by Paul O'Brien
He was once a journeyman wrestler, paid to lose in every territory he went to, but when he retired, Ted had found that he was more suited to the booking end of wrestling. A booker had to be creative, be tough, and know every wrestling scenario in order to make the matches seem varied and unique. It was his job to put on matches that the audience wanted to see, and to pick the winners that they wanted to cheer for. Ted had put forty years into the business, and not even he had seen anything like what was planned for this night. That was why he felt the need to give the back-to-basics speech. He wanted to remind the roster of what it was to be a pro wrestler, and to focus their minds so they wouldn’t revolt or riot when they heard the main event.
“It’s my job to put you in this ring,” Ted continued. “It’s your job to give them what they want.”
The new guy, Kid Devine, watched the gruff Texan lay down the law from the ring. It was his first night, and he could tell by the human shit already left in his travel bag that he wasn’t very well liked.
It was the way that wrestlers communicated—especially to new guys.
“Call your wives and girlfriends, and tell them you’re going to Tunkhannock, Pennsylvania; Rochester, New York; Lancaster, Pennsylvania; Long Island, New York; St. Louis, Missouri, for TV; then Altoona, Pennsylvania; Salisbury, Maryland; Landover, Maryland; Johnstown, Pennsylvania; Garfield, Pennsylvania; Kingston, Howell, Lyndhurst, and Somerville, New Jersey. Don’t forget to tell them that you’ll see them next week when we do all this again.”
Kid chuckled, because he thought the insane travel was, well, insane. That action cost him entry to the dressing room, though. He had to take his shitty bag and get dressed outside in the hallway on his own. He couldn’t figure out who had it in for him—maybe it was everyone. Laughing at the schedule hadn’t helped, nor did the fact that he was about to wrestle the legendary Babu in his first match.
“Go home.”
Kid was lying in the corner with his head on the second turnbuckle; he was coming to the end of his first match. His chest was chopped raw, and he was pretty sure that more than one tooth was loose. He also had a broken toe. It wasn’t over yet, though. The referee slid down and pretended to check on the well-being of the rookie challenger. “Do you hear me? Go home,” the ref covertly whispered in Kid’s ear.
The Holy Cross High School gym in Queens was full, and it was the referee’s job to relay messages between the wrestlers without the audience spotting it. The ref could tell by Kid Devine’s face that he had no clue what “go home” meant. Kid wasn’t smartened up to the business; no one had told him that the outcome was what it was.
“Hit him with your finish, and pin him,” the ref whispered, as he lifted himself from the mat.
Babu walked gingerly across the ring toward his downed challenger. The giant’s condition, injuries, and level of fitness were all causing him pain and severe mobility issues. He had to hold the top rope just to move on his feet. His body was shot, and had been for a long time, but he needed to protect the belt, like he was programmed to do. At that stage of his life, with all the political uncertainty out there, Babu thought that the best way to protect it was to give it to someone he could trust: someone without any history. So, one more match it was.
“Is the kid still with us?” Babu asked the ref.
“Kinda,” the ref answered.
Babu hid his smile and advanced. He was giving Kid the ultimate honor—but he was going to make the rookie work for it. That’s what all of the old-timers did to the new guys, beat the living fuck out of them. It was a rite of passage, a way to determine which of the new guys were cut out for the wrestling business. It would damage the business to let them all in on the inner workings if only one or two were ultimately going to make it.
Even with Kid’s head ringing, he started to piece together what was happening: Babu was handing him the world heavyweight title. The young, handsome, masked wrestler had been in training for only a couple of months. He’d run ten miles a day and done five hundred Hindu squats. He’d gotten stretched by some old veteran until the veins in his eyeballs broke and his tongue swelled up. The young man kept coming back, though, because he was the man of the house. He had no more options but to come back to try and make some money for his family.
The next day, the training would be even worse.
“Get up,” Babu shouted, as the referee pantomimed trying to stop the giant from doing more damage.
Kid Devine then remembered seeing a younger Babu in his prime. He remembered the giant before he limped and grimaced in pain. Kid remembered the champ before he started dying.
“Get up, I said,” Babu roared at the rookie on the canvas. His visceral tone sparked a rush of adrenaline that lifted Kid Devine from the mat. The young challenger looked out at the small crowd and imagined himself as a champion outside of the gym. Both men locked up again as the tepid response from the crowd swelled.
“What’s your finish?” Babu asked in the clinch.
Kid was taken aback that the giant was talking to him. “What?”
“Pick me up and slam me,” Babu ordered.
Kid reached down and hooked Babu’s huge frame. He could immediately feel Babu lift his own weight up for him. Kid planted his feet and put everything he had left into getting the iconic champion in the air. He could see the two enormous feet leave the canvas as he heaved Babu up for a slam. He imagined the giant going up ten feet into the air, only to be slammed down with such force that the ring would give in, too. In reality, he got Babu up to about his hip, then fell backward with the giant on top of him.
“Get out of there,” the ref shouted to Kid, as he slow-counted the pin.
“Get him out of there,” Babu shouted too.
Kid tried every which way to move the immense body on top of him.
