Hope For The Underrated Youth
Aug 8, 2019 23:37:31 GMT -5
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Post by Moxie James on Aug 8, 2019 23:37:31 GMT -5
She drummed her fingers on the steering wheel of the Jeep, sitting uncomfortably in traffic on the Pacific Coast Highway. Of course, Los Angeles traffic would have to be bumper to bumper when she was sitting on $15,000 worth of cocaine.
“What the fuck are you doing?” she muttered to herself, catching a glimpse of her pale eyes in the rear view.
She’d promised herself that once she’d finished paying for her brother Royal’s rehab, she’d stop. But Royal was out. Doing okay, as far as she could tell. But she was used to addicts, had grown up with them her whole life. So she’d told herself she was just doing to do it until she had some savings put away just in case. Just in case he backslid and needed to go back, she wanted to have the money there.
Then that had become maybe a little extra just in case the Jeep needed work or the bus. A little extra savings wasn’t a bad idea. Once she had a hundred grand laid back she’d stop.
But even then, something in her gut like an internal lie detector said that wasn’t true either. She’d let herself get greedy, even if she refused to acknowledge it. For once in her life she didn’t have to check her bank account before she bought something off the McDonald’s dollar menu. For once, she didn’t have that weight on her shoulders that one mechanical fuck up, one medical bill, one whatever could ruin everything and put her on the street.
It was a rush.
But she’d traded that weight for another one: the knowledge that she was sitting on enough cocaine to put her away for the rest of her life.
Moxie tugged uncomfortably at the hem of the short gold dress. That was another thing… she was part of the experience for these rich junkie fucks. A pretty body to make the whole thing more luxurious. Some of the clubs she sold directly to the club owners and they distributed at a mark up. Those were the best ones because it was all over in one quick transaction and then she was driving back with a wad of cash in her glove box within an hour.
Some clubs just looked the other way while she dipped in and out of their VIP section to sell to whomever could afford it. Those nights she hated because sometimes it took the whole night or more to unload all of it. And all it took was wrong move, one undercover cop and she was fucked.
At least tonight she was getting rid of all of it at once.
The mask lay in her passenger seat. It had honestly been one of the first items to pop up in a quick Amazon Prime search. There hadn’t been any thought put behind the light up neon mask with Ax’s for eyes and an unhinged , stitched up smile. The only thought put into it, if you could call it that, was that the mask was cheap and eligible for two day shipping.
It didn’t need to be anything she liked, just something that would fill the need to protect her identity. Her career, what little there was of it. But she’d always looked to the future and she knew she could be something in the business. Something that didn’t need “Moxie James sold me coke” popping up in a year or two on TMZ or whatever.
Now the mask was growing on her though. The anonymity to do anything… it was an unforeseen perk.
The kinda of clubs she delivered to mostly indulged the rich and eccentric, so the mask was hardly the weirdest thing there.
Once, she’d sold six grams of coke to a D-list celebrity wearing nothing but an adult diaper and that wasn’t even the weirdest thing she’d encountered.
Moxie sighed as traffic nudged up another inch. At this rate, she’d miss her window unless something happened and soon.
Reaching down, she grabbed the mask and slipped it on. She hit the concealed button to turn on the LED lights and brought up her phone’s video app. Her finger hovered over the record button before she shook her head and pulled the mask off.
“Nah, too weird,” she muttered to herself before she brought the phone up to record again. May as well get something productive done.
“That was better, I guess,” she said, tilting her head. “As a first introduction, I mean. Went a little better than that whole being knocked unconscious thing.”
Traffic was at a standstill, giving her the opportunity to look at her camera dead on. “Soooo next Blitz… I have some pretty serious worries about this whole thing. I’ve been a little anxious about fighting an elderly person,” she said with earnest concern all over her face. “Like they really got me out here fighting someone’s grandfather and I feel a type of way about it. I’m not tryna no one on one with this man who is mad as hell that bingo got cancelled last night. I’m not trying to lay out someone’s grandpappy who out here wondering if they deliver emails on Sunday. I’m just not trying to be responsible for this man breaking a hip. He’s been fucked up so many times over the years that I’m gonna hit him one good time and all his bones are going to disintegrate.”
Moxie smirked, her words just faintly dripping in sarcasm despite the straight faced delivery. Just enough to let whoever was watching on the other end in on the joke that she wasn’t being serious.
“I’m gonna put David Scott on the mat and he’s gonna be pressing his life alert like his life depends on it. Like oh shit I’ve fallen send the fire department. I looked for this dude’s Twitter to see what he was about but his ass tweets like once ever week and at first I was like what the fuck but then I realized he probably still uses a phone where you gotta press the same button three times for S.
