This was it. The contract lay in front of him like a black book of souls. All he had to do was sign his name and he was possessed for the rest of his life, maybe even longer.
"Come on, kid. Sign it already. I don't have all day."
A young Joseph Davis Lee stared down at the paper like it was a life or death decision. In many ways, it was. He was only 24 and he had virtually no experience in wrestling. This was the dream. He was fresh out of a wrestling school and now had the chance of a lifetime. However, there were reservations.
"So, I have a question."
"Fine. Make it quick."
The man went by the name of "Taker". He also had other names he would use over the years and they were all vaguely Gothic or Satanic. He was a large, older man that probably had no place in this business and yet here he was. A large, mahogany desk separated the two in the office, which smelled of stale cigars. "Taker", as he wanted to be called, wasn't listed as the President of BTW. Big Time Wrestling had a president named Mr. Jules, but he was more or less a figurehead. This was the mover and shaker of the promotion.
Joseph's first impression was that he was also an asshole.
"Why do you want me to have spiked blonde hair and dance a lot? Isn't there a guy that does that already?"
"Kid, do you want the job or not? That guy is a popular wrestler and we need a colorful character to take on Westside G-Money. If that's not you, there's plenty of others willing to do it."
The man in front of him was growing impatient. It was a character trait he would have to put up with over the years. Joseph's early career was tied to him, for better or worse. He leaned forward and looked Joseph right in the face. It was all he could do to keep from gagging on the whiff of moist dip he got from the breath of the veteran in front of him. A veteran, Joseph figured, who would be dead within five years at the rate he consumed tobacco.
"Sign the contract or go. The only reason you have this opportunity is because I owe your trainer a favor. Jason Munroe would have signed that and did what he was asked. He knows how this business works. So again, sign the fucking contract or get out of my office."
Joseph knew he should sign and shut up. He hated the idea of playing a fool but what else was he going to do? Go train with someone else? Get a real job? Wrestling was all he ever wanted to do. No one else was clamoring to sign a brand new rookie with no experience. This was his only shot. If he didn't sign this contract over something like this he'd never make it.
Joseph placed his pen on the dotted line and signed his life away. His brand new employer looked relieved.
"Finally. Alright, kid, look. The match with G-Money is next month. Get your hair changed, work on your finishers and we'll see you back here for BTW Slam in June."
"Thank you, Mr..."
"Taker is fine."
"Taker. Right."
He had to keep himself from laughing, because he found the name ridiculous. He wondered if anyone in this company was professional. He didn't realize at the time that he would always wonder that about every company he joined.
He stood up and ran his hands through his jet black hair. He'd let it get a little long over the last year. There's no time for haircuts when you're doing drills and learning submission holds at a rundown wrestling school. He realized he'd have to cut it to fit this guy's standards. He didn't like that, but then there was nothing about this situation he liked.
"I have one last question though."
"What's that?"
"I don't have a name yet. A ring name, I mean."
"As long as it doesn't offend our delicate audience's sensibilities, I don't care. Just go out there, do your job and get paid."
"Well I had an idea, since I'm basically ripping off other wrestlers anyway."
"Shoot."
The name wasn't hard to come up with. It was as uninspired as the role he was being asked to play. When he looked back on this moment, he hated himself for picking it.
"Call me Joe Cool."
"Are you serious? That's a terrible ring name. Reminds me of Snoopy."
"It's no worse than this gimmick you've saddled me with."
He saw his new boss get angry but he didn't care. He wasn't going to let someone walk all over him without making his feelings known.
"You need to watch yourself. I could just as easily shred this contract, Munroe or no Munroe."
"I'm agreeing to the terms. I want to wrestle. But I don't keep my mouth shut about anything."
"That's going to get you in a lot of trouble here."
"Looking forward to it."
He left the office and left his current employer fuming. He didn't care. He was taught not to care. That's how he killed a piece of himself, his dignity, just to get his foot in the door of professional wrestling. That's how he gained his first wrestling identity of Joe Cool, one that would haunt him long after he abandoned it. It wasn't the first time he let a sliver of himself die in order to succeed. It wouldn't be the last. Wrestling is a harsh mistress. He hated her almost as much as he loved her.
