My kids could have been on it! Five minutes earlier and we would have been on it.
A member of staff, wearing a red baseball cap and a red polo shirt, snaked his way through the queue, barging people aside as he sought to make it out of the helmet. It looked like he was going for help.
Please let it arrive soon.
People further along the queue, near the ride building, started moving away. A mother screamed that her son and husband were on the ride, but other people held her back.
Then things got worse.
A figure stumbled out of the ride building and into the shocked crowd. The young man was smouldering, clothes blackened and seared into the bubbling pink flesh of his arms and shoulders. Only a few stray patches of hair remained on his glistening red scalp.
The man fell to his knees and waved a smoking arm, pointing back towards the ride’s building. “T-Trapped,” he said in a strangled voice. “Th-They’re all trapped!”
The man fell forward, exposing the slick, exposed flesh of his back. It looked like raw chicken.
Pamela dragged her children away before they were traumatised forever, then huddled anxiously with them as a stampede erupted.
Natalie looked at her. “Mummy, what’s happening?”
“I don’t know, sweetheart. I don’t know.”
“It’s something bad,” said Nathan, and she couldn’t speak to argue with him.
Something exploded, making the fleeing crowd scream. A massive ball of fire rose from behind the giant bronze helmet and lit up the grey sky.
Those glowing red eyes stared at Pamela. The mocking laughter continued pumping from the speakers. It even seemed to get louder, faster.
More frenzied.
“Look away, kids. Please, just look away.”
Chapter Two
Twelve years later…
AJ raised his forearm and wiped blood from his eyes. People yelled abuse from every direction. A small boy spat at him.
It was glorious.
The Human Tractor threw a running clothesline but AJ ducked and hit the ropes, then rebounded and delivered a solid drop kick. Tractor, a twenty-stone big man, dragged himself over to the turnbuckle for a rest.
AJ went back to tearing apart a Leeds United football shirt in the centre of the ring – an act utterly infuriating to the three hundred Leeds residents in attendance tonight. It was cheap heat, but it was good heat.
He was on fire.
AJ threw the torn football shirt down on the canvass and stomped on it. He marched over to Tractor and gave the big man a kick as he lay there with his huge gut on display. He needed a time-out to catch his breath, because, aside from being fat, the guy was pushing fifty.
AJ stooped and adjusted one of his bright pink tasselled kneepads. It was almost time for the main spot of the match, so he went over to the ropes and gloated at the crowd. They booed and hissed from behind the barricade as he flexed his biceps and kissed each impressive bulge.
Wait for it!
“Don’t hate me because I’m better than you,” he yelled at the crowd. “Hey, baby, I see you looking at me. You want a piece of this?”
Any second now. Come on!
AJ climbed up on the bottom rope and leant over the top one, continuing to taunt the crowd. “Hey you, did you dress yourself this morning or did Mummy do it?”
The canvass bounced behind AJ as lumbering footsteps gathered speed.
Here it comes. Right on schedule.
He gripped the top rope tightly. Took in a breath and held it. A forearm struck him between the shoulder blades and he went toppling forward. Using his left hand and abdomen as a fulcrum, he tumbled over the top rope and crashed to the arena floor eight feet below. He hit the mats perfectly with both feet flat on the floor.
A perfect spot.
The crowd roared with delight at the gloating heel being knocked on his ass mid-taunt. AJ had them in the palm of his hand. Like he did every night.
But tonight was different.
Tonight, there was a road agent in the audience. Terry Spakes from the big leagues. America. This was AJ’s chance to show what he could do.
This was his moment.
Pretending to have had the stuffing knocked out of him, AJ clambered to his feet. He then took a risk and flopped forward against the crowd railing, allowing the baleful fans to get their hands on him. They slapped and shoved at him gleefully, but none too hard. Most fans understood the game.
The next spot was about to happen.
AJ pushed himself away from the railing, keeping his back to the ring. He shook his head as if shaking off cobwebs and resumed shouting insults at the crowd. How dare they enjoy his pain? How dare they laugh at him? He was the greatest of all time, didn’t they know? They weren’t fit to lick his boots. He was Bright Lights, baby!
