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[Lunch with Sara was a blast. She enjoyed the “West Mex” flavors of Taco John’s. It was new on me, but it wasn’t too bad. I’m nervous about meeting these people from this casino. I don’t know too much about them, but I have to assume, being a casino, there’ll be plenty of surveillance coverage just in case they’re all wackos. I guess I’ll find out soon!] We pick back up with Sara and Mike walking up to a large building. The roof on the building is a slanted, bright red. The walls are all white. The building is very large, probably the size of an arena, or larger. As they get in the front door, they see two escalators directly in front of them. One goes up, comes back down. They get on the escalator and go to the second floor. As soon as they step foot, on the second floor, a uniformed security officer hollers to them for identification. Mike turns toward him, and he stops in his tracks.
Mike: Brandon?
Officer: MC Terrible?!
The two run up to one another and shake hands. Suddenly, Brandon shrinks back from him and holds his ear.
Mike: What’s up man?
Brandon: Our radios are loud today. There’s something wrong with them. What in the hell are you doing in Iowa?
Mike: On the way to Seattle for Lord of the Ring. Thought I’d stop through and meet some of you guys.
Brandon: Yeah, hang on. (keying up the microphone on his shoulder) 757 to 739, 702, 779, and 722, you have a 10-12 at the Main Crossover. Please twenty-five when you get the chance.
Four officers come from all directions, smiling the whole way, instantly knowing who it is when they see Brandon lurking over him. They all run up and take turns shaking hands with him. They even have him face a camera and they get their picture taken with him by surveillance. One of the officers takes Brandon’s spot behind his podium, and Brandon walks with Mike and Sara. He takes them around the table games area, and Mike watches the Craps tables for a couple of minutes. Then they move on. They get on an elevator, and Brandon, a tall lanky kid, pushes ‘4’. They get to the fourth floor, and get out of the elevator in a type of simulcasting area.
Mike: Where are you taking me?
Brandon: I remember you talking about liking poker, so I thought I’d show you our poker room.
Mike: Oh, that’s cool.
They walk forward about fifty feet and take a right. They walk down a hallway, and Mike looks into the room. There are poker tables spread out to his left and right. He smiles as he hears the sounds of chips clacking together. He feels comfortable. Suddenly, there is a crowd forming around him. He steps into the poker room, and several people surround him asking for autographs. Brandon stands at guard, but Mike assures him that it’s okay, and begins to sign autographs and pose for pictures.
Mike: Brandon, it’s alright. I’m used to it.
Poker dealers in blue shirts with white and black diamonds down the middle come walking down the hallway from an elevator lobby. One of them, in particular, stands out to Mike. He is a young man, well over six feet, with an average build. He reads the man’s name tag and says his name as the man walks past.
Mike: Russ.
Russ: Mike?
Mike: Holy shit! What are you doing here?
Author’s Note: Yeah, it’s me. I wanted to try this.
Russ: I work here, what are you doing here?
Mike: Passing through. How do you…wait, it doesn’t make sense!
Russ: What? How do I write your material from this far away?
Mike: Well, yeah?
Russ: I’ve had an agreement with Jon Brown for a few years now. I refuse to work in L.A. I’ve been all over the country, and he allows me to send it all in.
Mike: That’s sweet! I’ve only seen a picture of you, and heard legends of your work. It wasn’t until now that I realized why you’re the perfect writer for me.
Russ: Why’s that?
Mike: Because you’re a kid like me.
Russ: Well, not exactly. I’m a little older than you are Mike.
Mike: Yeah? Well, why do you have a job when you make such good money with the XWF?
Russ: How do you think you got interested in poker all of a sudden? It sure wasn’t because Jon Brown wanted to see if his star tag team was good at gambling. Because I love poker. That’s why I work here. I don’t have to work this job. Jonathyn pays me so much money, I could live in a mansion somewhere off of Puerta Vallarta. It’s not that I don’t have money. I just prefer to make a legitimate living as well.
Mike steps closer to Russ, and shakes his hand.
Mike: Thank you. Thank you for making me who I am.
Russ: Just, doing my job Mike.
Mike: Well, I can tell you this. If it weren’t for you, I probably wouldn’t even exist in this industry.
Russ: You’re right. Do you think Jonathyn found you himself? I’m a talent scout too.
Mike: Wow. You really are a jack of all trades!
Russ: Yeah, but a master of none.
Mike: It’s so nice to finally meet you.
Russ: I hate to go man, but it’s push time.
Mike: Push time?
Russ grabs a brown metal box with windows on three sides of it. It fits in his hand by the handle. There are chips about three quarters of the way up in the box.
Russ: It means I’ve gotta go deal man. It was nice seeing you. You’ll have to stop through Iowa again sometime. Maybe we can do dinner or something.
Mike: Yeah, I’d like that. I’d like it a lot.
Russ leaves Mike standing there signing autographs as he goes to deal. Mike, still dumbfounded by the whole altercation, signs autographs as we fade to black.
Mike: 504 Boy. The name, in and of itself, says enough doesn’t it? The man has done so much in the XWF yet he still refers to himself as “The Rookie in the making of a legend.” I’m not sure how that makes sense, but hey. Who am I to judge?
Fiver, this’ll be our fourth encounter in the ring, and up to this point, your record against me is, well, not so hot. Four matches, four victories for me. The greatest of which, coming just last Monday at Massacre. Why? Because, the two of you are Massacre’s golden couple, and you just couldn’t get the job done against the champs. It sucks doesn’t it? Sucks to know that you just can’t get the job done against me doesn’t it? You, just like your partners in the match on Sunday, are below me. When I walk down the street, you’re the type of people who should move to the other side of the street. You don’t deserve to grovel in the dust my shoes kick up. You don’t deserve to be in the ring with me, and you certainly don’t deserve to touch me.
The fact is this, I’m losing patience with you and your whole freak parade. I’ve faced you with two different partners. Now, you’re taking partner number two, and adding a third! Funny that I call her number two isn’t it? She’s not worth a number two. And number three, being Lilly, shouldn’t be anywhere near me. She should go back home to Shawn Storm and stay out of our business. Let the grown-ups handle their beef.
Fiver, Sunday is just a few short days away, and I can say to you. Beyond the shadow of a doubt, you will only pry this title from my hand by some act of god. It will take an absolute miracle for the THREE of you to beat us. I can say it with the utmost confidence, because the three of you don’t make up one of us. Not even one. You’re like dwarf wrestlers. Ya just can’t do it.
Sunday, you will meet The Paradigm and The Savior in the ring. When all is said and done, I will make an example out of you. And that is a damned promise.
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