by Paul O'Brien
They were all together, on a day off, in a bar. That never happened. And the temptation to capitalize on that perfect storm of circumstance was excruciating.
Even with the bar signs covered over and the tables draped in flowers – it was still a shit-hole and Danno knew it.
A bar like this would have been the last place a woman like his wife would go if she was alive.
Outside, The Sugarstick Shane Montrose, hurried and late, marched down the dark alleyway towards the wake.
As always, he was dressed in style. His suit was beige pinstripe with matching bellbottoms and a single breast pocket. Gold button. His shirt was blue and his tie was red silk with a paisley design. Shane Montrose was one of the biggest wrestlers of all time. Over his many years in the business he saw and did it all – nearly. And that life was evident for all to see on his handsome, but aging, overly-tanned face. He was a man in his mid fifties who looked a whole lot older.
He was also a mess of drink and cocaine. He could carry neither with style or dignity. Anytime he got drunk or stoned he was a fucking lunatic. Which was often. On both counts.
But in wrestling he was a draw. He was someone the people were willing to pay to see no matter what territory he was in. In his business he had done it all. Except be champion. Only the heavyweight championship of the world eluded him.
For now, he thought.
He nervously walked to the designated back door and was immediately recognized by a star struck rookie wrestler who got the job of doorman. Shane tipped him with a hundred. He tipped everyone, all the time.
He slowly took the steep stairs and waited to reclaim his breath when he reached the top. He fixed his hair and made sure all his jewelry was facing the right way. The sounds inside were muted but large. He knew it was a full room of scumbags and whores doing their best not to enjoy themselves too much in front of the boss who had the champion.
It was a long time since Shane Montrose was nervous.
But this time he had good reason to be.
In the dingy restroom Danno robotically washed his hands. Most everything he was doing now was from preprogramming. Autopilot.
The restroom door opened and Joe Lapine, the Chairman of the NWC entered. Danno watched him in the mirror and he stood with the stall door open and took a piss.
“How are you holding up, Danno?” Joe asked.
Danno didn’t know how to answer such a question. So he didn’t.
“I don’t even know what to say to you,” Joe said as he finished up. “It’s a tragedy.” He flushed and took up a spot washing in the sink next to Danno.
Danno realized he had washed his hands twenty times over and the cuffs of his shirt were soaking wet.
“I wanted to stay with you last night,” Joe said as he checked to make sure the stalls were empty. “Because no man should go through that alone.”
Danno never even looked up.
Joe caught Danno’s eye in the mirror.
“I appreciate you giving me the Chair when you could have taken it for yourself. So I’m glad we could set that up for you,” Joe said, reminding Danno that he brought Proctor, and Mickey Jack to kill him, the night before.
Danno rubbed his hands on the worn-out towel that was barely clinging to the wall.
“Someone said you … ” Joe stopped and looked around again. “ … did the deed?”
Joe could clearly see that Danno didn’t want to talk about it so he changed the subject. “Now, we all just want to help you move on, Danno.”
“Move on?” Danno asked, his voice raspy from lack of use.
“Move on,” Joe reiterated. “To get back to business.”
Danno cleared his throat so there would be no misunderstanding in what he was about to say. “You think I’m finished looking for him, Joe?”
“We hope that you are. All of us. It’s best for business.”
Danno dried his hands, reached for the door and walked back into the packed room.
Joe said, “The National Wrestling Council stands with … ”
Danno was gone and Joe didn’t even bother to finish his sentence.
January 10th 1969.
Three years before the murder.
Oregon.
The National Wrestling Council was a collection of men who owned the largest wrestling territories in the Americas. It was set up to prevent other wrestling outfits from starting up and eating into their pie in such areas.
For many years, they patrolled and promoted successfully without too much of a challenge. People knew better than to try.
Merv Schiller sat as president of the National Wrestling Council since its inception in the mid-forties. Over the years he had positioned himself so as to own the table that everyone else dined at.
They met frequently, as needed, to discuss business matters, wrestler trades and decide who was going to be Heavyweight Champion of the World.
The owner who got the champion got rich. The money goes where the champ goes – and the power goes where the money goes. So the owner who got the champion essentially ran the syndicate by proxy.
All eyes were now on the main item of the agenda. Danno’s stomach had been upset just thinking about it.
Merv rechecked his notes as he rolled his fat cigar around his brown fingers. “No change,” he announced from behind his huge glasses. “That’s the verdict.”
The small, smoky, back room acted animated like the outcome was a shock. Danno did all he could to hide his devastation.
“There’s no need,” Merv continued above the mostly feigned disquiet. “Sal Pellington is a good champ for us and a good draw along the west coast. So, no change.”
Merv, it just so happened, owned the west coast territory, had control of Sal Pellington and was chairman of the NWC.
“What about the rest of us, Merv?” asked an aggressive Curt Magee from Texas. “How are we supposed to eat?”
