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Steve_Justice · (09-06-2019)

The afternoon sun shone through the window of the gym. The place was only half full with people using the elliptical machines and treadmills to get a light sweat on. An electronic beat pulsed from the speakers of the gym’s sound system. Steve Justice was standing on a mat away from the rows of free weights and machines swinging an iron mace almost as long as he was around his head and shoulders in a tight, deliberate circle. This was the end of his basic exercise routine at the gym which involved a treadmill run; deadlifting and squats. His white XWF “XX” t-shirt was plastered to him with sweat as his tired muscles strained against the repetitions. Along with the shirt, he was also wearing red and black MMA shorts and black and green sneakers. Finally, with one last exertion, he set the iron ball down on the floor and took a drink of water from his portable thermos.

As he began a cooldown routine of stretches, Steve replayed the conversation he had a few days ago with Krieger, a leader of Bacchus, the local outlaw motorcycle club in his hometown. He owed him a lot of money. And he was someone you definitely didn’t want to owe so much as a cigarette to. He lived a pretty simple life and made a decent wage so he hoped this could be resolved without him getting his thumbs broken. After gathering up his belongings and hitting the change room, Steve stepped out onto the Halifax city street. He walked down the busy street to his car, a rusty 1955 Chevy Bel-air that he just never got around to restoring completely. As he fished out his keys and stuck them in the lock, his phone began to vibrate. He took it out and punched the call button.

“Hello?”

“You know what you’re problem is? You’re too predictable. You live in the same apartment; you work out at the same gym and you still drive the same rusty piece of shit that you always have.”

Steve scanned both sides of the street. On the opposite side, a man in a black cargo van smiled and waved at him.

“Look, I want to resolve this business with the least amount of hassle possible. Can we meet somewhere?”

“Oh we’re going to talk. I’m just letting you know I’m thinking about you. Tomorrow night. Eleven o’clock at the clubhouse. Be there.”

The call abruptly ended before Steve could say anything. He muttered a curse before unlocking his driver side door and climbing into his car.

Later in the afternoon, after driving through the city and making sure nobody was following him, Steve met up with an XWF production team to record his thoughts on his upcoming Saturday Night Savage match. The location he had them meet him at was the Kelly’s mountain lookout a few hours outside the city. He figured it would make an epic piece of scenery as the mountain looked down on the Seal Island bridge below and had beautiful foliage all around. Plus it would keep prying eyes away from him and his business. He had the camera set up facing the guard rail that protected the plateau’s edge and positioned himself in front of the rail. He was wearing faded blue jeans; a yellow t-shirt with the Cat tractor brand on it; his Oxblood Doc Martens and a green tweed flat cap. He smiled into the camera.

“Well here we are once again: The Semi-finals of the XWF tag tournament are upon us. I think it’s safe to say we’ve surprised a lot of people by continuing to win week after week against better and more established teams. Of course, this isn’t a surprise to us at all. You see, the fact is that Hanari and I knew we had a chance to run away with this whole thing right from the beginning. We might not always speak the same language, but one thing we do know is that we’re both great athletes and we’re both great fighters and when you combine our skills together? Well you get results.

But we also know that the higher we climb, the stiffer the challenges become and this week we have a huge challenge in front of us: The Tag Team champions James Raven and Drew Archyle. Better known as Apex. I’m not going to stand here and gush over how great a team these two are. Everyone already knows they’re the longest reigning tag team champions in XWF history and that they’re a well-oiled machine inside the ring. In fact, I know that they aren’t going to give up those titles unless we pry them from their lifeless hands. So what would be my message for Apex? I wouldn’t discount us just because we’re a new team on the block. I haven't been pinned or submitted in an XWF ring and I don’t plan on that happening next Saturday. I know you guys are beatable and I know you make mistakes like everybody else. But if you want the truth?

Steve looks from side to side before adjusting his cap and leaning in closer to the camera.

