up trying to put a paternal arm round my shoulder I knocked that slag spark out. I never saw the wino since, and if I ever did I swear I’d do bird for the satisfaction of ending that cunt.
That’s what it is to be a man, Jace. Take no prisoners, and certainly don’t let no slag take liberties. I don’t care if I share blood or chromosomes with someone, I won’t stop short of teaching them a lesson if they got it coming. That’s my story and yours and yours, bruv; but if you can’t tell your old man to go fuck himself, then how do you think you can possibly handle The Guv’nor?
I’m not some grizzly old tyrant sitting in his ivory tower, surrounded by an army of roiders who will rough you up if you get a bit lippy. I won’t cut off your credit, bruv, I’ll cut your fucking balls off. Straight up.
A word to wise for you, Jace bruv. Be careful of the company you keep and keep an eye out for anyone who comes along and whispers in your ear. It’s been said that there are some setting you up as the great white knight. But I’ve seen that all before. Tommy Knox, Michael Jennings, Billy Pepsi. They all came bearing another’s standard, and they all scurried back to their paymaster with those flags smeared in their own blood.
I know how it works around here; specifically I know how Sienna Harrison’s mind works. You’re one of Meltdown’s Test For The Best reps (congratulations bruv!), and I know she’s looking at you and thinking of you as one of her people. This situation has her marks all over it. It’s like she’s cocked her leg and pissed all over the match. The Guv’nor, the thorn in her side, against three of her best hopefuls, probably in some ridiculous match that puts the odds against me.
Listen, this isn’t a bargain. I’m not looking to cut a deal, and I certainly won’t spare you above anyone else. But I’m saying, you want to come after The Guv’nor, you do it on your terms for your reasons; don’t sell your worth to Sienna Harrison because she will flush you quicker than a nasty burrito.
You’re a stand-up kid, Jace; one of your own. Sure, you’re still making you way, but you’ve got the skills, and from I’ve seen you can tell a shovel from a spade. Judging by your interactions with Tommy Knox you certainly know a slag when you see one (and the sooner you stick the head on that prick father of yours the better). But don’t give me an excuse, sunshine. Come on, fight hard, give The Guv’nor all you got, but don’t try to pull a rump on me, don’t take a liberty or make a false choice or the wrong alignment. Because if I have to come find you later, if I have to hunt you down and drown you like a mangy dog, I won’t fucking hesitate.
Fuck the Italians, revenge MADE IN HACKNEY is the only dish served cold.
End.
From the archives of Action Packed Wrestling: The Guv’nor’s Gab (transcript #17- continued)
Last week the world stood up and took notice. I’m not going to try to get out it. I’m brash enough to tell the world when I’ve smashed some silly mugs face in, so I’m man enough to accept when I’ve taken a hit and been put on my arse.
Last week Robina Hood beat me. She didn’t get some sneaky count-out, she didn’t need a weapon or a distraction, she didn’t need anyone else to help her get it done. She beat me. No, let’s get it right: she pinned me.
I’m not going to pretend I’m okay with it, or that it doesn’t piss me off that my streak came to an end. But I can’t change it, and I can’t say she didn’t deserve it. It’s a strange thing to hate every breath a person takes, but have more respect for that person than some people you might call allies or friends. In all of this Robina Hood has never taken a backwards step. Yeah she’s done some things, taken some liberties with The Guv’nor, but I can’t say, in her shoes, I wouldn’t have done the same. Last week she got her reward, she got the win she wanted, she gets the spot at Test For The Best. She gets my congratulations because nobody can ever take away from her that she was the first person to really beat The Guv’nor.
But that was last week, and it’s gone now. I don’t like it, but I’ve put that smear on my masterpiece out of sight and out of mind. What happened last week doesn’t influence anything about this week, other than I’ll probably have an extra punch or two for Hood just because she’s get up in my mug once again.
