End of the Line: Part Two
Act 2
"The Coyote"
~1~
Six a.m., first light of dawn, world stitching itself back together out there, reconstituting itself, as he looked on.
Blink, and the warehouse across the way reemerged.
Blink again, the city loomed in the distance, a ship coming into the port.
Birds skittered from ragged tree to ragged tree complaining. Cars idled at curbside, took on human freight, pulled away.
Anj sat in his apartment sipping scotch from the only glass he'd kept. The scotch was Buchanan's, a mid-range blend. Not bad at all. Big seller among Latinos. No phone service here anymore, nothing of value. Couch, bed and chairs came with the rent. Clothes, razor, money and other essentials waited in a duffel bag by the door.
Just as a good car waited in the parking lot.
The TV, he'd found sitting beside garbage bags at the curb when he put out his own glasses, dishes and miscellaneous goods for pickup. Why not? he thought. Ten-inch screen, and pretty much banged to hell, but it worked. So now he was watching a nature program in which four or five coyotes chased a jackrabbit. The dogs were relaying: one would chase the rabbit a while, then another would take over.
Anj stared at the body near the front door.
It was slumped over. Not moving.
Sooner or later they'd send another one. Only a matter of time. Cobb had known that all along. They both did. The rest was no more than dancing, fancy footwork and misdirection, figure-eight of the bullfighter's cape. No way they were just going to let this lie.
Anj poured the last of the Buchanan's into his last glass.
Guests soon, no doubt about it.
~2~
Wednesday, December 19th
Wednesday, December 19th
Long Island, New York
He opened his eyes and found himself staring at a black and white photo of a group of hockey players celebrating at center ice.
He admired the detail of the photo for a moment, the sticks and gloves strewn about the ice, the crowd caught in a deafening cheer, then he slid himself off the trainer's table.
He paced the room and took to staring at more black and white photos chronicling important moments in the franchise of the New York Islanders.
The door opened behind him and Liam, one of the head XWF trainers stepped into the room. Anj turned to face him.
"What's the verdict?"
"As much as I'd like to tell you and I should tell you to take it easy, you've passed all your tests. I can clear you for action on Saturday."
"Thanks, doc," Anj said and gave him a pat on his shoulder. "I appreciate it."
"Just try to avoid any head shots."
"That's usually my top priority in the ring."
The two shook hands and Anj stepped out into the corridor. Across the way, Jessica was sitting against the wall, typing aimlessly away at her phone. When she heard the door to the trainer's room close she looked up.
"So?" she asked getting to her feet.
"I'm cleared to play, coach."
A look of relief, then concern crossed her face.
"I still don't like it and I don't like being here."
"Don't worry --"
"Don't tell me not to worry. You're the only talent on my client list right now and you're recovering from a concussion and have a match in three days where if your opponents want to hit you with a forklift they can."
Anj laughed.
"You need to calm down. Besides, I doubt Yan or James have the capabilities to operate heavy machinery given that they're both nine sheets to the wind every time I see them."
"Regardless, I'll be happy when it's over."
The sound of clicking heels approaching broke the conversation.
"Oh, look who it is."
The voice came from down the corridor and belonged to the one and only Liz Weinberg.
"Christ…" Anj muttered.
"What are you doing here?" she asked as she drew closer. "Isn't this hostile territory, Mr. Take on the World?"
"Good to see you again, Liz"
"I'd say, I thought we had an agreement that if you were cutting any more promos it was me behind the mic."
"Things change."
Liz paused, and glanced over at Jessica.
"Is that… Jessica Mendez? God, I thought you had been shit-canned ages ago! Real nice company you're running with there, Angelus. This chick used to pick up my dry cleaning and bring me my sushi."
"Look, I don't care if you paid her to tell you that you don't have crows feet under your eyes, it doesn't matter. I'm not here to talk to you. So kindly, get out of our way. C'mon, Jess."
Jessica timidly stepped around Liz who was touching the side of her face in horror.
"Where are we going?"
"We're going to find Unknown Soldier. I think he has something I can use."
~3~
In his dream the jackrabbit stopped dead still and turned on the coyote, curling its lips back to reveal huge razor-sharp teeth just before it sprang.