I just don’t like you Apex Prophecy boners. I see you skipping through the fair together, acting like you own this company and it makes me sick to my stomach. You’re an evil empire of mediocrity and boredom. And when I see stupid cliques like the one you assholes run in,. my first instinct is to pour gas on the whole thing and set it alight. So you see, I don’t just want to take your Tag Titles, I want to throw a heinous beating on you the likes of which you’ll never be the same again. I want to send you back to that big stupid dummy Bob Main empty-handed and bleeding with your arms and your asses in slings. The era of Apex is over. You’re all finished. And I’m happy to be one of the people who are helping to put the nails in your coffin.

Drew Archyle is one shot to the head away from being a drooling moron in a nursing home. I’ve watched tape on Drew and he’s got holes in his game. Holes that I’m going to exploit without mercy. And that includes smashing him in the head. James Raven? You’re a hell of a competitor but you’re not on the same level as Hanari Carnes or me. You’re too old; too slow and once I’m done putting down Drew, I’ll retire your ass too. Your monumental run as champions is over. You’ve finally met your match. The Apex Dynasty is on life support and The Arm Collectors are here to pull the plug on you. At the end of the day, you two will be just two more broken arms on the pile because Justice will prevail!

Fade out.

Steve thanked the crew and sat on the guardrail looking at the bridge at the foot of the mountain. He was not looking forward to what came next.

Later the next evening…

Steve’s car pulled into the lot of the Hope and Anchor tavern, headquarters for the Bacchus gang. He stepped out of the car and approached the large, tattooed bouncer watching the door. Steve was wearing a black leather jacket; a green Fred Perry shirt; some beige cargo pants and his Oxblood Doc Martens. After being patted down by the bouncer, Steve entered the bar. The crowd was mostly prospective club members and full club members. Steve approached the bartender and ordered a beer.

“I’m looking for Krieger.”

“Who’s asking?”

“Tell him Steve Justice is here to talk to him.”

A few minutes later, a large member in a prospect vest came out and escorted him to a back room. The room was furnished with pictures of past members and a large wooden table. Sitting at the head of the table was Heinrich Krieger, leader of the Bacchus motorcycle club. He was wearing a full chapter president’s leather vest with a red flannel shirt underneath; a pair of green camouflage pants. His hands were folded in front of him with several gold rings on his fingers.

“Good to see you again, Steve. Have a seat.”

Steve took a seat opposite Krieger.

“Hello Krieger. How was Springhill?”

“It was a long five years. Anyway, let’s cut to the chase: five years ago, you came to us strapped for cash and desperate. Being the pillars of the community that we are, we agreed to back you a loan of five grand.”

Steve smiled and tilted his head.

“It’s too bad you got caught with a load of illegal weapons and had to serve some time before we got a chance to talk repayment. Look, I was a mess back then. I’ve straightened my life out in the past five years and I can get you that five grand with no hassle.”

Krieger smirked, shook his head and unclasped his hands.

“You don’t seem to understand. I want that money we loaned you back. With five years interest. So let’s just call it an easy 30 grand and we’ll be even.”

Steve sat up in surprise.

“What? Five years interest? That’s ridiculous! I can’t come up with that much cash at once!

“Well we can always come up with another arrangement. You can run errands for the club until you’ve cleared your debt.”

Steve covered his face with his hands.

“I’m not killing anybody for your stupid boys club.”

“Nobody’s asking you to kill anybody. We’ve got all kinds of work that needs doing. Think of it as volunteering for your local community.”

Krieger fished a black flip phone out of his pocket and slowly slid it in front of Steve.

“This is a burner phone. When we need you for something, we’ll call you. Day or night. Keep it charged and keep it on you at all times. If you try and leave town? Well I know you won’t. But if you do, the old man you hang out with is going to run into some bad luck. Do we understand one another?”

Steve clenched his fists impotently.

“Okay. Leave the old man alone. I’ll stay in touch.”

“Hey, relax. This is going to be a good relationship for both of us. You scratch our backs, we’ll scratch yours. We’ll be in touch.”

Steve got up and left the bar. As he drove home, he looked at the burner phone. His past had come back to bite him in the ass again. How he was going to get out of this, he had no idea. One thing was for sure, this was the beginning of awful relationship.

~Fin

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