Session #5 – Intermission: The Decline of an Empire

[Jerry]

Session #5 – Intermission: The Decline of an Empire

Mother always told me to wait for Mrs. Right, but it had been a rough week. Plus, who am I kidding? I’m now 45 years old. Mrs. Right was never going to find me, so I’d have to settle for Mrs. Right now.

The last few days had been rough; nothing had gone as planned. The Usual Suspects lost the match against Status Quo, Peaches nearly broke my ribs with that spear, Jackson Magnum was making more money off of that damn t-shirt in one night then I had all year, and that bitch Holly nearly ensured that I would never be able to father a child at the last New Kingdom Pro Show.

I needed to blow off some steam…and there was only one man who could help me; one of my Kings.

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Anthony Rother slowly placed his keys on the card table that sat in the living room of his apartment. He took a deep breath as he quickly surveyed the mess around him. It was just as he had left it six months ago when he had left the Miami area in order to become the full-time manager of the Suspects. Empty beer bottles and fast food wrappers littered virtually everything in sight.

He walked into the kitchen, pulled out a trash bag from under the kitchen sink, and slowly began the long process of cleaning up. His phone vibrated in his pocket and he pulled it out to see the incoming call from Tony Carmine.

“Tony…” Rother answered.

“The Scandalous One is a very busy man, Rother. Why do you keep calling me? I told you how this worked, hun. I’ll call you when we need you.”

“I know Tony, it’s not about anything FGA,” Rother stuttered. “Look, I needed a break from the road and I’m back home in Miami.”

“That’s nice, but I don’t really see what this has to do with me.”

“Well, honestly it’s been a shitty week – and I was wondering if I could get some company?” Rother asked.

“No offense, hun, but I’m a very busy man and if I was gonna hang out with somebody, you wouldn’t necessarily top my list.”

“No-no, I mean company…” Rother replied.

“Oh…OH,” Tony’s voice suddenly changed when he realized that this was a ‘business’ call. “Well look, Sunshine’s got a ho to fulfil every need and every fantasy as long as you got the cash.”

Rother let out a nervous chuckle, “Well, I was wondering, you got anything with a European flavor?”

“Oh does the Scandalous one have something for you, Rother. I got a former runway model named Caprice, this bitch is from Barcelona, and only goes to my top clients.”

“Great,” Rother gleefully replied. “That’s exactly what I’m looking for.”

“Now, let’s talk about price…”

“Well, let’s see – I got my purse from FGA and my cut from NKP. Will twelve hundred bucks do?” Rother asked.

“Twelve Hundr--- What the fuck is wrong with you, Rother? Listen, hun, The Scandalous one isn’t running a fucking charity here, and I don’t give any discounts. Not even for you.”

“It’s all I got,” Rother slumped his shoulders in disappointment.

“Ugh… Look, for twelve hundred I can get you Clarice, but before you say yes – this is my bottom barrel bitch. I usually have her running the streets doing as many blowjobs as she can in a night. She’s a strung out coke head brunette bitch from Huntsville, you’ll just have to pretend she’s Euro.”

“Fine…” Rother sighed. “Beggars can’t be choosers.”

“Cash only Rother, don’t hold out on me or else you won’t like who I send over to collect.”

!!!-Click-!!!

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”And so…it has come to this,” Rother flashed a smirk.

The stars and moon were lacking in the night sky, hidden by a blanket of ash colored clouds that raced through the turbulent winds above the city. The backdrop of the city’s skyline unmasked its identity as the unmistakable Willis Tower stretched above the rest of the skyscrapers like the oldest and largest tree in a concrete jungle. Sirens, horns, and screaming in the distance polluted the air with the familiar sounds of American urban life.

The Art Institute of Chicago was one of the oldest museums in the United Sates. Holding over five hundred thousand pieces of work in a number of categories, it served as one of the places to visit if you were a collector or just a connoisseur. Rother stood at the base of the font entrance next to one of the infamous bronze lions that flanked each side of the staircase. His hand slowly traced the paw of the statue that depicted a prowling lion, ready to strike at its prey.

”The Usual Suspects make their way to the back of the line and begin to work their way back to where they rightfully belong,” he sighed.

