Previously on Mark Flynn's Revenge

Quote:“Daddy…!”

“HEY. I HAVE NOT BEEN HANGING OUT WITH PETER GILMOUR, OKAY?”

Quote:“LET'S TALK IN DOLLAR SIGNS.”

Quote:"Fucking weird, Daddy."

Quote: "OH RIGHT. FOUR MILLION DOLLARS.”

"Four mil-Four MILLION dollars?!?"

Quote:Katie runs over to the pinned Flynn, drops down and looks him in the eyes.

"Wanna go to the movies?"

Suddenly, smoke rises up from where Flynn once was.

It slowly comes to rest on the ceiling and begins to spell out letters.

"Thursday at 7."

And now… the next chapter of Mark Flynn's Revenge
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Mutually Agreed Upon Location- July 8th, 2014 - 2:34 AM

At the center of a cold, barren table… Lies a piece of paper.

“And then the young one puts a gun to the back of the professor’s head… He begs the man not to tell him to fire… And I wake up.”

“Hmm.”

This rectangular slip slid from the middle of a table closer, by fingertips, pushing them towards another set of hands…

“And that’s the dream I’ve had the last four or five nights in a row.”

“Yeah. Yup.”

The paper is slid even closer, right between both of those hands

“And… I can’t explain it… But I feel some connection to the ring leader… To the man lobbying orders… As if the message he uncovered is something I need to consider deeply and apply to my own life... You know? As if the universe is telling me to do something moronic and self-destructive, like I always do… But, this time it’s going to benefit me…”

“Oh, sure. Yeah.”

Frodo, this time, pushes a pen on top of the check… His body now fully extended over the length of the table, face right next to Flynn’s unmoving hands…

Flynn stares into the wood of the table… Quiet… Calm…

“The World was Black’s… The World was Black’s…”

“Do you want me to fill in parts of the check for you? Make the Memo out to ‘Cash’? Cuz I will. Just trying to be helpful. You probably have a busy day ahead of you, I know I do.”

Flynn doesn’t look up.

“Hmm… Tell you what, you prefer Paypal? I have a laptop in the other room, we’ll do this via funds transfer, that way I don’t have to drive to the bank to cash it, we just do this all at once, I immediately get an e-mail confirmation. We’re just totally done, like in a second.”

Flynn sighs. His hands shift from the table to his lap… Turning over the facts in his head… The choices he’s made… The title shot he just bet on his partner…

The partner who hasn’t spoken up announcing his intentions leading into their first tag team match on Madness.

The partner who was just urged by someone who keeps sticking his fucking nose in other people’s business that Flynn was trying to play him.

A response that Flynn didn’t think was worth responding to. A lot of the mentally challenged oafs spew stupid shit to get attention.

At the same time, Black… Hundreds of thoughts and phrases whir through his head... Not even Tuesday yet... Spin the wheel... Playing you... Playing you...

“Black… versus… Madison…”

“Or, hey, how much cash do you have in your wallet? Let’s do as much of this as off the books as possible. No paper trail, huh? Whaddya got, couple million on ya? I actually have Square on my phone, just plug in the headphone jack, Boom, instantly charge it to your card.”

Frodo’s hands travel towards Flynn’s right pocket, slightly bulging larger than the other…

“Lemme just check wh-”

CLAP!

Flynn’s hand clasps around Frodo’s… Tight as a Venus Fly Trap… Frodo tries to pull his hand back… But he’s caught.

Flynn slowly brings his neck up. His eyes meet Frodo’s.

Angry.

“I feel like in this dream, there’s a moral for you too.”

“The professor and the teenager are related… But disconnected… By time… By choice… By disinterest from both parties…”

“Blood is thinner than some say…”

“The man who plants his seed wildly… And then doesn’t tend to them as the plant grows…”

“Shouldn’t be surprised when their fruits are only enjoyed by the ones who care for that plant.”

“While the seed’s original caretaker is left starving in the winter months…”

The room is silent…

For just a moment.

“Maybe you should tell those things to a blood doctor and a seed doctor respectively. Sign the check.”

Flynn releases Frodo’s hand, which shoots back to its owner’s side of the table. He then takes the pen beside the slip, and hovers it just above the longest line on the check.

With his opposite hand, Flynn then pats his bulging pocket, the contents of which crinkle like paper, as he sighs with relief that he still has it. For now. Inside his pocket is not his wallet, but instead the contract for his title shot… The one that come from holding the X-Treme Title for 2 weeks.

The one he can’t cash in.

The one that John Black has to beat the Longest Reigning King of the XWF of All-Time, Johnny Madison.

The one that if he doesn’t, Flynn loses his all-purpose title shot.

To Peter ‘Glue-Eater’ Gilmour of all fucking people…

“Something wrong?”

Flynn…

…

Shakes his head. “No.” And writes it in: ‘$4,000,000.’ “Done.”

“Finally.” The check flies off the table as a small hand zips through the air and slams into Frodo’s pants pocket. Frodo sighs with relief and extends his hand calmly to the halfway point in the table.

Flynn’s takes it and the pair shake.

“See you then.”

“Thursday at 7…”

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Smackins' Residence, Detroit, MI- July 10th, 2014 - 4:27 PM

”I’m not doing it.”

“Yes, you are. I'm your friend, I write your checks, you’re doing me this one favor.”

A large ball of raggedly t-shirts, all wadded into an approximate globe, get hurled into a suitcase. The t-shirt ball is a graffiti wall of ridiculous statements, saying things like ‘I MASTERED AVERY KAIN’S MIND’ and ‘FORMER 2X ARK OF THE COVENANT CHAMPION.’

