Post by inkt on Apr 19, 2013 13:37:38 GMT -6
Any man can win when things go his way, it's the man who overcomes adversity that is the true champion. With that being said, have I truly had adversity thrown my way? Nine times out of ten, no. Did I climb some massive mountain to become the man that I am today? The man sitting next to you on a plane? The man standing behind you in the checkout lane at the grocery store? No. Thing is, I'm just that. A man. A man who was in the right place at the right time; realized it, and put it on the line. While the last bit of that rhymed, it still holds true. Time and time again, I've been in the right place at the right time, as I said. A prime example of this rise to the top, would be WWX. While there were plenty of competitors vying for their own personal agenda, I was the one who made the pin. I was the one who assured my rightful place as next in line to get a crack at the world Champion... At a PPV no less. I took that and ran with it. I've taken my knocks along the way, but let's face facts, when Inkt promises to deliver, chances are, he's gonna hold true to what he says. This week, against Hunter Valentyne, who, let's face it, is the polar opposite of Inkt when it comes to delivering, Inkt plans on laying waste to him, on his own terms no less. Favored to win; to retain the New Edge World Title, Inkt finds himself in a bit of a moral dilemma. While he could go on a tirade of the usual investigative abuse and humiliation that he's known for, he wants to prove to the world once and for all, that he's not some flash in the pan Champion.
Las Vegas, Nevada.
We find the man of war sitting outside his club, "Inkt's Beaded Clam," a some what solemn look on his face. He's lost in thought. His belt, not draped over his shoulder, his attitude, not nearly as flamboyant as he's known for being. No, residing on his face, for once in a long time, is the look of sheer concentration. The cigarette lingers from his lips as he looks to his cell phone that resides within his palm. Shaking his head slightly, he offered a bit of frown as he pocketed the phone. Now wasn't the time to call in back up. No wasn't the time to lean on his best friend and tag partner ryan pugh for some form of inspiration. Now was the time that he had to take matters into his own hands. There weren't slews of fans here in las vegas patting him on the back as he made his way to the ring to some sort of illustrious arena. There were no stage hands, no grips, no interns to do his bidding. All he had on hand was his staff, some minor support from new edge, and a guest list that read roughly 150 people. While his announcement at Ignite seemed all well and good that he'd be willing to fight anyone at any given time may have bitten him in the ass, he was feeling more pressure from the venue itself. Let's face it, Inkt was in bad to some even worse people. Hell, he owed Vegas money. Not the town, no, the people who ran the town if you catch the drift. After Jesse had frozen Inkt's assets almost a month and a half ago, Inkt had been living from handout to handout. Pugh supported him most of the time, but not wanting to become a burden on the man, Inkt had reached out to an element he was more then familiar with.
One of the main reasons he had decided to go along with Jesse's little song and dance, was mostly wishful thinking. Inkt had hoped upon hope that his club would turn a profit this week leading into his underground match. Sure, celebrities were known for having a hand in various business ventures, but how many of them actually back the business from top to bottom? Inkt had been feeding money into "Inkt's Beaded Clam" ever since the inception came to be. However, it has gotten to the point where, if he doesn't come up with the money that he owe's, he'll be looking at a hostile takeover, and some sort of management restructuring that'll find him on his ass. Having always been a business man, Inkt had known his way around a dollar bill, turning fifty cents into two bucks so to speak. While Las Vegas was known for it's nightlife of sin, Inkt had to try and do something that would stand out. When there's fantasy shows going on at almost every casino, it's hard for the little guy to establish himself as a competent business man. A man who can lay the foundation of something, see it through and turn a profit. It was the profit that the bosses were interested in. All they wanted was the name. They wanted to essentially take the identity of a man who, up until now, only had a small amount of notoriety. Sure, he had a bit of a name in vegas, but that's because vegas is his home. People tend to show some pride when it comes to getting behind their hometown hero so to speak. Was inkt really a hero to the city? Hardly. Hell, most people you ask, probably wouldn't know his name... Until now. With New Edge Wrestling being one of the premier wrestling companies in the business, the name of a world champ tends to spread, either wrestling fan or not. Inkt of course, is now learning of the ramifications of such a name.
All the veterans of the sport would mention to Inkt from time to time throughout his career, "once you win the world championship? Everything changes. You aren't the hunter anymore, you're the hunted. You'll have a huge target on your back, and just about everyone who's anyone in the business is going to look to hit the bull's eye." Shit, they couldn't have been more accurate it seems. Not that anyone's beating down the door to get a crack at him, but suddenly, a man who'd be kept in the dark as far as future events goes, is now booked out weeks in advance. Hell, he's already got a match at justice against matt slater. Justice? Really? That's still several weeks out. A lot can go down within that time. With the marketing already taking place, and the hype being built, what's to say Inkt loses this week? What if Hunter does what no one thinks he can do? A lot of different variables seem to be coming into play. "Just because you're the champion, don't think there isn't any pressure. There's more pressure to retain, especially if the fans love you. You don't want to disappoint them, or even the locker room. Just think about it, if you're a champ that they can get behind? A bonafide, face of the company, champ? Then there's a ton of pressure on you to maintain that image." Once again, truer words hadn't been spoken.
"Shit's a lot thicker then it's supposed to be i suppose."
Inkt could hear his own voice leaving his lips, and then become carried off into the warm breeze. Shit had gotten thick. Really thick, with him being in debt up to his ears, and the pressure of him retaining his title, it was no wonder that the solitude was serving him well. The club was to be closed for the next few days as the proper precautions were to be taken. While it would be in his best interest to rig some things within to play out in his favor, Inkt had decided against it. If he was gonna win, he wanted it to be because he was the better fighter. The fans would pay top dollar to see he and hunter throw down, there was no doubt about that. The unfortunate part was, hardly any of that coin would line Inkt's pockets. Then, there was alcohol sales, once more, hardly any of that would go to him. Sure the markup would be outlandish, but let's face it, when you're in deep, the last thing you want to do is try to skim off the top.
As inkt sat there thinking in the setting sun, he noticed the various neon and LED lights begin to come to life around him. Vegas was about to come to life for the evening, and so was he. His phone vibrated within minutes of the sun dipping down below the horizon. Removing it from his pocket, he looked to the screen. The number was blocked. He pressed the button on top of the phone that would lead to him ignoring the call. Shaking his head he thought to himself that it was bill collectors. It wouldn't be a shock all things considered. His cards were maxed, and he couldn't even get by paying the minimum amount each month. The phone buzzed once more, and once more, Inkt ignored it. Standing, he looked up to the Beaded Clam sign looming above him. A slight smile came across his face as he placed his hands upon the double doors and pressed them open. Upon entering the club, the overwhelming smell of strawberry body spray, and cigar smoke filled his nostrils. While the girls were pretty much off for the night, Inkt managed to bring in a couple of them to try and earn a few bucks. Being that it was the middle of the week, there wasn't a lot of action going on anyways, and with the club being pretty much closed for the most part, there wasn't much need to bring in a full roster so to speak. He leaned against the wall in the entryway and took it all in. A strip joint, in vegas, about to get torn to shreds. All worth it in his eyes. If he was to hand the club over, he might as well do it in the same condition he got it in. No sense in making things easy for the guys, right? Watching the girl on stage, and a couple of cocktail waitresses walking around handing out drinks to the sparse patrons scattered about, Inkt shook his head once more and propped himself up from the wall. As he walked further in, he garnered a bit of attention from a couple of his employees. They congratulated him on his success in new edge, and had mentioned how they were looking forward to this upcoming 'event.' Unfortunately, Inkt, tried his best to force out matching enthusiasm. It worked just well enough to allow him to earn a kiss on the cheek from one of his lead girls.