”Lesser men would grow angry in a similar plight. Lesser men would throw fits on social media, pack their bags and leave this company, only to continue their failure in other places.”

He glared into the camera to directly address his ‘audience.’

”However, Jason Marx and Chris Tryon are not lesser men. They are not cut from the same cloth as Ricky Valero and Luke Jackson. No,” he raised his index finger in defiance, ”The Usual Suspects will take their medicine and start back at the very bottom; stronger, angrier, and hungrier than ever before.”

He scoffed in annoyance as he began walking up the entrance steps at a slow, but steady pace.

”The real joke is on the mutants who are going to have to endure yet another sequence of mind-numbing back and forths between Status Quo and Ruby Way.”

”I’ll be the first to admit, the sneak attack on Cordy and Dan wasn’t bad. Hell, I almost wish I had thought of that myself,” he chuckled as he opened the doors to the museum. ”But let’s not fool ourselves into thinking that this new attitude that Tyler and Hardaway suddenly found is going to lead to a different outcome than before. Status Quo is going to have a long reign while Marx and Tryon are busy re-establishing themselves as the only true contenders to those tag team titles.”

Rother surveyed the lobby for a moment before he relinquished his pride and decided to grab a folding map. He fumbled with it and grunted in approval when he found his destination.

”Don’t screw this up you two,” he instructed as his eyes rose from the map. ”When the time comes, there’s only one team worthy of dethroning you. See you soon…” he winked.

Rother methodically moved through the museum as he began to address his recent trials and tribulations.

”To say that it’s been a rough few weeks for yours truly would be an understatement,” he painfully admitted. ”Ever since I took that spear from Peaches, it seems as though everybody wants to get in on the act of trying to embarrass me or physically assault me.”

”Anthony Reginald Rother is done being everybody’s favorite go-to joke on social media,” he defiantly screeched in a raised tone. ”The list of individuals that will soon be on the receiving end of payback keeps growing; whether it’s here in FGA, or overseas in New Kingdom Pro, there will be a reckoning soon enough. Despite everything that all of you have tried to do you cannot kill me,” he paused and smirked, ”I’m a survivor.”

”By now you’ve all heard of the serious heart attack that I suffered last week and yet while some of you out there have criticized me for the cruelty of my official statement – it holds true. Johnny Karma does not scare me,” his remark was laced with a false confidence. ”He comes from weak genes as evident by how easy his grandfather was willing to give up on life. I don’t care what kind of threats he throws my way through Ms. Baum. I wouldn’t miss the upcoming Vertigo for anything.”

”When Lenny panicked as Zero walked out with the FGA Championship, he made the mistake of revealing himself as the face of the FGA committee. It won’t be long before I get my face to face meeting with him to state my list of grievances,” he commented with a furrowed brow. ”However, I do have to tip my hat to him when it comes to this little circus show he’s put together on Saturday. What a nice way to maximize publicity trying to make everybody forget that Zero left. Looking up and down the card, it’s absolutely packed with star power. But there’s going to be one match in particular that everybody is going to leave the Prairie Capital Convention Center talking about…”

Rother paused and looked at the plaque on the doorway before him, which read ‘Ancient Collections: Greek to Byzantine’.

”The systematic dismantling of the Elysian Empire.”

Rother entered the room that was full of glass cases containing sculptures, mosaics, pottery, jewelry, and ancient coins of commerce from different eras.

”Empires have had a long and storied past throughout human history. They’ve risen through various means – militaristic power, economic power, or simply the power of subversion through a belief in some form of greater good through community; the Greeks, the Romans, the Byzantines all formed in their own way. They each grew in power and influence, spreading throughout their world until they could no longer sustain themselves. Empires may form in their own unique way, but the one thing that they all have in common is that they eventually all face a decline…”

Rother eyed a painting that depicted the fall of Byzantine Empire with the sacking of Constantinople by the Ottomans in 1453.

”And then they die,” he chuckled.

”In some ways, this match is a wild card for Marx and Tryon. When a staple in FGA is faced with new talent, it can present some problems,” he placed air quotes around the last word. ”You have to dig a little harder to find information about your opponents, there’s no track record to see how you stack up against similar challengers, and most importantly it can be exhausting to get your hands on film to scout their trends.”