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March 27, 2016
He was positive that all of the vomit was gone. He was sure of it. Then his stomach lurched and out came the contents of breakfast. At least he thought it was breakfast. Surely lunch was already out of his system at this point.
"You'd think you'd be done by now. At least you don't sport that long hair anymore."
A sarcastic remark was not needed in this situation, but he wasn't exactly in a position to argue. He brought a shaky hand up to his lips and wiped the remnants of the bile away with his glove. He then grabbed the toilet paper dispenser in the stall and hoisted himself to his feet before exiting. On his way to the sink, he tore the fingerless glove from his hand and tossed it in the trash in disgust.
"Is it over?"
"I sure hope so. I don't think I have anything left in me. I feel weaker than I should. I used to compete for sixty minutes at a time without breaking a sweat."
"Well, Joe. There are a few things you need to keep in mind. First, you're forty now. Happy birthday."
He looked over at Stacy while he washed his hands and frowned. She had a smirk on her face. She was not helping. Part of him thought she enjoyed this.
"Second, you haven't done this in five years. So no matter how fit you still are, it's going to take time before you build your stamina back up. Even then, your age is going to make that harder."
They had retreated from the Matthew Knight Arena and were now in the public restroom of a gas station near campus. He felt sick after his match, and did not want anyone to see him in a weakened state. He had an image to maintain. He splashed the lukewarm water in his face and turned off the faucet before facing his wife.
"Old age or not, that shouldn't have been as hard as it was. I should not have had that much trouble putting Chaos away."
"You two really took it to each other out there."
"I do have to give him his credit. He put up quite a fight. I'm just glad I won. If I lost that match I wouldn't be able to show my face around here again."
Stacy scoffed at this and he cocked an eyebrow at her.
"Don't be so dramatic. It was one match and you were gone for a long time."
"I forgot about your expertise in being a wrestler."
It was a harmless joke, but her attitude suddenly shifted. It was so sudden that it hit him harder than the superplex Chaos used. It was like just talking about wrestling broke down the unstable barrier they had up after their fight a couple of weeks ago.
"If you didn't want my take on it, then why the fuck did you even bring me, Joe?"
"Wait a minute, calm down. It was a joke."
"This whole 'wrestling' thing is a joke. You get paid to hurt people and I think you like it too much."
He sighed and brought his thumb and forefinger to the bridge of his nose. This actually hadn't come up since the night of his return and he didn't think it would. It seemed like all of a sudden she wanted to fight. He didn't get it.
"Not this again. Look, I know we said we'd discuss it later, but in a gas station bathroom while I recover from a match isn't my ideal time or place."
She was furious and he didn't understand why. Wasn't she the one just joking with him earlier? None of this made any sense. She was never like this. She stood there in defiant silence, kneading the end of her long sleeves with her fingers. When she was angry or nervous, she couldn't keep her hands still. Clearly she had no reason to be nervous. He quickly tried to defuse the situation.
"Look. I'm supposed to meet Trent backstage. So, let's just get back to the arena, have a good time with my friend and talk about this when we get home."
"Sure, let's go back to the place I'm currently mad at. That makes a lot of fucking sense."
She didn't give him a chance to reply. She just turned around, grabbed her purse, unlocked the bathroom door and left in a hurry. JC ran a hand through his hair and rubbed the back of his neck. It was sore, but he did it mostly out of exasperation. Ever since she saw him obliterate Adam Wilson she was like a grenade with the pin pulled out. It wasn't a question of if but when she would go off.
He followed his wife out the door. He scanned the gas station for her and realized she was already out in the rental car. He sighed to himself and left to return to the arena.
He hoped Trent was ready to deal with it, because there was something off about her lately and he didn't like it.
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I guess I should properly address my actions at Campus Chaos. Besides advancing to the first round, because we all knew that would happen.