"You'll do fine, babe. I know you can beat him. Like you said, your belt, your rules, right? I just wish you could have done it somewhere other then here."
Inkt's phone buzzed once more, and one more time, he ignored the call. The woman speaking to him, went by the stage name Montana. She had a body that wouldn't quit, and personality to match. There was a reason why she was one of the top grossing dancers within the BC, that reason being that she wasn't fake. Sure there were times when she'd put on a little extra charm to get some bigger tips or a dance or two, but nine times out of ten, she made sure she kept it real. Whenever Inkt was visiting, she was always sure to catch up on his life, and actually take an interest in his endeavors no matter how asinine they may seem. It was for this reason alone, that Inkt proceeded to his office upstairs. As he opened the door, letting himself in, there it sat flush within the wall. His safe. Locking the door behind him, he took a deep breath, and approached it. Pressing in a button combination, the door unlatched itself. Opening it with ease, he peered in. No more then a couple thousand dollars, tops, resting next to his title belt. Biting his lower lip, he took the remainder of his 'seed money' and stuffed it into one of his cargo pockets and closed the safe.
"Might be the last time i get to look at ya man... There's only two possible outcomes to this situation, and god willing, the one im hoping for comes through."
The latch on the door clicks closed, as we find Inkt standing within his office alone. Not only physically, but emotionally too. Sure, there were people he could confide in when it came to his doubts, but truth be told, he knew what they'd say when it came to his match, his situation, everything. For some reason, no matter what was going on in Inkt's head, the general public always seemed to have the same consensus when it came down to him needing advise. "You'll do fine, man. You've got so much talent. Things'll go your way, they always do. Now's your time, Inkt..." Etc, etc, etc... Just then, and quite possibly, for the last time, Inkt's phone began to buzz once more.
"Jesus fuckin Christ, man!"
Sliding his finger across the screen to take the call, Inkt yells in the phone:
"What the fuckin fuck do you want?!"
The voice on the other line was somewhat soft, and a bit unnerving.
"Inkt? Is that you? Look man, I heard you were in town. We've got a bit of a problem."
Inkt knew the voice all too well. It was Manny, a long time childhood friend. The two of them had drifted in and out of each other's life from time to time, but for some reason, always managed to have one another's back.
"Manny? Dude, what's goin on, guy? How'd you get this number?"
A small smile came across the face of Inkt, as he moved over to his desk and took a seat in his chair.
"I got it from Mendel. He was out this way not so long ago. Said you'd made quite the name for yourself and that you'd be in town this week. Look man, i've... Well, we've, rather, got a bit of an issue."
Inkt's jaw clenched. Typical. Just when his problems with Hunter, Jesse, and New Edge as a whole were piling up, now a blast from the past calls in. Maybe wanting a handout? Shit, he's barking up the wrong tree if that's the case. None the less, given the history between the two, Inkt felt it best to hear the guy out.
"What issue?"
Inkt, trying his best to feign some sort of interest in the conversation rested his forehead within his hand as he propped against the top of the desk.
"It's Chubby Joe. His... His mom died a while back, and he hasn't been the same since."
Inkt shook his head and sighed aloud.
"Uh, okay, and what's that got to do with me?"
"Well, honestly, not a whole hell of a lot, brah. But i figured, since you were here, maybe you could help Benny and I take care of him for a night? I mean hell, maybe we could snap him out of it? It'd be like old times. The four of us out on the town, livin it up?"
As fun as that sounded to Inkt, he had other stuff on his mind. A night on the town was probably the last thing he wanted to do.
"I'm gonna have to take a pass, bro. I've got this match coming up, I can't afford shit right now, and let's face it dude. I haven't seen you guys in like a year or more. Yeah, we share idle conversation and shit, and skype and what not, but I mean, really?"
"Look dude, I know you've got a lot on your plate right now. Trust me, I know who your in deep with, and let's face it, this match is a make it or break it kind of situation for you, but-"
"It's a make it or break it in more then one way Manny. Dude, the guy im facing? Hunter Valentyne? Has literally never won the world title before. He's pretty much the choke artist of choke artists. Thing is, no one, and I mean NO ONE wants to be 'the guy who lost the title to hunter,' ya know?"
Manny pauses a moment before speaking his next words.
"Look man, just one night, okay? Maybe recharge the batteries? Have some drinks, do some blow, get down with some hookers. I dont know, how's the club lookin? Still got some prospects there?"
Inkt chuckles, they'd always called his strippers prospects. Joking about which one of them would be their future ex wife and what not.
"Still got montana... But, i mean, as far as the girls and the club go, it's open, but it's not, you know? Kinda gettin it prepped for the match."
"Right right, totally forgot you were doin it there. But, i mean, the bar's still got booze right? Mind if we roll by? Have a couple drinks? Hand out a few tips?"
Inkt sighs a bit into the phone, but reluctantly he agrees, thinking to himself that maybe a boys night might do him just as much good as it would his friends. While they may come and go from time to time, it's always good to keep in touch, and hang out when you're in the area. However, what Inkt was about to get into from the moment they stepped foot into the bearded clam, would make for one interesting night.
Slipping the phone into his pocket once more as the conversation came to and end, he felt the money pressing up against his leg. This was one of those times where, he'd look like a genius or a damned fool when all was said and done. Standing up from his desk, he made a few steps to the door, unlocked it, and stepped out into the hallway that eventually led to a balcony type scenario that over looked the club. Taking in his bird's eye view like he used to, he propped his arms against the railing, and just stared out into his legacy. Sure, he had his tattooing legacy as well, but this was a business venture that he took a gamble on. Fitting that it'd be in vegas. He'd hate to lose it, but, when it's time to pay the piper, there's little you can do.
"Hunter fucking Valentyne..."
Inkt spoke to himself as he looked on to the stage where it was now occupied by Montana. She must have felt his gaze, as she looked up and gave him a wink. Several of the patrons looked up as well, following her eyes and saw him. A couple put their drinks up as a way to salute him, while the others offered a nod. Inkt smiled and gave a slight wave before turning to head down the stairs to the main level of the club. Mere moments had passed when the ambiance of the club was ruined by the trio of loud mouthed men walking in the club.
