Iron Fist
Act 1
"The Game Has Changed"
Much later, as he sat with his back against an inside wall of a Motel 6 just north of Japan-town, watching the pool of blood lap toward him, Anj would wonder whether he had mad a terrible mistake. Later still, of course, there'd be no doubt. But for now Anj is, as they say, in the moment. And the moment includes the blood lapping toward him, the pressure of dawn's late light at windows and doors, traffic sounds from the interstate nearby, the sound of someone weeping in the next room.
The blood was coming from the girl, Roxie was her name, and even though she swore she was born south of Santa Clara, everything about her except the put-on accent screamed East Coast -- West Chester maybe, or some other far reach, maybe Brooklyn for all he knew. Roxie's shoulders lay across the bathroom door's threshold. Not much of her head left in there: he knew that.
Their room was 212, second floor, foundation and floors close enough to plumb that the pool of blood advanced slowly, tracing the contour of her body just as he had, moving toward him like an accusing finger. His arm hurt like a son of a bitch. This was the other thing he knew: it would be hurting a hell of a lot more soon.
Anj realized that he was holding his breath. Listening for sirens, for the sound of people gathering on stairways or down in the parking lot, for the scramble of feet beyond the door.
Once again Anj's eyes swept the room. Near the half-open front door a body lay, that of a skinny, tallish man, possibly an albino. Oddly, not much blood there. Maybe blood was only waiting. Maybe when they lifted him, turned him, it would all come pouring out at once. But for now, only the dull flash of neon and headlights off pale skin.
The second body was in the bathroom, lodged securely in the window from outside. That's were Anj had found him, unable to move forward or back. This one had carried a shotgun. Blood from his neck gathered in the sink below, a thick pudding. Anj used straight razors when he shaved. It had been his father's. Whenever he moved to a new room, he set out his things first. The razor had been there by the sink, lined up with toothbrush and comb.
Just the two so far. From the first, the guy jammed in the window, he'd taken the shotgun that felled second. It was a Remington 870, barrel cut down to the length of the magazine, fifteen inches maybe.
Now he waited. Listening. For the sound of feet, sirens, slammed doors.
What he heard was the drip of the tub's faucet in the bathroom. That woman was weeping still in the next room. Then something else as well. Something scratching, scrabbling…
Some time passed before he realized it was his own arm jumping involuntarily, knuckles rapping on the floor, fingers scratching and thumbing as the hand contracted.
Then the sounds stopped. No feeling at all left in the arm, no movement. It hung there, apart from him, unconnected, like an abandoned shoe. Anj willed it to move. Nothing happened.
Worry about that later.
He looked back at the open door. Maybe that's it, Anj thought. Maybe no one else is coming, maybe it's over. Maybe, for now, three bodies are enough.
At the close of Impact 1/12/13…
Jessica was waiting for him as soon as he stepped through the curtains into the back. Angelus brushed by her in a storm.
He was seething, but more than that, he was exhausted.
It'd been one hell of a night.
"Where is he?" he barked. "Where's that son of a bitch!"
"Easy," Jessica said. "Slow down."
"Get out of my way!"
He grabbed one of the XWF interns by the shirt collar.
"Where is Carver? I want to knock his teeth down his throat."
"I--I think he left in his limo… I'm not sure. I can find out."
"Do it!"
The intern scurried away.
Anj felt a tug on his elbow, and Jessica grabbed him by the chin to get him to look at her.
"Take it easy," she said. "It's over. He's gone for now."
"I won't take it easy," he said. "That jackass is trying to get me killed."
"I saw," Jessica said, "but there's nothing more you can do. At least slow down so the medics can take a look at you. Your head is bleeding and you got burn marks on your skin."
Anj paused, and finally had to relent.
Almost as if they were waiting the medical team descended onto him. He stood off of the gorilla station and let the medic in front of him bandage his head.
"What are you going to do about this?"
"If Carver thinks I'm going to join his band of merry idiots he's out of mind, which isn't really a news flash. He can't run forever."
Jessica gave him a concerned look.
"What'll happen if you catch him?"
Anj lowered his eyes.
"Payback."
Episode Six
Subject: Angelus
Date recorded: 1/15/13
Location: Undisclosed
"Rebellion"
Here we are again.
A few days removed from one of the biggest Saturday Night Impacts ever.
And it's safe to say that the streak I'm on continues.
If there was any doubt left in anyone's mind that I'm at the top of my game it's been erased.
I walked <into> Phoenix the best in this company and walked <out> the best in this company.
I'm what Sid Feder wishes he could be when he's looking into the mirror and trying to straighten out the jheri curls on his head.
But I'm 1/3 the man you are, right, Sid?
How about you go back to the drawing board and think up some more cute catchphrases you can put on a t-shirt?
Moving on...
I want to make one thing perfectly clear.
Cyren and Rudolph, or whatever hate tank's name is, can go have a slumber party in Uncle Carver's naked puzzle basement for all I care.
I'm not with them.
I don't associate with them
And I sure as hell don't need them.
If either one of them thinks about getting in my way they'll find the business end of my foot in their face.
This Saturday is all business.
I have a job to do.
And that job is proving to Sebastian Duke yet again that he doesn't have what it takes.
I'm a dead man, huh?
Duke, I already proved that to you and everyone else on this roster that I'm a made man and that Angelus is stronger than death.
You couldn't do it.
You emptied the tank against me and it still wasn't good enough.
Kinda like the story of your life.
So crawl back to the darkness, Duke. Since you enjoy it so much.
You had a good run while it lasted, old man.
Speaking of old men…
Michael James, everyone!
Yet again, Mike James, Mr. Sunglasses at Night, has yet again found a way to stick his too cool for school attitude where it doesn't belong.
Mike, I'll keep this brief since I know you have trouble paying attention.
It doesn't matter if you want to beat up on Cyren and Rudolph as much as I do. The fact being is we have some unfinished business, you and I, and on Saturday I plan on once and for all putting you down like the old dog that you are.
And do me a favor, Mike.
Don't go wasting nine hours of tape like you usually do.
Nothing you have to say is that important anyway. That's been established.
We really don't need to hear about how you'll be kicking ass, smoking grass, taking names, crushing bones or talking about being Mr. Perfect or whatever it is that you call yourself.
Just walk yourself down to the ring on Saturday.
Proceed to get taken to school.
Then ride off into the sunset.
And hey, since Duke seems lonely.
Take him with you.
No comments:
Post a Comment