Tampa –

Just like every foray into the “Sunshine State,” the sky is grey and pouring rain as “Loverboy” Vinnie Lane steps out of Tampa International Airport, lugging a small bag of necessities over his shoulder.

Loverboy checks his watch as he walks toward the small inlet road filled with taxis, then glances up into the dismal atmosphere with a smirk. Good. He needed an ironic laugh today.

“Never change, Florida. Never change.”

“Hey buddy, where you headed?”

Loverboy shrugs the bag further onto his shoulder and moves toward the cabbie calling him from the row of cars. Not surprisingly, the driver has a large red turban on his head and a fully, though ratty, black beard. Some things are the same if you’re in New York City or the swamps of Florida.

“I need to get to Seminole Heights, my man,”

Loverboy replies to the possible terrorist with a bit of noticeably forced friendliness. In post 9/11 America, one can never be too sure about whether anyone else has a suicide vest strapped to their body or not. Especially this close to MacDill Air Force Base.

The cab driver rolls his eyes and pops and unlocks the back door of the car, signaling for Loverboy to get in. Loverboy opens the door, tosses in his bag, and slides onto the pleather seat.

“Dude, as-salamu alaykum and all that. Been a long day so far you know? This is a rough week. No offense or anything intended, man, I just don’t want to get 9/11’d. You understand.”

“First off,”

The driver seems more amused than annoyed as he slaps the meter on and slips the car into drive, pulling away from the curb.

“I’m not a terrorist. I also don’t speak Arabic. I’m Indian. Look at my license.”

The driver points to his cab license on the dash and taps his finger on the name – Raj Subramanian.

“I was born in Miami, man. I’m not Muslim, either. I’m Sikh.”

“Whoa,”

Loverboy presses himself against the seat back, covering his mouth and nose with his leather-gloved hand.

“What have you got? Like, Indian Ebola or some shit? India’s pretty close to Africa, right?”

The driver, turning onto Interstate 75, shakes his head and eyeballs Loverboy using the rearview mirror. Despite the radiating ignorance from the megastar, the driver manages to keep smiling.

“I think you’ve bleached your brain, my friend. Good thing your job doesn’t take much in the way of intelligence.”

“My job? How do you know what I do?”

“Come on, Mister Lane. You wrestled in Tampa for years before hitting it big. I’ve always been a fan. I love the business.”

“Oh yeah? Who’s your favorite? Khali? Jinder Mahal? Dhalsim?”

This time, the driver can’t stifle his laughter and he coughs out a laugh so hard he swerves across the lane lines, drawing an aggressive horn honking from a passing motorist.

“Look out dude! You’re gonna kill me! Well, us, but mostly me, you know? I’ve got a lot to do this week!”

“Yes, yes you do. I’ve been following the XWF. Did you see your new opponent in the Madness Match?”

“New opponent? No, man, I’ve been real busy. Far as I know I’ve got two dudes I’ve beaten before and two dudes I’ve never had the pleasure to. I’ve got three kick-ass partners and the guarantee of a Universal Title shot coming my way once I squash the midget and his human centipede of lame-ass losers, again, and get named the MVP. Let me guess, Maverick got injured again and is taking time off to heal until tomorrow? What’s the injury this time? Did he get stuck inside his clone’s asshole?”

“No, no, Maverick is fine. Well, I mean, he’s terrible, but he isn’t injured. He is still in the match.”

“Luca then? Did he start believing his Mexican heritage was real and get sold into tomato farming by a coyote?”

“No, Luca will be in the match, unfortunately for you.”

“Unfortunately for me? Dude, maybe you haven’t been paying as close of attention as you think to my career, but I’ve beat Luca’s ass once before. And that was before he went crazy and started thinking he was storming the Alamo with Santa Anna’s men or whatever.”

“Well, he defeated you as well, if I remember right.”

“That match was rigged! Come on, dude! It’s like you don’t know me at all! I thought we were friends!”

“Mister Lane… you have got to stop telling everyone the matches are rigged against you. You lose respect from the fans when you complain. Be like Frodo and pretend it never happened when you lose.”

“What? That’s ridiculous. My fans cherish me, they need to know the truth about what goes on in the XWF! Kirk MacClay understands, that’s why he got the Underground together! To even the odds, dude!”

“Vinnie… I know you believe that, but trust me. I am on a lot of forums and the IWC thinks you would be better off just letting it go.”

“The IWC? Like dirt sheets and all that? Come on, man, they think this is all some pageant game. This is my life we’re talking about! You’ll see on Monday. Luca and me get our rubber match, even though it’s not one on one and it’s a slightly worse version of Luca. It still counts, you know.”

“Yes, yes, of course.”

“So… don’t tell me Frodo dropped out? Is he scared after what happened between us last time? I wouldn’t blame him. Did you see the Shove It?”

“It was a great match, Loverboy. You definitely beat him, and did it well. I don’t think he cares, though. If he did, he wouldn’t have so vehemently wanted to be a part of Team Tigris to begin with! He is still in the match.”

“Oh he would have wanted to be in the match, trust me. Frodo can’t let anything happen without being involved in it. He went after the Heavy Metalweight title even after talking about how it was meaningless, he’s already gotten involved with the new Federweight division, just because it exists. Frodo thinks the XWF revolves around him.”

“Indeed.”

“So… that just leaves that Tuesday guy. Tuesday’s gone?”

“With the wind.”

“Weird. So who did they get? It better not be fuckin’ Game Boy again. Every time I get in one of these group tags I get screwed over.”

“You’re doing it again, Vinnie. Just accept it as it comes. You should just focus on winning, regardless of who it is against.”