Ever since I was a kid, I wanted to be a professional wrestler. Now, I can barely stand it. No one has my drive. No one has my dedication. Everyone's in it for themselves and their own agendas. I've loved wrestling for so long that to see what it has become disgusts me. The Violent Society is everything that's wrong with it, but I had no intention of targeting them when I arrived in Oregon. I have more important matters on my agenda. But, they attacked a Rogue and attacking a Rogue has consequences.
The problem with the Violent Society is that they like to portray themselves as monsters. You're not monsters. You're merely lambs wearing the masks of wolves. You've just entered a war with a real monster. A monster is not defined by its outward appearance but by its monstrous actions. My acts are monstrous. You do what you do for attention. I do this because I have to. I do this because no one else will. This business needs to be put out of its misery so it can be reborn. I'm the only one who can.
While I didn't hurt as many of you as I wanted, I think the message was clear. You do not fuck with me. I'm sure you'll try. You might even get a few good shots on this week's Addiction. Shaun's little message that he has planned is no doubt some sneak attack on myself or Dynamo. I'm sure that when one of us is in the ring, he'll bring out all five members of TVS for a group attack, because that's how he operates. He'll want to injure me. He will likely cause me some pain. He'll try to put me down. He'll fail. I'll get back up and Stewart will have to once again deal with the consequences of his actions.
Stewart, let's not make this personal. Let's call it even while you still have a chance. Not for my sake, but for yours. I know that the day that the five of you beat me down is coming. Not one of you, all five. You're cowards. You're weak. Stewart won't attack me one on one because he knows I'll kick his face off. Lucy Wylde claims she'll fight me one on one, but I already know she won't. I know what's coming and I welcome it. Because I know what will happen after. I'll hunt you down one by one, get you alone and end you. If I were you, I'd study some tape so you know exactly how a real king of violence operates.
Wear as much grease paint and hair dye as you want kids, but you don't scare me. The only time I RUN is to drive my boot down your throat.
When The Rogues go to war, we have a simple ideology: no prisoners and no witnesses. Look at it this way. Trent Steel is the nice one. Think about that. While The Inner Circle may not share the same viewpoints, we do have the same goal. Kid Dynamo doesn't have the stomach to do what I do, but he's a tremendous talent that lives for wrestling. Chris Green's loyalties could be called into question by others, but we would never question his devotion to the cause. Trent Steel is a son of a bitch, but he's also trying to save himself by saving others.
I'm no longer interested in saving anyone.
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March 27, 2016
The short drive back to the arena felt like an eternity. They sat there in silence. For whatever reason, Stacy didn't want to speak and JC didn't want to make it worse. She finally seemed to mellow out as they arrived.
"Look, I'm sorry for snapping. This is going to be a touchy subject for me and you should know that."
The two looked at each other in the relatively empty parking garage. Everyone else was either at the show or backstage.
"It's not the wrestling. That's not what set me off. Not exactly. It's the fact that you're so vicious out there. I was thinking about it earlier."
"So you bite my head off over an unrelated joke?"
"Just the very idea of wrestling reminds me of what you're doing, and it puts me on edge."
She let out a deep sigh and he saw a faint glimmer of wetness in her eyes. This bothered her more than she had let on last month.
"I just saw you try to break a man's jaw tonight."
"I was trying to win the match, Stacy."
"You were trying to hurt him too. Don't deny it."
He couldn't. He was in that match with Chaos to win, but he couldn't pretend it didn't make him feel good. It felt good to get in there and not only hurt someone, but hurt someone who could stay in it long enough so he could hurt them more.
"Yes, but only because it was the only thing that was going to put him down. It's like I tried to tell you earlier. He was tougher than he should have been. You have to do a little more to put someone like that away."
Chaos gave him a lot of trouble. That's why he hit him with a second Solitaire after that crushing big boot. He had to put him down. He had to be sure.
"If I wanted to really hurt him, I would have attacked him after the match. But I didn't."
Her shoulders dropped and she appeared to be less tense than before. That statement seemed enough to placate her for now. It made sense. He almost believed it. The truth was he wanted to deliver another curb stomp, but was simply too exhausted. He couldn't figure out what bothered him more: that he wanted to injure Chaos for giving him so much trouble or that he was too exhausted to do it.
"That does make sense. I don't know if I completely buy it considering what you did before, but it does make sense."
