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Thaddeus Duke · (03-19-2022)

Earlier – Peter Luger Steakhouse – Brooklyn, New York

The bread truck rolls to a stop across the street from the steakhouse. Today decides what possibly could be the rest of our lives. Not yours, but the lives of Lauren and I. Before we met, she was a bit of a gambler. In the New York underworld, debts don’t stay unpaid very long until you eventually pay with your life. I knew it, but I didn’t care.

I still don’t.

At times, we’re toxic as hell and we know it. Publicly fighting, publicly screwing around with other people, publicly humiliating each other. After several come to Jesus moments between us, we’ve agreed to a new set of rules. Rules that enforce discretion when it comes to our extramarital activities. Rules that no longer allow for public outbursts toward one another. It just isn’t necessary. I’m an open book and I always have been. But some things, people don’t need to see.

A lot of people mock her. Those same people mock me for loving her. They see the public persona, Sahara, if you will. But they don’t know Lauren. I do. She’s a highly talented woman. She’s much stronger than even she gives herself credit for, let alone anyone else. Away from prying eyes, away from the tabloids and the public and all the social media, all she’s ever really craved, was love. To be loved unconditionally. Not to be judged by her mistakes. Not to be set up for failure by those that claimed to love her.

I should know. I’ve set her up to fail as a wife more than once and I need to do better.

To be loved.

To be supported emotionally.

Too have a genuine human connection.

That’s what she wants. It’s what most of us want. I give that to her when no one else did.

When I was in Paris for Warfare, she was beaten up pretty good by her debtors. When I found out, I resolved then to see her out of this by any means necessary. Lauren wanted to handle it her way. She wanted to win Blood Money 2 over in Fight because it would have covered her debts. Moreover, accepting my money to pay that debt would only lend credibility to what people always try to paint her as - a gold digging slut.

She didn’t win Blood Money. She owes them nearly two million dollars she didn’t have, so clearly I was going to step in and take care of it. Obviously, I have the cash to do it. Instead of paying it off right away though, I decided on a power move. Make ‘em wait. Yes, I realize I’m playin’ with fire. I realize that the mafia isn’t to be trifled with.

Thing is…

Neither am I.

A power struggle is looming and they just don’t know it.

Lauren should be here anytime now. Today is the day she pays off that debt. What they don’t know is that I’m waiting outside. I’ve been here for more than a half hour pacing tracks in the floor of this bread truck.

”Lauren inbound,” says one of my surveillance team and I stop pacing to watch the monitor he’s looking it. The car she’s in slows to a stop at the curb. Her security detail files out first. After giving a once over of their surroundings, they open the rear door and Lauren steps to the curb.

This is the moment that makes me the most nervous. I won’t be close enough to protect her but at least I can see and hear. We bugged the place weeks ago and no one was the wiser. Not to mention, there’s a small broach on the jacket she wears. It feeds us video and its entirely wireless. If anything pops off, me and the boys can be inside in seconds. What makes me nervous about that is it only takes one shot and she’s as good as dead.

I wanted to be the one to go in there with the money. We fought about it for over a week because if something pops off and hell breaks loose, I’d much rather be the one to get shot than her. I’ve been shot before and lived to tell the tale. There’s a scar on my chest to prove it.

Even still… it needed to be her.

Lauren and her detail head inside the restaurant and out of my sight. Throwing on a set of headphones, I listen closely, watch closer, as she makes her way through.

”They have to wait out here,” a man says to her.

”Gonna fuck that prick up,” I say quietly as I watch him grope my wife. The man spends entirely too much time with his hand between her legs and gropes unnecessarily at her breasts. I say nothing. I grit my teeth and clench my jaw.

That shit makes me fucking sick and I will remember that voice.

Believe that.

”All clear,” the creepy rapey dude says and I can see Lauren take the duffle bag of 1.75 million dollars and head inside the super secret room.

Lauren and her obnoxious ways cause me to laugh to myself as she tosses the weighty bag on the table, spattering their food and drinks every which way. These days she walks and talks with an air of confidence and I love every second of it. It’s not even false bravado like you see in the wrestling business. It’s real. She’s with a man that loves her. Someone that wants her to succeed and become her best self. Someone determined to help her see it through.

A lot of people hate her.

A lot of people are idiots.

”...you got that billionaire playboy to settle down and marry you...” I can hear the man say to her.

”What the fuck, am I a playboy?” I ask of my nameless dude.

”Like you really need to ask that question,” he answers.

I watch and listen closely. It isn’t long before he’s noticeably getting under her skin with accusations as to why she married me in the first place.

”Stay cool baby, stay cool,” I say aloud, trying to will it into existence. ”You got this babydoll… we’re playin’ the long game here, don’t forget.”

