Post by Dorling on Jul 22, 2018 6:36:25 GMT -5
It had been nearly six weeks since Dorling had even thought about wrestling. Katy was in the UK, continuing her recovery under the watchful gaze of Cable’s finest. Dorling was beginning to feel a bit more comfortable about the situation but he was still struggling with the idea of believing that somebody so unknown to him was acting in completely good faith.
April was much more appreciative of Cable’s assistance, and her insistence on him getting involved in the first place had been a bone of contention between them, occasionally rearing its ugly head in lively debate. One positive, however, was the contact with Vancek and Akers. It had been so long without seeing them before they had shown up that night – the night Dorling had inadvertently firebombed the biggest cocaine dealer in Vegas to death at the behest of a Hungarian gun-runner – and having them around provided him with some of the companionship he had been missing since Vitaly had returned to Russia.
Things on the domestic front had been rather quiet too. Dorling had wanted to confront Tasacs after what he had done, but Vancek, Akers and Esparza had all been very vocal in their opposition to the idea. For once, he had listened. He wasn’t sure that just doing nothing was the best idea though. He still looked at cops with suspicion, knowing as he did that many of them were on Santoro’s bank roll before he helped put him in prison – and probably still were.
Then, of course, there was the threat of the mystical Lady May. Was she real, the brothel owner and highly trained contract killer? Who knows? She hadn’t made herself known despite Dorling’s rather loud indiscretions on the underground scene.
But, and there’s always a but, something was brewing. Vancek and Akers had been somewhat edgy and, despite her own protestations at the whole setup, Esparza had to agree with them. Worse still, she was working with them, despite the fact that there is something very clearly written in the FBI rulebook about sharing information with private security companies.
So, with all of the previous in mind – the heightened sense of danger, the instructions to behave accordingly, the insistence of his closest peers to take willingly the help offered by Cable – you can see how Dorling would end up semi-drunk, alone and without any way of contacting anybody, on the outskirts of Las Vegas. Running.
19th April, Outer Las Vegas.
Dorling hopped over what looked like a dead dog in the road. Grim. He kept running as the headlights behind him were getting closer. He knew what was coming. These guys were Colombian. He killed their boss, or their business partner, or their brother. Maybe all three. He had nowhere to go. This is Nevada for fuck’s sake. It’s a desert. No hills to hide behind. No bushes to crouch in – certainly no bulletproof ones. He’d snuck out in one of his ill-judged childish protests about being ‘childminded’ or whatever other foolishness it was. Left his phone behind. He was trying to convince himself now that he did that on purpose but that was an honest fuck up and it looked like it was going to be the one that cost him.
Being honest with himself, he always knew that a fuck up was going to end him one day. He had kind of hoped it would be an ‘I accidentally launched myself into the sun with a homemade rocket’ kind of fuck up, but it was beginning to look more like a ‘I left my Samsung on charge at home’ kind of fuck up instead.
His lungs were burning. His legs were aching. The truck pulled alongside. He could see the silhouettes of the passengers. They were armed, obviously. They stopped in front of him, blocking the road. He could run into the desert but honestly, what was the point? He stopped running, bent over with his hands on his knees and heard the opening and closing of vehicle doors.
He looked up to see four burly South American looking dudes – he assumed Colombian but that was just a well-informed assumption – and he put his hand up.
‘Dudes.’
The ringleader got close, almost face to face.
‘I’m going to enjoy this, you piece of shit. You know what you did?’
‘Yes, I’m aware.’
The butt of a rifle struck him in the ribs. He bent over and mumbled to himself.
‘You a real smart guy huh? You the big man? You’re not gonna be so big when we’re done with you.’
Dorling looked up at him. He had to, he was a lot taller. The real question at this point was whether or not he should greet this with another wise crack.
‘Dude, you’re like a foot taller than me. How big do you think I am?’
Wrong choice. Another strike to the ribs.
‘Ok boys. You know what to do.’
They all pointed their weapons at him. The big guy stepped back. Another firing squad. This really wasn’t turning out to be Dorling’s year.
‘Can I say something before you execute me?’
Didn’t have time. A wooshing sound, a low thump and the big guy dropped to the ground. Dorling instinctively dropped down too. Another one fell. The other two started firing indiscriminately, silhouetted by the light from the vehicle. Another figure appeared. A slash. A strike. Then silence. Dorling had no idea what the fuck had just happened.
