Blood Red Turns Dollar Green Volume 3

by Paul O'Brien

  “You in a hurry?” Proctor asked.

  “I’ve got some things, but nothing too, you know.”

  Proctor wasn’t sure if the waitress from before had heard what he had been talking about with Ade; he needed to be more careful. It didn’t feel right for him to stay, so he asked Danno to meet him down at the bank of the river behind the restaurant.

  Proctor and Danno stood alone at the river. There was no one around to hear or see anything.

  Proctor was already talking, but Danno was trying to assess the situation and the geography without making it obvious that he was doing so. He watched the water’s edge, so as not to get his feet wet.

  “What did you want to see me about?” Danno asked.

  “I want to do some business that will make us both rich,” Proctor replied. “Big money.”

  “Haven’t you got an office or a phone for this kind of stuff?”

  “Not this kind of stuff.”

  Proctor gently ran Danno through the plan that Ade had laid out. It became attractive to Danno immediately, but there was more than a little trepidation on his part.

  “You were there today, Proctor. You saw the room go with Merv,” Danno said.

  “Fuck Merv and those monkeys who follow him. I can get you the belt by the end of the month, and that’ll give you time to put a program in place for that giant golden goose you found, you lucky bastard.”

  It was easy to see that Danno was interested, but he also wanted to know just how Merv was going to be dealt with. Proctor laid out the sums: four hundred thousand dollars to Danno, and two years with the belt.

  Ade knew that he couldn’t say no to that. It looked to Proctor like she wasn’t wrong.

  “It’s a win-win.” Proctor flicked his exhausted cigarette butt into the river. “Have we got a deal?”

  Danno felt that he needed more time. It made total sense as Proctor laid it out, but he knew that 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 wait for 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, as the water now ran over his feet.

  “What’s that?”

  “I call the angle when the time comes.”

  Proctor smiled, and offered a handshake. He knew that Danno was a simple storyteller, and that, in the end, the giant would lay down for his boy. Proctor and Danno shook hands.

  He couldn’t wait to tell Ade; he rushed up the steep bank, and left Danno down at the water.

  Lenny Long, Danno’s driver at the time, jumped out of the car when he saw Proctor coming. 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 him and to the phone booth. He dialed Ade’s hotel number, and waited for her to pick up.

  Proctor made sure that no one was listening. Ade picked up her phone, but didn’t say a word.

  Proctor said, “We got him.”

  San Francisco.

  1969.

  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. Even it raised an eyebrow at this funeral, though.

  The outer fence was lined with people who wanted 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.

  Ade watched not the grave, and not the priest, but the other promoters.

  As her husband’s body was being covered, she became in charge of the San Francisco territory. She’d had no choice: her husband Merv was wealthy, but she was not. Such was his cloak-and-dagger mentality, that she had no idea where he’d put his money.

  Merv Schiller, like all the other wrestling bosses, wasn’t the kind of man to use bank accounts; they would only let it be known just how much he was worth.

  The only paper trail that any of them left on the surface for scrutiny by the law was their ownership of their wrestling companies. Everything else was cash, secret handshakes, illegal, or buried somewhere safe.

  In Ade’s case, it was too safe.

  “So fucking smart, but so fucking stupid,” she kept thinking over and over.

  The crowd turned and walked away from the grave, and a few people touched her arm as they passed, or offered their help if she ever needed anything. Ade nodded, like she thought a grieving wife should do. In reality, she wanted to tell them all to shove their fake condolences.

  A few hours later, her backyard was awash with black and somber tones. People spoke in hushed tones, and trays flew around like silver frisbees.

  Ade sat on her back step, smoking and running her years with Merv through her head. She had no idea why she’d stayed. She had consoled herself by saying that it was easier to get into that bed, turn on her side, and convince herself that tomorrow would be better.

  With Merv Schiller as a husband, though, tomorrow was never better.

  Danno Garland walked down the steps past her, and made his way to the quiet huddle. Ade liked Danno, or, at least, certainly didn’t dislike him, and she was happy to think that his life had changed for the better.

  She watched Danno’s lips as he spoke to his slight, out-of-place driver.

  “Where did you put the car?” Danno mouthed.

  Lenny answered, but Ade stayed focused on Danno.

  “Good. I want to get out of here soon. Have you seen Proctor anywhere?”

  Ade wondered the same thing: where was Proctor?

  As if on cue, she watched as he emerged from the crowd on the other side of the garden, and made his way over to Danno. Lenny was dismissed as he and Proctor discussed something that wasn’t for everyone’s ears.

  To Ade, Proctor seemed fine about what had just happened to Merv. She knew that she’d wished for Proctor to get rid of him, but maybe she would have liked to have seen a little bit of remorse.

  The more that Proctor and Danno spoke, the more uneasy Ade felt about being left out of the loop. She finished her drink, rose uneasily from the steps, and navigated through all the fake heartbreak to get to where Danno and Proctor were talking.