“With your fucking mouth,” the slight, old chairman spat back.
Curt looked around the room for anyone as shocked as him. “Did you say ‘with your fucking mouth’ or ‘watch your fucking mouth’?”
“Both.” Merv wound up and knocked out his most worn line, “None of you are tied to this council.”
Danno knew he had been screwed over again. He brought Missus Garland and put her up in the Governor Hotel, such was his confidence this time. She even wore them under-britches that very seldom see anything but the bottom drawer.
Annie Garland sat in the foyer half reading from her book and half watching the door. She looked out for any sign of Danno – although she knew he’d be hours yet before he returned from his big meeting. Her heart was full with excitement. And guilt. But she felt she couldn’t help it. For days she had tossed the word ‘compelled’ around in her head. That’s all she could think to call her wants. She felt, and was, compelled.
“You ready?” whispered a moving voice behind her.
Annie took one last look at the giant, glass front door and satisfied herself that the coast was clear. She quickly followed Shane Montrose into the waiting elevator.
Back at the meeting, Danno felt stupid for even believing that he had a deal. Eight months previously he had flown all the bosses in to see his giant seven foot prospect beat Ricky Plick in a hell of a main event in the New Jersey Armory. He knew it was a small crowd, but a great match and a true attraction wrestler gave Danno the nod over the other potential champions in line.
It was all sealed by a crystal clink in his office backstage. Everyone was going to get rich off this huge kid. The members of the NWC were happy and unanimous that the belt be dropped to the giant after their next official meeting in Portland, Oregon.
This meeting.
Shane hurriedly opened the door to his room and scooped Annie off her feet. His wrestling dates had kept them both apart for the best part of a year. She adored him, missed him. She loved him. She wondered if he felt the same. He must have. He made it his business to get to Oregon. To her.
/> He was a mercenary his whole career. He traveled where the best money was and he never had any problems letting the bosses know that. He was a rare thing in the wrestling business in that he got over with the audience no matter how many times a promoter tried to make an example out of him by making him lose. He once lost four straight title matches in the same building and he still managed to sell it out the next week.
And he did it all with a microphone.
He knew how to make people feel the way he wanted them to feel. He knew how to garner sympathy and rally soldiers of support in the stands. He could do what all truly great wrestlers could – he could manipulate people. And the bosses loved that. Not that they’d ever let the wrestlers know that.
Annie knew it was no coincidence that he was here at the same time the NWC was meeting here too. Still, she let herself be fooled. He was here for her.
“Okay, let’s move on to any other business,” Merv said as he pushed his glasses onto his forehead and shuffled some papers.
Danno cleared his throat and the meeting left a respectful silence for his potential input. He stood up.
“We had a deal, Merv.” Danno looked around the room to see which of the other owners had knifed him in the back. “But more than that, I have someone who we know people are going to pay to see. I have someone who you all watched work a few months ago; someone who could make us all a lot of money. Now I’ve kept him under wraps for months, waiting for the nod today. I was going to explode this kid onto the scene and get the world talking.”
“He was green as goose shit and we need to move on to other business, Danno,” Merv interrupted.
“But I have a question,” Danno fired back.
“Make it quick,” Merv said.
Fuck it. Danno had nothing to gain anymore by being polite anyway. “Yeah, just one point. Would you still be reneging on our deal if the giant jumped to your company like you quietly asked him to do several times last week?”
The occupants of the room turned squarely to Merv to hear his response. Danno simply asked what everyone else was thinking.
“In my life I’ve never been so insulted and … and … what’s the word … ?”
Danno instinctively finished his sentence. “Crooked?”
Merv picked up his ashtray and unsuccessfully threw it at Danno’s head. “You be fucking careful what you lay at my door, you Mick fuck. Where’s your evidence that I tried anything of the sort? You didn’t get the belt ‘cause you’d only fuck it up if you did. Simple as that.”
Annie lay on the bed and watched one of the most famous wrestlers in the world tear at his clothes. His body was a little softer than she remembered. The road, and time, were taking their toll.
Shane smiled at her and tried to hide the fact that various injuries wouldn’t let him get down far enough to take his socks off.
The hotel room, the running around, the planning, the danger. Back home it kept Annie going. She cherished the flutter it gave her. But here, in reality, it made her feel sick. Danno was a good man. Solid. Timed. Predictable. A little boring. But good.
“I can’t,” she said as she whipped herself from the bed.
“What?” Shane replied.
“I can’t,” she repeated as she dropped her head in shame and made her way to the door. “I’m sorry.”
“Wait, baby. What’s going on here?”
“I’m sorry. I don’t know what I’m doing.”
She managed to break away from this once before. Things were getting better at home. She didn’t know what made her say yes to see him again.
History and chemistry were a dangerous combination.
“You’re the worst earning member of this council, Danno. I’d keep my fucking mouth shut if I were you,” Merv warned.