"What do you mean cover closed? Dude, I'm on the list, bud."
Running his hand through his hair, Inkt shook his head. He then raised his other hand and motioned for the security guard to let them in. Leading the way, we find manny, followed by chubby joe, and lastly, the quiet and soft spoken guy of the group, chase. Some how the four of them just clicked. Before Inkt was getting into trouble in the wrestling world, the four of them would hustle the hell out of las vegas. Getting inside tips on races, fights, everything. They were pullin down money every night, however, nothing compared to what they could have been making. None the less, the guys were all about the odds, and putting them more so into their favor.
"Manny, the fuck's up, bro? How's things? Joe, sorry to hear about your mom, man. Chas-"
Before Inkt could finish, Joe chimes in with a bit of simplicity to his tone.
"I am what I am, but the shit thing is, Inkt, I could think of hundreds of people i'd rather have died then her, like my dad or something."
Manny and Chase look at Joe and shake their heads while Inkt blinks several times, and continues on as though he hadn't heard what chubby joe had said.
"Chase? How's things? You settled down at all? Family and stuff like that?"
Manny smiles and ribs Chase as he speaks for him.
"Dude, you don't know, do ya?"
Inkt arcs his head to the side and stands, moving behind the bar. Taking four beers out from the fridge under the counter, he pops the tops, and hands them out, keeping one for himself."
"Know what?"
"Well, you'd know more if you'd call more, Mr. Hollywood wrestlin man. Dude, Chase's gay... I mean, straight fuckin homo. Like, if your club was slingin cock all over the place, this lil 'Mo prolly wouldn't leave. You'd have to get him a cot in your office or something."
Inkt blinks and takes a long pull of his beer with a smile as Manny continues.
"So, I guess you an ol Chazzy here have something in common now huh?"
Chase finally speaks up, wondering what Manny meant.
"What're you talkin' about Manny man?"
"Dude, you don't know? Damn man, I guess im just the most informed mother fucker out of the bunch, aren't I? Anyways, Inkt-"
Joe cuts off manny in a similar fashion to what he did to Inkt.
"Hell, even my kid sister could have died, but why my mom?"
Once more, the three of them look to Joe voiceless, Inkt takes this moment to chime in once more.
"Okay, yeah, this might be a bit of an emergency."
"Wait, wait, wait... Manny, what the hell do Inkt and I have in common?"
"OH! Right! As I was saying before I was interrupted by this fat assed hairy fuck, You and Inkt both love the cock!"
Inkt forces a chuckle as Joe and Manny crack up. Chase on the other hand, seems to become a lot more interested in Inkt, as he leans in closer over the bar.
"Chase... Uh, what'cha doin, bro?"
Chase looks inkt in the eyes all flirtatious like as he simply replies,
"Im puttin on the smolder, bro. Been trying to work on it now for the last several months. Guys love it when i put on the smolder. Is it working on you?"
Inkt shakes his head, and finally lays down what people have assumed time and time again about him.
"Look dude, I'm not about to get all flirty on ya and shit. No your 'smolder' isn't working on me. The thing is man, I don't find dudes attractive at all. I don't suck dick, and well, i'm sober. Plus, it's too light in here. If, and this is a big ass fucking IF, we were to hook up? There's no way in hell im lettin you in my asshole. Okay? Im the pitcher you're the catcher."
Chase wiggles a little bit and tries to put the smolder on even harder now.
"We'll see about that."
"Goddamn, man, you're like the fuckin quagmire of 'Mo's man. Inkt said no... for now, just let it be. You aren't god's gift to the proud and clean people of the persecuted gay world. Just... Damn man. Anyways, Inkt, word is, you're lookin to fuck this place up, yeah? Could I ask why?"
Inkt smiles, and reaches into his pocket, removing his cigarettes and placing the pack on the counter for a moment. Like a pack of vultures, the three men help themselves to the smokes... Each one taking turns with his lighter.
"Yeah.. sure, help yourselves..."
As the lighter makes its way back to Inkt, he lifts the pack and shuffles out a nail for himself. Placing it between his lips, he lights up and takes in a deep drag. As he exhales he begins to tell the story of how he's essentially fucked.
"So, you guys know Jimmy Brass Knucks, right? Or at least heard of him?"
The three nod willing Inkt to proceed with his story.
"Right, so, get this shit, fuckin Jesse styles, you know, my boss essentially, froze my assets as far as payment, royalties, etc go when he found out I fucked his wife. Needless to say, she was a great fuck. No lie there, but the fact still remains, that since I did that, I haven't seen one red fucking cent from New Edge Wrestling. I'm the fuckin World Champ, and nothin. I've been maxing out the cards, borrowing from a bud of mine, Pugh, and, well, before I ended up running them dry, I reached out to Jimmy. Needless to say, I owe that fool a ton of money. It's hard keeping my lifestyle, and two businesses going in this economy, you know? So, yeah... That's been weighing on my mind more then anything, especially since i got home."
Manny looks to inkt and nods, taking in the information. Quickly, he begins to pat his back pocket. Removing his wallet, he sorts through some bills folded neatly within..
"Dude, manny, I appreciate the gesture, but, yeah, im pretty sure you can't cover what I owe, let alone make a dent."
Manny gives Inkt a confused look.
"Bitch, this ain't for you, this is for the girls, can you break this fifty and give me singles?"
Manny slides the fifty on the counter to Inkt. Inkt takes it, wanting so badly to smack the guy in the face, but figured, fuck it, the money was goin to him in a round about way anyways.
"Oh, yeah, my bad. I forgot, you've got an endless flame burning for Montana, don't ya?"
"And then some, son. And then some."
Inkt breaks the bill and smiles a bit as he hands over two rubber banded bundles of singles in 25 dollar increments each.
"So, i guess that means, you'd rather go watch the show then sit here and shoot the shit? I mean, really, you could have been doing that this whole time i've been gone. I mean, weren't you the one just bustin my balls about not staying in touch, and all that shit?"
Manny smiles as he takes the money and stands.
"Thing is, listening to Joe go on and on about his mom problems is one thing. The last thing I need to hear is your problems too, ya know?"
"I'll listen to your problems, sweetie."
Inkt looks to chase and shakes his head.
"Seriously, dude, the answer's still no. Also, for the love of god, don't call me sweetie, alright? I don't do the pet name, pillow talk, cuddling bullshit, so you can just 86 that bitch out of your game right now."
Chase looks on, a bit put off by his turned down advances, while Joe stares off into space.
"Joe? You okay man?"
"Dude, my mom had the most amazing rack."
Inkt closes his eyes as he tries to put joe's randomness out of his thoughts.
"So, Swee- I mean, Inky... Is Inky okay? Fuck it, I don't care if it isn't that name's cute as hell, you're seriously gonna fuck this place up this week, huh? All because what? Jimmy? Thing is, what if you make enough money against Hunter, or get enough fan support, that you can cover what you owe? Then what? Then YOU'RE the one who has to deal with a fucked up club."
