‘Fuck off, I’m not doing that.’

‘Do I need to remind you of our agreement?’

The last few days have informed me that Fade does NOT fuck about. Wherever he goes, TwoTone goes, and wherever TwoTone goes advanced weaponry is involved.

‘You didn’t tell me that the cunt is in fucking New Zealand? You think I’m going to go there and have some Maoui prick try and beat me to death with a pineapple?’

Fade and TwoTone are both smiling. They look like an ever-so-slightly more menacing version of the Chuckle Brothers, and identifiable on both of them is the ominous black shape hanging from their back pockets.

‘You’re an XWF wrestler now cuz, you don’t really have a say in the matter. Best case scenario, you go in there and beat the two fools they’ve put you up against. Worst case scenario, you don’t go and their lawyers sue your ass for breach of contract.’

Breach of contract? I’ll take that. All I need to do is get back to good old Blighty ASAP. Leave everything, including these two, in Cali except my dignity. I can go back to my old shithole of a flat and enjoy daytime TV with some lovely ketamine once again. In fact, thinking about it, ingesting a gram and watching Philip Scofield’s head turn into Pennywise the Clown seems like something I’ve missed in my week’s excursion to the good old U S of A.

‘That’s fine by me.’ I say, sinking back into the chair in Fade’s house that I’ve been sleeping on for the past seven days.

Both Fade and TwoTone glance down at me with the same shit-eating grins that I’ve come to hate etched onto their faces.

‘Cuz, there won’t be anyone trying to beat you to death with a pineapple. All you’ve got to worry about is two mark ass bitches who want to pin you down for three seconds. You can do that, right?’

Fade’s laptop rests open on the rotted wood of the coffee table. Two tabs are open on his TOR-protected browser. Both are on the XWF website, the professional wrestling organisation that I’ve ‘voluntarily’ joined. One tab is marked ‘Christian Anderson’. The other is marked ‘Calib Wallace’. Both are, to be quite honest, absolute brick shithouses that look as if they’d kill me as soon as look at me. It’s almost enough to make me back out instantly. Both have produced videos, the contents of which imply no good at all to my physical well-being. I’ve watched both dozens of times, and I decided a few days ago that it would be in my best interests to immediately return to England.
Then I looked at Fade and TwoTone, who have both the capacity, and more of an opportunity, to kill me before I even make it to bumfuck New Zealand or wherever this fucking carnival is being held. Fade’s provided his ‘wisdom’ already with his bullshit boxing tips and his street fighting ‘expertise’.

‘No, to be honest, I don’t think I can ‘do that’,’ I say, glancing up at Fade. The grin is still on his face, and if I didn’t know any better I’d assume he was getting some enjoyment off my frankly horrendous preciament. ‘Have you seen the fucking size of these two? They could both literally fucking eat me. I don’t even know how to wrestle for fuck sake.’

Silence falls in the house, but neither Fade nor TwoTone’s expression drops even slightly. Both remain relaxed in their seats, leaning back. Their guns are rested on the arms of the soft chairs, and in the hands of both of them a finely rolled blunt is balanced.

‘You’ll be fine cuz.’

‘I won’t be fucking fine. You know what? I’ll take the breach of contract. Fuck it. Let them sue me.’

As soon as the words fall from my mouth Fade and TwoTone, seemingly as one, reach for the weapons on the arms of their seats. Before I know it, two Glocks are pointed at me. The familiar feeling of faecal matter threatening to coat the inside of my boxers returns. Instinctively my hands fly into the air like I’m the participant of some warped disco.

‘I was being nice man.’ Fade says. His expression hasn’t changed; the only difference from mere seconds ago is the solid metal death machine pointed directly at my forehead. ‘By our rules, the penalty for ‘breach of contract’ is a hole just outside the Swap Meet.’

The soft couch seems to absorb me as the guns are pointed at me. I rest the back of my head against the wall, the cool of the plastered white seeming to run through my body, chilling me to my bones. Well, it could be that, or it could be the fact that I’m one squeeze of a trigger away from being buried next to Tupac and Nate Dogg.

‘Alright fuck it.’ I say. The words come out before I can stop them. Do I really mean them? Do I fuck. ‘Just put those fucking things down, Jesus.’