“One,” counted the ref.
Kid, with Babu’s help, and maybe even a little shove from the ref, managed to turn his situation around. He found himself where he should have been: pinning the champion.
It used to be that when a new heavyweight champion got crowned, the world heard about it. Babu hoped that would be the way this time, too. But for now, his job was to make sure that the lineage of the title stayed true. In a business of smoke and mirrors, it was the wrestling guys themselves who cherished nothing more than lineage. Winning the title—any title—only meant something because of who had held it before you. The ten pounds of gold in and of itself wasn’t worth that much, but all of the classic matches and former champions that came attached to that gold meant everything.
Kid walked backstage, where Babu was waiting for him. Backstage was a school locker room with toilets so small that Babu had never even bothered trying them.
“Put out your hand and thank me,” Babu whispered.
Kid wasn’t sure what was going on, but he trusted Babu with his life.
“Thank you,” Kid said, as he shook Babu’s gigantic hand and bowed before him. With the rest of the locker room watching, it was a little gesture that moved the needle of hatred a half millimeter in Kid’s favor.
Kid was happy with himself. He removed his boot and carefully inspected his toe. He should have been changing in the hallway, as he was told to do.
“You were going a little rough on me out there,” Kid said innocently to Babu from across the room.
Kid’s half millimeter of good grace evaporated, and the needle moved to nuclear.
“Get out!” shouted Babu.
Half of the people in the locker room jumped with fright, as they had never heard the giant raise his voice before. He’d never had to. Babu got up, walked over to Kid, grabbed him by his hair, and dragged the new champion to the door.
“Get the fuck out,” Babu said again, this time throwing him out himself.
From the floor of the hallway, Kid could see regret in Babu’s eyes. Babu didn’t want to do what he was doing, but he knew that the others in the dressing room would do a whole lot worse.
“Don’t ever
fucking question me again,” Babu said as he slammed the door.
Kid had a lot to learn about the wrestling business. He just had no time to learn it.
New York.
Lenny sat on the back step of his father’s house, looking at the small garden. It was perfect. Not a blade of grass out of place, not a weed in sight. Edgar was a man who lived on routine and order, and just having Lenny back was upsetting his father’s small universe.
“I’m going into the city to see your boys. You wanna come?” Edgar asked from the back door.
Lenny shook his head. “Not now, you know.”
“What is all of this?” Edgar asked, cutting through the bullshit. “I mean, what is everyone supposed to do now, exactly?”
Lenny stood and turned to his father.
“I mean, do I talk about you? Do I even say that you’re out? What do I do here?” Edgar asked.
“No. Don’t say anything. Not yet.”
“Not yet?” Edgar said. “Why? Have you a fucking plan or something that I should know about?”
“I’m working on something,” Lenny replied.
“Well whatever that plan is, can you hurry it the fuck up? I’m not comfortable with you in my house,” Edgar said. “I’m sorry. I’m not.”
“I should have told you I was coming. But I have no other choice. I have to be here—or they’ll send me back,” Lenny said.
“I saw you watching my front window earlier. Who were you looking for?” Edgar asked.
“No one,” Lenny replied.
“You think I’m a fool, son? I don’t know how you got out, or why. But I know it’s not for nothing.”
“I’ve got this,” Lenny said.
Edgar walked to Lenny and let the storm door slap closed behind him. “You’ve got this?”
Lenny nodded. “Yeah.”
“You know how much Bree had to move around when you were inside? You know how many jobs she’s worked? The younger boy didn’t handle it so well. He got himself into a lot of trouble without his father around. Even getting to see you inside would have been something. But no, you didn’t want that either.”
“I’m sorry,” Lenny said. “I had my reasons.”
“Your boys were raised by other men. Some of them did good, some of them didn’t. But they have a consistent house here with me. No drama. Nothing out of the ordinary. And I adore those boys. You’re not coming back in here and fucking that up for them. You hear me? You sort out whatever shit it is you’ve found yourself in this time. And you do it without hurting this family again.”
Lenny understood. There was nothing he could say that would put his father at ease. He just had to act. He knew it wouldn’t be long before all the players presented themselves and all the snakes came out of the bushes. They smelled weakness and isolation coming from Lenny—an irresistible combination for the other bosses.
Lenny knew his position was fragile, but it was in that fragility he saw opportunity. It was an opportunity to do what his mentor, Danno Garland did: outfox them all.
Even though he hadn’t yet left, Ricky imagined coming home. He was on the verge of another twelve-hour flight, another six-week tour. His body hadn’t even begun to heal up from the last one. If there was even a small chance that he could come back home for good, he owed it to himself and to Ginny to at least find out. It would certainly do no harm just to see if he could find some backers for the New York territory.
So now he was standing at a pay phone at JFK Airport, on hold. He hadn’t spoken to her in years, but he knew she had money. At one time, Ricky had handed her five hundred grand himself. It was Danno’s money, but she had earned it. Word was that she used that money in a smart way, and soon it doubled and doubled again, and maybe even again. Ricky knew that she was fucking around with him: twenty-seven minutes and she still hadn’t come to the phone. Ricky knew why. But still he kept feeding the coin slot.
