Post by Cross Recoba on Nov 28, 2018 20:37:03 GMT -5
I proved at Insurrection that when I make promises, I keep them. Now, I’ll tip my hat to the move Vannah played on Twitter in getting the match in front of the cameras but that was the last wise move she made in the whole debacle.
It’s why I’ll excuse the delusional behavior on Twitter, God knows that being on the business end of Up All Night in Dakota might cause some lasting damage. You should be thanking me - I’m your meal ticket currently! I’ve made you relevant! Sure, you beat Legion and Victoria but where are they? Legion faces off against LEGATO, I could call him boring but the Eskimos have a hundred words for how boring he is!
So, now we have a tag-match, does having back-up make you feel more confident? I mean it should, really. With a record of zero for two, you can guess who’s odds-on to be the one to get pinned. As for you, you’re that full of shit that if we gave you an enema we could bury you in a matchbox!
“When I was a boy of 14, my father was so ignorant I could hardly stand to have the old man around. But when I got to be 21, I was astonished at how much the old man had learned in seven years.” - Mark Twain
So much had been written about the type of individuals such as those that occupied the private bar within the Park Central Sheraton hotel. They generally always stuck to stereotypes about them, how they’d wisecrack with one another, how one would invariably have a hair-trigger temper, what none of the prose would note is that irony was not a particularly strong suit in this particular demographic.
If it were then their location would have brought a wry smile to their faces, for their meeting was tempting fates if the history books had anything to say about it. At the very least, they’d do well to best Rothstein and Anastasia and walk out alive from the establishment. Cross hoped his internal smirk was being suppressed as he looked across the table at two of his new associates.
“....what I’m trying’a say is simple - we’re the strongest game in town. The Russians? They shit the bed last year and got the President’s attention. The Nips? Shit, they’re too busy dicking each other over to concentrate out West. We can take the whole lot…” Ciro’s voice had a habit of being too loud for the situation; even in this mostly empty bar Cross still winced internally.
“Yeah, Ciro, see, Cross, what the old man needs to see...what you need to do is you need to use whatever influence Costello has and show him that we can have it like the old days. We can be kings!” Andrea’s enthusiasm was both his blessing and his curse. It had taken Recoba three days to work out why he was being seconded out East - Padovano’s lot were living in the Seventies.
That was something that Angelo Padovano had missed out. He was too busy explaining to Cross that Italian-Americans had always had a central spot within pro wrestling. His only reservation was that he didn’t think they were making as much money as they should be from their exploits - no shit, they were like the candlemakers who didn’t realise they were in the lighting game.
Cross swilled the ice around his bourbon and caught Ciro raising a white flecked eyebrow in his direction. Recoba knew that what Angelo was after was to report back to him and assure him that his stagnant profits would pick up, but that wasn’t a game Recoba could play. Recoba took a sip of his Old Fashioned as he measured his next words in his head carefully. It had been a while since he was this far into the weeds of the business.
“Look, I get your frustrations, I do. What you’re both missing is simple. We can make a lot more cash if we’re smart about how we do things. You want to go and hustle mom and pop stores for protection cash, go for it. I’m not going to do that, we’re in New York! We’ve got The Big Board in Manhattan, we’ve got Radio City Hall and Madison Square Garden. We get ins with those places? We’re laughing - I’m not going to nickel and dime, not if I have a choice…” Cross’ words were cut off by a text, he glanced and saw it was from Dakota.
Cross finished his cocktail and set the empty tumbler down on the table.
“That’s cute, Cross, but you’re not in Vegas anymore. I don’t know how you went about it out west, out here we’ve got a particular way of doing business.” Ciro’s words, while curt, were meant to be encouraging.
“Ciro, I don’t mean any disrespect but you’ll both come around to my way of thinking.” Cross stood and picked up the grey cashmere Hugo Boss overcoat he’d draped over the top of the booth, “I’ll catch you both tomorrow, think about what I said.”
What will you tell your followers this week, Vannah? That you were unlucky? That you’ll make sure you won’t let them down again, no, not this week? You started off well but you might have been found out, might have found your level, perhaps. Let’s be honest, you’re not championship material, curtain material possibly, but don’t kid yourself in thinking that hard work is going get you any higher, it won’t.
Just embrace this for what it is, this is your best chance to go viral. How many people do you think watched me connecting with the Million Lira Dropkick? How many stayed to watch me get the win? Your numbers must me spiking! Face it, I put you on the map here!