“Seem to have a lot of Mastermind t-shirts there, huh?”

“They’re like three for a dollar, in what world am I gonna turn down those savings?”

An arm tries to slam down the suitcase. A bounce! The top rebounds back up and rests just above where the zipping the thing closed might be possible...

“Maybe if you took apart your ball and folded those shirts, it’d take up less space in your bag.”

Frodo looks up at Crack, brows furrowed in pain, legitimately hurt by this apparently callous choice of words.

“I spent a lot of time making that t-shirt ball... Why do you hate my t-shirt ball? Better question, why do you hate me?”

Crack pauses… And sighs.

“Fine, let’s make the t-shirt ball work. Get on the suitcase.”

Crack & Frodo Smackins - vs - Over-stuffed Suitcase X-treme Rules Match

Frodo takes a seat on the suitcase top, Crack takes a seat next to him.

“Okay, any other thing, Midge. I'd love to help. But, I really don’t want to be here to meet this guy that’s going to take Katie out. Find someone else.”

Both men raise up and bring their asses down on the suitcase! The shirts compress an inch at least but the top still doesn’t quite close… They bring their asses up again, hovering over the suitcase.

“I know you don’t want to, that’s why I’m calling it 'a favor'. So you have to. I'm going out of town. I can’t be here to give him any kind of ‘dating my daughter info’ and you care about Katie, I figure you’d be a good guy to give him a talking-to.”

“You just don’t give enough of a shit to give him that talking-to.”

“And you're thinking I should because? Come on man, you know I don't do this stuff. I just gave Joseph-Gordon gay porn for the sex talk. You had to go back and explain all of it to him. You're a much better father to them than I am.”

“…It’s tragic that that statement might be accurate.”

“Just think, I didn't even know she existed and forgot I slept with her mother to make her. I'm far from a responsible father. And yet, I'm the best father figure she's had. I left an easy spot to fill, and no one did. Yay me…”

SLAM! The bag compresses again… just millimeters away from being shut. Crack gets set to drop again on the bag but Frodo stands up on the bed.

“Oh, hang on! I got this one.”

Crack hops off the suitcase and stands back to watch… As Frodo delivers an earnest Hitler-esque Heil into the air!

“Shades of Idenhaus! The inanimate object is defenseless!!!”

BAM! Frodo delivers a sick elbow drop a la NAZI! Frodo wraps the case’s top closed and covers the bag.

“COUNT IT!”

“Frodo, we’re having a serious convers-“

Frodo looks back furious!

“COUNT IT, ASSHOLE!”

Crack sighs and slides onto the bedside, into an XWF official’s counting position.

1…

2…

THREE!!!!!!!

Winner: Frodo Smackins- Still Suitcase-Packing Champion

Frodo slides off his defeated luggage with a fist pump and a high five to himself. His hands then slip to the sides of the bag to zip it closed from both sides so the zippers meet in the middle.

"Whether or not you WANT to give this guy ground rules, I don’t understand why you can’t give it a shot.”

“Oh. Family thing came up recently. I ran into Grandma Smackins at the Airport on the way to my TV title match. Was a nice visit. Good gal.”

“So?”

“Well, somewhere between me beating Tony Santos and me losing to Tony Santos, it dawned on me that that my dementia-ridden grandmother is supposed to be in a home for the elderly in Florida. We shipped her off because she smelled funny. If she’s not there, something isn't right and I need to do something about it.”

“That’s… That’s actually very responsible of you, Midge.”

“You god damned right it is. They’re billing her old ass every month. If she’s not there, those jackals aren't getting any more of my fucking inheritance.”

“…Well, I guess, it’s the thought that… Or maybe…”

Crack scratches his head, trying to figure out a way to twist Frodo’s intent into a good-hearted act. Frodo ignores this puzzling and blows through Crack’s shoulder, heaving his suitcase through the air.

“Figure I’ll go to Orlando, take care of business, then enjoy all the fun in Orlando. Start up a riot, loot something, maybe check out a Magic game.”

“Actually, I think basketball in its off-season right now. I don’t think the Magic ar-”

Frodo shakes his head and covers his ears.

“Don’t tell me that, no spoilers!!! I’ve never watched basketball before!!! LALALALA!!!”

Frodo storms through the house, heaving his suitcase with both hands… As Crack follows him, eyes sad…

“Look, man. I can’t do this. I know you’re calling in a favor for me to help talking to this guy before their date. But I have to call in a favor you owe me, so I don’t have to do this favor.”

“HEY!”

Frodo turns, sticking his index finger into Crack’s face.

“We agreed when we became friends. No favor-cancelling-each-other-out moves.”

Frodo then turns back and makes it to the front door. Crack steps to Frodo’s side and opens the door.

“Look, it's you or Joseph-Gordon. And if it's Joseph-Gordon, then he might try getting the two of them into a foursome and if Flynn gets offended, he might ask for a refund. I don’t understand why this is such a big deal for you, man. I really appreciate it. I'll see you on Monday.”

Frodo pats Cracks on the face twice, picks up his bag and starts sprinting down the stairs.

Crack bites his lip as his hand shoots to his forehead, trying to ease the frustration dealing with his friend.

“It’s a big fucking deal becaus-“

“Hey Crack!”

That second, a vision of loveliness appears upstairs.

In her left hand, still on a hanger, a lovely modest blue dress, vibrant colored, trimmed in white lace, elegant, innocently beautiful, incredibly soft looking, just tempting one to caress her edges…

Crack shakes his head.

Its edges. The dress’s edges.

“Does this look good to you?”

Crack…

Sighs again.

“Yeah, it does.”