  Proctor nodded over Danno’s shoulder, and let him know with one simple carny word that someone from outside the business was approaching: “kayfabe.”

  As if she hadn’t heard that word before; as if she hadn’t been around the wrestling business long enough to know what it meant. She instantly knew that Proctor saw her as an outsider, and it cut her.

  That word had immediately let Ade know that she was always going to be outside the boys’ club, but she did what she always did: smiled.

  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 locked onto Proctor, ignoring Danno. “Are you staying?”

  Proctor warned Ade with his eyes. “No. Why would I do that?”

  She waited for him to say something else, but he didn’t. She shook her head with disgust. Maybe it was the drink, or maybe it was the day, but Ade Schiller couldn’t smile any longer.

  “Fuck you,” she said as she walked away.

  “Is everything alright here?” Danno asked to break the tension.

  “It must be the shock, or something,” Proctor said as he watched her leave.

  “Yeah... shock,” Danno half-heartedly agreed.

  Inside the house, Ade threw back another drink. Proctor entered, and stood behind her.

  “Leave me alone.” Ade poured another.

  “I need to know
if you’re going to hold this together,” Proctor asked.

  He gently closed the door. Ade didn’t respond, so he turned her around. She tried to kiss him, and he backed off.

  “What are you doing?” he asked.

  She picked up an empty glass from her sink, and fired it at him. Proctor lunged at Ade, wrapped her hands up, and turned her outward, with her back against his chest. He looked out the window to make sure that everyone was still oblivious to what was happening.

  “We didn’t do this, do you hear me?” Ade tried to bite his face as it came over her shoulder. Proctor squeezed her tighter, until she was wrapped up completely. She stopped struggling, and began to cry.

  “I don’t know what I’m going to do.”

  “I thought this was what you wanted?” he asked.

  “Well, you certainly got what you wanted.”

  Proctor put his lips to her ear, and hushed her. “I sent a guy to get to Merv, but Merv had already been dealt with by someone else. That’s the truth. You got free from him, without—”

  “I wanted us to—”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “What did I get?” she shouted. “You’re getting the belt, the money, and the power. All of these fucking men will be kissing your feet in due time. What did I get?”

  Proctor covered her mouth with his hand.

  “You got exactly what you asked for,” he whispered. “You got this house, the money, and, more importantly, you got yourself a clean slate. You are a beautiful, single, filthy rich woman who can do whatever she likes.”

  Ade shook herself free, took a huge breath, and wiped her face. “I’m sorry.”

  She could only smile with embarrassment as she fixed herself up. “Of all the bosses, I had to grow fond of the one who doesn’t cheat.”

  Ade wanted him to forget his ethics, and be with her. She didn’t care about sex; he could be with her all of his life without breaking his code. That would suit her, too, because a woman like Ade wasn’t looking for sex, or certainly not just sex.

  “You should take whatever you can, and get out of this business, Ade. You’re too soft for it.”

  Proctor put out his hand for her to shake. She felt odd taking it, but shake Proctor’s hand she did.

  “We didn’t do anything wrong here, and we still got what we wanted.”

  Proctor turned, and left Ade in her kitchen with mascara on her cheeks, and a head full of regrets.

  CHAPTER NINE

  New York.

  Three days after Lenny got out.

  1984.

  Lenny stood away from the house. He was wearing fresh new clothes, and his beard hid most of his bumps and bruises. He noticed in the changing room that the cut around his eye was starting to heal a little, too.

  He wasn’t sure if his father was home, so he tried watching through the window. He wasn’t really sure, but Lenny just wanted room to himself. Since he came back, his father had a habit of following him around from room to room, talking. When Lenny was growing up in their other house, his father wouldn’t even look at him. Now Lenny couldn’t get him to shut up, even if he duct-taped his mouth closed.

  He didn’t know if it was because his father was getting older, or because he was nervous about having Lenny in the house.

  He stood under a tree, out of sight. This new neighborhood was nice, but it wasn’t home.

  Home was somewhere else—somewhere he hadn’t really asked about, yet. Lenny imagined walking up to a house, and knocking on the door. He would be healed, and he would be someone who could offer his family a different life.

  He remembered their old house with the stubborn back door, and the front door that was slightly too small for their couch to fit through. They would talk at night about what kind of people they wanted to be, and about what kind of people they wanted to raise.

  Back then, Lenny had dreamed of making it in the wrestling business, and Bree had talked about going back to singing when their sons were a little older. Even though it was all said in earnest, Lenny couldn’t shake the feeling that they had been lies. They were both lying to themselves when they’d said they wanted to be part of businesses that were made for other kinds of people.

  He had so much to say he was sorry for—so much to try to make better. He just didn’t feel like he deserved his wife’s forgiveness, or that of his ex-wife, as she had come to be.

  Out of the corner of his eye, Lenny saw a figure wave to him. It was Edgar. Lenny waved back, and began to walk away.