"You'd think that, but, as long as the club's in my name? Insurance takes care of the damages, and im sure, even if jesse's against it, New Edge would probably chip in a good chunk of change too when it comes to renovations... He kind of has to, right? I mean, let's say there's an event at the MGM or something, yeah? Shit gets fucked up. Since it's his name on the rental lease, wouldn't that mean that he's responsible for the damages?"
"Yeah, but is New Edge actually renting from you? Or is this just some sort of verbal agreement?"
"Little of both? Shit, i never really thought of it that way. Another beer?"
Chase nods, as Joe swills his almost empty bottle in the face of Inkt.
"You too Joe?"
Inkt yanks the bottle out of joe's hand as the man watches Montana on stage, not really paying attention to Inkt or Chase.
"A....Ah,yeah... Whatever man."
Shaking his head, Inkt leans down and pulls out a pair of beers. Pops the tops, and slides them over to Joe and Chase.
"The thing is Chase, I hadn't put too much stock into what's going on in my life, ya know? Just thought I'd get by doing what I do... But now that Im the world Champion, the scene's changed. A lot."
"I bet it has. You know, I've watched some of the matches here and there on TV. Never really been a fan, but, i mean, isn't all that stuff staged anyways? I mean, don't guys go into a match with a winner in mind?"
Inkt shakes his head no and takes a pull of his beer.
"Thing is, it's just the opposite. It's a 'may the best man win' type of thing. Now, while some of us are different in real life then we are on TV, others aren't. Myself included for the most part. Fun lovin, love to party, this that and the other. But i mean, shit just got real in the last two weeks, ya know?"
"No. No i don't."
"Try to imagine for the sake of a long drawn out conversation on my part. So, seein that it's not staged, and seein is how this isn't gonna be your typical 'wrestling' match, I mean, there's all sorts of shit that can go down. Everything's fair game. Hell, if i wanted to smack hunter in the face with a nipple tassel so be it. I'd smack the shit out of him too, but that's not gonna do much damage to him. Thing is, this is one of those matches where some one is bound to end up in the hospital. Remember back in the day when Manny got in that big ass bar fight, and bottles and shit were used as knives, and this that and the other? Like, you know, a real bonafide fight?"
Chase nods as Inkt continues.
"This is one of those situations, man. This isn't actually wrestling. Sure, we'll use the moves that we know and what not, but fact still remains, this is a fuckin fight, dude. A fight for the World Championship between Hunter and myself. A fight where one if not both of us are gonna get severely fuckin hurt. I dare you to try and tell me that shit's staged when you see us afterwards. There's gonna be a shit ton of blood. A shit ton of broken shit all over the place. Combine that with like 150 people puttin in their two cents, plus the club actually being open for the girls? Dude, yeah, shit's gonna get fucked up. So, if I don't make the money that I owe, Im damn sure not leaving a clean and already prosperous club for fuckin Jimmy. I was thinkin to myself earlier, or talkin to montana or whatever, I don't remember, but I was sayin, if that fuck's gonna get the club, then he's gonna get it in the same, if not worse condition i got it in. True story."
"PAC MAN JONES BABY!!! YEAH!! RUN THAT SHIT!!! WOOOOOOOO!!"
Manny's voice carries over breaking up the seriousness of the conversation as he's flicking dollar bills up on the stage.
"Some things never change huh?"
Chase looks over his shoulder at manny and smiles.
"Nope. So how're you feeling as far as the match goes?"
It was at that time that Inkt paused for a moment thinking about the correct answer. If it were a legit match, he'd be pretty confident, the problem was, it wasn't a traditional match. Anything could happen. He could go in confident as hell, take a bottle to the head, and boom, KO... Anything could happen, which is what had Inkt second guessing himself. Between that, and the desire to make, and keep a name for himself really had him in a bit of a bind, which is when he felt his hand creep down to the pocket the money was in. He pulls it out and sets it on the counter. Looking to the money, and then to Chase, Inkt's eyes become very serious for a moment as he takes a few deep breaths.
"What... What's this for, Inky?"
"Chase, I need you to do me a favor, okay? For one, keep this shit to yourself. If anyone knew what I was doing, when it comes to my affiliations need be good or bad, it might not look good on me. As in, why am i parting with this, the last bit of my money to you instead of paying my debts."
"What do you need me to do with it?"
"I need you to place a bet, Chase."
Inkt sighs once more, taking a long drag of his almost extinguished cigarette. Looking from one employee to the next, his eyebrows raise a bit, as once more, his eyes fall on chase.
"A bet? On the match? Uhhh... Okay, annnd-"
"GOT DAMN! I thought you said you were broke, Inkt! What's this shit? You buyin chase for the night? Cause, im sure he'd pay for your services instead, come on bro, have a little bit of respect for yourself."
Respect for himself. That's what brought inkt to this situation to begin with. The man had too much respect for himself. Too much for those he cared about. He could have easily closed shop and called it good. All his girls were working other clubs anyways, aside from montana, no one had an exclusive deal with him. This was vegas, his staff would be employed before they even walked out the door. But it was still a matter of respect when it came to Inkt. It's something that he never really had a lot of when it came to his profession of wrestling. He had minor respect for those who had held the belt before him, for those who had accomplished great things in their career. Hell, Inkt had a hard enough time respecting himself. Until, he won the belt. Now, he respected those who put all their effort into gaining that belt. It was a worthy goal, and well worth the punishment they'd put themselves through week in and week out, just to get a chance at the belt, let alone taking it for themselves.
"Manny, give us a minute, okay? Here, you know what? Go get you a private dance from montana."
Inkt pulls a 100 dollar bill from the bundled money and hands it to Manny. With an excited expression, Manny quickly hurries off to find his future ex wife.
"Chase. The thing is, dude. I don't know what the outcome is going to be... But there is one thing I can guarantee for sure. Might as well go with the sure thing right? Plus, with the odds...It makes perfect sense."
Chase looks to Inkt and shakes his head.
"Come on man, don't do this."
Inkt takes in a deep ass breath once more and closes his eyes, a small tear escapes as he tries to tempt himself to reconsider.
"It's for the better, you know? I need the money, Chase. I need this club to stay open... I need..."
Inkt pauses for a moment again and once more shakes his head.
"I NEED YOU TO PUT ALL THAT FUCKIN MONEY ON ME MOTHER FUCKER! FUCK HUNTER VALENTYNE! FUCK HIM IN HIS STUPID BITCH ASS! THAT MOTHER FUCKER HASN'T WON A FUCKIN WORLD CHAMPIONSHIP IN NEW EDGE TO DATE, AND I'LL BE FUCKING DAMNED IF HE TAKES THAT SHIT FROM ME!"
Inkt slams his bottle on the counter, the foam flowing out the top, as Chase offers a huge ass smile. Throwing his hands up in the air, Inkt nods his head.