The meeting doesn’t last much longer. Soon, she’s quietly stewing and fuming on her way out. Breaking protocol, I quickly exit the bread truck and race across the street to the awaiting car. A moment later, she and her detail exit the restaurant and file into the car. Lauren takes one look at me and throws her arms around me, but not before I noticed the tear running down her cheek.

”You can’t let it bother you,” I whisper into her ear as the car pulls away from the curb. ”No one believes what we got is true and real but Lauren… none of ‘em matter.

“Only us.

“And we know the truth.”

”It’s not just that,” she says as she releases her hug. ”The guy patting me down...”

”Yeah I saw,” I interrupt her. ”Sooner or later, I’mma knock his teeth down his throat.”

”He was one of the ones that beat me up that night,” she informs me.

”Hmmm,” I say as I lean back against the seat.

”All clear,” I hear his voice play back in my head again. Now I’ll definitely remember his voice.

”Then I’m gonna do a lot more than knock his teeth down his throat.”

Later – The Henry Mansion – Scarsdale, New York

Slowing my Corvette to a stop in the driveway outside Alister Henry’s house, I hesitate to exit and go inside. It bothers me a great deal to be associated with him. He’s not a good person, yet all the same, aside from my father who I hate, my uncle who I have barely any relationship with, and my children, he’s the only blood I truly know. Sometimes, I feel like there are forces at work that I can not even begin to explain, that I can not hope to even understand myself. Whatever the reasons, I’m always drawn back to him.

Besides offering him an “in” recently in the big picture plans for the New York mob, a couple months ago, I consulted Alister on a problem with Keith Rickle, Frankie’s biological father. Rickle was appealing his conviction and I threatened him to stop his appeal. I offered that man an enormous amount of money to just serve out every day of his twenty year sentence. Reason being, I’m just starting to get Frankie’s life and his head all sorted out. If Keith is free, my greatest fear is him trying to reach Frankie.

I can’t have that.

If Keith is free, that will 100% send my son into a tailspin.

Even still, he won his appeal and was awarded a new trial.

And I did nothing.

He was acquitted two days ago.

And so far, I have not acted.

He’s set to be released today.

And I have no idea what to do.

Finally exiting the car, Alister opens his front door before I’m even up the walk, letting his dogs run out and viciously love me. After exchanging pleasantries with the two lovable Rottweiler’s, I usher them toward the front door where Alister’s cold stare sends a shiver down my spine.

”Well, I’m here,” I say as I reach him. ”What’s so important that you needed to see me right away?” I ask, though I think I already know the answer.

”Come inside,” he says, almost void of any emotion whatsoever.

Following him, I’m figuratively thrown for a loop seeing my attorney Robert Zane inside Alister’s office.

”Robert, what are you doing here!?” I ask a bit more angrily than I intended.

”Thad, we need to talk...”

”Well, tell me why you’re even here first!” I demand.

”I called him,” Alister chimes in while making a drink. Peering over his shoulder, he holds up a tumbler.

”No,” I reply to the implied offer.

”Have a seat,” he says, offering up my old chair as he takes his own.

Taking a seat, Alister hits a button on a remote control. A painting hanging on the wall behind him slides up and a television behind it switches on. On it, is the local newscast with the headline: “Prison Riot at Green Haven”

”What the hell?” I ask angrily. ”Your doing?” I ask of Alister. He nods one time. ”No one else was supposed to get hurt!”

”There was no other option,” Alister cuts in. ”Some kind of divine intervention has kept that man alive.”

”Did you know about this?” I ask of my attorney, who has in a lot of ways, become my fixer.

”Hell, it was my idea Thad,” he admits freely.

”And neither of you thought to even check with me?” I ask, clearly still angry while pointing at the television. ”They’re reporting deaths! Prisoners, officers… Jesus fucking Christ what the fuck did you do!?”

Just then, Zane’s phone rings and he answers, holding up a finger. Instead of verbally assaulting him, I just roll my eyes and shake my head in disgust.

”Robert Zane,” he says into the phone. ”I see…. Thank you for letting me know, I’ll let my client know.

“You too, thank you,” he concludes before ending his call.

”What bad news you got for me now?” I ask of him. My anxiety is mounting. I can feel my blood pressure skyrocketing right along with it. In an effort to calm myself, I grab the meteorite paperweight from Alister’s desk and start to toss it between my hands.

”Green Haven is under lockdown,” he answers my inquiry. ”Keith Rickle was released this morning… before the riot started.”

…

…

…

SMASH!

Out of anger and frustration, I fast pitch the paperweight into the television behind Alister. He ducks and covers his head as debris from the mangled and broken screen rains down upon him.

”How the HELL could this happen!?” I ask, not really wanting an answer. ”What the fuck are you doing in league with Alister, Robert?”

”I messed up,” he begins.

”Yeah as if that’s not the understatement of the fucking century.”

