by Paul O'Brien
Proctor dodged the question, “Listen, I want that belt – we all do, but everyone knows you've got the guy for now. The other owners had already signed off on it, except fucking Merv clicked his fingers and frightened them back into line. When he's removed from the situation, you get the belt. And my reward for doing it is that you drop the belt to me next.”
Proctor tried to read Danno's face. “I pay you two hundred thousand dollars upfront and another two when your giant does the job to my son in a few years time.”
“A few years?”
“Yeah.”
“Why a few years?”
Proctor offered his potential partner a cigarette. Danno declined with a shake of his head.
Proctor answered, “I'm going to be honest with you. If I had all my pieces in place now I would just do this and get the belt for myself, but... my son just went inside,” Proctor said with some noticeable pride.
“Oh.”
“It's his first time and I want to give him something to look forward to when he gets back out. You're going to have all the time in the world to make your guy a fucking unbeatable monster. You send him the length and width of the whole fucking country, beating everyone in every territory. You get filthy fucking rich. And when my boy gets back to town, he'll do major business defeating the giant that no one else could beat.”
It sounded nice. Too nice, to Danno.
“It's a win-win.” Proctor flicked his exhausted cigarette butt into the river. “We got a deal?”
Danno felt he needed more time. It made total sense as Proctor laid it out, but he knew this was as close as his mortal self was ever going to get to shaking hands with the devil.
“Danno?” Proctor's pitch raised, surprised that he had to chase an answer.
Danno opened his mouth to not only agree, but to get himself in even further with Proctor. Money and fancy under-britches were powerful motivation.
“On one condition,” Danno said, the water now running over his feet.
“What's that?”
“I call the angle when the time comes.”
Proctor smiled and offered out a handshake. He knew that Danno was a simple storyteller. In the end, the giant would lay down for his boy. Proctor and Danno shook hands.
“What's your giant's gimmick?” Proctor asked as he raced back up the bank.
Danno tried, unsuccessfully, to follow Proctor. “I think I'm going to make him an African Savage.”
“He's white, Danno.”
“He's going to be from South Africa.” Danno stopped at the bottom of the bank and watched Proctor wave goodbye.
“You're going to leave me down here?”
“Do I look like someone that rescues fat Irishmen?”
Lenny jumped out of the car when he saw Proctor come over the bank. He dusted off his nerves and walked toward him.
“Mr. King, can I get your signature, sir?” Lenny pulled out the magazine from his back pocket.
“Fuckin' mark,” Proctor said as he marched straight past and to the phone booth. Lenny didn't expect anything less from Crazy King. He thought he might have been disappointed if he turned out to be a nice guy.
“Lenny, Lenny!” Shouted Danno from the riverbank. Lenny couldn't immediately place the voice or where it was coming from.
“Lenny!”
Lenny stuffed his magazine back into his pocket and ran toward Danno's voice.
Proctor punched in the last digit on the pay phone and made sure no one was listening. “We got him.”
CHAPTER THREE
January 24th 1969. San Francisco.
Mickey Jack Crisp was a former heavyweight contender. He was quick and solid and everyone backed him to fly up the ranks after he left school. Thing was, he was a bit of a dirtbag. He preferred dropping acid to punching people in the face. The title never came Mickey Jack's way, but hardship did. His life was full of late night fighting and early morning dodging. He was getting older and tired of that life.
He needed to get a job.
A guy who knew a guy whispered something about something back in Florida where Mickey was. It sounded like something he could do and there was travel involved.
Mickey Jack had found himself a job.
He took a flight out to San Francisco, but it might as well have been a different planet. He stood at the top of the huge unfurled hill and re-scanned the bay view. The bridge, the island, all the boats traipsing left and right. The air was the kind that helped with a good night’s sleep.
Pity he wouldn't be here long.
He pulled Merv's picture from the inside pocket of his coat and studied it. Mickey wasn't sure about this.
“Yeah, I'm just outside the place, but there must be a hundred people in the house. How am I supposed to do that thing now?” Mickey asked through a payphone. “No, there are cars and people everywhere. I thought it was supposed to be just him and his little old lady? No, they said that he was due back from Memphis a couple of days ago.”
Mickey's impatience grew larger. “Tell your guy that I'm out. I came here to do what I was supposed to, but it looks like a family fucking reunion in there or something.”
The voice down the phone made Mickey take a breath and look again.
“Yes, it looks like a doll's house. Franklin Street. I'm in the right place.”
Mickey checked the house from over his shoulder. “Maybe he stayed down in Memphis or something. Who knows? I'm going to miss my flight back if...”
Mickey heard some movement in the direction of the house.
“Wait. Wait.” Mickey put the phone down for a closer look. “What the fuck?”
January 21st 1969. Memphis.
Merv owned shares in a few prize horses. The trick was picking them before they came to peak, or stealing them when everyone else said they were finished. Most of Merv's thoroughbreds ran the track, but one of them made music.