“Well, who IS it against? Scully? Gilly? Tush? I can’t imagine anyone worth a shit would join that group, so it’s got to be someone worthless, or someone who just wants to see their name next to mine. Oh, is it Pest?”

“No, my friend. It’s LH Harrison.”

“WHAT??”

“Oh boy.”

“Harrison? HARRISON??? Harrison is supposed to be my friend! He and I go back to my first match in the XWF! We’ve been partners in the past! I met his family!”

“Yes, well, things do change.”

“Yeah… something must have changed, all right. Him being dead for two months must have changed his brain chemistry or something. The worms must have eaten the part of his cerebral cortex that control judgment, and probably sexual identity too, if he’s willing to be in the same room as Frodo.”

“Ah yes, the gay jokes. You must be doing an XWF-style promo.”

“Dude, everything is a promo. Relax.”

Loverboy looks in his bag to ensure the cambot is in good working order before continuing.

“Harrison. Wow. I really can’t believe that. Next you’ll tell me that Frodo is attracted to wholesome women who weren’t born with man parts. It’s about as believable as my good friend and fellow “Best of Both Worlds” alum would turn his back on me and join the Tigris clan. I gotta tell you, Raj, this really hits me right in the heart, you know? I haven’t been this upset about an opponent since… well, since last time I had to kick Harrison’s ass. I did that twice, by the way. I mean, I guess technically my debut match was just me grabbing Bobby and knocking out cold, but Harrison sure didn’t do anything to stop me, man. And in our fourway match I beat him, Luca and Gator at the same time! Guess which one of them took the pin?”

“Harrison.”

“God damn right it was Harrison. First time anyone pinned him, I’m pretty sure. Dude was out cold, too, dude. Some people can maintain consciousness after my devastating Black Label Driver, but not Harrison. His ass was asleep. I heard he was actually suffering from erectile dysfunction as a result of the concussion he got, but that might just be a rumor. Might help explain why he and his old lady were having so many problems, though. I mean, before Morbid Angel just showed up and killed them all. Dude, who let’s some coworker of theirs murder their whole family and does nothing about it anyway? Harrison just shrugged off Morbid like it was no big deal and decided to avenge his own death instead. Talk about being self-centered, am I right? I mean, you Punjab types, your wives throw themselves on your funeral pyres, right?”

“Ah… er… actually, yes, some of them do that. I’m not Hindu, but…”

“Whatever. That’s true love right there. Harrison just goes about his day like his wife and kids weren’t dead. Jessica was nice to me, man, and she had a real nice ass. It’s a damn shame. You know, I was never totally convinced that they were actually dead now that I think about it. Are we all sure that they didn’t just run off and fake their deaths so they didn’t have to deal with Harrison anymore? Dude can definitely be a downer.”

“Maybe… I don’t know. Do you think he will make a difference for the team, though?”

“Hell no. With or without Harrison, Team Tigris is going down on Monday faster than Frodo goes down on his husband, or faster than Maverick goes down on a shit sandwich. That dude has a seriously disturbing scat fetish, man.”

“I’ve heard. Is that really true?”

“You know, I had my doubts at first, man. But then a few things happened. See, at the beginning I thought, okay, maybe it really was X-Pac that dropped a deuce on that belt, you know? Give the rookie the benefit of the doubt, right? Everyone knows Pac loves shitting on things, so it’s not like it’s unbelievable. But then, when I took his X-Treme Title from him… you remember that, right?”

“Oh yes, it was very clear which one of you was the superior athlete.”

“Damn right. Bitch thought he was hot shit for sneaking up on Bobby Zi – the same Bobby I took out with one move, remember – and then got all butthurt when I did the same thing to him. But the thing about it is, when I pinned him? He REEKED of shit. I’m pretty sure he crapped his pants in self-defense, man. Like an opossum. And every time he uses the john at the XWF offices he blows it up, too. Always comes out with a big grin on his face like nothing makes him happier than turds sliding out of his ass. It’s fucked up. Then, right after getting all pissed off about people calling him a belt-shitter, what does he do? He LEAPS at the opportunity to face TWO GUYS in a match in which if he lost he got shit on. Like, dude, he had no shot against either one of those dudes one on one, and he goes against them both just to get the reward of their shit on his face? Something’s not right with that guy.”

“You have a good point, Mister Lane. I hope he washes his hands before Madness.”

“Oh, damn, I hadn’t even thought of that. You think I might get dysentery or something from touching him? I mean, I got lucky with the X-Treme pin because he never actually laid a finger on me, but… damn it, Raj, now I think I might have to take some multivitamins or something before the match, just in case. Gross.”

“Good luck with that, Mister Lane… I think this is where you needed to go?”

Loverboy sees through the window that the cab has arrived in the downtown Tampa neighborhood. Looking around him he sees the bars and pawn shops he used to frequent before he made it to the XWF, before he went to Japan, and before he ever even set foot inside a wrestling ring that wasn’t in someone’s backyard. Ybor City, which looks much less fun during the day, passes by outside of the cab as the taxi drives on to the old apartment complex Loverboy used to share with his then-girlfriend Nikki.

It must really be her.

Loverboy thinks to himself, seeing a car parked in the space designated for apartment number 13.

She’s really here. THEY are really here.

I have a son after all.

As the cab pulls into the parking lot and slows to a stop, Loverboy smiles at Raj and hands him a fifty, then swings the door to the car open.

“Keep the change, dude. If you ever get out to any of our shows, let someone know, man. I’ll get you backstage and you can meet whoever you want.”

“That would be great, Mister Lane. But I already met my favorite wrestler just now. Good luck on Monday!”

And the cab drives away, leaving Loverboy standing in the parking lot and staring up at the door to his destiny. Slowly, the door begins to open.