He stood up and looked at the devastation around him. He was expecting worse. That was until he saw that one of the Colombians heads had come off. It was literally three feet away from the rest of him. The only other person standing stepped out of the gloom.
Fuck.
Tall. Oriental. Female. She had a fucking sword in her hand and some kind of long range rifle on her back.
‘I’m guessing you must be Lady May?’
‘You guess correctly.’
‘You just saved my life.’
‘You are correct again.’
‘Why?’
‘Oh trust me Mr Dorling, we’re going to have plenty of time to get into that.’
<><><><><><><><><><><>
‘Look, anybody who shares a last name with somebody like Page and gets to hand out punishment to him on the regular is fine by me. I’m more than happy to be teaming with Andy Johnson-Page.
Cable? Well we’ll see won’t we? I’m still not convinced by him but this week he’s got a chance to show me that he means business. He needs to step up here, but I’m still 50-50 on expecting to feel a gentle stabbing in my back at some point because people, in general, are pieces of shit that don’t look out for others unless they get something in return. I’m watching you Cable.
And Xmyles? I have no fucking idea if watching you or looking away is the best course of action. You’re a fucking lunatic and I keep flicking between loving it and wanting to hide behind the sofa. Usually I’d be happy that somebody like you is on my team, but the concepts of ‘team’ and ‘wrestling’ appear to be fairly alien to you so I can’t be sure that you’re not just going to try to win this 8 person battle royal that you probably think you’re competing in.
But what I can be sure of is that I want to punch, very hard in the face, 3 of the 4 people across the ring from us.
Silence, you’re a big angry dude and I wouldn’t want you clubbing me about but I don’t really have any personal beef with you aside from what the WGWF powers that be have deemed me to have. That being said, I’ve got a few bees in my bonnet that need to buzz, and I’m happy to let them sting you if you get in my way.
But the other 3? Well.
Page has been pretty vocal about me in recent times and his Royal Family goons haven’t been shy in throwing hands. But I beat him, and I can and will beat him again. Look Chris, it’s sweet that you’re so concerned about whether or not your scumfuck boss/friend/fixer tried to top himself or not, but very few people outside of your lot care. You lost some of your head office power, didn’t you? Rotten doesn’t seem to want to stack the card in favour of the Royal Family so much and that makes you sad.
Deal with it. I’m gonna make you feel even sadder if you get near me on Monday.
And MDK? M D fucking K. This is the first time we’ve been in the same ring for several years. I get it, you stay away from me since the only time we’ve thrown down put a W in my column, and of course I did that thing where I stole a company away from you and kicked you to the kerb like a used-up hooker. I can hear your seething, nasty little words now. I can feel your contempt for me and everybody else. I wouldn’t want or expect it any other way. I’ve seen it all. I know what happens with you and these Royal Family schmucks, least of all Alyce, haven’t figured that shit out yet. But I remember. Courtney Reynolds, the ORC, Ashleigh McDaniel. Where are they now?
Gone.
You use people and lead them around like puppies and throw them away like trash when you’re done. It’s only a matter of time before this campaign of superiority and bluster runs out of steam and you move on to the next one, as you always do, leaving behind the empty husks of idiots that you somehow duped into following you. The Royal Family is doomed as long as you are involved and we both know it. Maybe I should take that over from you too, and save it like I did SCW.
But it’s not just you two that I have to deal with. Connolly is there too.
Connolly, master of manipulation. Connolly, the man that pulled out memories of his youth and tearful recollections of times long past to convince the WGWF world of his integrity, his humanity. Then he sucker punched me with Slater to prove that his just a scummy piece of shit like everybody else.
Imagine pretending to be so noble, so gracious, so righteous, so respectful.
No, wait. I can imagine that. It’s exactly what an underhanded arse would do. You showed the world your true colours Connolly, and you’re no better than anybody else. You want to win and you’ll do whatever it takes to do it. There’s no shame in that. 90% of the guys in this company would do it if there was a genuine chance of greatness.
At least we don’t have to listen to any of your self-righteous crap about how you’re doing it for your family or whatever. We see right through it. We see right through you. This is the beginning of the end for your title reign. You’re greedy, you’re human, you’re fallible.
