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+--- Thread: Favours (/showthread.php?tid=28399)
Favours - JackCain - 07-04-2017
(Continued from “When the Man Comes Around” here: http://xwf99.com/showthread.php?tid=28362)
**Jack Cain is walking out of the private medical facility where he’s been recovering from the beating handed to him by The Clone of Brock Lesnar. He’s flanked by two large men in suits - both shaven headed and muscles bulging under their expensive attire.
They push the main door open, and outside on the driveway is a black Lincoln Continental limousine. Cain inhales the night air and checks out the two men next to him. He sees the telltale bulges under their jackets denoting they’re both armed. Cain smiles. Whoever’s looking after him isn't taking any chances.
He walks down the front steps to the car, where another huge man, bigger than Cain himself is, waiting by the rear door of the limo. He addresses him as he nears the vehicle**
Where we goin’?
St. Louis, Missouri sir. My employer is eager for you to get there for Warfare on Wednesday.
What if I don't wanna go straight there?
You can ask him yourself sir. He wants to talk to you on the way.
**Cain gets inside the car warily. He sinks into the plush leather seats. Next to him on the seat is a lacquered black wooden box. A small minibar is opposite him, along with an LCD TV screen built into the upholstery. As the car begins to move, the speakers in the back send out a clicking noise, and an electronically disguised voice eloquently slides out of them**
Good evening Mr. Cain.
**Cain remains silent as the modulated voice waits for his response**
Oh come on, aren’t we a little old for sulking?
I don't like voices with no faces.
Get used to it Mr. Cain, I feel like we’re going to be having a few of these meetings in future.
Not if I walk away.
Really? You’d do that? I’m hurt. Don’t be stupid Jack, you really think I’d let you walk away after this? After I’ve just put you back together again? And all the help I’m about to give you? You’re not going anywhere Jack. You owe me, and you’re gonna deliver.
And what’s that supposed to mean?
It means I’ve helped you Jack, and I’m going to help you even more, but when the time comes, you’re going to help me.
I don’t owe favours to speakerphones with military grade scrambling.
What makes you think I’m military?
Alright. How about this? Car like this is sitting about three inches lower than it should be. That tells me it’s armoured. Glass is reinforced so it’s bulletproof - good for up to 30mm by the looks of it. That little bulge on the trunk? That’s a USMC scrambling pack - type they used to put on the Presidential limo until they started usin’ Explorers, but it’s still more reliable than the shit they put on the car now, so I’m guessin’ you ain’t fuckin’ around.
Very good…
Plus Argyle up top there? Special Forces ring on his right middle finger - means honourable discharge but he’s still in the game - private security I’m guessing, his hair’s too nice to be a merc.
Impressive.
All of which makes me wonder why the Hell you need me?
That’s pretty simple Jack. I like to have good people on my side. And your skill set, coupled with your size, and and experience? Well, let’s just say that’s going to come in very handy for me soon. So I’m going to give you some much needed assistance Jack, and when the time comes, you’re going to help me achieve what I need - because I need big guns like you Jack. People with no remorse, no hesitation, no compunction about hurting people. That’s the type of man I’m going to need.
And what do I get?
Aside from the medical care, food and the new clothes? Aside from keeping you out of the judicial system that would take a great interest in your “extracurricular activities”? Well. I have certain notes, and resources, that are going to be very useful to you in the next few weeks Jack. Take a look in the box on the seat next to you.
**Cain opens the box and finds a heavy manila folder. He opens it up to find sheets and sheets of paper, USB sticks and an external hard drive. The top sheet has a picture of Brock Lesnar - or rather, his clone**
Thomas Nixon’s Lizard People are a funny little bunch, but they do have one or two brilliant scientific minds. They’ve created a Beast that’s identical in every way to Lesnar himself. You’ve found that out firsthand though haven’t you Jack - he’s beaten the shit out of you pretty much every time the two of you have crossed paths so far.
What’s this, his fuckin’ school report?
The cloning process isn't perfect Jack. In there is every little weakness Nixon’s copy has. His people are brilliant, but they also have a price. Even Lizards need cash. Study it, learn from it, and come up with a strategy, like I know you can. You’ll find he’s far from unbeatable - if you just know where to punch.