I just mean it’s the year of our Lord two thousand and nineteen and this man unironically used “on fleek’ in a sentence. This match probably breaks like six laws for elder abuse or some shit. Y’all want me to beat on this poor old man who probably remembers when MASH aired its first episode. This man walked both ways up hill in the snow barefoot both ways just to get to school and this is how y’all treat him?”
Moxie tried to hide a laugh, her ability to keep a straight face faltering. “But on a less funny note, disclaimer whatever. I’m not stupid. I know that this man is old enough to be my teen dad on an MTV reality show about the dangers of abstinence only sex education in the Bible Belt but with age comes wisdom.
I know he’s got sixteen years on me. Like this man had his drivers license the year I was born. He’s got more experience than me in life and in the ring. But at a certain point… honestly how long can you do this? This is starting to become that trope where Old Man Wrassler has like 27 retirement matches and keeps coming back to the ring even when his tits flap when he runs. I’m not saying that David Scott’s tits flap when he runs I’m just saying I’ve never honestly looked close enough to tell you for sure.
But seriously, he’s got age and experience and that brings a lot to a match. I know that. He’s fought a thousand flippy fucks like me and he’s logged more hours in the ring than I have. That means something. There’s this fucking saying I can’t totally remember but it’s like raw talent only gets you so far. It takes 10,000 hours of practice to really be good at something.
David Scott is way closer to 10,000 hours than I am. But dude, I think whoever came up with that saying was talking about needle point or some shit like that because let’s not lie. Ten thousand hours in the ring also breaks down your body. It means that all I have to do is a quick google search to tell me how many major wrestling related injuries this man has had over the years. Now I know that and I know what to target. Calm down, Gramps… I’m not hacking you. I know back in your day people had privacy on the internet but that’s not a thing anymore. All your shit is out there, a couple clicks away.
Don’t pretend you’re not bugging one of your kids to help you set up your iPhone. You don’t know how this shit works,” she laughed.
“Anyway, drink your Metamucil, Gramps. See you Sunday.”
Traffic had just barely started moving as Moxie hit the final button to submit the video to her YouTube channel.
Thank fuck.
Nervousness clawed its way up her throat for more reasons than just the load of coke next to the spare tire in the back. No matter how much of a sarcastic asshole she’d been in that video, it did nothing to ease the knot of anxiety in her chest.
David Scott was on an equal playing field with her and taking a win over him would look good. Really good. Her self confidence had been shaken lately with the loss to Lisa Seldon in the first round of Snuff Fest. Letting someone get the jump on her and take her down at her first Valor show. And she hadn’t been doing super great before 4CW had closed its doors.
It scared her to think that maybe that hot streak at the very beginning was all she had in her.
The win on Flipping the Script had helped but… she needed this. Her self-confidence needed it. There was only so long before she could fake it until she made it.
And she’d promised Zion that as soon as wrestling came through on the money front she’d never sling again. The only way it could do that is if she impressed in her first few matches at Valor.
Even if he didn’t know the real extent to what she was doing. How much product she was moving.
Zion was a weird sore spot she didn’t want to think about right then… much like her shitty track record against wrestling veterans.
She’d gone all the way to Chicago at the last minute for his fight. She’d been trying to push him back a little… trying to make give those stupid feelings time to die. But she couldn’t stay away no matter how hard she tried.
He was just her best friend.
With benefits.
That’s all he’d ever see her as, she needed to stop that pitiful yearning for more that built in her chest every time she woke up next to him.
He’d reminded her of that when she’d woken up alone in Chicago. The front desk had told her he’d already checked out…
She knew he’d been upset about the way his fight had gone… but damn. Waking up alone had practically been a billboard sized sign that he just didn’t think about her like that. The way that she did him…
And she needed to forget about it.
Moxie slid the duffel bag over her shoulder as she pulled the mask down over her face.
“Shit!”
That one word was all she had time to say. One moment she was pushing through the back door to the club, the next second a man’s shoulder drove up under her rib cage.
She sprawled on the cracked asphalt as her empty lungs spasmed in her chest, the air knocked out of her.
“Where the fuck is it, bitch?!” an unfamiliar voice snarled. She didn’t have to answer even if she could. His hands were on the strap of the bag, pulling it taught and then slicing through it with a knife she hadn’t even seen.
He was running through the parking lot before her head had even stopped spinning long enough to process what had just happened.
“Fuck,” she mumbled. Then louder, “FUCK!”
She slammed her hands down onto the pavement as bit back a scream of frustration. What had just happened was some junkie fuck had just robbed her of $15,000 worth of coke that technically belonged to a fucking cartel.
Until she handed it off to the club that did business directly with the cartel.
Who would undoubtedly let them know shit hadn’t showed up when it was supposed to.
Jesus Christ, she was fucked.