”I can only assume this match is some form of punishment against me for voicing my displeasure with Lenny T,” he shrugged. ”If anybody on this roster knows what it’s like to be caught off guard by new blood on this roster, look no further than Jason Marx. Two years ago he was thrown into a match with Jimmy Page. Page was an unknown at the time. Nobody could have ever guessed that a man who looked more like a panhandler begging for handouts on any given freeway exit would have such a mediocre rise to win the Pride title, but also the ultimate prize in this company. It was Jason Marx who found out first hand on that night three years ago,” he paused, ”the unknown can be very dangerous.” He finished the statement with added emphasis.

”Fortunately for Marx and Tryon today, they have me to carry the burden of research for them. It’s not like they were ever very good at it any way. No,” he shook his head, ”those two prefer to just enter the ring and go off of instinct. What I do know about the Elysian Empire may be limited in scope but it will be enough to provide a path to another victory. Two brothers with their sister by their side, one with vast experience while the other is a bit more raw, it’ll almost be like Marx and Tryon are looking at their own reflection on Saturday night in that regard.”

”The most important bit of information, though, is that the Elysian Empire is a name that has existed throughout various promotions for decades. It’s only been recent that the current tandem has been pieced together. This speaks of desperation; this speaks of an empire in decline and on its last leg. It makes me think of this painting when the Byzantine soldiers saw the Turkish flags inside the gates of their once great city, they panicked and fled,” he smirked, ”or they simply gave up and leaped to their deaths by jumping off the city walls. The Suspects will be more than happy to lead the final siege against your family; the team that finally puts this empire to rest.”

”If it were at any other time gentlemen, you might have had better odds. You might have caught them off guard and unfocused as they gazed toward a bigger picture.” He shrugged his shoulders and began firing words at a more rapid pace. ”Unfortunately for you Marx and Tryon are coming off of one of the toughest losses that they’ve ever had in their FGA tenure and there is no bigger picture for them at the moment. Those titles were ripe for the taking and they failed. This has only caused them to double down on their efforts, to refocus on the task at hand one step at a time. That first step lies with you,” he pointed with his index finger.

”Ah yes,” Rother stared off into the distance, ”what an event that FGA is going to be holding in Springfield, Illinois.”

He began pacing back and forth.

”The mutants can only be so lucky to bear witness to a card that’s so stacked, it’s worthy of being shown on Pay-Per-View. At least they can all go home Saturday night after the show is over, lay their filthy heads down on their pillow, and get some sleep knowing that even though the Cubs are getting ready to choke yet again – they got to watch true winners do what they do best.”

He stopped, and stared daggers into the camera.

”Nobody…survives the South Texas Death Ride!”

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Rother nervously paced in the living room of his compact apartment. It had been nearly three hours since he had concluded his phone call with Tony Carmine, just enough time to tidy up a bit in anticipation of his visitor. He stopped every few moments and checked the time on his watch, and peaked through the blinds at his window just to make sure his guest wasn’t knocking on the wrong door.

After reassuring himself that a potentially embarrassing mistake wasn’t about to be made, he walked over and adjusted his tie once again in front of a mirror, that was when the knock came. Rother momentarily jerked in surprise, let out a deep sigh, and gave himself a short statement of encouragement.

“It’s showtime,” he smirked at himself.

Rother opened the door and greeted Clarice. Tony’s ‘bottom-feeder’ ho was just as one would imagine. Her matted hair hadn’t been washed in days, she smelled of booze and cheap perfume, and her thin curve lacking frame screamed addict.

“Come in,” Rother gestured with his arm.

Clarice snorted back an extra thick pocket of snot that had been lodged in one of her nostrils for a good twenty minutes. Swallowing was apparently not her forte as she began gagging and hacking. Ever the gentleman, Rother pulled a handkerchief out of the breast pocket of his blazer and offered it to her. She motioned a decline with a wave of her hand and spewed a giant wad of saliva and snot right outside his door.

“No sense in messing that up,” she explained in a raspy voice.

“Right,” Rother nervously answered.

Clarice entered Rother’s humble abode unflatteringly dressed in a blue skin tight tube top, a matching mini-skirt, and five inch heels. She walked over to his ragged sofa and took a seat behind the folding card table. Looking over the place, she seemed surprisingly impressed.

