Texas Strange

by West, Terry M.

  Weldon nodded in resignation. "I know. Well, I need to get this promo cut. I'll see you at the Memorial Center in a few hours."

  "Where's Lutzke?" Tojo asked.

  "He sent a text. He'll meet us there," Weldon replied.

  "You know, carrying the strap or not, he should be here," Tojo said. "It sucks all of the morale out of the promotion when the top dog acts too good for the rest of the roster. "

  "I'll talk to him," Weldon promised.

  ***

  Tojo approached the rear entrance of the Will Rogers Memorial Center. He had a windbreaker on and the hood was pulled over his wrestling mask. He knew it would be easy to figure out who he was portraying based on his build, so he always wore his mask when entering or leaving venues.

  "There he is, man!" a voice called out behind him. "It's the Crimson Demon!"

  Tojo sighed and turned around to face two excited looking fans. They were a pair of good old boys. The big man had light and friendly features and was almost as large as Tojo. The other man was the gloomy opposite of his buddy. He was smaller, and had dark hair and eyes. Tojo could tell the small man wasn't friendly by nature. He was as excited as his big friend, but a distrust glinted in his eyes. Both had baseball caps firmly affixed to their heads. They looked like a redneck version of Laurel and Hardy with traded roles.

  "Hey boys," Tojo said in his Crimson Demon voice. "You caught me sneaking in."

  The big man pushed a photo and pen toward Tojo. "I know you gotta get ready to take that Lutzke idiot apart, but can you sign this for us first?"

  Tojo took the photo from the man. It was a black and white printout of his website image. The resolution sucked and it was copied onto what had to be the cheapest photo paper one could buy. "Where did you get this?"

  "They are selling them at a small table in front of the ticket window," the small man said.

  "Make it out to Cecil and Bubba?" the big man asked, offering the pen again.

  "Man, we have followed you since you first appeared and took Tomahawk Wilson apart," the big man said as Tojo scribbled on the cheap memento. "We were cheering for you before it was fashionable."

  Tojo handed the picture back. "Yeah, about that. You guys look like a couple of smarks. You know what a heel like me needs?"

  Both men shook their heads curiously.

  "Boos," Tojo emphasized. "For a bad guy, it's your bread and butter. It's the highest compliment the audience can give. Do you think you can help me with that tonight?"

  "Hell yeah!" the small man offered. "We'll boo the shit out of you, man! We'll get some nuclear heat going!"

  "That's great, boys. Thanks."

  "Before you go," the big man said. "Can you cut a promo on me real quick? It'd be a fantasy come true."

  "What's your name?" Tojo asked.

  "Turner Teague. But folks call me Bubba," Bubba said, turning to his buddy. "And this here is Cecil. Can you do us both?"

  "Cecil and Bubba are a couple of small time ham and eggers!" Tojo bellowed in character. "When I get those two jobbers in the ring, I am going to use Cecil like a stick and pop Bubba like a damned piñata! And I'll feed what I find inside his worthless hide to the kiddies in the front row!"

  Both men applauded.

  "That was sick and beautiful," Cecil said, with deep appreciation. "You are a master!"

  Tojo took a bow and then pushed the door open. "Enjoy the show, boys! And remember- boo!"

  ***

  Tojo entered the dressing room. Elias Correa (wrestling name Guerrero Rojo) sat on a wooden bench and laced up his wrestling boots. Tojo was always the second to show up for live events, behind Elias. Elias was twenty and already considered an upper card performer. He was tall, lanky and his hair was dyed a bright red color. Elias was clad in yellow trunks.

  Tojo remembered when Elias first showed up two years ago. The poor kid jerked the curtain for every show for a solid six months. But he paid his dues and did any job he was asked and never complained.

  He was a third generation wrestler and the future of Hard Knocks. Tojo always felt a little protective of the kid. Eli's gimmick was a come back from a mean beating to overcome crazy odds. As a result, the kid took a lot of crazy bumps and he encouraged his opponents to cut loose on him for authenticity. Tojo had warned him repeatedly to tone it down if he wanted a career of any length. But the kid was all about the highspots and epic bumps.