His vision suddenly went blurry. A little blood still leaked from his right eyebrow, a split caused by Tractor’s errant fist, so he wiped at it with his bright pink wristband. His vision remained blurry.
He wiped again.
Still blurry.
What the hell?
AJ heard the canvass vibrate. No time left. He should already be turning around.
But I can’t see!
Knowing Blue Stormer was about to leap over the top rope and come down right on top of him, AJ turned quickly. He needed to plant his feet and catch his opponent, but by the time he was facing the ring, Stormer was already airborne. The lad was tiny by wrestling standards – only five foot nine – but holy shit could he fly. He cleared the top rope by half a foot and sailed out of the ring with his arms outstretched like an eagle.
Cameras clicked. LEDs flashed.
The crowd gasped.
AJ opened up his body, trying to make himself into a human crash mat.
More LEDs flashed.
AJ’s vision swirled.
Time slowed.
Stormer came down hard, his chest clonking against AJ’s shoulder and bouncing off. AJ tried to grab him with both arms but caught nothing but air. Both men hit the mats hard.
AJ lay on his back. He took two breaths and waited for something to hurt. When nothing did, he rolled over onto his side and surveyed the damaged. His vision was still blurry, but it was beginning to clear, so he could make out Stormer lying on his back nearby. He was staring up at the lights and panting. AJ was close enough to reach out and touch him, but that would break the illusion that they were bitter enemies. Kayfabe was the word the industry used, and it meant you kept up the illusion that everything was real no matter what. The curtain must always stay down. Heels like AJ didn’t show concern for their opponents. He still needed to know that Stormer was okay though. “Dillon? You okay, brother?”
The referee, Graham, was already checking on Dillon, obviously concerned by his hard landing. To facilitate the conversation, Graham leant over Dillon and shielded him, so that the crowd couldn’t see them talking. Dillon turned his masked face, only his eyes and mouth visible, then muttered, “I’m hurt, brother. We need to go home.”
AJ groaned. ‘Going home’ was code for ending the match, but they were supposed to go another five minutes. The planned ending included Graham taking a ‘ref bump’, allowing AJ to hit Tractor with an illegal chair shot. He would then pin the fat bastard and steal the win. That wasn’t going to work now though. The match would end sloppy.
No helping it. Dillon’s hurt. And it’s all my fault. I missed the catch.
I never miss the catch…
AJ climbed to his feet, his shoulder bothering him. Gently, he clutched the back of Dillon’s mask and pulled the guy up. Dillon slumped against the apron but allowed himself to be rolled back inside the ring. The lad was too much of a professional not to finish the match without a pin.
Tractor was back on his feet and ready to deliver a beat down. He was unaware of the situation, so Graham, doing his true job as a referee – directing the match and its timings – had to hurry over and whisper an update. Tractor swore when he
heard the news, and as soon as AJ rolled underneath the bottom rope, he got clobbered. “Here’s your receipt, bitch.” Tractor thumped him again, striking his shoulder and causing him to yell.
“Cool it, man. We need to go home.”
Tractor grabbed AJ by his long, wavy blonde hair and got him in a side headlock. “The finish is you and me. Dillon only has to stay down.”
“He’s hurt!”
“So will you be if you botch our ending. Terry Spakes is watching from Gorilla. I ain’t screwing up tonight, boy.”
AJ went to argue, but Tractor clubbed him in the back and legitimately knocked the wind out of him. The bastard was giving him a receipt for hurting Dillon, but that wasn’t his right.
AJ crawled towards the ropes, not having to act hurt because his shoulder was genuinely throbbing. He clambered to his feet and Tractor came for him, but this time AJ retaliated by throwing an elbow into the big man’s gut. Knowing that Terry Spakes was watching from the Gorilla Position – the area just behind the curtains through which the wrestlers made their entrance – Tractor had no choice but to sell the blow like a professional. He clutched his gut and let out a loud ooph!
