Post by TheLaw on Jan 3, 2017 19:16:12 GMT -5
The 1994 amaranth Nissan Sentra everyone is by now accustomed to identify as Dominic Laswon's car is parked, for a change, outside a bar in Columbus, Ohio. The place seems a bit out of time, the furniture is what one would define "vintage", to put it nicely. Not very crowded, and probably for a good reason, it's the epitome of the neighborhood bar, with a cemented customer base made for the majority of pensioners playing card games and chronic drunkheads stopping by to drink the one for the road. More than just one in most cases... Anyway, the most peculiar thing of this picturesque bar, even more that the old grumpy owner chewing tobacco like an old baseball player and, now and then, sputtering with a commendable aim inside a trash can placed behind the counter, is certainly an old Zodiac jukebox leaning against the far wall, right next to the toilet. The door suddenly swings open, and Dominic Lawson is seen leaving the restroom area, wiping his hands on his jeans. He stops at the jukebox, scrolling down with his finger the list of the songs. His eyes light up all of a sudden, and he starts tapping repeatedly the glass with his index, while reaching inside the pocket with the other hand. As he pulls it out, the typical jingling of coins resounds in the calmness of the bar, and everyone attention turns to Dom, who is whistling an unidentifiable song, while dropping the change inside the machine. He chooses his song, before walking back to an empty table, with a glass of Irish whiskey on it. He sits down, turning his back to the other patrons and the barkeeper, keeping his head low, listening to the guitar intro of the first song he picked. As the unmistakable calm, bass voice of Johnny Cash starts singing his hit Don't Take Your Guns To Town, The Law raises his eyes.
Two weeks ago, after I pinned Corey Sanders, I watched the rest of the show, in foretaste the moment I could get my revenge on Kimitsu Zombie, getting the privilege to kick her out of the Alpha Cup. You can imagine how surprised I was when I saw her losing to you, Radford.
He holds the glass in his hand, slowly rotating it.
Now, don't get me wrong, I'm not saying it was an upset, or totally unexpected. Maybe some "experts" watching at home would call it so, but I learnt on my own skin that too many times, real talent is overlooked. And yeah, I'm not even going to jump on the crybabies bandwagon claiming that you , or your manager, cheated your way to the win against the poor Zombie. The bitch had it coming, I perfectly remember when she spit that white shit in my eyes, the only way she could ever beat me...
In one sip, he downs the liquor slamming the empty glass on the table.
What I'm saying here, is that you're good James. Maybe not good enough for me, since you seem to lack that mean streak.. But having that loudmouth son of a bitch in your corner makes you a dangerous and unpredictable opponent.
But here lies your problem, you're just like this country song. You are Billy Joe, a happy-go-lucky redneck, whose life maybe wasn't the best ever, but, after years spent as an enhancement talent, you finally had your chance to move forward with your career. When James Radford signed the dotted line on the AWE's contract, the young Billy Joe felt like he finally made it to the big town. A lot of opportunities were there for the country boy, right in front of you, within reach. But he should have listened to Momma, he shouldn't have brought his gun to town. You shouldn't walk around with a scumbag like Bobby, James. After last week, he'll be just as much of a distraction for you as he will be for me. With the difference that I'll have no hesitation to drop the bastard down, if he tries something fancy with me. He is your gun, cowboy. Like it or not, he is the difference maker, the one that can turn the tides for you, your best chance to win tonight and this whole tournament.
Too bad you can't handle it... You can't accept the idea that all your wins, all those hard-fought battles you came out from on top could be tainted by that man and his tricks. You already lost your charming smile for this, the doubt is eating you alive. Maybe, you're not as good as you came to think you are. Maybe, your best move is not the Confederate Railroad, but your manager's shenanigans providing you the opening you need to nail it. You can't keep this thought out of your mind, right?
I'm telling you, coming next sunday, when we'll be fighting inside that ring, you'll be the one keeping an eye on the outside, worried about a possible interference. Not me.
Dominc raises his hand and a few seconds later, the barman is there, filling his glass with more liquor.
Just like the good ol Billy Joe, you came to town, convinced that your gun alone would keep you out of troubles and at the same time, make you feel safe, invincible. That until you came to the painful realization that you don't know how to use it. You're just a good kid who THINKS he can go down dirty, tossing his moral code aside and do whatever it takes to win.
Flash news: you can't. I can see it clear in your eyes, I can hear your voice slightly trembling anytime you say "I can bend some rules too". Stop lying to yourself, you're all for respect and please the fans, you couldn't break laws even if your career depends on it! And you definitely can't break The Law.
He quickly downs the second glass of whisky, cracking his neck.
Now pay attention to how this song ends...
He silences, raising his index in the air, listening to the song still playing from the jukebox
He waits until after the final chord, when the music stops and the only noise you can hear in the bar is the whispered idle chatter of the four old men playing a card game.
Like almost every country song, there's no happy ending. The hero dies in this one, he met someone quicker, smarter, more ruthless and more used to guns than him. Billy Joe died regretting the moment he decided to take his gun to town. Without it, he could have taken his chances in a fight, and, with a bit of luck, come out on top. That gun he was so convinced could make him look like a tough man, turned to be the cause of his demise... And that's what is going to happen to you bud.
