"I know you.

"Seen your ilk a hundred times before. You're the type who likes to talk and talk and talk even when ya ain't shit to say. I gotta ask, why man? What's the point? Are ya just a real narcissistic sonuvabitch who loves the sound of his own voice? Or have you been hit in the head one too many times and you think every word out of your mouth is some kind of massive revelation and ain't shit that's been kicked around longer than anyone's known your name?

"Sorry, got a bit ahead of myself there. Name's Dominic. And I have to confess, I don't understand, nor do I care much for this war of words shit. It's another thing I just don't see the point of. All any of that talkin' will do is dig ya a deep hole to slink into when ya run into someone who just outclasses ya. Ain't nothin' that silver tongue can do when you're laying on the mat and ya have absolutely no idea what just hit ya. And yeah, that's gonna happen to everyone. Because no matter how big and bad ya think you are, there's always someone bigger and badder just waiting to knock ya down a peg or two.

"And what are ya gonna do with all the shit you talked during the days leading up to ya getting your ass kicked pillar to post? Digest them with your last meal after whoever it is shoves them down your throat? That don't sound too smart, but what do I know? I'm a total newbie to this business. Ain't no stranger to fighting, but it seems you're already well aware of that. So, before I say anything else about that, I feel the need to clarify that I wasn't aware the guy was a talent scout for anything. I just saw a guy in a suit and to be honest if it wasn't me, it would've been some other asshole.

"Though I have to ask, what kind of attitude are ya talkin' about? To come out to the ring, wanting to fight somebody? Oh, that has to be the worst kind of attitude to have when you're in a profession where you fight people for a living. Just awful. How dare someone look forward to doing their job, right?

"I'm fuckin' with ya. Well, not really. I still don't get what the hell you were goin' for with that comment but I guess that must be the result of my dependence on the demon drink, eh?

"Ya got me pegged, don't ya?

"I mean we all got a type, am I right? There ain't one of us around who don't look at everyone and sort them into the archetypes they represent.

"Ya look at me, ya see a surly southerner with a drinkin' problem, and ya roll your eyes.

"I look at ya, I see a scrawny hipster who looks like he hasn't bathed this decade, and I roll mine.

"The problem is, we just don't live in the same world. Ya live in the world where talking's the way you establish yourself as a threat to other people, where pseudo-intellectual bullshit and condescending advice is the norm and I live in the world where doin' that shit's a surefire way to get punched in the mouth. I could turn this into a California vs. Louisiana type thing, or a result of our age difference, or anything like that because I'm sure a lot of our current attitudes are the result of our upbringing and our environments. But I ain't gonna. I'm content to say it simply; we just don't exist on the same brainwave. I don't plan on changin' my attitude on your behalf and I don't expect ya to change yours on mine so we just have to agree to disagree on a lot of our fundamental differences but if I can make a request moving forward... may I?

"Drop the shit.

"Do ya wanna kick my ass? I'd hope so, we get paid to do that.

"Ya don't hold any hard feelings towards me? Well, the feeling's mutual there.

"You're gonna win this match? Over my dead body.

"That phrase just fits, don't it? Considerin' all the awful shit ya listed off, things that've happened to Peter Gilmour in the past, however long? See, ya can look at it one way; that pseudo-intellectual bullshit way, and ya can see a laundry list of failures and squandered opportunities. However, the way I see it, the man's been raped, he's been castrated, he's been up and killed in the ring.

"He's still here. The man has beaten death and he came right back into the place that killed him in the first place.

"Say what you will about him having a poorly functioning brain, but even with them cut off, the guy has the biggest set of balls the damn universe has ever seen. Gets raped; confronts his rapist and then proceeds to beat him multiple times. Dies, comes back to life is wrestling again in no times.

"Could we say the same about you? Would you keep on comin' back? I don't think ya would since you're looking at that list and just can't stop thinkin' of ways to twist it so it sounds negative, blind to how it just boosts the man you're tryin' to tear down up more and more. Any more substantial tragedies in Gilmour's life that you want to bring to the forefront? Honestly, at this point the question shouldn't be 'you think you have anything left to prove to me?'

"It should be 'what can I do to prove myself to you?'.

"See, ya can flaunt that victory over him last time ya fought all ya want. Ain't gonna do ya any good when you're surrounded by completely new circumstances but by all means, think it'll help ya out.

"As for your partner, Steve Davids, he hasn't said a single word yet and like I said before, I ain't too partial to this shit in the first place. I'll do it, but I sure as shit ain't firing the first shot.

"I'm guessing he isn't going to wait too long to say something, anything at all."

20 Months Ago

"Didn't realize I was going to be interrogated by a celebrity. Would've had on something nicer."

Mason St. Pierre was a thoroughly unpleasant individual. What hair he had left on his head was combed over the top of his skull, his smile revealed a row of crooked, yellow teeth and his beady little eyes never quite fit the expression on his face. He locked eyes with Dominic as he stepped into the room with his partner Marion, his smile widening, revealing more and more of the orthodontist's nightmare that was his mouth. Dominic slapped Marion on the shoulder and chuckled.

"Get a load of this guy, thinks I'm famous or something."

"Don't be modest."

St. Pierre snickered; a horrible, nails on a chalkboard laughter escaped his lips.

"Seen you in the paper. Detective with the missing wife, the missing boy...

There was an unmistakable gleam in his eyes as he trailed off, earning him a look of disgust from both detectives.

"You got the wrong guy, buddy. Guessin' you ain't no stranger to being wrong."

Dominic smiled at the man handcuffed to the table in front of him and laid his hands atop it, just out of reach. St. Pierre flared his nostrils, before shaking his head.

"You're good. Almost had me going, Dominic."

The smile washed off Dominic's face instantaneously. His whole body tensed and for a brief second he considered slamming the piece of shit's head off the table a couple dozen times to see if he was half as high and mighty with most of the bones in his face broken. He figured the answer to that question would be no.

"Don't act so surprised. You can't just have your name all over the papers, the news, the radio and be mad when people know it. Tell me, have they come any closer to finding them? Weird, isn't it? The wife and child of a homicide detective of all things just vanish without a trace. Who knows? Maybe I took 'em."

Mason reveled in Dominic's building anger. The room felt ten degrees hotter than it had been when the pair had come in, like heat was radiating off the detective's body the more and more pissed he got. His face was beet red, his eyes wide and wild, scanning Mason up and down, top to bottom and everything in between.

"Can we get to the damn interrogation?"

Marion was always the calming influence. The good cop to Dominic's bad cop, or as it had been for the past four months; the good cop to Dom's increasingly unstable cop. Though this time he wasn't sure he could even keep his partner from bashing Mason's skull in. Deep down, he didn't even want to. Mason St. Pierre, in his opinion, was deserving of whatever his constant bear-poking got him. Though at the same time, he didn't want to lose his job so he put on the mask and played peacemaker.

"He is interrogating me. This is me confessing to taking them, Dom. Can I call you Dom? I took Elizabeth and James, and I wish you would've been there to see what I did to them. What I took from them."

That was it.

Enough was enough.

Dominic damn near leapt over the table, grabbing Mason by his shirt and shoving him backwards into the wall. Mason made a sound like a cough as the air forced itself out of his mouth, but as he tried to inhale, Dominic shoved his forearm into his throat.

"I ought to kill ya right now."

Marion was on him by then, ripping Dominic off the out of shape fuck and tossing him onto the floor. Marion didn't dare move, but inhaled and exhaled loudly as he readjusted to being able to breathe once more. Dominic tried to get back up, but Marion held him down until the door leading into the interview room burst open and a tall, black man dressed in a suit knelt over him.

"My office. Now."