AJ struck again with backhanded chops, making Tractor stagger backwards on his heels. After the third and hardest chop, Tractor was off balance, so AJ leapt in the air and delivered his patented A-Kick. It was only a spinning back kick, but as one of his signature moves, Tractor was duty-bound to sell it and hit the mat. You didn’t no-sell another guy’s signature moves.
Now in the ring with two downed opponents, AJ moved over to the referee. “Graham, Tractor’s gone into business for himself. I’m going to pin Dillon and go home, okay?”
To his surprise, Graham shook his head. “Tractor says we do the ending as planned. Sorry, AJ.”
AJ clutched his gut like he was trying to catch his breath, but all he was really doing was disguising their conversation. He couldn’t let the crowd see him in the ring having a chitchat. “Sod that. Dillon’s hurt.”
“He’s not involved in the ending. Toss him to the floor and the guys will check on him.”
AJ knew Dillon pretty well – a tough kid from Yorkshire. If he wanted to abort the planned finish, it was because he was legitimately hurt, not because he was being a pussy. Tractor, on the other hand, was a piece-of-shit bully. A tub of lard with no moves and no sell. But he was also one of the show’s bookers. Tractor had been in the game more than twenty years, and part of the seed money for tonight’s show had come straight out of his pocket. Graham was right – Tractor was the boss here.
AJ snarled. “Fine! Tractor wants a finish, I’ll sodding give him one.”
Dillon was lying still at the edge of the ring and clutching his wrist. AJ dropped and got him in a rear chokehold, cradling him gently even though it appeared violent and painful. He put his mouth next to Dillon’s ear and whispered. “Hey, brother. I’m sorry, but Tractor won’t let us go home. I’m gonna throw you out and then you’re done.”
“I think my wrist’s broken, AJ.”
AJ clenched his jaw, wanting to apologise over and over, but knowing he couldn’t do it right at this moment. “I’ll make things right, brother, I promise.”
He thrust Dillon backwards, pretending to strike the wrestler’s skull against the canvass, then kicked him out of the ring like a bag of rubbish. A pair of first aiders immediately ran to help him on the arena floor. That was something at least.
How did I screw up so badly? I’ve hit that spot a hundred times. My timing was all wrong. My positioning…
Because I couldn’t bloody well see properly.
A blow to AJ’s shoulder knocked him from his thinking. Pain bolted up his neck and made him wince. Tractor had struck him in the shoulder twice now, making it clear that the prick was targeting his injury.
Okay, that does it.
AJ went through the motions, taking Tractor’s clumsy onslaught through gritted teeth. As a traditional ‘big man’, Tractor was all chops and punches, with his only other move being a big splash to put people away. Like AJ, he was a ‘heel’ – a bad guy – which meant the crowd began to cool as the two of them fought. They wanted to see Blue Stormer face off against the villains as the outnumbered underdog. Now it looked like Tractor and AJ would simply knock lumps out of one another instead.
Might as well make it count for something.
AJ dodged a punch from Tractor by ducking and spinning. He then unleashed a hellish backhanded slap across the big man’s flabby chest – the hardest chop he had ever delivered. The crack echoed off the rafters.
The crowd groaned.
Tractor doubled over, holding a forearm across his chest. But AJ wasn’t done. He grabbed Tractor by his long, greasy hair and forced him back up. He then unleashed another chop, even harder than the one before.
Tractor doubled over again, this time cursing out loud. He tried to resist AJ grappling him, but AJ wasn’t playing around. He shoved the big man back against the turnbuckle and chopped his chest for a third time. Tractor’s flabby pecs were bright red with angry-looking welts. AJ slapped him two more times, drawing thin beads of blood.
“Enough!” Tractor hissed. “Do it again and I’ll fucking kill you.”
“Not if I kill you first.” AJ chopped Tractor a further two times, then, before the big man could recover, he mounted the middle turnbuckle and trapped him between his legs. Raising a fist in the air, AJ nodded to the crowd. Was this what they wanted to see?
The crowd cheered and whistled. Despite being a heel, they were on AJ’s side now – easily flipped in the drama of the moment. They hated Tractor more than they hated him, and not just because the big man was a heel. They hated him because they knew he was a bully with a limited move-set and no charisma, while AJ and Dillon were two guys willing to break their bodies – literally – to entertain the crowd. Yes, they very much wanted to see this.