"Book that shit, Chase. Book it now! Fuck Jimmy! Fuck Jesse! And fuck Hunter Valentyne, that goddamned cock sucking choke artist's streak is gonna fuckin continue bitch. Not on my fucking watch! Period. He wants this belt? He's gonna have to take it off of someone else, cause i tell you what, boys, it sure as fuck isn't gonna be me. Not in my house, on my fuckin watch in my goddamned match!"
Chase looks on as something's been ignited within inkt.
"5 year anniversary. I'd say it's been damned near 5 years since hunter's been in this fuckin fed. A monumental show is gonna have a predictable outcome, and that's hunter losing his ass off in las vegas... Come at me bro!"
(end)
Las Vegas, Nevada.
We find the man of war sitting outside his club, "Inkt's Beaded Clam," a some what solemn look on his face. He's lost in thought. His belt, not draped over his shoulder, his attitude, not nearly as flamboyant as he's known for being. No, residing on his face, for once in a long time, is the look of sheer concentration. The cigarette lingers from his lips as he looks to his cell phone that resides within his palm. Shaking his head slightly, he offered a bit of frown as he pocketed the phone. Now wasn't the time to call in back up. No wasn't the time to lean on his best friend and tag partner ryan pugh for some form of inspiration. Now was the time that he had to take matters into his own hands. There weren't slews of fans here in las vegas patting him on the back as he made his way to the ring to some sort of illustrious arena. There were no stage hands, no grips, no interns to do his bidding. All he had on hand was his staff, some minor support from new edge, and a guest list that read roughly 150 people. While his announcement at Ignite seemed all well and good that he'd be willing to fight anyone at any given time may have bitten him in the ass, he was feeling more pressure from the venue itself. Let's face it, Inkt was in bad to some even worse people. Hell, he owed Vegas money. Not the town, no, the people who ran the town if you catch the drift. After Jesse had frozen Inkt's assets almost a month and a half ago, Inkt had been living from handout to handout. Pugh supported him most of the time, but not wanting to become a burden on the man, Inkt had reached out to an element he was more then familiar with.
One of the main reasons he had decided to go along with Jesse's little song and dance, was mostly wishful thinking. Inkt had hoped upon hope that his club would turn a profit this week leading into his underground match. Sure, celebrities were known for having a hand in various business ventures, but how many of them actually back the business from top to bottom? Inkt had been feeding money into "Inkt's Beaded Clam" ever since the inception came to be. However, it has gotten to the point where, if he doesn't come up with the money that he owe's, he'll be looking at a hostile takeover, and some sort of management restructuring that'll find him on his ass. Having always been a business man, Inkt had known his way around a dollar bill, turning fifty cents into two bucks so to speak. While Las Vegas was known for it's nightlife of sin, Inkt had to try and do something that would stand out. When there's fantasy shows going on at almost every casino, it's hard for the little guy to establish himself as a competent business man. A man who can lay the foundation of something, see it through and turn a profit. It was the profit that the bosses were interested in. All they wanted was the name. They wanted to essentially take the identity of a man who, up until now, only had a small amount of notoriety. Sure, he had a bit of a name in vegas, but that's because vegas is his home. People tend to show some pride when it comes to getting behind their hometown hero so to speak. Was inkt really a hero to the city? Hardly. Hell, most people you ask, probably wouldn't know his name... Until now. With New Edge Wrestling being one of the premier wrestling companies in the business, the name of a world champ tends to spread, either wrestling fan or not. Inkt of course, is now learning of the ramifications of such a name.
All the veterans of the sport would mention to Inkt from time to time throughout his career, "once you win the world championship? Everything changes. You aren't the hunter anymore, you're the hunted. You'll have a huge target on your back, and just about everyone who's anyone in the business is going to look to hit the bull's eye." Shit, they couldn't have been more accurate it seems. Not that anyone's beating down the door to get a crack at him, but suddenly, a man who'd be kept in the dark as far as future events goes, is now booked out weeks in advance. Hell, he's already got a match at justice against matt slater. Justice? Really? That's still several weeks out. A lot can go down within that time. With the marketing already taking place, and the hype being built, what's to say Inkt loses this week? What if Hunter does what no one thinks he can do? A lot of different variables seem to be coming into play. "Just because you're the champion, don't think there isn't any pressure. There's more pressure to retain, especially if the fans love you. You don't want to disappoint them, or even the locker room. Just think about it, if you're a champ that they can get behind? A bonafide, face of the company, champ? Then there's a ton of pressure on you to maintain that image." Once again, truer words hadn't been spoken.
"Shit's a lot thicker then it's supposed to be i suppose."
Inkt could hear his own voice leaving his lips, and then become carried off into the warm breeze. Shit had gotten thick. Really thick, with him being in debt up to his ears, and the pressure of him retaining his title, it was no wonder that the solitude was serving him well. The club was to be closed for the next few days as the proper precautions were to be taken. While it would be in his best interest to rig some things within to play out in his favor, Inkt had decided against it. If he was gonna win, he wanted it to be because he was the better fighter. The fans would pay top dollar to see he and hunter throw down, there was no doubt about that. The unfortunate part was, hardly any of that coin would line Inkt's pockets. Then, there was alcohol sales, once more, hardly any of that would go to him. Sure the markup would be outlandish, but let's face it, when you're in deep, the last thing you want to do is try to skim off the top.
As inkt sat there thinking in the setting sun, he noticed the various neon and LED lights begin to come to life around him. Vegas was about to come to life for the evening, and so was he. His phone vibrated within minutes of the sun dipping down below the horizon. Removing it from his pocket, he looked to the screen. The number was blocked. He pressed the button on top of the phone that would lead to him ignoring the call. Shaking his head he thought to himself that it was bill collectors. It wouldn't be a shock all things considered. His cards were maxed, and he couldn't even get by paying the minimum amount each month. The phone buzzed once more, and once more, Inkt ignored it. Standing, he looked up to the Beaded Clam sign looming above him. A slight smile came across his face as he placed his hands upon the double doors and pressed them open. Upon entering the club, the overwhelming smell of strawberry body spray, and cigar smoke filled his nostrils. While the girls were pretty much off for the night, Inkt managed to bring in a couple of them to try and earn a few bucks. Being that it was the middle of the week, there wasn't a lot of action going on anyways, and with the club being pretty much closed for the most part, there wasn't much need to bring in a full roster so to speak. He leaned against the wall in the entryway and took it all in. A strip joint, in vegas, about to get torn to shreds. All worth it in his eyes. If he was to hand the club over, he might as well do it in the same condition he got it in. No sense in making things easy for the guys, right? Watching the girl on stage, and a couple of cocktail waitresses walking around handing out drinks to the sparse patrons scattered about, Inkt shook his head once more and propped himself up from the wall. As he walked further in, he garnered a bit of attention from a couple of his employees. They congratulated him on his success in new edge, and had mentioned how they were looking forward to this upcoming 'event.' Unfortunately, Inkt, tried his best to force out matching enthusiasm. It worked just well enough to allow him to earn a kiss on the cheek from one of his lead girls.