"I know this has been hard on you, and I'm trying to give you time, but this is who I am."
She got quiet and looked away as they finally pulled into a parking spot.
"It wasn't who you were when we met."
She got out before he did and walked a few steps ahead, then stopped. He got out after and made his way to embrace her. Instead, his phone went off. She turned around when she heard it and just looked at him. She looked hurt. He hadn't even answered it yet. He didn't plan to. But he didn't think that's what this was about.
"Go ahead and answer it. I'll hang out with Trent and you can catch up."
"Are you sure? Whoever it is, I'm sure they can wait."
"It's fine. Go ahead."
Words of advice: when a loved one says, "it's fine" while upset. It's never fine. It never will be fine.
"I won't take long, I promise."
Stacy didn't seem to care if it did or not. After pressing a button to lock the car, she turned her back on her husband and left him alone. He was suddenly lost in his thoughts, trying to figure out how to fix this situation. Then the phone went off in his hand again. He realized that it had already went through a full cycle of ringing and now the person was trying again. He decided he should probably answer it.
"Hello?"
"Is this Joe?"
The voice sounded familiar, but he couldn't place it. You meet a lot of people when you've been around as long as he has.
"I'm sorry, I'm trying to place your voice but I can't."
"It's Gloria Munroe."
Memories came flooding back to him. A few good, mostly bad. He suddenly knew exactly who was talking to, even if she was considerably older than the last time they spoke. He always liked Gloria, even if he kind of hated her husband.
"Yeah, Gloria! Sorry, it's been a long time. I haven't seen you since that court hearing in '02. How's life with Jason treating you?"
"That's why I'm calling, Joe. He's dead."
"Look, I'm sorry for snapping. This is going to be a touchy subject for me and you should know that."
The two looked at each other in the relatively empty parking garage. Everyone else was either at the show or backstage.
"It's not the wrestling. That's not what set me off. Not exactly. It's the fact that you're so vicious out there. I was thinking about it earlier."
"So you bite my head off over an unrelated joke?"
"Just the very idea of wrestling reminds me of what you're doing, and it puts me on edge."
She let out a deep sigh and he saw a faint glimmer of wetness in her eyes. This bothered her more than she had let on last month.
"I just saw you try to break a man's jaw tonight."
"I was trying to win the match, Stacy."
"You were trying to hurt him too. Don't deny it."
He couldn't. He was in that match with Chaos to win, but he couldn't pretend it didn't make him feel good. It felt good to get in there and not only hurt someone, but hurt someone who could stay in it long enough so he could hurt them more.
"Yes, but only because it was the only thing that was going to put him down. It's like I tried to tell you earlier. He was tougher than he should have been. You have to do a little more to put someone like that away."
Chaos gave him a lot of trouble. That's why he hit him with a second Solitaire after that crushing big boot. He had to put him down. He had to be sure.
"If I wanted to really hurt him, I would have attacked him after the match. But I didn't."
Her shoulders dropped and she appeared to be less tense than before. That statement seemed enough to placate her for now. It made sense. He almost believed it. The truth was he wanted to deliver another curb stomp, but was simply too exhausted. He couldn't figure out what bothered him more: that he wanted to injure Chaos for giving him so much trouble or that he was too exhausted to do it.
"That does make sense. I don't know if I completely buy it considering what you did before, but it does make sense."
"I know this has been hard on you, and I'm trying to give you time, but this is who I am."
She got quiet and looked away as they finally pulled into a parking spot.
"It wasn't who you were when we met."
She got out before he did and walked a few steps ahead, then stopped. He got out after and made his way to embrace her. Instead, his phone went off. She turned around when she heard it and just looked at him. She looked hurt. He hadn't even answered it yet. He didn't plan to. But he didn't think that's what this was about.
"Go ahead and answer it. I'll hang out with Trent and you can catch up."
"Are you sure? Whoever it is, I'm sure they can wait."
"It's fine. Go ahead."
Words of advice: when a loved one says, "it's fine" while upset. It's never fine. It never will be fine.
"I won't take long, I promise."
