Post by jamesradford on Jan 12, 2017 21:40:17 GMT -5
Taft Colosseum
Columbus, Ohio
Directly After Massacre
Bobby Benson sat in James’ locker room with his megaphone sitting beside him. About an hour ago he had helped his client up the ramp way as he bled from a wound to his head thanks to a chair shot from Hunter Storms. As soon as they had passed through the curtain, however, Bobby had dropped the concerned manager routine, and left James in the capable hands of the onsite medics.
He could hear the large Mississippi native tromping through the hallway, cussing up a storm, and loudly questioning people unlucky enough to be in his path as to where ‘that piece of shit’ is.
Bobby could only assume that James had seen that discreet exchange of money between himself and Storms on the replay, and that he was ‘the piece of shit’ in question.
Suddenly the door to the locker room burst open, and Radford stumbled in with a disheveled look on his face along with a bandage taped to the top part of his skull. His eyes were wild as he took in the calm stare that Benson was giving him, and this seemed to only fuel his ire even further.
“Come on in, James.” Bobby cooed, his voice like a cool drip of southern honey on warm bread.
James slammed the door shut, resulting in it popping right back open, and the semi-finalist for the Alpha Cup nearly blew a gasket as he slammed it repeatedly until it finally latched.
Bobby’s right eyebrow sprang up comically high on his forehead, and he gave a slight chuckle before commenting, “You know, if that door is damaged, it will come out of your end of the paycheck.”
And just like that James abandoned the door and crossed the room in less than three strides, snatching Benson up by the throat and slamming him hard into the lockers behind the bench.
If Benson was concerned he didn’t show it, although he squirmed at the uncomfortable metal that was now embedded into his back.
“James, I think you need to calm down and take your hands off of me, or I promise you, next time will be worse.”
Recognition flashed in James’ eyes, and he couldn’t believe the unhindered admission. He had expected the little weasel to lie, to deny the entire situation, but instead, here he was confessing. James searched Bobby’s eyes for any remorse but found nothing but a quiet contempt that confused him more than angered him.
When Bobby Benson had approached James about representing him, he had been animated, excited, grandiose. Maybe even a little fanatical, but most of all, he had been positive. Positive that under his tutelage that James could become a true blue wrestling superstar. Positive that any financial burdens were temporary, and that together they would both be rolling in money. Positive that things would improve, that James could win, and that there was no limit to the potential that they could achieve together.
He offered to help James with everything, from gimmick cliches to wrestling gear, all the while hyping him up with Eisenhower like speeches, and gifts that he could write home to his mom about. He took him to clubs where they were given VIP treatment, events where the announcers stopped the show to point them out, and even chauffeured him around to his gigs in his fancy Cadillac. In short, he wined and dined him, and was the nicest guy in the world.
But it was all a front. Just a way to get James to sign that contract that entitled Bobby to twenty-five percent of whatever James brought in. He hadn’t read the fine print, and to be honest, probably wouldn’t have understood it even if he had, but that’s where the poison was. Apparently the contract also held into account every action that could be proven by receipt that Bobby had done for him would be paid back with interest, including those trips to the club, those events, even the miles they had put on the car.
Yeah, Bobby Benson was a real snake in the grass, and James Radford had invited him right on in the chicken coop.
How easy it would be to just increase the pressure in his right hand and snap this little bastards neck. He’d be doing the wrestling business a favor. Hell, he’d be doing mankind a favor by making room for one less pariah in this world to take advantage of those that are just too naive, or too trusting, or just too good-natured. Screw the Alpha Cup, for THIS he should get a Nobel Peace Prize. The man that ended the life of the scoundrel Bobby Benson.
A slight smile came across James’ face as his hand grew tighter around Bobby’s throat. The wiry manager’s eyes bulged from his skull as he panicked, managing to croak out a response.
“Without me you got nothing, and neither does your family.”
The word ‘Family’ bounced around inside of James’ mind, and he thought of his Mama back in Jackson, fending for the farm with the money that he sent to her each month. He thought of his brother who was still in college trying to make something of himself, and his sister who had just got married last year. They needed him, and since a good portion of that money came from Bobby, that meant he needed him.
