JT Midas
PWX Trainee
"The Outlaw Star"
Posts: 16 
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Post by JT Midas on May 12, 2014 14:34:08 GMT -5
It was a night like any other. The bar was standing room only, filled with dozens of loud patrons- some jovial, some just plain obnoxious, but all with a drink in hand. A group of men, twenty-somethings, play pool in the corner, flirting shamelessly with a couple of drunken college girls, laughing, and groping, and showing off their trick shots. One of the men, a lean man with light scruff on his face, puts his arm around the waist of one of the girls. "Hey guys, we're gettin' outta' here!" His posse nods in acknowledgment, as he escorts his girl out of the bar.
The streets were dark, even with the bright lights of the casinos, but even darker are the unpopulated alleys. The couple proceeded through the alley, led at a hurried pace by the young man. "Where are we going?" His companion's voice is shaky from the cold, and maybe slightly unnerved. The man smiles, and thrusts her around and against the wall.
"Oh, baby, right here is just fine!"
"Let go of me!" She struggles, now frightened by this sudden development. She yells, "Help! Somebody help me!"
"Honey, this is Las Vegas," laughs her attacker, pinning her wrists hard against the brick wall. "You think the 'city that never sleeps' is going to care about one little drunk bitch? You're just another face in the crowd, darlin'!"
"Hey," a voice comes out from around the corner, where the couple had previously left the bar. "Has anyone sees my car?" The man glances over, and sees a tall man approaching, about six feet tall, and obviously drunk. "I can't find my car. It's big and, and shiny!" He slurs, staggering to the couple; the girl weeps, terrified, as the drunken man moves in. He has dark, shoulder-length hair, and heavy stubble, as though he hasn't seen a razor in weeks, and wears a black leather coat over a neatly-pressed red button-up shirt. Agitated, the attacker releases the girl, stepping up to the drunk, as the girl crumbles to the floor, weeping in terror.
"Listen, buddy," he begins, but the drunk man lays into him with a hard punch that staggers his foe. He picks him back up to his feet, not hesitating as he lays into him with rights and lefts. The would-be rapist pulls a switchblade out of his pocket, charging at the stranger, but he is easily fought off and thrown into a row of aluminum trash cans, crashing hard. He gets up, running away from the scene, and the stranger takes a breath, walking down the alley alone.
"Wait," the girl calls out, grabbing him by the arm. "You...you saved me," she manages to get out, her voice weak from screaming and crying. "Thank you."
"Get away from me," he mutters, under his breath. Taken aback, the young lady tries to catch a glimpse of her hero's face. She narrows her eyes in recognition.
"Wait...aren't you...?"
He gently shakes her off his arm, moving on. "I'm nobody." He takes another step forward, and pauses, reaching into his rear pocket and pulling out his wallet. He checks inside, counting the bills- there is just over four one-hundred dollar bills inside, all crumbled from being hastily shoved inside. The man tosses the wallet aside. "Call a cab. Get home safe." Then he continues on his way, as the girl retrieves the wallet, staring in confusion. She heads hastily toward the city, and eventually disappears among those who walk the streets.
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Las Vegas. The city that never sleeps.
You see it at night and it shines; a beacon. People are drawn to it. They come for all sorts of reasons. Some are simply looking for a good time, a getaway from the normal and the mundane. Others, well...others simply can't get away. Can you guess which group I belong to?
If you chose door number two...
"Heads up, pal!"
I glance up from my seat at the bar; the bartender had just finished mixing my drink- Jack and Coke, as per the usual- and was informing me that it was ready. I nod in acknowledgment, reaching for my drink. The ice clinks against the glass, as I take a large sip. I swallow, the fiery warmth tickling the insides of my stomach. It has been a long while since I could really savor the bright lights of the big city. For so long, I have roamed around the streets like a vampire, afraid to show my face in the daylight of this dry desert I call home. I've made it a point to be a ghost these days. Nothing, from nowhere; no one, at all. I've been nameless, faceless...until now.
"Thanks, Johnny."
Over the years, this bar has become almost a safe-haven for me; the owner, Johnny, and I have a good relationship, and he does a lot to keep me out of the public eye. Since my last big wrestling stint in Sin City fell through, I just haven't had the heart to do much of anything. So, I come here, and I drink, and that's just the way it is.
"Anytime, kid." His voice is gruff, matching perfectly his large stature, and old, grizzled face. "So, listen, I overheard you talking to be your boy on the phone- you know, the boat guy. Just got back into the business, himself." I narrow my eyes, curious to hear where he is going with this, although it's a topic I have neglected to pay any heed. "You said somethin' about a match next week. You back in the business?"
"Yeah," I sigh. "I'm back."
"Well, hell!" His eyes narrow in excitement, and he smiles. Johnny has always been my greatest supporter, and my biggest fan. "It's about time JT Midas came out of his hiding place!"
"I don't know yet, man." I can't help but smile, if just a bit subtle and weak. I may not feel like the person I used to be, but Johnny still sees it. "After everything that has happened since the last time I wrestled...after Sin City...all this debt..."