If last week was settling of a personal score, this week is all about domination. I know the likes of Jace Savage and Niobe Martin are going to be rubbing their hands and licking their lips at what they saw last week. Finally, there’s a chink in the armour. Finally there is belief for all because The Guv’nor was beaten.
Yeah, well let me offer a word to the wise: whenever there has been something to prove The Guv’nor has come out strongest, he’s come out dominant.
Rasslemania IX, there were questions about whether I was championship material. In the aftermath, there were doubts about whether I was a champion. Going into Mayhem everyone wondered whether Robina was inside my head, had got the better of me; they wondered whether I could survive being locked inside a cage with a woman who had beaten me black and blue for weeks. It wasn’t easy, maybe it was a bit controversial, but at the end of the day The Guv’nor left as the champ.
Now a new question is being asked: is The Guv’nor really the dominant force on Meltdown?
Last week was an attack on the defence of that position, but I’m still standing, I’m still strong, and, more importantly, I’m still hungry to fight and scrap for the North American Champion. If last week proved that the Guv’nor isn’t impenetrable, then this week proves that when it counts, when the chips are down, The Guv’nor isn’t afraid to go all in.
He who dares, my son!
So Robina, it comes down to this. I don’t want to say this is like the morning after the Lord Mayor’s show, but it certainly blows away any sense of finality to last week’s event. Nevertheless, one never looks a gift horse in the mouth, and I’m not going to turn my nose up at a chance to re-write the record so to speak.
I won’t say this is a chance of redemption. I think that would be a little too dramatic, but I won’t deny it’s pissed me off no end all week to think that last week’s match may be the final say in our war. I’ve always been that sort of person who always had to have the final say on proceedings. Don’t know why because my dear old ma always tried to teach me humility, but I guess I’m just one of those geezers who always has to be right. And, well, at this moment I think it’s only right that I find you on Monday night and smash your bloody face in. I certainly owe you one or ten.
But Robina, all the obvious aside, what else is there to say to you? All the saying has been done between us, and now there is just actions, right? I think we both know that we are never going to like each other, even if there is a grudging respect. Every time we step into the ring together there is only going to be one outcome: blood and fury.
It’s so obvious this shit doesn’t even need to be sold. How many times have we done this – four or five? – and every time we steal the show, we put the whole arena on notice and give them something go home with. So let’s not beat about the bush in all this, know what I’m saying, bruv? We don’t have to play this out like it’s something new. It’s just me and you inside a ring with only our fists for speaking. Whether it’s inside a cage, for the championship, a tournament match, or just some exhibition in some grotty flea bit in South Carolina, we go to war. That’s how we do. I don’t need to say be prepared because if haven’t got it by now you never will.
The bad dreams end on Monday though, the bad dreams of me being pinned by you, Robina, over and over die when I blow you away once and for all.
Speaking of nightmares--- wait I think I’ve used this line before. Not to worry Niobe, I’m not going to labour that one again. I promise I won’t even mention your plastic tits this time --- oops --- even if they are still the most noticeable thing about you. Listen, you can’t blame a geezer for being observant; it’s not like I came and motorboated those two bulbous milk sacs.
But hey, sweetheart, I know you’re trying to make it on your own, and I know it probably gets the bees buzzing in your bonnet when somebody sees all that peroxide, botox and silicone and thinks ‘Bimbo!’ But at the end of the day you made those choices – you telling me that skanky hairdo, those oversized breasts and the permanent Joker smile are natural? Leave it out, princess! The Guv’nor ain’t no mug. You’ll probably try next to rump us all into thinking that lump in your shorts is just haemorrhoids.
Listen Niobe, I don’t know you’re trying to make it on your own terms, and it’s low of me to point out your obvious personal faults. After all, it’s all the fault of these glam mags, right? It’s not like a woman can be blamed for looking and carrying on like she’s chasing pavements every night. But your pimp has left town and now you’ve got to earn your corn on your own merits.