“I gotta say this is nicer than the back seats and motels I’m used to.”

Rother’s face questioningly wrinkled as he wasn’t sure if she was serious, or if this was her mocking his cheap living space.

“Cash…now,” she bluntly stated with her cold lifeless ho eyes.

“Of course,” Rother replied as he walked over to the sofa and pulled out an envelope. “You gonna count that?” he asked as she quickly shoved it in her purse.

“No need, if it’s not all there you’ll be a dead man in the morning,” she answered. “Either way, this is like a vacation for me, much easier work than what I usually do.”

“Yeah…Tony told me.” Rother said, somewhat regretting his purchase. “Would you like something to drink?” he asked. “I got a nice box-wine from Wal-Mart in the fridge.”

“Look buddy, no need for the high class pleasantries, I’m a sure thing,” she dismissed. “But, before we get to business where’s the bathroom.”

“Gotcha,” Rother smirked, “just down the hall that way. I like a woman who knows how to freshen up.”

“Thanks,” she stood, “it was a long drive here and I didn’t want to be late.” She began walking in the direction he pointed to. “I’ve needed to drop this deuce for like thirty minutes,” she added.

“No worries,” Rother replied with a raised eybrow. “I’ll be waiting.”

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30 minutes later Rother heard the toilette flush in his bathroom and he jerked upright on his sofa where he had almost fallen asleep. He clasped his hands together and rubbed them in anticipation. The door opened up and Clarice returned to the living room.

“Oh my god,” she exclaimed, wiping at her forehead with a section of toilette paper. “I was sweatin’ bullets in there.”

“You sure you’re up for this?” Rother asked.

“Of course, honey. You got me all…night…long,” she sat down next to her excited customer.

Rother leaned in slowly and awkwardly began kissing her on the neck. Clarice’s hand inched towards the crotch area of his pants and she undid his zipper. Gripping his manhood, she grunted with joy, as she realized there wouldn’t be any vaginal pain tonight with his lack of size.

“Oh yeah, just like that…” Rother moaned with pleasure.

He lifted up her mini-skirt with excitement. This was it, he thought to himself as his heart raced faster and faster, he was finally going to lose his virginity.

“Yeah baby, I’m all yours tonight,” Clarice said in a half-interested tone.

That was when the excitement was too much for him. Rother jerked back grabbing at his chest and screamed out in pain. Clarice jumped up in shock and gazed at him wide-eyed as he fell to the floor.

“What’s wrong?” she screamed.

“I…I…think…” Rother struggled to breath.

“Oh hell no!” she cried, understanding what was happening.

“Help…” he weakly pleaded.

Clarice looked over on the card table and saw Rother’s cell phone; she grabbed it and dialed 911. Instead of talking to the operator, though, she looked down at Rother and apologized.

“I can’t be here, baby…” she quickly explained. “Tony doesn’t like anybody asking questions, I’m sure you understand.”

Clarice placed the phone in his hand as the operator answered, grabbed her purse and quickly ran for the door. Rother gasped and struggled as the operator again asked him what his emergency was.

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Twelve hundred bucks, wasted just like that.

Thank God they trace the 911 calls today for cases just like mine. That would have been a hell of a way to die.

I needed this to go away, I couldn’t let anybody find out the truth. The last thing I needed was for my impeccable reputation to be ruined.

Tony - I didn’t have to worry about. While there might be the occasional private jab, a pimp never talked about their business in public.

Clarice might’ve been a different story, so I made up a lie to mother about what happened and got an extra grand wired to my account so I could buy her silence.

I thought everything was going to be hush hush, but unfortunately somebody has had it out for me at that damn wrestling blog. I was gonna find out who was running that thing if it killed me.

They might’ve found out that I was admitted for a heart attack, but I couldn’t risk those nosey bastards digging any deeper to find out the whole truth behind my hospital stay. So I released an official statement in a panic, acknowledging the fact that I had suffered a heart attack. In my rush to stop their digging, I may or may not have said something derogatory about Johnny Karma’s grandfather… again. No worries, he doesn’t have any more friends since Fujiko vanished after her mom died. Besides, I had The Suspects and The Kings, if need be.

I just needed to silence all of the speculation. Nobody could know what the doctors told me.