I had not forgotten about all that money, the investment Stone had made to help me fund Midas Touch Productions after the fall of Elizabeth Black's Elite Wrestling Academy. It couldn't have come at a better time, either. I really felt my career was over before I really found my legs. Then came the gambling, followed by the loss, and finally..
"Hey, he snaps, derailing my train of though, "what the fuck is a little rain, when you've already had so much sunshine? You are JT Midas, man! You're the king with the golden crown!"
"I don't feel much like a king," I laugh under my breath, sarcastically. "I have no throne, no castle...I have nothing."
Johnny looked down at his feet. He meant well, I get that. Johnny has been a great friend to me, since my move from Seattle. In fact, I remember sitting in this same spot, finishing my sixth or seventh Jack & Coke- I may have lost track- as we watched me lose to Lucas Hilton, on the final broadcast of EWA Most Wanted.
"I'm going home," I finish my drink, sliding the empty glass across the bar. Johnny nods, as I stand up from my stool.
"Hey man," he stops me, "I'm glad you'll be wrestling again. Maybe now you can stop pretending to be drunk and beating up my patrons!"
I smile, nodding in acknowledgment, and I walk along the bar, pushing through a door that is clearly marked 'Employees Only.' No, I am not an employee; actually, this is my home. It may not be the most homely of homes, but this storage room is just large enough that I can sleep comfortably on my twin-sized futon. Besides, it is much nicer than sleeping out on the streets.
I can't deny that I am a bit anxious to be wrestling again. What would I be doing next Wednesday night, had I not signed a contract with PWX? I'd probably be out on the streets, beating up the dirtbags that linger around, harassing the girls, selling their drugs...honestly, how could I turn down an opportunity to make a living beating people again? At the rate my life is going, I would do just about anything for some cash.
I was a little shocked, when Caleb called to let me know he was going to be wrestling again. He had always talked openly about being finished with the business, and wanting to move on with his life. Admittedly, though, I probably should not have been all that surprised. Caleb is a great guy, no doubt about that, but he has always been his own worst enemy. He is an addict, and I knew he would not be able to stay from pro wrestling for too long. Unfortunately, though, wrestling is not his only addiction. True, though it is, that I would not have given PWX a second thought had it not been for that phone call from Caleb Houston.
These newcomer matches are always the same, and are beginning to wear thin on me. Every company I have joined has closed its doors faster than I could lace up my boots. I need something to sink my teeth into! Fortunately, then, it looks like I couldn't have signed on with PWX at a better time. "Opportunity Knocks," they are calling it. A group of PWX's greatest stars hit the road, and now the evil genius is moving all these pieces around like pawns in a game of chess. If anybody thinks he is a king, it is not me; it's Darin Zion. If there's another thing I am sick of in this business, it is overbearing, pretentious authority figures like Darin Zion and Brian Hollywood, and their little Establishment. I'm not one to sit on my hands and be held down. Just ask Caleb Houston. I will fight, and I will become who I will become! As of now, however, I'm an unknown, as I are my opponents this week. I don't much about them, really. All I was given were two names, accompanied by a photograph and some incredibly brief information.
Jebediah Generica- Oh boy, does that scream 'indies!' Still, this guy seems like he has something, or else PWX wouldn't have scouted him and signed him all at once. He's just a bit smaller than me, and works a solid technical style.That's nothing I can't handle, of course. I'm known for being much quicker and more agile than most of the opponents I've faced, so obviously my goal is to avoid being taken off my feet. Even still, he's not quite big enough to really keep me down for long. I don't expect he will be much of a threat.
Andre Mosely, however, is an unknown. There isn't much in his file; nobody seems to really know who he is, or where he came from. He definitely looks like a street thug, and he is built like a brawler. He's a bit bigger than Generica and me, but not much. If I'm right about his fighting style, then that shouldn't be much of an issue to handle, but I need to be careful not to underestimate him, or Generica, for that matter. It seems like Dre is the least experienced of the two, and I definitely would be the most. Generica was wrestling for small-time local promotions when he was scouted, while I was wrestling for the Elite Wrestling Academy way back in 2008! I was a championship contender, and I took the company by storm, along with Caleb Houston. I know how to deal- Will these boys fold under the pressure?
"Yo, kid!" Johnny's deep, gravelly voice calls out from the bar. He pushes through the doors, as I sit up in my futon, having apparently dozed off.
"Yeah, what's up?" He tosses an envelope to me, and it lands in my lap.
"You got a letter, Sleeping Beauty," he scoffs playfully. "Some tattooed freak...said he was stoned, like I give a shit!"
Stoned?
No, not 'stoned.'
"Yeah," I trail off, confused. "Hey, thanks, Johnny."
I begin tearing carefully at the envelope, as my friend leaves the room. Once I'm sure I have not ripped any edges, I retrieve the letter inside, narrowing my eyes as I unfold it, and slowly start reading.
My eyes widen, as I just begin comprehending the contents of the letter I have just read. I fold the note and set it down beside me, reaching for the envelope. It's hard for me to buy into this, as it is not like Stone at all to reach out to someone like this. Apprehensive, I reach in, and find that there is, in fact, a check written to me, for the sum of 3.5 million dollars. My heart stops, for just a moment, and then beats faster than before. My face is numb, and my hands shake. What is this?
What the hell does Adam Stone want?
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