Act 2
"Deadly Times"
Chapter One
"The Mechanic"
Have you ever seen a one trick pony in the field so happy and free?
If you've ever seen a one trick pony, then you've seen me.
Have you ever seen a one trick pony in the field so happy and free?
If you've ever seen a one trick pony, then you've seen me.
Have you ever seen a one-legged dog making its way down the street?
If you've seen a one-legged dog, then you've seen me.
Then you've seen me, I come and stand at every door.
Then you've seen me, I always leave with less than I had before.
Then you've seen me, bet I can make you smile when the blood, it hits the floor
Tell me, friend, can you ask for anything more?
Tell me can you ask for anything more?
The song traveled out through the speakers of an old radio in the garage. Its sound distorted and twangy from decades of use. The song made him think of an old hand that he used to tangle with back when he first started out. His name was George "Aces Wild" McCann. Big, strong, fists the size of rotary phones.
George never really got over, but he had a spectacular clothesline that would leave your neck sore for days. People loved it. Probably get George getting booked long after he should have been left of the card. What George didn't know was that behind his back the boys were talking about him. "One Trick" McCann they used to call him. The guys were tired of getting their heads almost taken off by George.
He pops the hood of the rusted camaro in front of him and takes a long look inside. Age, and years of sitting through seasons in a cluttered garage hadn't been good to the vehicle. He finds a box of tools in a faded red tin sitting on a workbench with splinters five inches long.
He often found that doing work with his hands was a nice escape. It was honest work, and he could lose himself in it for a few hours and feel like he had accomplished something in the day.
Gabrielle comes walking around the other side of the car and he watches her lean against the front bumper, crossing her arms as she rest her head down on them and just starts. Her little eyes are full of curiosity.
For the first time he notices the bullet holes on the side of the camaro and he wonders if the young girl will ask about them. She's a smart kid and sees more than she lets on.
"This isn't your car," she says.
"I know," he replies. "Just thought I'd work on it for awhile."
"This is my daddy's car."
"That so?"
She nods as if she shared some great important detail with him and maybe in a way she has.
"Where's your daddy now?"
"No one knows."
He nods now, and wipes a hand off on a stained rag that he found on the workbench.
"If you'd like, I can leave your daddy's car alone."
"No," she says. "It's okay. He's a good man. I don't think he'd mind."
"Okay then."
He resumes his work, letting the young girl watch as he picks through the box of tools for the one he needs. She studies him, intently, so much so he can hear her little breaths in pants from her mouth.
"Where'd you learn to do that?" she asks after a short time.
"What? Fixing cars? Long story, consider it a hobby of mine."
"I have hobbies."
"Oh yeah? What's your hobby?"
"I can hold my breath underwater for almost three minutes!"
He laughs.
"That's not really a hobby as much as it's a talent."
"Oh," she puts her head back down on her arms and frowns.
"It's not a bad thing. A talent is something you do that no one else can."
"What's your talent?"
He looks away, goes to answer --
"Gabrielle?"
They both turn to see Gabrielle's mother, Roselyn, coming up the driveway from the walk.
"What are you doing out here?" she asks.
"I'm just watching."
"I said not to bother my friend, okay? Now please run inside."
The girl pauses, looks up at him and he quietly nods as she scampers off back toward the house.
Roselyn makes sure her daughter is out of ear shot and asks, "What are you doing out here?"
"I, uh… needed to get some fresh air."
"I see that and that requires you to mess around with my husband's car?"
"Well, it's not like it was going anywhere."
She folds her arm, and a warm gust of air pushes her dark hair off her face and blows it sideways.
"I'm sorry," she says. "I'm just trying to figure all this out."
"I understand."
"Have you… remembered anything since last night?"
He shakes his head.
"What happens now?" she asks.
"I have a name, that's it. Cobb"
He thought that maybe saying it out loud would jog another memory loose, but it doesn't. He looks to Roselyn to see if it means anything to her and it doesn't.
"I just…" she starts. "I just need to know why you had my name on a slip of paper in your pocket."
"I wish I could tell you."
"I want to help… I do. I'm just scared."
"I know," he says and he comes over and puts a hand on her shoulder. "But I need something from you, other than the room and board."
"What?" she asks.
"I need to know who killed your husband."
Chapter Two
"Whole Damn Show"
Sometimes you just need to put things in perspective.
What does it all mean?
Two men. Polar opposites. Different in every way. Believing two very different sets of beliefs, yet, both believe they are the best.
We've not talking about Benjamin Crane and Chris Hartt.
We're talking about the light and the dark.
Angelus and Mark Flynn.
For you see, both men are on a collision course that was put into motion a long time ago. But you could also argue that they both need each other. They balance the other out. Without one you cannot have the other.
Flynn, poignant as ever, will attempt to discredit Angelus as being Witasick's lapdog. But is that true?
Sure, Witasick signed Angelus to a long term deal to be on Warfare, but what has he really done for him since?
Where's the rematch for the US title?
Where's his match for the US title for holding the Xtreme title for over six weeks?
Why is Sebastian Duke, a man that Angelus has beaten twice, getting a title shot before him?
It doesn't add up.
You see, that's the redirect. The slight of hand.
Now you see it, now you don't.
Angelus is no more a lapdog for Wallace than Flynn is the bill of perfect mental health.
This is personal for Anj. Always has been.
It has nothing to do with being a company man or selling a bunch of t-shirts.
Angelus wants to hurt Flynn.
And he wants to remove him, because the longer you have a Mark Flynn problem the tighter the vise grip on the company squeezes until there's nothing left.
Wrestlers like Benjamin Crane are just part of the theatrics.
The wonderful assistant to help Flynn cut someone in half, literally and figuratively.
Look, folks. No hands. Nothing up my sleeve.
Believe what you will.
Believe what they're selling you.
Because there's only one spot at the top and it doesn't belong to Mark Flynn, Sebastian Duke, Peter Gilmour, Crimson Cobra.
It belongs to Angelus.
No smoke. No mirrors.
Just one man, made of flesh and bone like you and I.
Curtains close.
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