”Thaddeus,” my grandfather calls out to me.

Looking in his direction, he sets down a tumbler full of bourbon before sliding it toward me.

”I guess I will have that drink.”

Later Still – Woolworth Tower – Tribeca, New York City

Back at home, I’ve mostly been preoccupied with the things I learned earlier. I know that six prisoners and three correctional officers lay in a morgue because of me and my associates. I know that there’s nothing I can do to fix that. I know I’ll carry that guilt for a long time. Don’t get me wrong, I’m aware I didn’t order anything. I’m aware I didn’t shiv anyone or pull a single trigger. That doesn’t change the fact that Alister Henry and Robert Zane acted on my behalf.

No matter where I go, no matter what I do, innocent people always die.

After dinner, I retreated to my trophy room which at one time was a walk-in closet in my bedroom. For the record, I don’t need a shrine to myself. I just have more rooms than I know what to do with so it just became a ‘thing’ to stick all my wrestling crap in one room. Also in here, a safe. Within it… files from another life, among some other things related to that life. Files pertaining to my work with Alister Henry under the guise of his Collector, under the guise of Jameson God Damn Henry.

Things I never wanted to see again.

A life I never wanted to know again.

A name I never wanted to hear again.

Yet all the same, here I am. Picking up the pieces of that old life and putting them back together. To fuck Keith Rickle. To fuck the mafia. To save my son. To save my wife.

Pulling out the Keith Rickle file, I study up on the things that I barely remember, like his usual hang outs. Keith is a creature of habit. He always took the same roads to and from wherever he went. He always went to the same places on particular days. He always arrived and left at roughly the same exact time. As marks go, he was as easy as it gets. What I’m preparing myself to do though, makes me sick to my stomach.

”Hey,” Lauren calls out behind me causing me to peer over my shoulder at her.

”Hey,” I reply quietly before returning my attention to the file.

”What are you doing?” she asks as she advances within the large closet and wraps her arms around me.

”Studying,” I reply, again so quietly.

”What’s going on with you today?” she asks with a hint of worry in her voice.

I shrug.

”You’re usually the most obnoxious asshole I know,” she jokes. ”I mean, aside from me.”

”Not now Lauren,” I say as I continue to peruse the Rickle file.

”Keith Rickle,” she says, peering over my shoulder at the file.

”Don’t read it,” I instruct her.

”Then tell me what’s going on,” she insists.

”He was released from prison,” I say with a sigh. ”He was supposed to be… taken care of... when he was still in there.”

”I’m sorry… I can’t remember who he is.”

”Frankie’s dad,” I remind her. ”To make things worse, a riot was staged today on my behalf and nine people died.”

”What can you do about it?” she asks.

Peering over my shoulder a moment, I look forward again and place the file back in the safe. With my hand inside, I grab two objects: my blinky Collector mask with the augmented voice box, and my silenced pistol.

”I’m coming with you,” she says as she returns to the bedroom.

”Like hell you are,” I protest.

”We’re a team,” she argues. ”You! And me! Lauren and Thad! Or did you forget that?”

”No, I didn’t forget,” I concede. ”But not this. What if I need an alibi?”

She stops in her tracks. Maybe she’s just now grasping the gravity of the situation?

”You have diplomatic immunity,” she cleverly reminds me. I look at her and can’t help but smile just a little. ”I do know some things,” she says, returning the smile.

”Diplomatic immunity ends before murder begins,” I regrettably inform her.

”Oh,” she says in defeat. ”Well, what if you need backup and no one knows? What if something happens?

“Leander!?”

Oh shit. She only calls me by my middle name when she gettin’ real mad.

”Relax Lauren,” I say with a smile in an attempt to assure her that I’ll be fine. ”Rickle is like… the easiest freakin’ mark.”

Still though… it’s not something I want to do.

The argument, for lack of a better word, doesn’t take much longer. With night falling over the city, it’s time for me to head out. After changing my clothes to wearing all black and a hoodie, I throw my mask and my gun into a bag before exchanging goodbye’s with Lauren.

Present Day

In Japan for Warfare, I didn’t rent a hotel room. Instead, I rented a little cottage in the Japanese country side where Lauren and I can just be us. Together. No outside interference. Just her and I and peace and quiet for a change.

And I don’t regret it. Things get lost in all the noise sometimes.

Tonight though, fresh off of notching my latest ‘W’ on the stat sheet on the Thaddeus Duke Show, it’s time to refocus myself on the next guest. One of my closest and dearest friends. Someone I love like a brother. Someone that went out of his way to ensure I had a match on an XWF pay per view when the man himself doesn’t even work for the XWF.

That’s the kind of man he is.

That’s the kind of friend he is.

It weighs on me tonight as I sit on the little porch and sip Gyokuro tea while listening to the crickets chirp amid the dense foliage beside rippling pond.