Stacy didn't seem to care if it did or not. After pressing a button to lock the car, she turned her back on her husband and left him alone. He was suddenly lost in his thoughts, trying to figure out how to fix this situation. Then the phone went off in his hand again. He realized that it had already went through a full cycle of ringing and now the person was trying again. He decided he should probably answer it.
"Hello?"
"Is this Joe?"
The voice sounded familiar, but he couldn't place it. You meet a lot of people when you've been around as long as he has.
"I'm sorry, I'm trying to place your voice but I can't."
"It's Gloria Munroe."
Memories came flooding back to him. A few good, mostly bad. He suddenly knew exactly who was talking to, even if she was considerably older than the last time they spoke. He always liked Gloria, even if he kind of hated her husband.
"Yeah, Gloria! Sorry, it's been a long time. I haven't seen you since that court hearing in '02. How's life with Jason treating you?"
"That's why I'm calling, Joe. He's dead."
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March 8, 1998
He finally did it. He couldn't believe it, but he finally did it.
Joseph stood outside of a shabby, rundown location in Camden, New Jersey. He took a bus from the home he inherited with his brother in East Rutherford to get here, but he was here. It was his birthday and he just acquired the final bit of money he needed from an aunt that lived in the city as a present. He now stood in front of a string of brick and mortar businesses. Right in the middle, between a video rental store and a liquor store was a gym. This wasn't any gym. It was Jason Munroe's Do The Job Gym & Wrestling Academy.
Jason Munroe wasn't a famous wrestler. You'd be hard pressed to find anyone that actually knew his real name. He had a variety of names when he competed on the local circuit in the eighties, occasionally getting called up to bigger organizations to be sacrificed to wrestlers he had no chance of beating.
He'd show up at a high school gymnasium to compete third from the top as the masked Lightning Bomber (a losing effort) on Friday night. Then he'd remove the mask on Saturday to compete as Pete Garea in the cool-down match between some red hot tag affair and the main event. He was always selected by the people in charge of regional promotion NJPWA (New Jersey Pro Wrestling Alliance) because they wanted their guys to look good. Need your world champion to sell tickets for a big fight? Put him against a nobody and watch him dominate his way to victory.
No one ever actually thought Jason stood a chance against the musclebound demigods that made up wrestling then. He was pudgy. He had a mullet and a handlebar mustache. He looked like he'd be more at home hocking fake watches outside of a popular tourist attraction than having any place in a wrestling ring.
Not even Joseph knew who he was. He had no idea and he watched NJPWA regularly growing up. The reason he was about to enter "Do the Job" Gym was because it was closest. Even an hour and a half away from his home, it was the closest. New Jersey wasn't exactly known for its elite wrestlers. Even eighteen years later there were only a handful. All Joseph knew was that this was a wrestler and he knew the basics. He knew enough to train him. That's all that mattered.
Joseph looked inside of the dirty glass door. He saw someone running the ropes in a tiny, loosely-assembled ring while a man he assumed was Munroe was yelling. He grabbed the metal door handle and pulled it back, hearing a bell give a cheerful jingle when he swung it open. Munroe looked over and hopped down from his stool, relishing the chance to meet a potential new customer.
"You look like someone I could stretch real good."
"Wha...What?"
"You're here to train, aren't you? Look, the sign states what this place is. You want to 'rassle, right?"
There was an unusual Southern twang from a man with a thick Jersey accent.
"Yeah, I mean...I saved up enough money for the first class and I got a job now so I'm sure I can cover the rest."
Joseph pulled out a wadded up mound of one, five and ten dollar bills, along with some change, to total the $50 fee to sign up.
"My name's Joseph. It is $50, right?"
"Oh yeah, you're right about that. Lemme just make sure it's all here."
He snatched the money so quickly that some coins and the odd single fell to the floor. He scooped it up and counted it quickly.
"Okay, one thing I gotta ask. You're over 18, right? You look a little young."
"I'm 22, actually."
"As long as you're legally an adult that's all I care about. I don't need any angry parents coming in here because I roughed up their kid."
The thought hadn't occurred to him that this might hurt.
"Roughed up?"