And she’d sat in a parking lot on the Santa Monica Freeway for almost two hours for absolutely fucking nothing.
Moxie wasn’t entirely sure which of those things pissed her off more. Nobody had ever accused her of having her priorities straight, after all.
“What the fuck are you doing?” she muttered to herself, catching a glimpse of her pale eyes in the rear view.
She’d promised herself that once she’d finished paying for her brother Royal’s rehab, she’d stop. But Royal was out. Doing okay, as far as she could tell. But she was used to addicts, had grown up with them her whole life. So she’d told herself she was just doing to do it until she had some savings put away just in case. Just in case he backslid and needed to go back, she wanted to have the money there.
Then that had become maybe a little extra just in case the Jeep needed work or the bus. A little extra savings wasn’t a bad idea. Once she had a hundred grand laid back she’d stop.
But even then, something in her gut like an internal lie detector said that wasn’t true either. She’d let herself get greedy, even if she refused to acknowledge it. For once in her life she didn’t have to check her bank account before she bought something off the McDonald’s dollar menu. For once, she didn’t have that weight on her shoulders that one mechanical fuck up, one medical bill, one whatever could ruin everything and put her on the street.
It was a rush.
But she’d traded that weight for another one: the knowledge that she was sitting on enough cocaine to put her away for the rest of her life.
Moxie tugged uncomfortably at the hem of the short gold dress. That was another thing… she was part of the experience for these rich junkie fucks. A pretty body to make the whole thing more luxurious. Some of the clubs she sold directly to the club owners and they distributed at a mark up. Those were the best ones because it was all over in one quick transaction and then she was driving back with a wad of cash in her glove box within an hour.
Some clubs just looked the other way while she dipped in and out of their VIP section to sell to whomever could afford it. Those nights she hated because sometimes it took the whole night or more to unload all of it. And all it took was wrong move, one undercover cop and she was fucked.
At least tonight she was getting rid of all of it at once.
The mask lay in her passenger seat. It had honestly been one of the first items to pop up in a quick Amazon Prime search. There hadn’t been any thought put behind the light up neon mask with Ax’s for eyes and an unhinged , stitched up smile. The only thought put into it, if you could call it that, was that the mask was cheap and eligible for two day shipping.
It didn’t need to be anything she liked, just something that would fill the need to protect her identity. Her career, what little there was of it. But she’d always looked to the future and she knew she could be something in the business. Something that didn’t need “Moxie James sold me coke” popping up in a year or two on TMZ or whatever.
Now the mask was growing on her though. The anonymity to do anything… it was an unforeseen perk.
The kinda of clubs she delivered to mostly indulged the rich and eccentric, so the mask was hardly the weirdest thing there.
Once, she’d sold six grams of coke to a D-list celebrity wearing nothing but an adult diaper and that wasn’t even the weirdest thing she’d encountered.
Moxie sighed as traffic nudged up another inch. At this rate, she’d miss her window unless something happened and soon.
Reaching down, she grabbed the mask and slipped it on. She hit the concealed button to turn on the LED lights and brought up her phone’s video app. Her finger hovered over the record button before she shook her head and pulled the mask off.
“Nah, too weird,” she muttered to herself before she brought the phone up to record again. May as well get something productive done.
“That was better, I guess,” she said, tilting her head. “As a first introduction, I mean. Went a little better than that whole being knocked unconscious thing.”
Traffic was at a standstill, giving her the opportunity to look at her camera dead on. “Soooo next Blitz… I have some pretty serious worries about this whole thing. I’ve been a little anxious about fighting an elderly person,” she said with earnest concern all over her face. “Like they really got me out here fighting someone’s grandfather and I feel a type of way about it. I’m not tryna no one on one with this man who is mad as hell that bingo got cancelled last night. I’m not trying to lay out someone’s grandpappy who out here wondering if they deliver emails on Sunday. I’m just not trying to be responsible for this man breaking a hip. He’s been fucked up so many times over the years that I’m gonna hit him one good time and all his bones are going to disintegrate.”
Moxie smirked, her words just faintly dripping in sarcasm despite the straight faced delivery. Just enough to let whoever was watching on the other end in on the joke that she wasn’t being serious.
“I’m gonna put David Scott on the mat and he’s gonna be pressing his life alert like his life depends on it. Like oh shit I’ve fallen send the fire department. I looked for this dude’s Twitter to see what he was about but his ass tweets like once ever week and at first I was like what the fuck but then I realized he probably still uses a phone where you gotta press the same button three times for S.
I just mean it’s the year of our Lord two thousand and nineteen and this man unironically used “on fleek’ in a sentence. This match probably breaks like six laws for elder abuse or some shit. Y’all want me to beat on this poor old man who probably remembers when MASH aired its first episode. This man walked both ways up hill in the snow barefoot both ways just to get to school and this is how y’all treat him?”