  "Hey Eli," Tojo said, walking over and jerking open a locker. He peeled off his mask and hung it on a hook inside.

  "Hey Tojo," Eli said cheerily. "Weldon sent me the video of you tossing old Boris around. How does that feel?"

  "Like Christmas morning," Tojo teased.

  "Wish I had been there to see it live," Eli said. "My abuela had another spell this morning."

  "She okay?" Tojo asked.

  "Yeah. She has her good days and bad days," Eli said, staying strong over it. "Fucking Alzheimer's, you know? It takes the one thing you are entitled to in your old age. Memories. I can't tell you what it is like to fade from someone who raised you. Like you never were."

  Tojo thought of his parents, who were most likely harvesting the pits with minds wiped clean of everything that came before. "Yeah, that must be the worst. I'm sorry, Eli."

  "Part of getting old, I guess," Eli figured.

  Weldon and Boris walked into the locker room and Tojo zeroed in on Weldon right away. "If you are going to sell glossies could you at least make better copies? Shit, Weldon, it's downright embarrassing."

  Weldon had a lost and empty expression on his face. Boris shook his head silently.

  "Weldon," Tojo said. "What happened?"

  "Lutzke quit," Weldon said, hopelessly. "The son of a bitch went East. He wrestled a dark match and they signed him on the spot."

  "What about his contract?" Tojo said.

  "We were... between his old one and a new one," Weldon said. "His contract expired last month. We were negotiating. He was working on a handshake."

  Weldon tapped the briefcase he was clutching. "At least he didn't take the damned title with him. Best piece of advice my old man ever gave me. 'Don't let them take the belt out of the building', he always said."

  "Okay, so we scramble," Tojo said. "We come up with a new main event. You go out there before it and tell them we stripped Lutzke's sorry ass of the title for not fulfilling his duties. We'll paint him as a closet champ- say he left because he was afraid of what I'd do."

  "And tonight?" Weldon asked, and Tojo could see the man felt too betrayed to put a decent storyline together. This was going to be on Tojo.

  "Where do we have Amosa Latu scheduled?" Tojo asked.

  "He's the last match before intermission," Boris interjected.

  "Well, he is main event now," Tojo said. "I don't think he'll mind the upgrade."

  "Who is he working with? You?" Weldon asked incredulously. "We haven't built a program with you guys yet."

  "We'll do a triple threat. Amosa, me and Eli," Tojo said, motioning to Elias. "He's ready for this."

  Elias looked almost as shocked as Weldon and Boris.

  "Those people are going to riot," Weldon said. "The kid and Amosa have a past."

  "Not with me, and I'll be in the mix this time," Tojo said. "You declare a triple threat for the title. You name Eli, Amosa and me as the three top contenders."

  Weldon's face brightened. "You'll carry the strap?"

  "What did I tell you when I joined Hard Knocks?" Tojo reminded Weldon. "I don't want the title. It doesn't fit my character. You are gonna strap the kid."

  "You want me to be the champ?" Eli said, excitement and fear exuding from him.

  "He isn't over enough yet," Weldon argued. "The only thing that will satisfy them is you taking it."

  "How about this for an angle?" Tojo said. "Now, you got a face with Eli. Amosa is a tweener if there ever was one. People know he'll twist the rules if he smells blood. So we tell him to lean a little more heel tonight. And I am the monster. Bedlam added to
the proceedings. What if I get disqualified. And then I take out Amosa and lay the kid over him for the count."

  "I appreciate the rub, guys, but I don't want to be a paper champ," Eli argued.

  "You won't be," Tojo explained. "It's a slow burn. I'll interfere in your title defenses. You'll keep it by the skin of your teeth at first. But you'll gain confidence and at the end of the rainbow, I will put you over. Cleanly."