That's when Anj woke and knew someone was in the room. A change in the quality of darkness at the window told him where the intruder was. Anj turned heavily in bed, as though restless, bed frame banging against the wall.
The man stopped moving.
Anj turned again and kept going, springing to his feet. The radio antenna in his hand slashed at the man's neck. There was much blood, and for a moment, two beats, three, the man stood frozen. By then Anj was behind him. He kicked the man's legs out from under and, as he went down, slashed again with the antenna, at the other side this time, then at the hand that was reaching for, presumably, a gun.
Bending down, foot planted on the man's arm, Anj pulled it out. A short-barrelled .38. As though the poor little thing had a nose job to help it fin in.
"Okay. On your feet."
"Whatever you say." His visitor held up both hands, palm out. "I'm cool."
Hardly more than a kid, really. Bulked up from workouts and steroids in equal measure. Dark hair cut almost to the scalp on both sides, left long on top. Sport coat over black T-shirt, a couple of gold chains. Small, square teeth. Not like the jackrabbit's at all.
Anj urged him through the front door and out onto the balcony that circled the building. All the apartments opened onto it.
"Jump," Anj said.
"You're crazy, man. We're on the second floor."
"Your call. I don't care much either way. Either you jump or I shoot you where you stand. Think about it. It's only, what, thirty feet or so? You'll live through it. Any luck at all, you get off with only a couple broken legs, maybe a shattered ankle."
Anj marked the moment it changed, saw the moment when the tension went away and his body accepted what was about to happen. The man put one hand on the railing.
"Give my regards to Cobb," Anj said.
Afterwards he collected the duffel bag from inside the door and went down the back stairs to his car.
Episode Three
Subject: Angelus
Date recorded: 12/19/12
Location: Undisclosed
"A Fist Full of Steel"
Okay, first order of business. Has anyone seen Christian Lost?
I think he's living up to his namesake and has disappeared.
Though, if the rumors are correct, I heard that he landed a job where he could put his degree in the custodial arts to use. So I'm happy for him.
As I said before. Don't need his help. Don't want his help. Bottom line.
I don't care if I have to take on Yan and Mike, don't call me Rick, James by myself.
Speaking of disappearing acts.
Hey Mike, if you and Yan are so tight, where's he been?
I haven't heard a peep out of him. Have you?
I hope he's not passed out in an alley somewhere. I looked forward to whipping his ass one more time with feeling.
But seriously, Mike. This is what I'm offered? I'm almost laughing.
I'm laughing because to be honest, I expected something a little more out of you.
I expected a challenge. Somebody to fight. Someone to show me what it means to be a professional wrestler. So far, all I've gotten is some nobody that beats on people weaker than him and doesn't have two dimes to rub together.
You want to talk about the real world, Mike? Let's talk about the real world.
See, in Mike James fantasy land you are a legend in your own mind. Master of your domain. Tough guy. The ultimate badass.
But here in reality, you're none of those things.
You should be thanking the powers that be that booked this match.
You're cannon fodder for the people who are more talented than you.
You had nothing before I was added to this match and I'm sad to say you'll have nothing after, but hey, enjoy your time in the sun while it lasts.
You see, Mike I don't have to run on and on about how much better I am than you or tell you that I'm going to beat you into next week or use lame cliches like "cake walk" or "send you back to the McDonald's drive-thru"
I don't need to do that.
You've already planted the seed of doubt in your own head, Mike.
That path of glory you talk about walking so much. It doesn't exist for you.
I know that and deep down, you know it too.
It's obvious to everyone involved. I bet if you caught Yan at the right moment he'd tell you that too.
So go ahead and cut your little promos.
Talk about how you're doing us all a favor by gracing us with your presence.
Smoke. Drink. Have a party.
Mention that thing about the persecution, no, the masturbation?
No wait, the personification of perfection thing. I think the people like that.
Throw a couple lines in about what a waste of time everyone you fight is.
Oh, make sure to list all your accomplishments again. Just in case anyone forgets.
Do me a favor though? Try to keep it under three hours. Honestly, Mike. I checked out when you were talking. So if you could hit a few bullet points, maybe have a slide of some kind or an action scene it'd be easier for me to give a damn.
Anyway, Mike. I look forward to hearing from you.
I'm sure you'll have us all on the edges of our seats.
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