"Oh yeah. Just running the ropes is going to leave you with bruises if you aren't used to it. That's what Hank..."
He looked to the ring when he realized that Hank was leaning over the ropes watching their conversation.
"Hank, who in the hell told you to stop running? These fuckin' kids. Look, I can't work with you right now because Hank's giving me trouble. If you're going to start, we should start fresh. Do you have a place to crash?"
"I'm sure my aunt would...."
"Great. So go there, get settled, then come back here tomorrow. I got things to do here."
Joseph felt a little dejected. He was really hoping to get started today. Munroe turned around to focus on Hank and Joseph began to slink away in the other direction. Suddenly, he heard his future trainer's voice again.
"Listen...Joseph, was it?"
"Yes."
"There's one rule you need to learn right up front if you want to make it in this business. Don't care. You can't care about anyone or anything other than yourself if you have any hope of succeeding. Times are different now and you have to be ruthless."
"Well, I don't know anyone in the business, so I don't have anyone to care about."
"Good. If you focus on the training and nothing else, then maybe you'll be this school's first success.
Hank seemed to take exception to that as he ran back and forth. Perhaps he'd been training here longer than Joseph thought. Munroe rubbed his five o'clock shadow and held back a cough. Then he repeated himself.
"I don't want you to care about anything other than yourself."
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Now it's time to talk about my second round in the Quest for the Best tournament. Make no mistake, I'm involved in some extra-curricular activities but Quest is my sole focus. As I head to the second round, I find myself experiencing deja vu as I face a man without a face.
Redemption. It means an action that saves someone from the act of sin or evil. I find it ironic that Drake Munday took this as his new name because he's defined by acts that make him irredeemable. Maybe that's the point. I don't know. I wasn't here for the grand ceremony of Drake Munday putting a cheap dollar store mask over his unremarkable face.
If there's anything you appear to have redeemed yourself over, it's the fact that you're good now. Little Drakey Munday finally won some matches. He won Quest for the Best last year. He even won himself a couple of world title reigns. Good for you Drake. It's nice to see someone rise from mediocrity and make something of themselves. I mean that. Sincerely. You won't be able to tell when I'm stomping your face into hamburger, but I do have to give you the credit your deserve. No one thought you'd be here and you proved them all wrong.
I'm not going to pretend to be the only one in OWF who knows what you used to be. However, I think I have a pretty good idea of who you are now. I see through your mask Drake. I see the scared little boy that first arrived into the OWF eight years ago. I see that same boy with a look of terror in his eyes. 'What if everyone find out I'm still Drake Munday? What if everyone discovers I'm a fraud?' You're living this dream and you're terrified that some boogeyman is going to come and take it away.
Hi. I'm JC and I'll be your boogeyman for this week's Addiction.
I'll be honest, Drake. I'm very interested in seeing just how good you are. Because when it comes to facing me one on one, you could never get the job done. Getting the card for that week's Addiction and seeing Drake Munday on it was the same as a week off. It's funny, because five years ago I would have taken you lightly. Times have changed. I'm not going to be arrogant and ignore your achievements. You're good now, Drake. Anyone with eyes can see it.
I'm better though. It's not as simple as a belief. It's a fact. It has to be a fact. I have to be better than you, because I have to be the best. I don't care if you think you need it. I don't care if you think the OWF needs it. I want it. I need it. I have to be the best. I said no one is safe because no one else matters. As I said before, you're good. You can't become a two-time World Champion and not be good. Times have changed. Now you and everyone else seem to think it's a given that you'll be making the quarterfinals.
I have a huge problem with that. So do you if you think I'm a stepping stone on your way to repeating a Quest victory.
I'm just as good as I've always been, and that's always going to be better than you.
Redemption. It means an action that saves someone from the act of sin or evil. I find it ironic that Drake Munday took this as his new name because he's defined by acts that make him irredeemable. Maybe that's the point. I don't know. I wasn't here for the grand ceremony of Drake Munday putting a cheap dollar store mask over his unremarkable face.