James sighed in frustration and more than a little disappointment as he released the death grip he had around Bobby’s throat. The little man fell to the ground, sliding down the lockers to take a seat on the concrete floor, coughing in fits and searching for air.
James stalked to the other side of the room, thinking that it might be a smart thing to put some distance between himself and his manager just in case the urge to maim him struck again. His head was still lowered when he cast a glance in that direction, his teeth drawing tight together in his mouth.
Bobby stared at James with clear contempt in his eyes, and he pulled himself to his feet by use of the bench in front of him, smoothing his suit out and adjusting his tie.
“You know, James, if I didn’t know any better, I’d say you’re a bit ungrateful.”
“Ungrateful!” James spat, turning his full attention onto the smaller man once more. “What? I’m supposed to be grateful for getting my head split open?” He screamed, indicating the bandage on his forehead with a sharp point action with his finger.
“Could have been worse.” Bobby said flatly, staring Radford square in the eyes.
Radford shook his head in disgust, and turned back to face the wall, kicking his duffle bag as he went. “Well, you could have fooled me.”
“I could have eliminated you from the Alpha Cup Tournament. I mean, that is still an option.”
James froze where he stood, the color draining from his face. He turned slowly to take in the smug expression on Bobby Benson’s face, the calm features he had walked into having returned now that he was in control of the conversation.
James shook his head, “You wouldn’t do that. If I don’t win, you don’t get your money, and that’s what all of this is about, isn’t it? Money?”
“You’re so short sighted, James. Sure, money is a big part of it, but before money always comes control. Money’s not worth a shit if you aren’t in control of the situation, and that’s exactly what I plan on doing. Taking control of this situation.”
Bobby paused, nodding as he began to pace on his side of the room. “You see, James, you might like to think because you’re the talent, that you’re the one who gets to make the decisions, but you’re wrong. I’m the one who gets you the deals. I’m the one who markets you. I’m the one who makes sure you and your family have money to keep up that shit hole of a farm back in Jackson. And if need be, James, I’m the one who will make sure that you gain success, or if need be, will bury you in failure. Cause the kid gloves are off now, and the quicker you get that through that Neanderthal like skull of yours, well….the easier all of this will be.”
Bobby came to a dead stop, looking up from his speech with a sinister smile.
“I fucking own you, James. And if you keep pressing me, a little boo boo across the skull will be the least of your worries.”
Bobby reached into one of the locker and produced his already packed bag, turning back towards James who was now leaning against the wall shaking his head.
“Now, I’m going to give you some time to think this over. Get your mind right. Come to Jesus, if you will. When you’re ready, we’ll be leaving in a few days for the next venue, and I expect you to be in the car, on time, with a better attitude than what you’ve displayed here tonight, otherwise…” Bobby sneered, “Who knows what could happen.”
With that Bobby walked right past James and out the door, leaving the cowboy to stew in his own misery. Or at least that’s what Bobby had hoped would happen. What he didn’t see, or even realize, was that there was something else other than dejection and frustration in James Radford’s eyes. There was a spirit that is said to be inherent to anyone born beneath the Mason Dixon Line.
Bobby, so infused in his own speech, in his own idea of what control was, didn’t bother to notice that throughout that exchange of words that James Radford had calmed himself. That something inside that ‘aww shucks’, good-natured, soft spoken persona had snapped. Come to the forefront of his mind. It was the kind of grit that any farmer knew when taking to a field that had been beaten to death throughout the winter. It was the kind of endurance that saw steer herders come through with their full bounty after a three hundred mile ride through the valley. It was the kind of gallantry that only a good ole’ Southern boy from Jackson, Mississippi could provide, and it had been awoken in James Radford in that moment.
Woe be to Zack Fantana, for all the glories in the world cannot save him from wrath. Woe be to Bobby Benson, because even the devil will one day have to pay his due. Woe be to Grand Rapids, Michigan for being the place where things come unraveled. Woe be to you, AWE, for there is no more ‘Aww Shucks’, and move on your way. Now you will be forced to deal with a real contender built from your own unkind words, and a fire that is fueled by disappointment, mistrust, and failure.
A fire that will see all burn before it.