Danno slowly sat down.
Merv reigned over the silence in the room. He wiped the froth from his mouth and watched everyone else’s reaction, waiting to take on any more of this uprising bullshit. “In case anyone forgot the procedure in here, there was a vote taken on this decision, just like every time we have someone who thinks they have the next champ. So, please do me a favor and stop with the bleeding heart routine in here. I’m getting all fucking emotional.”
Merv was right. There were nine men who all had a say in the secret ballot. Just that none of them would say anything different than Merv. He had just enough of them on his side with backhand deals and co-promoting perks that he never had to worry about losing a ballot.
“Anyone else like to say something?” Merv asked.
As small and as old as Merv was, the whole business knew that he had come to this business from another business. If that old cunt didn’t want you around anymore, you’d stop being around.
“Well?” Merv glared at Danno. “Are we moving this meeting on?”
Danno hesitantly nodded. There would be no celebration, no victory speech and no blowjob from Missus Garland that night.
Merv, in turn, sat down also. “I was going to inform the meeting that Sal was going to tour your territories again this summer as champion. Boost your gates.”
The other owners smiled and nodded at the scrap of generosity and everyone turned attentively to his next item. Everyone except Proctor King, who winked at Danno.
Business was about to pick up.
All the real meetings took place after the meeting. All the owners knew this but never said anything. The planning, scheming, the hush-hush handshakes, all took place an hour after everyone left to ‘go home’.
This is when Merv Schiller, as chairman of the NWC, normally held court, cut deals and generally protected his spot.
Merv wasn’t the only one who was at a meeting.
Danno’s took place with an unlikely ally in Proctor King. They never had much, if any, dealings with each other in the past. Proctor’s request for a meeting was unusual to Danno to say the least. He took it because he just didn’t want to go back home a failure again. He didn’t want to have that talk with his wife again. He couldn’t. He was too old to be an ‘also ran’.
So he waited in the restaurant.
For an opening night, this Old Spaghetti Factory sure was quiet. Danno read the menu for the second time at a table that sat under a big stained glass window. Right on time, Proctor walked through the front door and pointed Danno out to the waitress.
The one man who was without a meeting was Curt Magee.
Same old shit, same old fucking shit, he thought as he lowered another beer and wiped the foam from his white moustache.
He skimmed and re-skimmed the meeting from earlier in his mind. The way he had been spoken to. The disrespect of cutting a grown man out of his livelihood. He knew that they were all planning a meeting without him. Curt’s territory was hurting more than most. He needed a slice of the money that old Merv was funneling off for himself. But he knew he wasn’t in Merv’s troop – or any other troop. That left Curt very vulnerable.
To keep your place at the NWC table you have to be valuable. Curt was just about out of any worth – within the NWC or his own goddamn house.
He squinted at the figure at the end of the bar. “Shane?” he asked himself.
At the other end of the Governor Hotel bar, The Sugarstick Shane Montrose was lowering shot after shot. Curt didn’t recognize him at first. Partly because his sight was shot, and partly because he’d never been in a bar with Shane Montrose where the Sugarstick was so quiet and somber.
“Well, fuck me,” Curt said as he walked closer.
Shane barely looked up from his glass. “Curt Magee, the famous owner from Texas in these United States of America.”
Curt dragged up a stool. “What are you doing here?”
“Fishing. What do you think I’m doing in a fucking bar? I’m knitting a hat.”
“Okay, I was only asking.”
Shane downed another shot and slammed his glass off the bar. “How many wrestlers did you all fuck over today?”
“What?”
“At yo
ur big meeting. How many of us did you guys fuck over? Did you cut our payoffs some more or trade us like the fucking cattle you think we are?”
Shane slipped uneasily off his stool and clawed at his shirt – ripping all the buttons off. He then struggled to pull his tailor-made jacket over his head – but only succeeded in trapping himself.
“Fucking help me,” Shane said in a panicked, high-pitched voice.
Curt grabbed the jacket and Shane burrowed himself backwards out of it.
Curt became more aware of the scene they were creating. “What are you doing?”
“Freeing myself,” Shane replied as he unhooked his belt.
Curt grabbed his arm. “People are watching.”
“Fucking good.” Shane pulled away from Curt and fell into an empty table behind him.
Proctor didn’t feel at ease in the restaurant, so he and Danno came outside The Spaghetti Factory and slid down the bank by the river. Now it was Danno who was ill at ease. There was no one around. That’s what Proctor wanted. Danno – not so much.
“Nice view, huh, Danno?”
Danno tried to assess the situation and the geography without making it obvious he was doing so. He also 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 as he inhaled. “Big money.”
“Haven’t you got an office or a phone for this kind of stuff?”
“Not this kinda stuff.”
Proctor waited for Danno’s response. It was like he was enjoying the power of watching Danno digest the broken information.
“Well?” Danno asked. “What are we talking about here?”