If there's anything you appear to have redeemed yourself over, it's the fact that you're good now. Little Drakey Munday finally won some matches. He won Quest for the Best last year. He even won himself a couple of world title reigns. Good for you Drake. It's nice to see someone rise from mediocrity and make something of themselves. I mean that. Sincerely. You won't be able to tell when I'm stomping your face into hamburger, but I do have to give you the credit your deserve. No one thought you'd be here and you proved them all wrong.
I'm not going to pretend to be the only one in OWF who knows what you used to be. However, I think I have a pretty good idea of who you are now. I see through your mask Drake. I see the scared little boy that first arrived into the OWF eight years ago. I see that same boy with a look of terror in his eyes. 'What if everyone find out I'm still Drake Munday? What if everyone discovers I'm a fraud?' You're living this dream and you're terrified that some boogeyman is going to come and take it away.
Hi. I'm JC and I'll be your boogeyman for this week's Addiction.
I'll be honest, Drake. I'm very interested in seeing just how good you are. Because when it comes to facing me one on one, you could never get the job done. Getting the card for that week's Addiction and seeing Drake Munday on it was the same as a week off. It's funny, because five years ago I would have taken you lightly. Times have changed. I'm not going to be arrogant and ignore your achievements. You're good now, Drake. Anyone with eyes can see it.
I'm better though. It's not as simple as a belief. It's a fact. It has to be a fact. I have to be better than you, because I have to be the best. I don't care if you think you need it. I don't care if you think the OWF needs it. I want it. I need it. I have to be the best. I said no one is safe because no one else matters. As I said before, you're good. You can't become a two-time World Champion and not be good. Times have changed. Now you and everyone else seem to think it's a given that you'll be making the quarterfinals.
I have a huge problem with that. So do you if you think I'm a stepping stone on your way to repeating a Quest victory.
I'm just as good as I've always been, and that's always going to be better than you.
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March 27, 2016
"Joe, are you there?"
He tried to speak at first, but his throat closed and it came out in a hoarse whisper. He grunted and tried again.
"When did it happen?"
"Last night. It was in his sleep. He was just diagnosed with pancreatic cancer three months ago."
"I'm sorry to hear that, Gloria."
He wasn't, but he wasn't going to let her know that. She had enough on her mind.
"We're holding a memorial service on Friday. Can you make it? I know you two had a falling out, but I'd really like to see you again."
"I'll certainly try. I'll call you again when I know for sure. I have to go catch up with someone."
"I hope you can make it, Joe. He would have wanted you there, in spite of everything. He was always proud of you."
He didn't want to have this conversation anymore. It was surreal and it bothered him. He was never good at handling his emotions. So he decided to end it quickly.
"I'll call when I decide. Take care of yourself, Gloria."
JC hit the "end" button and launched his cell phone into a nearby wall. Even with the protective case, there was a loud crack that echoed through the hallway. He wanted to cry. He wanted to find Stacy and collapse into her arms.
We don't always get the things we want.
He had zero clue why he felt that way. He hadn't spoken to Jason Munroe in years. He didn't want to. Jason Munroe was a person who you couldn't call "good" on his best day. The situation that caused their falling out was one they never recovered from.
And yet, the entire situation had him feeling unusually emotional and conflicted. Maybe it was just because it was someone he knew. It was more likely that regardless of who Jason Munroe was, he gave him his start. He gave him his career, more or less. JC was always grateful for that, even if things could not have ended worse between the two. While he didn't like him, he knew that he owed a lot to him. The fact that he owed so much to this man made him hate him more.
The sadness went away quickly and was replaced with rage. He really wanted to let that emotion out. The bloodlust inside of him concurred. There had to be a way to vent as only he could, but his match was over already and another random attack would be a poor decision after the argument he just had with his wife.
Instead, JC picked up his cell phone and inspected the damage. The case was splintered and pieces were falling off. The phone itself appeared to be undamaged, but it was also off. He shoved it into his pocket and decided to head to his locker room to meet up with Trent and Stacy. He wasn't exactly feeling jovial, but maybe some time with his best friend could let him not think about it for a bit. At least Trent wasn't someone he wanted to maim.
When he arrived, he opened the door and both Trent and Stacy looked like he caught them doing something illegal.