  He knew that his father liked his space, too. Both men were just sitting on top of each other, while Lenny waited for something to happen with the business.

  As he walked away, Lenny couldn’t help but fill himself with the gut-churning memories of his family, and how he had taken the most innocent people, and dragged them into this version of their lives. He had taken the girl who had to cross her legs whenever she laughed too much, and left her with a broken home.

  As he breathed in the Queens air, Lenny just knew that he had to make things right.

  “Hey!” called a voice from behind him.

  Lenny turned slowly.

  “Got a light?” asked a boy.

  Lenny shook his head, and began to walk.

  “Why are you so interested in that house?”

  Lenny didn’t want to make a scene, so he upped his pace, and cut down a side street between two buildings. When the boy turned the corner to follow him, he found Lenny waiting for him. The boy stopped, but didn’t back off.

  He was about thirteen or fourteen, with a mullet, a sleeveless denim jacket, and a pack of cigarettes hanging out of his pocket.

  Lenny knew because of his eyes and mouth: the boy had his mother’s features.

  “What’s your name?” Lenny tentatively asked.

  “What’s your name?”

  “Mike,” Lenny replied.

  “No, it’s not,” the boy replied.

  It was a standoff; Lenny took a second to figure out how to proceed.

  “How do you know?” Lenny asked.

  “Cause I’ve seen picture of you. You’re Lenny.”

  “And you’re James Henry.”

  “Jimmy.”

  “Jimmy?”

  “Do you know what happens to kids with two first names around here?”

  Lenny laughed; Jimmy didn’t.

  “Okay, Jimmy.”

  He walked over and hugged his father, like it was the most natural thing to do in the world. It was a soft, innocent hug—one with no anger or resentment. Lenny was a little uncomfortable, at first, but he soon settled into the embrace. The last time Lenny had seen his youngest son, he couldn’t even talk, yet.

  “How have you been?” Lenny asked.

  His words were woefully inadequate, but he couldn’t think of a fitting line. What do you say to your son after twelve years?

  Jimmy let go of his father, and looked him right in the eye. “I need you to help me.”

  His sincerity in his request knocked Lenny off guard, a little.

  “Okay,” Lenny said. “What can I do?”

  “Can we get out of here?”

  “Where’s... your mother?”

  “Working. She’s picking me up at my Granddad’s later.”

  Jimmy could see that Lenny wasn’t totally sold on following him. “There’s a place on the corner, down here.”

  “It’s not a bar, is it, Jimmy?”

  “I don’t drink.”

  Lenny could see that he was a very matter-of-fact kid: he was all about straight lines, and getting to the point.

  “Okay,” Lenny said. “This way?”

  Lenny took a second to look around for Bree, just in case. He didn’t want her to see him this way.

  “This way.” Jimmy led the way. He watched his father walk, and a small grin broke out onto his face. A couple of steps in, and Jimmy began to mimic Lenny’s stride, until their walk was identical.

  “I’m big for my age, don’t you think?” Jimmy asked. “Big
shoulders.”

  “Eh... yeah. You’re... yeah.”

  Jimmy could hardly hide the excitement on his face. “I could run this neighborhood in a few years.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Yeah.”

  Japan.

  Three days after Lenny got out.

  1984.

  The Pacific Hotel was where all foreign wrestlers, or gaijins, as they were known locally, were put up when they wrestled in the Tokyo Dome.

  That was where Ricky Plick used to stay when he was a bigger star, too.

  Unfortunately, on his last tour of Japan, he wasn’t wrestling in the Tokyo Dome, anymore. The building was too big, and Ricky’s career had slid too far. In a last act of respect, however, the company did pay for his stay at the Pacific Hotel.

  Jet-lagged and thousands of miles away, all Ricky could wonder about was whether Ginny got his ice cream.

  He hoped that the situation in New York could work for them all. As he looked out his window, he couldn’t help but reflect on his years in Japan, since Danno died.

  When he’d first gotten there, his huge advantage was that he was white, American, and part of a tag-team that he formed with huge Texan, Wild Ted Berry. Neither man liked each other much, but they had both been around long enough to know that coming to Japan and splitting the work in a tag-team made sense. At least, it did until they figured out that it meant splitting the money, too.

  They started out as a big attraction to the Japanese audience. On every night, in every venue, Ricky and Ted would find themselves well paid, and at the top of the card.

  After a couple of years, the money and the crowds shrank. Ted did some final tours in the late 70’s, but headed back to America to wrestle on and off in New York, again.

  Ricky hadn’t had that luxury, so he stayed—or maybe overstayed. He found himself traveling Japan for small to mid-sized companies, wrestling for one hundred and eighty dollars a day. To supplement his money, he sold pictures and autographs from his gimmick table at the back of the halls for any fan that wanted them.

  He dreamt every day about going back home for good, but all he knew how to do was wrestle, and book wrestling matches. After what happened in New York, Ricky didn’t even know if he could get into the US and keep his life, much less get employed.