The manager that helped you make it thus far, will be the reason why you'll end the night flat on your back. While you'll be too busy checking if he's trying to pull some trick, I will strike. I will shoot you down, no regrets and no hard feelings. It's you or me, win or go home. And I'm not going home empty-handed, not tonight, not anymore.
I'm not a naive punk chick, I hope you and Bobby realize this. You're walking into a real fight with me, fist after fist, elbow after elbow, headbutt after headbutt. It's an old-fashioned all out brawl.
I know this is not your first rodeo, cowboy, but sure as hell it will be the last.
Readjusting his black beanie, he walks to the counter, leaves a note on it and walks away, entering his care and disappearing in the Columbus' sunset.
Two weeks ago, after I pinned Corey Sanders, I watched the rest of the show, in foretaste the moment I could get my revenge on Kimitsu Zombie, getting the privilege to kick her out of the Alpha Cup. You can imagine how surprised I was when I saw her losing to you, Radford.
He holds the glass in his hand, slowly rotating it.
Now, don't get me wrong, I'm not saying it was an upset, or totally unexpected. Maybe some "experts" watching at home would call it so, but I learnt on my own skin that too many times, real talent is overlooked. And yeah, I'm not even going to jump on the crybabies bandwagon claiming that you , or your manager, cheated your way to the win against the poor Zombie. The bitch had it coming, I perfectly remember when she spit that white shit in my eyes, the only way she could ever beat me...
In one sip, he downs the liquor slamming the empty glass on the table.
What I'm saying here, is that you're good James. Maybe not good enough for me, since you seem to lack that mean streak.. But having that loudmouth son of a bitch in your corner makes you a dangerous and unpredictable opponent.
But here lies your problem, you're just like this country song. You are Billy Joe, a happy-go-lucky redneck, whose life maybe wasn't the best ever, but, after years spent as an enhancement talent, you finally had your chance to move forward with your career. When James Radford signed the dotted line on the AWE's contract, the young Billy Joe felt like he finally made it to the big town. A lot of opportunities were there for the country boy, right in front of you, within reach. But he should have listened to Momma, he shouldn't have brought his gun to town. You shouldn't walk around with a scumbag like Bobby, James. After last week, he'll be just as much of a distraction for you as he will be for me. With the difference that I'll have no hesitation to drop the bastard down, if he tries something fancy with me. He is your gun, cowboy. Like it or not, he is the difference maker, the one that can turn the tides for you, your best chance to win tonight and this whole tournament.
Too bad you can't handle it... You can't accept the idea that all your wins, all those hard-fought battles you came out from on top could be tainted by that man and his tricks. You already lost your charming smile for this, the doubt is eating you alive. Maybe, you're not as good as you came to think you are. Maybe, your best move is not the Confederate Railroad, but your manager's shenanigans providing you the opening you need to nail it. You can't keep this thought out of your mind, right?
I'm telling you, coming next sunday, when we'll be fighting inside that ring, you'll be the one keeping an eye on the outside, worried about a possible interference. Not me.
Dominc raises his hand and a few seconds later, the barman is there, filling his glass with more liquor.
Just like the good ol Billy Joe, you came to town, convinced that your gun alone would keep you out of troubles and at the same time, make you feel safe, invincible. That until you came to the painful realization that you don't know how to use it. You're just a good kid who THINKS he can go down dirty, tossing his moral code aside and do whatever it takes to win.
Flash news: you can't. I can see it clear in your eyes, I can hear your voice slightly trembling anytime you say "I can bend some rules too". Stop lying to yourself, you're all for respect and please the fans, you couldn't break laws even if your career depends on it! And you definitely can't break The Law.
He quickly downs the second glass of whisky, cracking his neck.
Now pay attention to how this song ends...
He silences, raising his index in the air, listening to the song still playing from the jukebox
Filled with rage
Billy Joe reached for his gun to draw
But the stranger drew his gun and fired
Before he even saw
As Billy Joe fell to the floor
The crowd all gathered 'round
And they wondered at his final words
"Don't take your guns to town son
Leave your guns at home Bill
Don't take your guns to town"
He waits until after the final chord, when the music stops and the only noise you can hear in the bar is the whispered idle chatter of the four old men playing a card game.
Like almost every country song, there's no happy ending. The hero dies in this one, he met someone quicker, smarter, more ruthless and more used to guns than him. Billy Joe died regretting the moment he decided to take his gun to town. Without it, he could have taken his chances in a fight, and, with a bit of luck, come out on top. That gun he was so convinced could make him look like a tough man, turned to be the cause of his demise... And that's what is going to happen to you bud.
The manager that helped you make it thus far, will be the reason why you'll end the night flat on your back. While you'll be too busy checking if he's trying to pull some trick, I will strike. I will shoot you down, no regrets and no hard feelings. It's you or me, win or go home. And I'm not going home empty-handed, not tonight, not anymore.
I'm not a naive punk chick, I hope you and Bobby realize this. You're walking into a real fight with me, fist after fist, elbow after elbow, headbutt after headbutt. It's an old-fashioned all out brawl.
I know this is not your first rodeo, cowboy, but sure as hell it will be the last.
Readjusting his black beanie, he walks to the counter, leaves a note on it and walks away, entering his care and disappearing in the Columbus' sunset.