"You'll do fine, babe. I know you can beat him. Like you said, your belt, your rules, right? I just wish you could have done it somewhere other then here."
Inkt's phone buzzed once more, and one more time, he ignored the call. The woman speaking to him, went by the stage name Montana. She had a body that wouldn't quit, and personality to match. There was a reason why she was one of the top grossing dancers within the BC, that reason being that she wasn't fake. Sure there were times when she'd put on a little extra charm to get some bigger tips or a dance or two, but nine times out of ten, she made sure she kept it real. Whenever Inkt was visiting, she was always sure to catch up on his life, and actually take an interest in his endeavors no matter how asinine they may seem. It was for this reason alone, that Inkt proceeded to his office upstairs. As he opened the door, letting himself in, there it sat flush within the wall. His safe. Locking the door behind him, he took a deep breath, and approached it. Pressing in a button combination, the door unlatched itself. Opening it with ease, he peered in. No more then a couple thousand dollars, tops, resting next to his title belt. Biting his lower lip, he took the remainder of his 'seed money' and stuffed it into one of his cargo pockets and closed the safe.
"Might be the last time i get to look at ya man... There's only two possible outcomes to this situation, and god willing, the one im hoping for comes through."
The latch on the door clicks closed, as we find Inkt standing within his office alone. Not only physically, but emotionally too. Sure, there were people he could confide in when it came to his doubts, but truth be told, he knew what they'd say when it came to his match, his situation, everything. For some reason, no matter what was going on in Inkt's head, the general public always seemed to have the same consensus when it came down to him needing advise. "You'll do fine, man. You've got so much talent. Things'll go your way, they always do. Now's your time, Inkt..." Etc, etc, etc... Just then, and quite possibly, for the last time, Inkt's phone began to buzz once more.
"Jesus fuckin Christ, man!"
Sliding his finger across the screen to take the call, Inkt yells in the phone:
"What the fuckin fuck do you want?!"
The voice on the other line was somewhat soft, and a bit unnerving.
"Inkt? Is that you? Look man, I heard you were in town. We've got a bit of a problem."
Inkt knew the voice all too well. It was Manny, a long time childhood friend. The two of them had drifted in and out of each other's life from time to time, but for some reason, always managed to have one another's back.
"Manny? Dude, what's goin on, guy? How'd you get this number?"
A small smile came across the face of Inkt, as he moved over to his desk and took a seat in his chair.
"I got it from Mendel. He was out this way not so long ago. Said you'd made quite the name for yourself and that you'd be in town this week. Look man, i've... Well, we've, rather, got a bit of an issue."
Inkt's jaw clenched. Typical. Just when his problems with Hunter, Jesse, and New Edge as a whole were piling up, now a blast from the past calls in. Maybe wanting a handout? Shit, he's barking up the wrong tree if that's the case. None the less, given the history between the two, Inkt felt it best to hear the guy out.
"What issue?"
Inkt, trying his best to feign some sort of interest in the conversation rested his forehead within his hand as he propped against the top of the desk.
"It's Chubby Joe. His... His mom died a while back, and he hasn't been the same since."
Inkt shook his head and sighed aloud.
"Uh, okay, and what's that got to do with me?"
"Well, honestly, not a whole hell of a lot, brah. But i figured, since you were here, maybe you could help Benny and I take care of him for a night? I mean hell, maybe we could snap him out of it? It'd be like old times. The four of us out on the town, livin it up?"
As fun as that sounded to Inkt, he had other stuff on his mind. A night on the town was probably the last thing he wanted to do.
"I'm gonna have to take a pass, bro. I've got this match coming up, I can't afford shit right now, and let's face it dude. I haven't seen you guys in like a year or more. Yeah, we share idle conversation and shit, and skype and what not, but I mean, really?"
"Look dude, I know you've got a lot on your plate right now. Trust me, I know who your in deep with, and let's face it, this match is a make it or break it kind of situation for you, but-"
"It's a make it or break it in more then one way Manny. Dude, the guy im facing? Hunter Valentyne? Has literally never won the world title before. He's pretty much the choke artist of choke artists. Thing is, no one, and I mean NO ONE wants to be 'the guy who lost the title to hunter,' ya know?"
Manny pauses a moment before speaking his next words.
"Look man, just one night, okay? Maybe recharge the batteries? Have some drinks, do some blow, get down with some hookers. I dont know, how's the club lookin? Still got some prospects there?"
Inkt chuckles, they'd always called his strippers prospects. Joking about which one of them would be their future ex wife and what not.
"Still got montana... But, i mean, as far as the girls and the club go, it's open, but it's not, you know? Kinda gettin it prepped for the match."
"Right right, totally forgot you were doin it there. But, i mean, the bar's still got booze right? Mind if we roll by? Have a couple drinks? Hand out a few tips?"
Inkt sighs a bit into the phone, but reluctantly he agrees, thinking to himself that maybe a boys night might do him just as much good as it would his friends. While they may come and go from time to time, it's always good to keep in touch, and hang out when you're in the area. However, what Inkt was about to get into from the moment they stepped foot into the bearded clam, would make for one interesting night.
Slipping the phone into his pocket once more as the conversation came to and end, he felt the money pressing up against his leg. This was one of those times where, he'd look like a genius or a damned fool when all was said and done. Standing up from his desk, he made a few steps to the door, unlocked it, and stepped out into the hallway that eventually led to a balcony type scenario that over looked the club. Taking in his bird's eye view like he used to, he propped his arms against the railing, and just stared out into his legacy. Sure, he had his tattooing legacy as well, but this was a business venture that he took a gamble on. Fitting that it'd be in vegas. He'd hate to lose it, but, when it's time to pay the piper, there's little you can do.
"Hunter fucking Valentyne..."
Inkt spoke to himself as he looked on to the stage where it was now occupied by Montana. She must have felt his gaze, as she looked up and gave him a wink. Several of the patrons looked up as well, following her eyes and saw him. A couple put their drinks up as a way to salute him, while the others offered a nod. Inkt smiled and gave a slight wave before turning to head down the stairs to the main level of the club. Mere moments had passed when the ambiance of the club was ruined by the trio of loud mouthed men walking in the club.
"What do you mean cover closed? Dude, I'm on the list, bud."
Running his hand through his hair, Inkt shook his head. He then raised his other hand and motioned for the security guard to let them in. Leading the way, we find manny, followed by chubby joe, and lastly, the quiet and soft spoken guy of the group, chase. Some how the four of them just clicked. Before Inkt was getting into trouble in the wrestling world, the four of them would hustle the hell out of las vegas. Getting inside tips on races, fights, everything. They were pullin down money every night, however, nothing compared to what they could have been making. None the less, the guys were all about the odds, and putting them more so into their favor.