Regardless, there was very little difference in how he treated all his investments. He was always hands-on and always opinionated. Sometimes it worked and other times it got him removed from the process.
Like this time.
This investment was based on a track record gone to shit. The price to buy in was cheap because everyone outside a small pool of investors thought this asset was finished. No good. Merv didn't think so. He put down his good money and placed a bet. A bet that The King could do it again.
If he was right, he was about to be part of a very rich consortium. Unfortunately for Merv that same fucking consortium was more interested in getting autographs and taking pictures than they were about making money.
Fucking Marks.
And that's how he found himself outside the American Sound Studio.
It was bitterly cold and it was only on nights like this that Merv knew exactly how old he had gotten.
He hated the fact that he needed gloves in public. He thought they made him look like a fucking woman. He also had this thing lately that made his nose drip for no reason. If he bent down to tie his shoe, he would leak all over himself. Picking up the newspaper was the same. Even when he was taking a seat, he had to pretend that something on the roof caught his attention so he could compensate and tilt his head back. But nothing shut Merv down like that cold.
Where's my fucking car?
Only money could get him away from Rowan and Martin's Laugh-In on a bitter night. But the way things were going inside the studio, he didn't see much of that coming his way, either.
If this were his show alone, Merv would have The King grinding his cock in girl's faces again.
That's what worked the first time, and that's where the money is. Not this sensitive shit.
Merv took an aggressive pull on his cigar and chaired an angry session in his head. He looked around the area where he stood. The whole place was falling apart. Closed shop fronts, chain linked fences where houses used to be. He could hear arguments in the distance.
They brought him to a dive too. What is this place? You want to be a star, you've
got to act like a star.
It was the same in the wrestling business. This was bullshit. He knew he didn't know all that much about music, but he was sure that people wanted to dance.
It's not my fucking fault that the momma's got another mouth to feed. What are we singing about it for? No one is going to buy this shit.
Merv shook his head in bewilderment and flicked the cigar butt as his driver turned the corner at the end of the street.
He clasped his hands under his armpits and danced on the spot until his head was cracked open by a tire iron from behind.
His car stuttered to a stop and his driver abandoned the car and ran towards his boss. Merv's blood surged along the ground and pooled beside his gloved hand.
January 24th 1969. San Francisco.
Mickey Jack watched the hearse pull into Merv's driveway. A legion of pasty old white people dressed in black walked to his house. A coffin emerged from the back door of the hearse.
Some of the women cried, but mostly it was a silent affair. A woman was helped from another car with a black veil over her face. She was placed behind the coffin as it was marched in through her front door.
Mickey watched the proceedings in shock. He slid the phone back to his mouth, “Did the guy who wanted this thing done pay you up front?”
January 26th 1969. San Francisco.
There were midgets, beauty queens, tattooed faces, gold sunglasses, new white suits, hugely obese twins, a bald old woman, toothless mountain men, islanders, a one-legged man, and a widow. San Francisco welcomed difference admirably. But even it raised an eyebrow at this funeral.
The outer fence was lined with people wanting to know what the spectacle was. Some younger voices chanted their favorite wrestler's name.
When the time came, they all tried, with varying degrees of success, to bless themselves.
“John Merv O'Reilly, may you rest in peace.”
Niko Frann leaned into one of his wrestlers and whispered, “Was this guy faking the Jew thing too? Fucking asshole.”
No heels or villains were present because it was held in a public cemetery and the bad guys could never be seen in civil company with the good guys.
Danno and Lenny stood at the back of the crowd. Danno took a small bottle of mustard from his pocket and positioned a little dab on his ring finger. Lenny watched with interest.
The crowd turned and walked away from the grave. Danno tapped in the inside of both eyes and managed the sting with a string of words not suitable for the Lord's ears.
One after the other, the rest of the promoters came and shook Danno's hand. Each was forcibly crying and testifying to what a wonderful human Merv was.
“He had two huge ball,” Jacque Kaouet, the owner from Quebec admirably tried to say. The others nodded in agreement.
It might have been Merv's funeral but all of a sudden, Danno Garland was the prettiest girl at the dance. Every one of them knew that he was next in line for the belt. Every one of them wondered if Danno was involved in causing the day's events.
Danno wondered that, too.
Merv's backyard was awash with black and somber tones. People spoke in hushed sentences and trays flew around like silver Frisbees.
Merv's wife, Ade, sat on her back step smoking and thinking. It was the kind of thinking that no one wanted to interrupt.
Lenny was thinking, too – thinking that she was a fine woman. Much too elegant for what he heard about Merv.
Only the owners and the family were allowed to return to his home place. Wrestlers were sent off to wherever it is they go. In truth, most of them had second and third jobs to be at. It was a great living if you were at the top of the card, but a soul crushing paycheck if you weren't.
By the looks of Merv's place, he was earning far more than all the others put together.
Danno walked down the steps past Ade and made his way over to Lenny. “Where did you put the car?”