  "You would do that for me?" Eli said. "Why, Tojo?"

  "I got about a quarter tank left in this career of mine," Tojo said. "It's the right thing to do. For the business."

  "Do you think Amosa will be okay with this?" Eli asked.

  "Kid, the only thing that horny Samoan muscle head cares about is finding a decent looking arena rat to take home after the show," Boris said. "He's a team player."

  "So, you'll help put the strap on Eli and, what, raise his hand after the match?" Weldon said, still trying to process it all. "I thought you were fighting face?"

  "Yeah," Tojo said. "I will raise his hand, get the crowd popping real big, and then I will destroy him. I'll squash him in the ring."

  "Double dip swerves don't usually sell," Boris said.

  "This will play," Tojo said. "I'll have some sick obsession with the kid. He'll be the handsome ray of light that I could never be. I'll make it work."

  "Fuck it. Let's do it," Weldon said.

  Tojo nodded and looked to Eli, who still resembled a deer caught in headlights.

  "Ready for the big time, kid?" Tojo asked.

  ***

  Tojo stood backstage at the gorilla position near the entrance ramp. He watched a small security monitor that showed a brief intermission before the main event. Eli stretched his legs a few feet away. Tojo could see that the kid had butterflies. Amosa appeared from the locker room, dressed in his tiger-striped tights. He had showered, but Tojo could still smell the perfume and booze on him. Amosa shook his dreadlocks and gave an encouraging nod to Eli and Tojo.

  "Talofa! Look at the A-team we got here," Amosa said, cheerily. "'Bout time they booked us in an angle with the Demon."

  Amosa walked up to Tojo and lowered his voice to a whisper. "Thanks for pulling me into the main event. I know I'm not always on Weldon's good list."

  "You deserve it," Tojo said. "You okay with the script?"

  "I am the mole on Marilyn, ma a'u o," Amosa said with a grin. "Just happy to be here."

  Tojo turned back to the monitor. As people clutching fresh beers and hot dogs reclaimed their seats, Weldon left Boris, his broadcast partner, and lumbered into the ring. He held a wireless microphone. Weldon and Boris usually dubbed their play by plays in the editing room, but were obliged to sit at their commentating booth while the event was covered by multiple DV cameras on steadicams.

  Hard Knocks had a Sunday morning television deal with the local public access station. It was a beneficial arrangement for both. Weldon also sold Internet pay per views and had a streaming subscription for fans who lived outside of Texas. Tojo didn't know when Weldon slept. Of course, Weldon had no wife or kids. His dedication hung solely on the Hard Knocks Promotion.

  Tojo got a little nervous as Weldon waited for the crowd to settle. There was more than the promotion's future on the line here. Tojo needed to get his heat back. Both situations distressed him. He would have kicked Lutzke's ass if he could.

  "Ladies and gentlemen, when we sell a you a ticket, there is a little piece of fine print that says, card subject to change," Weldon began, and immediately the crowd began to murmur in confusion and disappointment.

  Weldon waited for them to settle, and then he hiked the microphone to his lips again. "I am stripping Dazzling Robin Lutzke of the Hard Knocks world title, and he has been suspended indefinitely for failing to honor his obligations to Hard Knocks."

  Boos and hisses began to fill the air. Weldon nodded sympathetically. "I know. Believe me, no one is more upset about this than I. Robin Lutzke has betrayed me, betrayed Hard Knocks, betrayed the other stars on our roster. But worse than that, he has betrayed all of you. He disrespected us all. Hell, he disrespected the great state of Texas."

  It was a cheap pop, but it worked. The audience forgot the present dilemma and took a moment to hoot and applaud.

  "But, despite Lutzke's attempt to hurt us all, life goes on. The business goes on. And so tonight, our main event has been changed to a triple threat match for the Hard Knocks world title!" Weldon said. "I have determined, based on stats produced from the Hard Knocks database, the three top contenders to face off here tonight. We are about to crown a new world champion."