**Cain removes the next folder**
There’s a little something in there on Thomas Nixon too. Interesting reading if you have the time. I’ve had him watched for a while, but don’t worry too much about him yet. Or Neville Sinclair. I’ve got plans for him too that don't concern you yet. That said, I understand you’re facing him on Saturday? I’ve got some thoughts about that, so I’ll be in touch with you nearer the time. But a more pressing concern is on the screen in front of you.
**The screen shows Peter Gilmour’s promo from yesterday. Cain watches it and shakes his head at every sentence**
You’d do well to take Gilmour seriously. He’s a dangerous man.
Oh I am takin’ him seriously. I just don't like the fat fuck, that’s all.
Don't sit on the fence Jack. Tell me how you really feel.
You really wanna know?
I’m not sitting in front of a scrambled phone for my health Jack. I want to get a better insight into you.
Alright. I don't like him. I don't like his fuckin’ face. I don't like his fat fuckin’ ass. I don’t like his cheap ass whore wife, or her fuckin’ scumbag sister. But more than anythin’ I just don't like all the shit he comes out with.
Jesus Christ this company must’a been in the shit if he was Universal Champion? I mean, for fuck’s sake, he was the face of the business? Did we have a fuckin’ tie up with Dunkin’ Donuts for Chrissakes? “I’ve taken these guys to the limit”, Fuckin’ wow. Still lost didn’t ya? No one remembers how well you do Peter. It’s just like school sports day - they teach ya “it’s ok, if you come second”. No it fuckin’ ain’t! No one gives a fuck about second.
I bet those guys don't even remember the match they had with ya. I bet they ain't losin’ sleep at night thinkin’ “Holy Fuck, Peter Gilmour tested me, I’d better hope I don't have a match against him anytime soon.” They go to sleep at night not even thinkin’ about you Gilmour, and neither does anyone else in this business, because you ain’t worth their time.
But y’know something. I don't want Gilmour to feel alone. I don't want him to be lonely. So I am thinkin’ of him. I’m thinkin’ of how much I’m gonna hurt him on Wednesday, and how much fun it’s gonna be drivin’ his fat ass all over that ring and watchin’ him fuckin’ beg.
That;s right, fuckin’ beg. Beg me to stop. Beg me to end it. Beg me to knock him the fuck out so it all stops.
Peter, I’m gonna kick your fat anus so hard, your colon is gonna have my footprint on it. Your shit will have shoe leather in it by the time I’ve finished with ya.
How you gonna fuck your bitch wife when your balls are gonna need to be reattached? How you gonna be the King of X-Treme when your head is gonna have so many dents in it any crown is gonna look like Stephen Hawking wearing a McDonalds hat?
After you beat me, you and McBride are gonna go on and beat the Kings and “rule this company with a mighty fist"? Son. The only fist you’re gonna get near is the one McBride puts up your asshole every Friday.
He’s won matches in Japan Jack. Brutal matches. Violent matches.
That supposed to scare me? A deathmatch champion? What the fuck’s that, a match where you bore the crowd to death? No wonder he won that six times. All I hear is a lotta bleatin’ from a guy who stamps his feet and shouts and screams when he don't get his own way - like a fuckin’ child playin’ a game he can’t win.
Well Gilmour better get used to it. You ain’t gonna win Peter. There won’t be a doctor in the land who’ll certify you as bein’ ok to piss without some help after I get done with ya - never mind get in the ring next week. Thing is, how they gonna notice if I do make you braindead? You’re doing a pretty good impression of it now if you ain’t.
What do you make of his assertion that he’s God? A little self obsessed wouldn’t you say?
Nah - he’s just a prick. But I ain’t averse to knockin’ out God if that’s what it takes.
Precisely why I want you on my side Jack. It’s still a long way to St. Louis, why don't you sit back and listen to some music?
You got anythin’ decent?
Oh I think this might suffice.
Ha.
What is it Jack?
My favourite song, that's all.
Well, I'm nothing if not thorough Jack. Enjoy the ride.
**The music begins to fill the rear of the limo as it carries on down the moonlit road, en route to Missouri**