‘You know you’ve got some temper for a cracker ass fool’

I don’t know who’s more surprised, me or Fade, as I hear TwoTone’s voice for the first time. Both of us have turned to stare at him, and neither of us know quite what to say. I thought that Fade’s voice had a melody to it, but everything TwoTone says seems to roll perfectly off his tongue with a rhythm and flow that could stop traffic and convince them to dance to his words. I turn my stare back to Fade, and can’t help but feel a look of pure incredulity appear on my face.

‘See man, you’ll be fine.’

This time it’s Fade’s voice, and I shake my head slightly and find myself snapped out of whatever momentary wonderland I’d found myself in and back into the perilous situation that is now my life.

‘Oh yeah, fine.’ I say, my attention back on Fade who still has his gun pointed in my direction. ‘He can say nice words to them all and stop them from sticking my head literally up my arse.’

Fade, at last, lowers his weapon. His smile is wider now, and this time it’s he who sinks back into the chair, admittedly more out of relaxation than the terror that I had experienced mere seconds before.

‘You’re really new to this shit ain’t you? No one talked shit to you before? Come on cuz. These two fools are there for the taking. You could tell me right now that you’re gonna whoop my ass. Would I believe it? Fuck know I wouldn’t. I know I could still sit your ass down with one good hit. With respect, cuz, I think it’s time you man the fuck up.’

Fade’s words seem to take all the oxygen out of the room. I’m not sure quite what to say to top that, but it’s irrelevant as before I have a chance Fade whips a Flip Camera out of his seemingly endless pocket. He places it down on the table, then produces a bag of cocaine and a key. He dips the key in the bag and raises it to his nostril, taking a hearty sniff, before repeating the act but this time raising it to TwoTone’s nose. TwoTone’s eyes close for a moment and his body visibly shakes, before his eyes open immediately, an expression of almost superhuman concentration on his face. Fade, without a word, opens the Flip and presses record before aiming it in TwoTone’s direction.

One to the two to the two to the three,

Two mark ass bitches thinking that they’re touching me.

Two silly mo’fuckers thinking that they’re in my league,

TwoTone’s comin’ at you fast like I’m curing a disease.

You can think you’re hard and you can think it’s cushy,

But let’s be real dawg you’re just a bitch ass pussy.

Christian boy, you talk about wrong crowds?

What you talkin’ bout? You’re swept up like a dust cloud.

Your talk is cheap, your words are whack,

I’ll clean you up like Colgate’s cleanin’ plaque.

And Calib, you wanna talk about generic?

One beats two, yeah it’s not numeric,

What it is is evolution,

The new revolution,

And when we Crip it down

Man we’re all over you.

With the last words TwoTone slumps back in his chair. He reaches into his pocket and produces another blunt, before lighting it up and taking a heavy drag. The stream of smoke that emanates from his mouth may as well be a mushroom cloud, and soon the whole house smells strongly of marijuana. Without intending to be obvious I cover my mouth and nose with the collar of my coat.

‘…aaaand uploaded.’

Fade’s voice snaps me out of the ‘Just Say No’ campaign marching its way through my head and I turn and look at him.

‘What’s done?’ I ask, and suddenly I can feel the familiar sense of panic rise its way through my chest.

‘Your reply to your two lucky opponents. You weren’t doing shit so TwoTone sorted it for you. He’s good like that.’

Without even intending it I feel my jaw drop open.

‘You mean…what…you’ve sent that to THEM?’

Instantly images of Christian Andrews and Calib Wallace wielding heavy, unpleasant foreign objects run through my brain.

‘Well cuz,’ Fade says. ‘If you weren’t going to, someone had to.’

‘What the fuck have you done….I’ll be murdered….they’ll kill me…’

‘Say thank you to TwoTone.’

‘Fuck that he’s just got me killed!’

Fade snaps the safety off of his Glock and points it at my head once again.

‘Say thank you to TwoTone.’

I sink once more into the safety of the battered old couch. I glance at TwoTone, whose eyes are closed as he enjoys the flavour of his blunt.

‘Thank you TwoTone.’

His eyes remained close, but out of the corner of my eye I see him nod in my direction.