”LEANDER!”

”WHAT!?”

”I was talking and you weren’t even listening!” she shouts back.

”Sorry, something on my mind.”

”Ricky?”

”Mmmhmm.

“I take my professional life very seriously. When the bell rings, I don’t see friendship. I don’t see love. All I see is an opponent. Someone tryna knock me off the pedestal I built in order to stand head and shoulder above the rest of the business.

“I don’t hold back and I don’t pull punches. But I have a job to do and...” my voice trails off.

”You’re worried you’re gonna say something hurtful to him?” she asks. ”You’re afraid he’ll take it personal and get mad at you.”

”Yeah,” I admit to her.

”It’s Ricky,” she states the obvious. ”He loves you. He knows it’s just business. He knows you love him back. It’s just a wrestling match.”

”He’s literally going way out of his way to do this match with me. How can I just...”

”Because it’s what you do,” she interrupts. ”How upset do you think he’d be if he knew you were goin’ easy on him just because of your friendship?”

”Lottabit mad,” I reply in Rickyspeak with a smile.

”Bigbig mad,” she replies, returning the Rickyspeak. ”How would you feel if he went easy on you?”

”I’d kick his ass,” I reply.

”Then do your damn job!”

Siiiiiigh. Here we go.

Ricky I want to thank you. I want to thank you for taking time out of your busy schedule to come put on a classic with me. I want to thank you for stepping up when no one in the XWF would. I’m not really sure who comes out looking worse, the XWF brass for not having an opponent for me? Or the roster for no one wanting to step to the plate against one of the greatest professional athletes of not only this generation, but of any generation prior.

Ricky, you’re stepping up and I love you for it but do not take my love for you… do not take my kindness, my fondness, our friendship… as a weakness. I told you weeks ago that I don’t hold back. When the bell rings, it’s time to do business and I’m in the business of putting on a show like no one else can. I’m in the business of being the very best and part of that is snatching victory from practically everyone.

That includes you buddy.

I have no hate for you.

None.

Zero.

Zip.

But when the bell rings at March Madness and it’s you standing across from me, I’m no longer the Thaddeus Duke that you know and love. I’m no longer the Thaddeus Duke that has opened up his arms and his world to welcome you into it. What you see is the Lionheart. What you see is the absolute toughest challenge you’ve ever faced in your middling career. What you see is God’s gift to a fucking wrestling ring and you’re gonna find out first hand just what it means to face me. You’ll find out just what it means to face a Lionheart, to be a Lionheart.

It’s not just a nickname. It’s not just a jumbled up derivation of my own name. It’s a way of life. It’s a refusal to stay down. It’s a refusal to quit. It’s a refusal to be anything less than the very best. It’s a steadfast determination to have my hand raised in victory. It’s a desire to celebrate with alllll of Duke Nation. It’s the will to win by any means necessary that so far in your… again, middling… career, that you haven’t shown that you have the heart to do.

This business is about forging a legacy, Ricky. This business is about clearing all the obstacles and roadblocks that stand in your way preventing you from reaching the very pinnacle of this profession.

Yes, I know you’ve acted out of character a time or two and I know what it does to you mentally. You’re a good guy. You’re a great guy, even. But what sets people like me apart from people like you… is that people like me know what it takes to be recognized in this business. People like me know what it takes to stand out. People like me aren’t doormats.

Ricky, you know I love you like a brother. You know when you’re all down and a lottabit depressed because maybe you did something a lilbit untoward and it makes you feel bad for having done it?

Knock that shit off.

This is a business.

It isn’t personal.

You do what you have to do to get the job done.

This match is Falls Count Anywhere. That means that there really are no rules. I 100% will use that to my advantage and you sure as shit better do the same. I will hit you with chairs. I will put you through tables. I will choke you with camera cords and for good measure, I might even blast you in the face with that camera just to see what you got.

Don’t be a doormat like you are in Fight!

Don’t be a doormat like you are in Liberty Pro.

Don’t misunderstand me Ricky, I know you’re gonna bring it. But you damn well better be coming with everything you fucking got buddy. Because the XWF is my house still. The Thaddeus Duke Show rages on and that’s not just run of the mill self aggrandizing propaganda.

What it means to be a featured guest on my show, means you’re facing one of the very best in this entire industry. What it means, is that you’re gonna feel what I did to you for days. What it means Ricky… is you coming out of this with another big fat L to attach to your stat sheet, but feeling like you won because you just had the very best match of your entire fucking career.

Ricky Rodriguez… welcome to my world.

”Baby?” Lauren calls to me and I look at her. ”I’m so fucking turned on right now.”

”I don’t feel like we should waste that,” I say to her with a smile. Taking her by the hand, we enter the cottage and close the door behind us.

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