When she lost her husband, Danno had sent Ricky to inform her of her shitty terms. When Danno tried to buy her business, he had left Ricky to explain just how badly they were fucking her over. Now it was his turn to eat some shit. Ade Schiller didn’t forget. Anything.
As he waited, Ricky noticed a small party at one of the check-in desks: it looked like a check-in lady was retiring. He was a little jealous. They’d brought her cake and a lot of people seemed to like her. Maybe she had saved a few dollars and would enjoy herself after she went home for good. She certainly didn’t have to ask for money over the telephone, or fly to Japan to survive.
“Hello?” said Ade’s voice on the line.
“Ade?”
“I haven’t been called that in a while. Ricky, is it?”
Ricky knew she knew, but felt he had to play along. “Yes, it’s Ricky here. Thanks for taking my call.”
“What have you got for me, Ricky?” Ade asked.
“Well, how about New York?” Ricky replied. He could almost hear Ade smiling over the phone. She hadn’t expected Ricky to get to the point so quickly, and she hadn’t expected the point to be so out in the open. Ricky knew that someone like Ade had been following the whole story from the sidelines: it was just in her blood. He also knew that she felt she had unfinished business in wrestling.
He continued, “I hear you’ve been doing some things in the boxing world, and I was wondering if you wanted to bring some of that money—”
“Who told you that?” she asked.
“We all know the same people, Ade,” Ricky said. “The last time we met, I handed you some money that I hope changed your life. I was hoping you might like to put it to work, invest it back where it came from.”
Ade thought that she might want something more from the wrestling business this time. It had burned her badly in the past, but that was half the appeal of getting back in. She wanted to put a lot of things right. Exorcise a lot of past demons.
Ade wanted to get back on the field and settle some old scores.
“New York?” she asked, “What’s that going to cost me?”
CHAPTER NINE
1968.
Nevada.
Before Danno was killed, before Babu was champion, before Lenny was even in the wrestling business, and before Merv died, there had been Proctor King and Ade Schiller.
Proctor was the boss of Florida, and Ade was the wife of the chairman at the time, Merv Schiller.
As they sat at a large round table in a Las Vegas conference room, Ade tried her best to not rip her husband’s eyes out, and Proctor was doing his best not to blow Ade’s husband’s brains out. It was a typical National Wrestling Council party.
At the beginning of the night, Proctor and Ade were separated by many others, but as it went on and the band played faster and louder, they found themselves the only ones left at the table. He was ten glasses deep into a bottle of whiskey, and she was sipping on soda water and lime. He was trying to act more sober than he was, and she was trying not to watch her husband buy drinks for every pretty girl in the room—girls he had already paid to be there.
Proctor noticed that the tables around the room were still occupied by the other bosses. It seemed to him that the only one having fun was Merv. Ade made the same observation. She would have had to be blind not to see that he was fucking around with other women.
In the meeting before the party, Merv had just sewn up yet another year for himself with the champion. All the other bosses looked like they were doing their best to look happy for him, but secretly a lot of them wondered what a wrestling business without Merv in it would look like.
“He’s a brave man,” Proctor shouted across the table.
Ade heard him, but she pretended not to. “Sorry?” she said, as she moved to sit next to him.
Proctor took a split second from studying his glass to look up. “If it’s any consolation, it’s this business,” he said. “It makes us all do stupid things.”
Ade shook her head in disgust. “There’s no business in the world that makes a man such a prick … such a glutt
onous pig.”
Both Ade and Proctor watched silently as Merv ran his old hand up and down a young thigh.
Proctor stopped swirling his drink and sat his glass down on the cheap paper tablecloth. “I’ve seen guys who weren’t even booked to wrestle leave their house with their bag on their shoulder. For two days, they would pretend to be working different towns just so they could fuck, fight, drive, and drink what they wanted. The wives didn’t know any different.”
“They knew,” Ade simply replied.
Proctor had never thought of it from the wife’s point of view. He felt stupid now for even bringing it up.
“So, I’m supposed to be grateful that at least my husband is up front about it?” Ade asked.
“Of course not. I didn’t …”
Ade turned straight to Proctor and asked, “Just what are you saying?”
Proctor tried to jumble together a sentence that was soothing or political or soft to hear, but nothing came quickly enough. He raised his glass and finished its contents.
“You’re all the same,” Ade said as she turned away from Proctor and back toward the dance floor. Her anger was for her husband, but it was leaking out everywhere else.
Proctor shook his head. “We’re not all the same.”
“You’ve never cheated?” Ade asked.
Proctor looked her squarely in her eye. “I’ve never cheated on my wife. I’ve cheated on just about everything, or everyone, else in this business, but not my lady.”
Ade smiled at the honesty. She believed him, too—or at least she wanted to. She didn’t even know why she cared.
“Never?” she asked.
“Nope.”
“Isn’t that what you all do?”
“Men? Or wrestling promoters?”
“Both.”
“I don’t know the answer to either of those. What I do know is that people will only treat you the way you let them.”