"Manny, the fuck's up, bro? How's things? Joe, sorry to hear about your mom, man. Chas-"
Before Inkt could finish, Joe chimes in with a bit of simplicity to his tone.
"I am what I am, but the shit thing is, Inkt, I could think of hundreds of people i'd rather have died then her, like my dad or something."
Manny and Chase look at Joe and shake their heads while Inkt blinks several times, and continues on as though he hadn't heard what chubby joe had said.
"Chase? How's things? You settled down at all? Family and stuff like that?"
Manny smiles and ribs Chase as he speaks for him.
"Dude, you don't know, do ya?"
Inkt arcs his head to the side and stands, moving behind the bar. Taking four beers out from the fridge under the counter, he pops the tops, and hands them out, keeping one for himself."
"Know what?"
"Well, you'd know more if you'd call more, Mr. Hollywood wrestlin man. Dude, Chase's gay... I mean, straight fuckin homo. Like, if your club was slingin cock all over the place, this lil 'Mo prolly wouldn't leave. You'd have to get him a cot in your office or something."
Inkt blinks and takes a long pull of his beer with a smile as Manny continues.
"So, I guess you an ol Chazzy here have something in common now huh?"
Chase finally speaks up, wondering what Manny meant.
"What're you talkin' about Manny man?"
"Dude, you don't know? Damn man, I guess im just the most informed mother fucker out of the bunch, aren't I? Anyways, Inkt-"
Joe cuts off manny in a similar fashion to what he did to Inkt.
"Hell, even my kid sister could have died, but why my mom?"
Once more, the three of them look to Joe voiceless, Inkt takes this moment to chime in once more.
"Okay, yeah, this might be a bit of an emergency."
"Wait, wait, wait... Manny, what the hell do Inkt and I have in common?"
"OH! Right! As I was saying before I was interrupted by this fat assed hairy fuck, You and Inkt both love the cock!"
Inkt forces a chuckle as Joe and Manny crack up. Chase on the other hand, seems to become a lot more interested in Inkt, as he leans in closer over the bar.
"Chase... Uh, what'cha doin, bro?"
Chase looks inkt in the eyes all flirtatious like as he simply replies,
"Im puttin on the smolder, bro. Been trying to work on it now for the last several months. Guys love it when i put on the smolder. Is it working on you?"
Inkt shakes his head, and finally lays down what people have assumed time and time again about him.
"Look dude, I'm not about to get all flirty on ya and shit. No your 'smolder' isn't working on me. The thing is man, I don't find dudes attractive at all. I don't suck dick, and well, i'm sober. Plus, it's too light in here. If, and this is a big ass fucking IF, we were to hook up? There's no way in hell im lettin you in my asshole. Okay? Im the pitcher you're the catcher."
Chase wiggles a little bit and tries to put the smolder on even harder now.
"We'll see about that."
"Goddamn, man, you're like the fuckin quagmire of 'Mo's man. Inkt said no... for now, just let it be. You aren't god's gift to the proud and clean people of the persecuted gay world. Just... Damn man. Anyways, Inkt, word is, you're lookin to fuck this place up, yeah? Could I ask why?"
Inkt smiles, and reaches into his pocket, removing his cigarettes and placing the pack on the counter for a moment. Like a pack of vultures, the three men help themselves to the smokes... Each one taking turns with his lighter.
"Yeah.. sure, help yourselves..."
As the lighter makes its way back to Inkt, he lifts the pack and shuffles out a nail for himself. Placing it between his lips, he lights up and takes in a deep drag. As he exhales he begins to tell the story of how he's essentially fucked.
"So, you guys know Jimmy Brass Knucks, right? Or at least heard of him?"
The three nod willing Inkt to proceed with his story.
"Right, so, get this shit, fuckin Jesse styles, you know, my boss essentially, froze my assets as far as payment, royalties, etc go when he found out I fucked his wife. Needless to say, she was a great fuck. No lie there, but the fact still remains, that since I did that, I haven't seen one red fucking cent from New Edge Wrestling. I'm the fuckin World Champ, and nothin. I've been maxing out the cards, borrowing from a bud of mine, Pugh, and, well, before I ended up running them dry, I reached out to Jimmy. Needless to say, I owe that fool a ton of money. It's hard keeping my lifestyle, and two businesses going in this economy, you know? So, yeah... That's been weighing on my mind more then anything, especially since i got home."
Manny looks to inkt and nods, taking in the information. Quickly, he begins to pat his back pocket. Removing his wallet, he sorts through some bills folded neatly within..
"Dude, manny, I appreciate the gesture, but, yeah, im pretty sure you can't cover what I owe, let alone make a dent."
Manny gives Inkt a confused look.
"Bitch, this ain't for you, this is for the girls, can you break this fifty and give me singles?"
Manny slides the fifty on the counter to Inkt. Inkt takes it, wanting so badly to smack the guy in the face, but figured, fuck it, the money was goin to him in a round about way anyways.
"Oh, yeah, my bad. I forgot, you've got an endless flame burning for Montana, don't ya?"
"And then some, son. And then some."
Inkt breaks the bill and smiles a bit as he hands over two rubber banded bundles of singles in 25 dollar increments each.
"So, i guess that means, you'd rather go watch the show then sit here and shoot the shit? I mean, really, you could have been doing that this whole time i've been gone. I mean, weren't you the one just bustin my balls about not staying in touch, and all that shit?"
Manny smiles as he takes the money and stands.
"Thing is, listening to Joe go on and on about his mom problems is one thing. The last thing I need to hear is your problems too, ya know?"
"I'll listen to your problems, sweetie."
Inkt looks to chase and shakes his head.
"Seriously, dude, the answer's still no. Also, for the love of god, don't call me sweetie, alright? I don't do the pet name, pillow talk, cuddling bullshit, so you can just 86 that bitch out of your game right now."
Chase looks on, a bit put off by his turned down advances, while Joe stares off into space.
"Joe? You okay man?"
"Dude, my mom had the most amazing rack."
Inkt closes his eyes as he tries to put joe's randomness out of his thoughts.
"So, Swee- I mean, Inky... Is Inky okay? Fuck it, I don't care if it isn't that name's cute as hell, you're seriously gonna fuck this place up this week, huh? All because what? Jimmy? Thing is, what if you make enough money against Hunter, or get enough fan support, that you can cover what you owe? Then what? Then YOU'RE the one who has to deal with a fucked up club."
"You'd think that, but, as long as the club's in my name? Insurance takes care of the damages, and im sure, even if jesse's against it, New Edge would probably chip in a good chunk of change too when it comes to renovations... He kind of has to, right? I mean, let's say there's an event at the MGM or something, yeah? Shit gets fucked up. Since it's his name on the rental lease, wouldn't that mean that he's responsible for the damages?"
"Yeah, but is New Edge actually renting from you? Or is this just some sort of verbal agreement?"
"Little of both? Shit, i never really thought of it that way. Another beer?"
Chase nods, as Joe swills his almost empty bottle in the face of Inkt.