I’m being unfair, right? Well I’m just giving you the rub, sweetheart (not that kind!). Niobe, nobody needs to tell me what you can and can’t do. I was there in the ladder match, and you left with no disgrace. Do I think it reflects badly on you that you chose of all people as your mate that 100% certified mug Tommy Knox as a mate? Yeah, but the world needs losers as much as it needs winners.
In truth the best thing that could’ve happened is that the plastic hardman left town (a motorbike is a lot of noise if you ask me), because now you get the chance to do what he could never have done--- beat The Guv’nor. But don’t get your hopes up princess, because I like it rough and nasty. And even if that doesn’t mean I’m going to bend you over quite like Tommy does (don’t get your hopes up!), it does mean I will bend you over me knee and spank the ambition out of you.
Niobe you’ll come and you’ll fight, I know that, and you’ll doubtless bring all that Jackie Chan Kung Fu Judo Chop bollocks, but at the end of the day The Hackney Hammer breaks wills, it breaks spirit, it breaks down the really hard stuff, and it will break you.
Trust me, this isn’t the day for the Queen of Hearts to reign supreme. This is the domain on the King of Clubs and the weapon of choice is The Hammer. Hard hats optional, but highly recommended.
Speaking of hard hats, somebody said Jace Savage was in this match. Now now, sunshine, don’t get all haughty; it’s not like The Guv’nor is saying you’re fick or nuffin.
In truth though, I got a lot of sympathy for Jace Savage. I know what it’s like to have an arsehole for a father, but the difference between you and me Jace is that when my dad, who fucked off to get pissed for 18 years after I was born, turned up trying to put a paternal arm round my shoulder I knocked that slag spark out. I never saw the wino since, and if I ever did I swear I’d do bird for the satisfaction of ending that cunt.
That’s what it is to be a man, Jace. Take no prisoners, and certainly don’t let no slag take liberties. I don’t care if I share blood or chromosomes with someone, I won’t stop short of teaching them a lesson if they got it coming. That’s my story and yours and yours, bruv; but if you can’t tell your old man to go fuck himself, then how do you think you can possibly handle The Guv’nor?
I’m not some grizzly old tyrant sitting in his ivory tower, surrounded by an army of roiders who will rough you up if you get a bit lippy. I won’t cut off your credit, bruv, I’ll cut your fucking balls off. Straight up.
A word to wise for you, Jace bruv. Be careful of the company you keep and keep an eye out for anyone who comes along and whispers in your ear. It’s been said that there are some setting you up as the great white knight. But I’ve seen that all before. Tommy Knox, Michael Jennings, Billy Pepsi. They all came bearing another’s standard, and they all scurried back to their paymaster with those flags smeared in their own blood.
I know how it works around here; specifically I know how Sienna Harrison’s mind works. You’re one of Meltdown’s Test For The Best reps (congratulations bruv!), and I know she’s looking at you and thinking of you as one of her people. This situation has her marks all over it. It’s like she’s cocked her leg and pissed all over the match. The Guv’nor, the thorn in her side, against three of her best hopefuls, probably in some ridiculous match that puts the odds against me.
Listen, this isn’t a bargain. I’m not looking to cut a deal, and I certainly won’t spare you above anyone else. But I’m saying, you want to come after The Guv’nor, you do it on your terms for your reasons; don’t sell your worth to Sienna Harrison because she will flush you quicker than a nasty burrito.
You’re a stand-up kid, Jace; one of your own. Sure, you’re still making you way, but you’ve got the skills, and from I’ve seen you can tell a shovel from a spade. Judging by your interactions with Tommy Knox you certainly know a slag when you see one (and the sooner you stick the head on that prick father of yours the better). But don’t give me an excuse, sunshine. Come on, fight hard, give The Guv’nor all you got, but don’t try to pull a rump on me, don’t take a liberty or make a false choice or the wrong alignment. Because if I have to come find you later, if I have to hunt you down and drown you like a mangy dog, I won’t fucking hesitate.
Fuck the Italians, revenge MADE IN HACKNEY is the only dish served cold.
End.