Moxie tried to hide a laugh, her ability to keep a straight face faltering. “But on a less funny note, disclaimer whatever. I’m not stupid. I know that this man is old enough to be my teen dad on an MTV reality show about the dangers of abstinence only sex education in the Bible Belt but with age comes wisdom.
I know he’s got sixteen years on me. Like this man had his drivers license the year I was born. He’s got more experience than me in life and in the ring. But at a certain point… honestly how long can you do this? This is starting to become that trope where Old Man Wrassler has like 27 retirement matches and keeps coming back to the ring even when his tits flap when he runs. I’m not saying that David Scott’s tits flap when he runs I’m just saying I’ve never honestly looked close enough to tell you for sure.
But seriously, he’s got age and experience and that brings a lot to a match. I know that. He’s fought a thousand flippy fucks like me and he’s logged more hours in the ring than I have. That means something. There’s this fucking saying I can’t totally remember but it’s like raw talent only gets you so far. It takes 10,000 hours of practice to really be good at something.
David Scott is way closer to 10,000 hours than I am. But dude, I think whoever came up with that saying was talking about needle point or some shit like that because let’s not lie. Ten thousand hours in the ring also breaks down your body. It means that all I have to do is a quick google search to tell me how many major wrestling related injuries this man has had over the years. Now I know that and I know what to target. Calm down, Gramps… I’m not hacking you. I know back in your day people had privacy on the internet but that’s not a thing anymore. All your shit is out there, a couple clicks away.
Don’t pretend you’re not bugging one of your kids to help you set up your iPhone. You don’t know how this shit works,” she laughed.
“Anyway, drink your Metamucil, Gramps. See you Sunday.”
Traffic had just barely started moving as Moxie hit the final button to submit the video to her YouTube channel.
Thank fuck.
Nervousness clawed its way up her throat for more reasons than just the load of coke next to the spare tire in the back. No matter how much of a sarcastic asshole she’d been in that video, it did nothing to ease the knot of anxiety in her chest.
David Scott was on an equal playing field with her and taking a win over him would look good. Really good. Her self confidence had been shaken lately with the loss to Lisa Seldon in the first round of Snuff Fest. Letting someone get the jump on her and take her down at her first Valor show. And she hadn’t been doing super great before 4CW had closed its doors.
It scared her to think that maybe that hot streak at the very beginning was all she had in her.
The win on Flipping the Script had helped but… she needed this. Her self-confidence needed it. There was only so long before she could fake it until she made it.
And she’d promised Zion that as soon as wrestling came through on the money front she’d never sling again. The only way it could do that is if she impressed in her first few matches at Valor.
Even if he didn’t know the real extent to what she was doing. How much product she was moving.
Zion was a weird sore spot she didn’t want to think about right then… much like her shitty track record against wrestling veterans.
She’d gone all the way to Chicago at the last minute for his fight. She’d been trying to push him back a little… trying to make give those stupid feelings time to die. But she couldn’t stay away no matter how hard she tried.
He was just her best friend.
With benefits.
That’s all he’d ever see her as, she needed to stop that pitiful yearning for more that built in her chest every time she woke up next to him.
He’d reminded her of that when she’d woken up alone in Chicago. The front desk had told her he’d already checked out…
She knew he’d been upset about the way his fight had gone… but damn. Waking up alone had practically been a billboard sized sign that he just didn’t think about her like that. The way that she did him…
And she needed to forget about it.
Moxie slid the duffel bag over her shoulder as she pulled the mask down over her face.
“Shit!”
That one word was all she had time to say. One moment she was pushing through the back door to the club, the next second a man’s shoulder drove up under her rib cage.
She sprawled on the cracked asphalt as her empty lungs spasmed in her chest, the air knocked out of her.
“Where the fuck is it, bitch?!” an unfamiliar voice snarled. She didn’t have to answer even if she could. His hands were on the strap of the bag, pulling it taught and then slicing through it with a knife she hadn’t even seen.
He was running through the parking lot before her head had even stopped spinning long enough to process what had just happened.
“Fuck,” she mumbled. Then louder, “FUCK!”
She slammed her hands down onto the pavement as bit back a scream of frustration. What had just happened was some junkie fuck had just robbed her of $15,000 worth of coke that technically belonged to a fucking cartel.
Until she handed it off to the club that did business directly with the cartel.
Who would undoubtedly let them know shit hadn’t showed up when it was supposed to.
Jesus Christ, she was fucked.
And she’d sat in a parking lot on the Santa Monica Freeway for almost two hours for absolutely fucking nothing.
Moxie wasn’t entirely sure which of those things pissed her off more. Nobody had ever accused her of having her priorities straight, after all.