AJ, AJ, AJ…
AJ delivered the first punch, pulling the blow slightly but not all the way. He felt his knuckles knock against Tractor’s skull, but it was nothing more than a love-tap really, cushioned even more by the pink wraps around his hands. As much as he would like to kick the shit out of Tractor, you couldn’t take liberties with someone trusting you to keep them safe in the ring. The chops to the chest had been enough to make a point. Anything more serious would have to wait for the locker room.
The crowd roared. “One!”
AJ thumped Tractor again.
“Two!”
Again.
“Three!”
AJ took them up to nine, before pausing and letting them anticipate the final blow.
“TEEEEEEEEEE—
AJ punched Tractor on the head again.
—EN!”
AJ then hopped backwards off the turnbuckle, freeing Tractor from between his thighs. The big man hit one of his character spots, marching forward two steps as though he was perfectly fine, before flopping suddenly onto his face. Rick Flair did the spot better, but it wasn’t a bad effort.
Graham placed a hand on AJ’s bicep and pulled him back a step. “Easy, Alex, you’re not supposed to be getting pops.”
“We can’t go heel on heel. We’re losing the crowd.”
Graham shook his head and sighed. “There’s going to be hell to pay for this. It’s a right shit-show.”
AJ nodded to the roaring crowd. “I got the fans back. You hear them? I’ll deal with the blowback afterwards, but let’s give the kids what they came for.”
Graham nodded. The two of them had known each other a long time, and as much as the old guy loved having a job, he loved the business more. And this was business.
AJ stood over Tractor, who was now slumped on his side. “We good, brother?”
“No,” came the muffled reply. “You’re a dead man.”
“Let’s do the spot and go home, okay? I’m gonna work the crowd, you pull me down on top of Graham. We’ll do the ending as best we can by ourselves.”
Tra
ctor didn’t reply.
AJ gave him a toe-tap to the ribs. “You with me or not?”
Tractor hissed. “I’m with you.”
As much as Tractor was a bully who took liberties in the ring, he was also a veteran. He wouldn’t screw with the plan once agreed.
AJ headed to the turnbuckle and climbed up onto the middle rope. He threw his hands up in a classic ‘face’ pose and the crowd popped for him again. All memories of having hated him five minutes ago disappeared. He was ‘Bright Lights’ AJ Star. The hottest wrestler in the universe.
“What’s the plan?” Graham stood to his left, looking up at him and pretending to tell him off. Climbing the turnbuckle was technically illegal in a wrestling match.
AJ spoke out the corner of his mouth. “Just stay where you are and get ready to bump.”
“Roger that.”
AJ felt the canvass bounce and knew Tractor was getting to his feet. He continued working the crowd, acting oblivious as they shouted warnings at him. Behind you! Watch out! AJ, look!
Dillon lay next to the crowd barricade on the floor. The first aiders could do nothing but console him. AJ’s stomach churned. He’d delivered the odd black eye in his time between the ropes, but he’d never seriously hurt anyone.
Until now.
Tractor grabbed AJ by the back of his bright pink tights and yanked him backwards. It was sloppy, and AJ had to fall unconvincingly to his left. He collapsed on top of Graham, and the referee flew backwards as if a train had hit him, immediately feigning unconsciousness on the canvass. A classic ref bump.
AJ pretended to be hurt and rolled out of the ring. Tractor lumbered out after him, so AJ turned and punched the guy. He kept things slow so that Tractor could block him, and the big man raised a forearm like a shield before delivering a thumping head butt that sent AJ reeling. That was part of the agreed upon spot.
AJ wheeled around and fell to his knees, then flopped against an empty seat the ring announcer had vacated when she’d seen the two of them coming. The aluminium seat was foldable, and AJ quickly closed it flat. This happened out of Tractor’s sight as the big man stood directly behind him. That was why he didn’t see it coming when AJ leapt up and brought the folded chair down on his head.
Dark Ride Page 2
