X-treme Wrestling Federation

Even with gauze covering the entirety of my hand, to the point where I can't even curl my fingers together properly, the throbbing pain in my bones and joints is utterly agonizing. I've made my fair share of stupid, half thought through decisions in my life, but at the moment, I feel as though that was one of dumbest. Jet lag isn't necessarily helping matters, as I push open the door to my apartment only to get bombarded with a flash of light, perfectly angled to strike me in the eyes. I would've dropped the bag, were it slung over my shoulder. Squinting, I step into my residence, out of the warpath of the ever tiresome sunlight. Right before I forget to, I reach backwards with my right hand and shove the door shut before collapsing right on the empty couch.



Right. Perfect timing. The routine has become almost a second nature occurrence, as without even thinking about it, I pull my phone out of my pocket and answer it before the second ring even commences. Again, looking at the Caller ID before hand is for chumps.

"Where the hell are you?"

"Home."

"You gotta be fucking kidding me."

"No, I told you that the flight left today like three times on the ride to the arena last night."

"Oh no, I never doubted that part; I'm concerned about the fact that you fuckin' stormed off last night for some reason and the first word I hear from you after the fact tells me that you're back in St. Louis!"

"I told you, that we had to go. You were the one who didn't listen."

"What the fuck was so important?"

"It's about my uncle-"

"The crazy racist one?"

"No, the taxidermist. Who else would it be?" I don't know why, but I chuckle at my own stupid joke as if it were anything really clever. It seems to work to lighten the mood, as over the phone, I can hear her cackling with me.

"What happened?" she asks, her voice going right back to being dead serious, albeit with much less anger now. If my fingers weren't wrapped damn near together, I'd be drumming them against my thigh to perpetuate the self imposed placebo effect that doing so helps me think. However, as I can't do that, I'm stuck combating the issue of not knowing exactly what's going on with David and telling her so completely unaided.

"That's the thing..."

"What's the thing?" Her inquisitive tone borders once more on the familiar land of unmistakable anger.

"I don't know."

"You don't know what?"

"I don't know what's going on with him."

"So, let me get this straight; you freak the fuck out, storm off, get on a plane back to St. Louis all without saying anything to help your batshit insane Uncle, whose situation is a fuckin' mystery to you?"

"Well, when you say it like that it starts to sound a little silly."

"That's because it is! What if it's nothing?"

"You didn't hear the phone call, it's something big. I guarantee it."

"Does Jacob know you're back in town?" And here's where the conversation shifts.

"No, no he doesn't and I wasn't planning on talking to him. Your little secret's safe with me."

"Hey! I didn't sleep with the guy or anything."

"Wow, I'm impressed that you managed to keep yourself chaste after all the things you said you would do to him and whatnot-"

"I just didn't feel right doing it."

"That's good."

"So, wait. You're home, like at the apartment?"

"Yeah...?"

"Why aren't you at your Uncle's if it's that important?"

"Because I just got off a plane and need to unwind. Anything else you wanna interrogate me on, Miss Officer?"

"No, but if you're going to unwind on the couch, you better sanitize that shit when you're done."

"You're fucking disgusting."

"Says the girl who wouldn't have cleaned up after unwinding."

"I am done talking about this, this conversation is over."

"Love you too-"


I lay the phone on the couch cushion next to me, before actually giving some thought to what she was suggesting.



"So, you wanna know what happened?"

"Not at all."

"Don't start that shit with me, Missy."

David pushes his chair out slightly, before resting his left leg over his right in a figure four position, his hands still laid against the edge of the table. I nod in obedience, pursing my lips together and bite the inside of my lower lip until I feel a bit of flesh peel away with my clenched teeth.

"Something wrong?"


"Nothing. Please, go on with what's caused such issues."

"The fuck happened to your hand?" he asks, completely ignoring my attempts at moving this meeting along. I utter out some incomprehensible gibberish to stall for time while thinking of the picture perfect lie.

"Got in a bareknuckle boxing match with a brick wall."


"What did I tell ya 'bout givin' me lip?"

"Apologies. Things happened, and that's all I'm willing to divulge right now, if it's all the same to you. Now, can we please get to this whole troubling situation you're in?"

"Right. Well, to understand that, you gotta understand-"

This is about the time when I start to stare off in space while he decides to go on some completely and utterly out of place expositional rant about the history of his Organization to someone who's already fairly accustomed to the standards and practices of said group. It isn't until he gets onto what I presumed to be the main part of this explanation that I start to gradually tune back in-

"We're three hundred and fifty thousand dollars in debt to a fuckin' Kike."

"Wait, what?"

"What part of that did you not understand?"

"The debt part."

"We were tryin' to expand our influence."


"Not to be rude, but how does this concern me in the slightest?"

"Well," he starts with a sigh, "we have reason to believe that they're thinkin' of goin' after you to put the screws to us."

"Sorry for the delay!" says the thick southern accent clad voice of Deacon James as the basement door swings wide open, the handle smacking into the brick wall behind it. The sound of cheap dress shoes echoes across the stairway they walk down. My good hand clutches onto the bottom of my chair tightly, and my head turns sharply to the right in time to see a pair of brown slacks walking down the steps. I hold my breath, feeling as my heart begins to beat quarter notes inside my chest.

"Traffic's a bitch today, I'll tell you what."


Standing now at the bottom of the stairway, Deacon reaches into the inside pocket of his suit jacket and pulls out a small, black book before walking to the table and taking a seat on David's side. Scooting his chair back into the table, he lays the book down on the center, triumphant smirk on his face.

"I do think I managed to strike a deal with the Dreidl spinners that got us by the short hairs, David."

"No shit? Got somethin' to do with that book in the middle, ain't it?"

"Wouldn't have brought it if it didn't."

"Well, come on you big hunka shit, tell us. What is this deal?" Though he acts like things are looking up, I can tell that David doesn't believe that this is going to go well. He's too proud to settle with anyone, let alone the Jews. I can already tell this isn't going to go well.

"They made a proposition: God dammit Dave, they want an alliance."

"You gotta be shittin' me."

"Take it," I pipe up to cut my silence. If my life was in danger due to this shit, I was most certainly not prepared to let these two make the decisions without my thoughts getting acknowledged.

"Now, I don't need you lecturin' me about this horseshit too, Ke-"

"I'm not lecturing."

"Then keep your damn mouth shut and let me deal with what we do with them." His fist slams down on the table and he glares at me menacingly, staring daggers right into me. Wide eyed, I lean back, further into my chair.

"Any other options?" he asks, turning back to Deacon yet not too willing to let me forget his anger with my gall to stand up for my own life.

"Either that, we pay them, or we kill them. They made that part excruciatingly clear. I set up a meeting with the-"

"You did what?" The rising anger level in his voice is pushing past anything I've ever heard from him. I grip the bottom of the chair tighter, and close my eyes.


"It's the best option!"

"Oh, I'm sorry. I guess I thought that as the fuckin' head, I'd be able to pick the best option for my crew, not some sleazeball lawyer!"

"Settle your ass down!"


I don't dare open my eyes to see who hit who.

"Look, it's either this, or a whole bunch of shit that we don't want goes down. You wanna go all Hitler on them, fine, but this is a whole hell of a lot bigger than you or your fucking ego."

"When and where?"

"Huh?"

Now, I start to open my eyes. Not too much right away, but at least to the point where I'm squinting intently at the blurry figures directly in front of me.

"You got shit in your ears? I said 'when and where?'"

"Tomorrow night, 9:00 PM, the Warehouse."

"Perfect."

"One more thing; they demand she comes too." His hand raises up and one finger points at me.