I’ve got a guy in my corner who can suplex you and Reynolds into oblivion. Then, when he’s bored of toying with you, he’ll choke either one of you out while wondering whether to have chicken or fish later that night! Maybe he’ll leave that to me, you were the first to lose against me last week, maybe you can be the first on the roster to tap in Garibaldi’s Guillotine!
Aiden’s not going to help, he’s a guy whose biggest talent is the ability to ‘fail up’. That’s Aussie Jack, alright, but it’s okay - he never underestimates his opponents. Which means that he’ll have done his homework on me, have watched our match, stayed tuned in to watch me strike fear in the roster as I showed off Garibaldi’s Guillotine. He’s like you though, B-List talent, A-List aspirations - it’s a pairing that never ends well.
Where was he at Battlefront IV when the last act played out? Laid out by Zolton, an afterthought before the bell had even rung. The time before that? Gets to the final hurdle and he fails. There’s almost a pattern there, Vannah, one I’d be concerned about if I was you. Can you trust him to get the job done? Are you going to start to feel like it’s all slipping away from your grasp? Tell me, at what point when you see him floundering will make you want to step in? Or will you leave him there, safe in the knowledge that you can always point to the match and let your public know that it wasn’t you who lost that night?
The early morning sun poured through the full-length window of the bedroom. His eyes were barely open but the faint breeze he felt against his skin told him that the balcony door was ajar. His eyes, now adjusted to the light, spied Dakota in her silk bathrobe sipping coffee at the table. She gazed out across the front garden and took in the view of their secluded home. Two empty glasses and a bottle of red wine were on the table, a housewarming gift from the DIVISION New Blood champion.
Recoba reached to the nightstand and pressed a button; “Which Will” by Nick Drake played through the Sonos System. He swung his legs and grabbed a pair of jeans that lay next to the bed.
“There’s a cup here for you too.”
“Thanks, ‘Kota.” Cross kissed the top of her head and placed an arm over her shoulder, “You can’t fault the view, can you? The only thing that could make this better would be a copy of the New York Times.” Cross slid his hand across her back as he took the chair next to her.
“Really? Six bedrooms, five bathrooms, a jacuzzi, a gym and a view, but you’re pining after a paper? Can’t you just download the app?” Dakota’s voice was drenched in mock incredulity.
“It’s not the same, it’s like a Kindle, brilliant for travelling but it can’t replace a physical book!”
“So, this is your morning? Pining over a dying medium? Weren’t you churning out those two guys last night for being stuck in the past? I have a much better idea, why don’t you start preparing for your tag match next week and once you’ve worked up a sweat...well, maybe we’ll do some cardio work together…” She flashed a devilish grin and laughed to herself.
“Come on, I put away White with ease. Put her away with the move I named for you, what more do you want?”
“You don’t think she’ll be in the gym right now? She’ll be running laps and watching the match on repeat, Cross! Personally, I think she’s an idiot but she’s a determined one.”
Cross felt in the pocket of his jeans and pulled out a pack of Lucky Strikes. He tapped four times before lighting up.
“When’re they getting the boot?” she sighed and pulled a face as Recoba blew a plume of smoke over the balcony.
“They help me concentrate…” Cross smiled but saw Dakota wasn’t in the mood for flippancy, “Look, I’ll quit at some point, right now I need to focus. I’ve gotten under White’s skin, I can’t let up now.”
Dakota got up from her seat and kissed Cross on the neck.
“You’ve got ten minutes to get in that gym or I’m going to start casting her videos around the house…”
Cross smiled at the threat as she walked back inside. As he put the cigarette out he heard the sound of the shower starting.
I like to make winning starts, and I did that at Insurrection, but I’m looking at this match as another debut, I’ve never competed at a Battlefront before, I intend to keep my record unblemished. That’s why I’m not leaving anything to chance, I’ve watched both your partner’s matches here, he shows some flashes of talent but really the taste he leaves after the fact is that, somewhere, there’s room for potential.
I’ve also gone back to the archives with you, Vannah. I’m not going to get fat and lazy on one win. I’ll give you credit though, unlike some here, you don’t have a ‘tell’ before that deadly roll-up of yours. You can say that I got lucky at Insurrection but this match will put that excuse out of your reach.
I know you’re hoping this is going to work out, that you’ll be the one with your arm raised at the end of the night, but let’s be honest with each other, we’re like old friends now, right? This isn’t the story where you manage to vanquish your enemy, this isn’t the payoff for you to start making bank on YouTube. This tale is a lot simpler. In fact, we can put it into a haiku:
The bell rings to start,
Up All Night in Dakota,
Cross Recoba Wins
*****