In short.
Fuck you Silence.
Fuck you Page.
Fuck you MDK.
Fuck you Connolly.’
April was much more appreciative of Cable’s assistance, and her insistence on him getting involved in the first place had been a bone of contention between them, occasionally rearing its ugly head in lively debate. One positive, however, was the contact with Vancek and Akers. It had been so long without seeing them before they had shown up that night – the night Dorling had inadvertently firebombed the biggest cocaine dealer in Vegas to death at the behest of a Hungarian gun-runner – and having them around provided him with some of the companionship he had been missing since Vitaly had returned to Russia.
Things on the domestic front had been rather quiet too. Dorling had wanted to confront Tasacs after what he had done, but Vancek, Akers and Esparza had all been very vocal in their opposition to the idea. For once, he had listened. He wasn’t sure that just doing nothing was the best idea though. He still looked at cops with suspicion, knowing as he did that many of them were on Santoro’s bank roll before he helped put him in prison – and probably still were.
Then, of course, there was the threat of the mystical Lady May. Was she real, the brothel owner and highly trained contract killer? Who knows? She hadn’t made herself known despite Dorling’s rather loud indiscretions on the underground scene.
But, and there’s always a but, something was brewing. Vancek and Akers had been somewhat edgy and, despite her own protestations at the whole setup, Esparza had to agree with them. Worse still, she was working with them, despite the fact that there is something very clearly written in the FBI rulebook about sharing information with private security companies.
So, with all of the previous in mind – the heightened sense of danger, the instructions to behave accordingly, the insistence of his closest peers to take willingly the help offered by Cable – you can see how Dorling would end up semi-drunk, alone and without any way of contacting anybody, on the outskirts of Las Vegas. Running.
19th April, Outer Las Vegas.
Dorling hopped over what looked like a dead dog in the road. Grim. He kept running as the headlights behind him were getting closer. He knew what was coming. These guys were Colombian. He killed their boss, or their business partner, or their brother. Maybe all three. He had nowhere to go. This is Nevada for fuck’s sake. It’s a desert. No hills to hide behind. No bushes to crouch in – certainly no bulletproof ones. He’d snuck out in one of his ill-judged childish protests about being ‘childminded’ or whatever other foolishness it was. Left his phone behind. He was trying to convince himself now that he did that on purpose but that was an honest fuck up and it looked like it was going to be the one that cost him.
Being honest with himself, he always knew that a fuck up was going to end him one day. He had kind of hoped it would be an ‘I accidentally launched myself into the sun with a homemade rocket’ kind of fuck up, but it was beginning to look more like a ‘I left my Samsung on charge at home’ kind of fuck up instead.
His lungs were burning. His legs were aching. The truck pulled alongside. He could see the silhouettes of the passengers. They were armed, obviously. They stopped in front of him, blocking the road. He could run into the desert but honestly, what was the point? He stopped running, bent over with his hands on his knees and heard the opening and closing of vehicle doors.
He looked up to see four burly South American looking dudes – he assumed Colombian but that was just a well-informed assumption – and he put his hand up.
‘Dudes.’
The ringleader got close, almost face to face.
‘I’m going to enjoy this, you piece of shit. You know what you did?’
‘Yes, I’m aware.’
The butt of a rifle struck him in the ribs. He bent over and mumbled to himself.
‘You a real smart guy huh? You the big man? You’re not gonna be so big when we’re done with you.’
Dorling looked up at him. He had to, he was a lot taller. The real question at this point was whether or not he should greet this with another wise crack.
‘Dude, you’re like a foot taller than me. How big do you think I am?’
Wrong choice. Another strike to the ribs.
‘Ok boys. You know what to do.’
They all pointed their weapons at him. The big guy stepped back. Another firing squad. This really wasn’t turning out to be Dorling’s year.
‘Can I say something before you execute me?’
Didn’t have time. A wooshing sound, a low thump and the big guy dropped to the ground. Dorling instinctively dropped down too. Another one fell. The other two started firing indiscriminately, silhouetted by the light from the vehicle. Another figure appeared. A slash. A strike. Then silence. Dorling had no idea what the fuck had just happened.