“I got it right beside the house.”
“Good. I want to get out of here soon. Have you seen Proctor anywhere?”
Danno noticed all the drinks lined up on the low wall beside Lenny. “Everyone is coming over every two minutes with drinks and sandwiches for you, boss.”
“They're all free,” Danno said, bemused.
He searched the crowd and the other bosses were all saluting him with their drinks. Danno raised his in return.
“Ever get the feeling that you're being fattened up to be eaten, Lenny?”
“Can't say that I have, sir.”
Danno spotted Proctor staring in his direction. “And here's the cook himself.” Danno said, as Proctor got closer. “Go and wait over there, will you?”
Lenny walked away and Proctor shook Danno's hand. “Terrible tragedy, Danno. Who would have wanted it?”
Proctor toasted nothing in particular and demolished his drink. Danno quickly shushed him down.
“What?” Proctor asked.
“You fucking know what. Be quiet.”
“What?”
“I didn't want this.” Danno said under his breath without moving his lips.
“Want what?”
Danno turned his back to the gathering. “I've been in this business for fifteen years and I've never let it change my ethics or morals, Proctor. I didn't sign up for this.”
“Me either. I mean, I'm not fucking crying that it happened, but...” Proctor sucked the remaining drops from the ice cubes at the bottom of his glass. “You think I did this?”
Danno walked a few steps away from the nearest set of ears. Proctor followed.
“You expect me to believe that this just happened?” Danno asked.
“What, that a rich old man got robbed in a bad neighborhood?”
“You telling me that's what happened?”
“Fucking right I am. My plan didn't involve any cracked heads. I'm telling you. Seriously. Fuck you, then. You won't be wanting the belt, I suppose?”
Danno began to soften in his suspicion. “I didn't say that.”
“I thought so.”
Proctor nodded over Danno's shoulder and let him know with one simple carny word that someone outside the business was approaching – “Kayfabe.”
Danno immediately changed the subject. “You can't say that Nixon doesn't have that something that Johnson didn’t. He's clean and on the...”
Ade Schiller locked onto Proctor, ignoring Danno. “You staying?”
Proctor warned Ade with his eyes. “No, why would I do that?”
Ade waited for Proctor to say something else. He didn't. She shook her head with disgust. “Fuck you.”
“Is everything alright here?” Danno asked to break the tension. Ade walked away.
“Must be the shock or something.” Proctor said as he watched her leave.
“Yeah, shock,” Danno half-heartedly agreed.
CHAPTER FOUR
January 27th 1969. San Francisco.
They couldn't let an opportunity go to waste. They were all in the same place at the same time anyway; they might as well do it now and add some stability to the business before anything got loose.
“To Danno,” Proctor announced, as he stood at the end of the rented room with a glass in his hand.
All the other owners stood and joined the toast.
Proctor continued, “I'm not Irish like you, so my toasting abilities aren't as... flowery. But, may your giant visit my territory often and bring with him a wave of money.”
Everyone cheered in unison and lowered down their drinks.
Danno sipped. This was the first minute of his life where he knew the clock had started; he would never be able to let his guard down again. Especially around these people.
“To doing business the right way,” Curt Magee from Texas simply said.
Danno stood still as all his colleagues walked to him and slapped his back. There were offers of help and advice if he needed it. Some wanted him to come to their territories and stay for the weekend. Others brought wrapped gifts.
>
He didn't feel like it yet, but Danno was the boss now. All the other men in the room would depend on him to make his champion an attraction and then bring that attraction to their patch so they could sell tickets.
He wanted it, and he got it.
Proctor smiled at him from the other end of the table.
It was time to get to work.
CHAPTER FIVE
February 1st 1969. San Francisco.
“Cut the crying, Ade. Let’s get down to business,” Ricky said across the table.
Ade took the handkerchief away from her face and dropped the facade. “Fine.”
Both of them sat opposite each other in Ade's drab, dark-wood, miserable kitchen.
Ricky picked up a sheet of paper and carefully read from it:
“As Merv's closest kin, you're entitled to the San Francisco territory. You become a member of the NWC with voting privileges. If you don't want it, the NWC will handle the sale to a suitable buyer. As you may know, your husband was chairman of the NWC but you, of course, could not fill that position.”
Ade shook her head. “Will I be able to survive on the money from this territory?”
Ricky looked around at Ade's palatial surroundings.
“Without the champion your gates are going to be bringing in less money. A lot less.” Ricky again went back to his sheet.
Ricky didn’t get any pleasure from laying this out there but he continued none the less, “On January 27th of this year, the NWC voted in favor of Danno Garland. He gets the belt from San Francisco to bring to New York.”
Ade stood up and went to get her cigarettes.
“So he finally got it?” Ade said with a smile as she flicked her lighter. “I always liked Danno.”
Ricky got the keen sense that Ade wasn't as out of the loop as she portrayed.
“Why isn't he here doing this himself?” she asked.
Ricky sat stone-faced at her table.