"I'll handle it."
He quickly turned to JC and seemed a little too cheerful. Or maybe JC was just in a really foul mood.
"Hey buddy! How you doing?"
"Actually Trent, I just got some bad news. I know, my timing is shit."
"You're finally shaving the unibrow?"
"I think he's serious. Joe, what's wrong?"
JC finally walked in and shut the door before sitting in a nearby chair.
"What I can't lighten the mood? What's up? Do I need to go break someone's kneecaps?"
"No, it's nothing like that. Just something bad happened to someone I know. Or knew, I guess."
"That's rough man. Well if I can help in any way let me know. Yes that means I am lifting the 'I'm not loaning you any more cash' ban."
He could tell Trent was trying his best to help his mood, but it wasn't really working. He had too many negative thoughts running around in his head.
"I appreciate it."
They heard the announcement that the Glitterati were the new tag team champions from the monitor in the hallway. Suddenly, Trent got to his feet and grabbed the steel chair he was sitting in.
"Well, that's my cue."
He left without saying another word. It seemed like they weren't going to get to reminisce like they planned. JC let his head drop. He felt his muscles begin to spasm as he tensed up. He felt the soft skin of his wife's palm as she placed it against his cheek. He looked up to see her right in his face.
"Okay, you wouldn't tell me before. Tell me now. What happened?"
She might have problems with him right now, but she still loved him. He was grateful for that.
"That phone call was from Gloria Munroe. She was the wife of Jason Munroe, the man who trained me."
"Was?"
"Yeah. 'Was.' He died in his sleep last night."
She leaned her head forward and placed it on his forehead, then gave him a small kiss.
"Joe, babe...I'm so sorry."
"I don't even know why it bothers me. He was an asshole. We had a bad falling out early in my career. And yet for some reason, this really bothers me."
Stacy stood up and plucked the car keys out of her purse.
"Here's what we're going to do. I'm going to go gas up the car while you get your things together. Shouldn't take more than ten minutes. Then we can get a hotel room and you can tell me everything. Are you going to be okay here by yourself?"
"I'll be fine. I just need to pack up my gear."
She laid a hand on his shoulder and gave him a wan smile. He didn't return it. He wasn't okay. He wasn't fine. He hated the fact that he felt anything at all about the death of someone who probably deserved it. As it turned out, life wasn't as black and white as people make it out to be.
"I'll send a text when I'm ready to go."
Stacy left him alone with his memories. He wanted to sulk, but he knew it wasn't time for that. If there was one thing to take from his recently deceased mentor, it was the first lesson he ever taught him. Don't care.
They were close enough to the backstage monitor that he left his things and went outside to watch the show for a few minutes. Lorenzo Demarco was already watching, but neither man acknowledged the other when JC stepped up. That was fine. He wasn't in the mood for small talk anyway. Maybe watching Trent attack whoever he was going to attack would be enough to take his mind off of this emotional seesaw. If nothing else, he could live vicariously violent through Trent. That would have to do for now.
When he looked he saw a 5-on-3 brawl. It wasn't just Trent, but Chris Green and someone named Kid Dynamo too. They picked a fight with The Violent Society and they were on the losing end. Then Lucy Wylde punted his best friend in the side of the head. He could hear the gasps from the crowd from where he was standing.
JC suddenly felt really good. Someone was getting hurt tonight after all.
Not Trent. Trent would recover. But JC suddenly had targets. He had an outlet. His bubbling bloodlust could be sated yet again. He didn't have a problem with Shaun Stewart and the Violent Society. He actually kind of enjoyed watching them work. But it was the wrong place, the wrong time and the wrong best friend of a man on the verge of sociopathy.
As for Stacy, she would get over it. In fact, she might actually approve. He was only helping a friend. What was he supposed to do, stand back here and watch Trent get crippled? This might actually help her see things from his point of view. He could hurt someone and end these problems they've been having.
Two birds, one broken Shaun Stewart.
He smiled and hurried to the ring. He didn't want to miss the fun.
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I've got my demons
Go get your own
Save another number
Don't forget to hate me