He stood up and looked at the devastation around him. He was expecting worse. That was until he saw that one of the Colombians heads had come off. It was literally three feet away from the rest of him. The only other person standing stepped out of the gloom.
Fuck.
Tall. Oriental. Female. She had a fucking sword in her hand and some kind of long range rifle on her back.
‘I’m guessing you must be Lady May?’
‘You guess correctly.’
‘You just saved my life.’
‘You are correct again.’
‘Why?’
‘Oh trust me Mr Dorling, we’re going to have plenty of time to get into that.’
<><><><><><><><><><><>
‘Look, anybody who shares a last name with somebody like Page and gets to hand out punishment to him on the regular is fine by me. I’m more than happy to be teaming with Andy Johnson-Page.
Cable? Well we’ll see won’t we? I’m still not convinced by him but this week he’s got a chance to show me that he means business. He needs to step up here, but I’m still 50-50 on expecting to feel a gentle stabbing in my back at some point because people, in general, are pieces of shit that don’t look out for others unless they get something in return. I’m watching you Cable.
And Xmyles? I have no fucking idea if watching you or looking away is the best course of action. You’re a fucking lunatic and I keep flicking between loving it and wanting to hide behind the sofa. Usually I’d be happy that somebody like you is on my team, but the concepts of ‘team’ and ‘wrestling’ appear to be fairly alien to you so I can’t be sure that you’re not just going to try to win this 8 person battle royal that you probably think you’re competing in.
But what I can be sure of is that I want to punch, very hard in the face, 3 of the 4 people across the ring from us.
Silence, you’re a big angry dude and I wouldn’t want you clubbing me about but I don’t really have any personal beef with you aside from what the WGWF powers that be have deemed me to have. That being said, I’ve got a few bees in my bonnet that need to buzz, and I’m happy to let them sting you if you get in my way.
But the other 3? Well.
Page has been pretty vocal about me in recent times and his Royal Family goons haven’t been shy in throwing hands. But I beat him, and I can and will beat him again. Look Chris, it’s sweet that you’re so concerned about whether or not your scumfuck boss/friend/fixer tried to top himself or not, but very few people outside of your lot care. You lost some of your head office power, didn’t you? Rotten doesn’t seem to want to stack the card in favour of the Royal Family so much and that makes you sad.
Deal with it. I’m gonna make you feel even sadder if you get near me on Monday.
And MDK? M D fucking K. This is the first time we’ve been in the same ring for several years. I get it, you stay away from me since the only time we’ve thrown down put a W in my column, and of course I did that thing where I stole a company away from you and kicked you to the kerb like a used-up hooker. I can hear your seething, nasty little words now. I can feel your contempt for me and everybody else. I wouldn’t want or expect it any other way. I’ve seen it all. I know what happens with you and these Royal Family schmucks, least of all Alyce, haven’t figured that shit out yet. But I remember. Courtney Reynolds, the ORC, Ashleigh McDaniel. Where are they now?
Gone.
You use people and lead them around like puppies and throw them away like trash when you’re done. It’s only a matter of time before this campaign of superiority and bluster runs out of steam and you move on to the next one, as you always do, leaving behind the empty husks of idiots that you somehow duped into following you. The Royal Family is doomed as long as you are involved and we both know it. Maybe I should take that over from you too, and save it like I did SCW.
But it’s not just you two that I have to deal with. Connolly is there too.
Connolly, master of manipulation. Connolly, the man that pulled out memories of his youth and tearful recollections of times long past to convince the WGWF world of his integrity, his humanity. Then he sucker punched me with Slater to prove that his just a scummy piece of shit like everybody else.
Imagine pretending to be so noble, so gracious, so righteous, so respectful.
No, wait. I can imagine that. It’s exactly what an underhanded arse would do. You showed the world your true colours Connolly, and you’re no better than anybody else. You want to win and you’ll do whatever it takes to do it. There’s no shame in that. 90% of the guys in this company would do it if there was a genuine chance of greatness.
At least we don’t have to listen to any of your self-righteous crap about how you’re doing it for your family or whatever. We see right through it. We see right through you. This is the beginning of the end for your title reign. You’re greedy, you’re human, you’re fallible.
In short.
Fuck you Silence.
Fuck you Page.
Fuck you MDK.
Fuck you Connolly.’