"You too Joe?"
Inkt yanks the bottle out of joe's hand as the man watches Montana on stage, not really paying attention to Inkt or Chase.
"A....Ah,yeah... Whatever man."
Shaking his head, Inkt leans down and pulls out a pair of beers. Pops the tops, and slides them over to Joe and Chase.
"The thing is Chase, I hadn't put too much stock into what's going on in my life, ya know? Just thought I'd get by doing what I do... But now that Im the world Champion, the scene's changed. A lot."
"I bet it has. You know, I've watched some of the matches here and there on TV. Never really been a fan, but, i mean, isn't all that stuff staged anyways? I mean, don't guys go into a match with a winner in mind?"
Inkt shakes his head no and takes a pull of his beer.
"Thing is, it's just the opposite. It's a 'may the best man win' type of thing. Now, while some of us are different in real life then we are on TV, others aren't. Myself included for the most part. Fun lovin, love to party, this that and the other. But i mean, shit just got real in the last two weeks, ya know?"
"No. No i don't."
"Try to imagine for the sake of a long drawn out conversation on my part. So, seein that it's not staged, and seein is how this isn't gonna be your typical 'wrestling' match, I mean, there's all sorts of shit that can go down. Everything's fair game. Hell, if i wanted to smack hunter in the face with a nipple tassel so be it. I'd smack the shit out of him too, but that's not gonna do much damage to him. Thing is, this is one of those matches where some one is bound to end up in the hospital. Remember back in the day when Manny got in that big ass bar fight, and bottles and shit were used as knives, and this that and the other? Like, you know, a real bonafide fight?"
Chase nods as Inkt continues.
"This is one of those situations, man. This isn't actually wrestling. Sure, we'll use the moves that we know and what not, but fact still remains, this is a fuckin fight, dude. A fight for the World Championship between Hunter and myself. A fight where one if not both of us are gonna get severely fuckin hurt. I dare you to try and tell me that shit's staged when you see us afterwards. There's gonna be a shit ton of blood. A shit ton of broken shit all over the place. Combine that with like 150 people puttin in their two cents, plus the club actually being open for the girls? Dude, yeah, shit's gonna get fucked up. So, if I don't make the money that I owe, Im damn sure not leaving a clean and already prosperous club for fuckin Jimmy. I was thinkin to myself earlier, or talkin to montana or whatever, I don't remember, but I was sayin, if that fuck's gonna get the club, then he's gonna get it in the same, if not worse condition i got it in. True story."
"PAC MAN JONES BABY!!! YEAH!! RUN THAT SHIT!!! WOOOOOOOO!!"
Manny's voice carries over breaking up the seriousness of the conversation as he's flicking dollar bills up on the stage.
"Some things never change huh?"
Chase looks over his shoulder at manny and smiles.
"Nope. So how're you feeling as far as the match goes?"
It was at that time that Inkt paused for a moment thinking about the correct answer. If it were a legit match, he'd be pretty confident, the problem was, it wasn't a traditional match. Anything could happen. He could go in confident as hell, take a bottle to the head, and boom, KO... Anything could happen, which is what had Inkt second guessing himself. Between that, and the desire to make, and keep a name for himself really had him in a bit of a bind, which is when he felt his hand creep down to the pocket the money was in. He pulls it out and sets it on the counter. Looking to the money, and then to Chase, Inkt's eyes become very serious for a moment as he takes a few deep breaths.
"What... What's this for, Inky?"
"Chase, I need you to do me a favor, okay? For one, keep this shit to yourself. If anyone knew what I was doing, when it comes to my affiliations need be good or bad, it might not look good on me. As in, why am i parting with this, the last bit of my money to you instead of paying my debts."
"What do you need me to do with it?"
"I need you to place a bet, Chase."
Inkt sighs once more, taking a long drag of his almost extinguished cigarette. Looking from one employee to the next, his eyebrows raise a bit, as once more, his eyes fall on chase.
"A bet? On the match? Uhhh... Okay, annnd-"
"GOT DAMN! I thought you said you were broke, Inkt! What's this shit? You buyin chase for the night? Cause, im sure he'd pay for your services instead, come on bro, have a little bit of respect for yourself."
Respect for himself. That's what brought inkt to this situation to begin with. The man had too much respect for himself. Too much for those he cared about. He could have easily closed shop and called it good. All his girls were working other clubs anyways, aside from montana, no one had an exclusive deal with him. This was vegas, his staff would be employed before they even walked out the door. But it was still a matter of respect when it came to Inkt. It's something that he never really had a lot of when it came to his profession of wrestling. He had minor respect for those who had held the belt before him, for those who had accomplished great things in their career. Hell, Inkt had a hard enough time respecting himself. Until, he won the belt. Now, he respected those who put all their effort into gaining that belt. It was a worthy goal, and well worth the punishment they'd put themselves through week in and week out, just to get a chance at the belt, let alone taking it for themselves.
"Manny, give us a minute, okay? Here, you know what? Go get you a private dance from montana."
Inkt pulls a 100 dollar bill from the bundled money and hands it to Manny. With an excited expression, Manny quickly hurries off to find his future ex wife.
"Chase. The thing is, dude. I don't know what the outcome is going to be... But there is one thing I can guarantee for sure. Might as well go with the sure thing right? Plus, with the odds...It makes perfect sense."
Chase looks to Inkt and shakes his head.
"Come on man, don't do this."
Inkt takes in a deep ass breath once more and closes his eyes, a small tear escapes as he tries to tempt himself to reconsider.
"It's for the better, you know? I need the money, Chase. I need this club to stay open... I need..."
Inkt pauses for a moment again and once more shakes his head.
"I NEED YOU TO PUT ALL THAT FUCKIN MONEY ON ME MOTHER FUCKER! FUCK HUNTER VALENTYNE! FUCK HIM IN HIS STUPID BITCH ASS! THAT MOTHER FUCKER HASN'T WON A FUCKIN WORLD CHAMPIONSHIP IN NEW EDGE TO DATE, AND I'LL BE FUCKING DAMNED IF HE TAKES THAT SHIT FROM ME!"
Inkt slams his bottle on the counter, the foam flowing out the top, as Chase offers a huge ass smile. Throwing his hands up in the air, Inkt nods his head.
"Book that shit, Chase. Book it now! Fuck Jimmy! Fuck Jesse! And fuck Hunter Valentyne, that goddamned cock sucking choke artist's streak is gonna fuckin continue bitch. Not on my fucking watch! Period. He wants this belt? He's gonna have to take it off of someone else, cause i tell you what, boys, it sure as fuck isn't gonna be me. Not in my house, on my fuckin watch in my goddamned match!"
Chase looks on as something's been ignited within inkt.
"5 year anniversary. I'd say it's been damned near 5 years since hunter's been in this fuckin fed. A monumental show is gonna have a predictable outcome, and that's hunter losing his ass off in las vegas... Come at me bro!"
(end)