  The audience got behind it. Tojo was relieved. Lutzke had a decent fan base, but wrestling fans were known to be fickle. Hard Knocks would ride this out, just like it rode out the crippling departures of Diamond Destiny and the mad hermit Stan Dover. They'd live, and some hungry up and comers would find opportunity now. It was the cycle of wrestling.

  Ronnie "the redneck" McAlister, the lovable ring announcer, walked through the ropes and took the microphone from Weldon. Weldon left the ring and took his spot back at the broadcasting booth.

  The backstage handler gave Tojo and his opponents the standby signal. Eli would be going out first, followed by Amosa and Tojo.

  Ronnie the Redneck, decked in a black tux with a bright red bowtie and Hard Knocks t-shirt, as well as a vintage Hey Vern cap on his head, read from an index card.

  "Hey y'all!" he boomed to the crowd. "Before we proceed with the festivities, I just wanted to remind y'all that we will be appearing live in the coming weeks in Boyd, Decatur and Pleasant Storm. You can keep up with Hard Knocks on that there world wide web. Now, this here is the main event. It is a one fall, no time limit triple threat match for the Hard Knocks world title! Only two will be allowed to compete at once. Any man can tag in another. The title cannot be earned by disqualification or count out. It can only be won by pin fall or submission and the first combatant to score one on the other will be declared the undisputed Hard Knocks world champion. And now for your participants!"

  Eli's breezy entrance music filled the arena. Tojo gave the kid a pat on the back as he stepped to the stage entrance.

  "Standing at an even six feet and weighing one hundred and seventy pounds! He hails from Lake Worth, Texas! Guerrero Rojo!"

  Eli exploded from the back and the crowd gave him a great ovation. He had a bright smile and he high-fived people on his way to the ring. Tojo knew that many in attendance gave Eli very little chance at emerging as champion. Everything about it felt right. Eli had little moss on his career and he could be easily molded into the company's top face. It was the kid's time.

  Tojo watched David Brewer, the head Hard Knocks referee and part of the booking team, enter the ring behind Eli. David Brewer, a family man in his fifties, had been too slight to wrestle, but found a passion for the business as an officiator. The seasoned ref would keep the match flowing and he would help choreograph things. He was the inside coach that the audience didn't know about. David conducted the chaos and he was the best Hard Knocks had.

  Eli's music faded and Amosa's harder and exotic entrance theme rattled the Memorial Center's speakers.

  "And now, coming to the ring. He is six foot three and weighs two hundred and eighty pounds! He hails from the island of Upolu! He is the perfect specimen! Amosa Latu!"

  Amosa pounced onto the ramp. He immediately began to pose for the groupies and motion for the title around his waist. "It's my time!" he promised. "The perfect specimen is gonna bring gold home, baby!"

  The audience wasn't as thrilled at Amosa's inclusion in the match, but almost every female in the building cheered for him.

  Tojo swung his arms in anticipation. He took his place behind the entrance curtain. His music, lifted from an old public domain Halloween record that had been mixed with echo and sound effects, blared like a dark omen. It started with a warble from a funeral organ. And when the audience heard it pierce the air, they knew business was about to pick up, as th
e saying went.

  "And now, your final contender," Ronnie said, though the audience was already on their feet because of the music. "He is near seven feet tall and four hundred pounds! Hailing from parts unknown, he is the nightmare that won't end! Pure evil on two legs! Bewaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaare the Crimson Demon!"

  Tojo emerged slowly. He crept to the ring, his eyes on the two opponents that waited anxiously for him to enter the squared circle. When Tojo went through the ropes, Amosa and Eli jumped to the outside. Tojo stalked them like a tiger behind a cage and then he looked to the audience. His new buddies, Cecil and Bubba, were in the seventh or eighth row and they were trying to get some heat going. But the cheers were definitely overwhelming. Canned heat suddenly followed Tojo's music, and that would balance it out better to the home and Internet audience. Tojo figured he'd tell Weldon to foley in even more boos in post.