The black Mercedes C Class sat idiling in the parking garage GUEST PARKING spot. Facing the mailboxes, lights turned off, the egine humming faintly as the AC blew inside the vehicle.

The windows were limo-tinted all around, even the windshield, and the plates were from a completely different state than the car was registered in. The 8 inch screen illuminated the inside as Johnny Cash groaned through the surround sound speaker system.

I hear the train a comin'
It's rollin' 'round the bend,
And I ain't seen the sunshine
Since, I don't know when

The man inside the car had a cigarette in one hand that would occasionally dip down to the car's portable ash tray, then back up to his chapped lips. Next to him on the leather clad passenger seat was a cell phone, plugged into a USB charger on a long chord. He had been watching the mailboxes for some time now.

The package was supposed to be delivered via UPS, and had been listed for several hours now on the tracking website as "Out for Delivery." He muttered something about how the boss "better be paying him" for the time and the gas idling wastes, the cigarette bouncing with every word.

What sounded like thunder roared on the near distance. The engine and massive wheels of the larger brown truck echoed off the walls of the parking garage. He flicked his cigarette out the window and immediately lit another.

The truck rolled up to the mail slots, and turned off. The driver hopped out and made his way to the back, opening the giant slider door.


He began to pull out packages and set them on the ground as he prepared to scan them in. Tge man in the car picked up the phone and opened the photo of the box that was supposed to be coming. It had a bright orange sticker on it, horizontal across the top. It was hard to miss, if that was what you were looking for.

The tip of the cigarette burned again, as the man pulled the orange striped package out of the back of the big brown truck. He sets it next to the truck as he walks over to the digital screen to check in the package. The screen illuminates and he types in a code. There is a loud click as all the mail slots unlock.

He watches with laser focus as the orange striped box is lifted and brought over to the slot and opened the box, setting it inside. He watched as it closed.

The brown clad driver jumped back into his truck and that familiar echoing rumble of the engine.

The phone next to him dinged, and he checked it.

"Package Status: Delivered".

He pressed the call button.

A grumbled voice with a Hispanic accent answered.

"I assume the package is there?"

"Yes, just like last time."

"And you have the label?"

"Yes, like usual."

"You know what to do. Good work, I expect it soon."

Just like the dozens of times before, the man pulled up to the mailbox and put his key in. The lock popped. He pulled out the box, putting it on the seat next to him. Popping the glove box and putting out the label he placed it over the current one.

Flicking his cigarette butt, the black car rolled out of the lot.


1 Day Later:

Costa Mar # 10
Casa De Campo, La Romana, Dominican Republic


THE FOLLOWING DIALOGUE IS IN SPANISH, THIS IS THE ENGLISH TRANSLATION:

Hanari sat at the massive table on his deck, smoking a cigar and counting money. A bottle of Don Julio tequila sat next to him. An associate of walked out to the back porch, carrying a package. He set it down on the table.

"Another refund scam, boss? This one came directly from the states, no rerouting?"

Hanari reached into his suit coat pocket and pulled out a switchblade. He plunged it into the package pulling it open.

"How much this time?"

But inside wasn't the usual $20-40,000. This time it was a long strip of paper, as if from a giant printer, with what looked to be names on it.

"What the hell is that?"

Hanari reaches out, grabs the bottle of tequila and pours a shot. Taking the shot, he sets the glass down and looks at his associate.

"Names. It is a list of everyone who attended Savage on August 15th in Edmonton."

"Why in the hell would you need that, sir?"

"Because the Main Event on that show was Andrew Logan versus Johnny Legend. These people were clearly cheated. I am giving everyone their money back who attended that show."

The associate sat down, running his hand through his hair. Taking a shot himself, he looked at Hanari. "Legend. Aren't you facing that guy this week?"

"I am."

"So, we're gonna have to do this all again. That's a big money loss, sir."

Hanari grins, ashing his cigar.

"No. This week, I am going to break his arm and put him on the shelf. That's their gift. Nobody will ever have to see a Johnny Legend match again. Now, add up those ticket prices and take it from the expense account."

"You got it."

Hanari grinned, taking a puff of his cigar.

"Sometimes, I think I'm too generous."


"You are a scammer. You scam innocent people out of their money. Every single time someone pays money for an XWF event and has to sit through a Johnny Legend match, well, they may as well kiss their money goodbye.

You scam these people by making them think you're something you're not, chico. You scam people by making them think you actually matter to anyone, that you have a place in this pecking order at all. Last Savage you lost a match to someone whose suck level is at equal proportion to yours, and now you want to kiss his ass like beating you was some accomplishment? It wasn't, it was expected. This is a business where winning comes before talking. You're quite the confident young man, but confidence only gets you so far. You need a little talent sprinkled in there as well. In this business, talent is the best way to back up ego.

Who The Hell Is Johnny Legend? Said:I'm from the land before time. When giants ruled this world, and little girls like Sarah Lacklan knew her place making dinosaur egg omelettes for us men.

Apparently, you've been around the block. I am sorry but I haven't a fucking clue who you are. What does that say? I used to watch XWF growing up as a kid, back in the Madness days, and your name doesn't stand out. This company has been around for two decades, and some of the best names in wrestling have come through these doors. Not all of them have been successful. Many of them have made their names from losing more than they have from winning, just look at Barney Green. You'd think that, even if you sucked worse than I Heart Huckabee's, that someone would at least remember you, right? The fact you even put yourself in the same sentence as people like Sarah Lacklan, as lame as she is, is a damn travesty.

The only thing worse than being a loser, is being a loser nobody remembers.

Just because every time you use the restroom and its like playing Ball-In-A-Cup, doesn't mean that your longevity has worked in your favor. You're a tired old man who got bored watching his cartoons and disenchanted with the ever so limited flavors of pudding, and decided to come back. You appear on Savage and instead of everyone going "holy jumping fucking shit balls, is that Johnny Legend?!!!", everyone collectively said, "who?" You're bland and boring in the ring, but you still feel the need to cut a witty and energetic promo. You must be "that edgy kid" at the retirement home. Reaching out for attention because your kids don’t call as much as they used to? I don't blame them, I wouldn't call you either. You look like every serial killer that gets caught 30 years after he stopped killing. They're probably embarrassed of you, frankly.

Do they know you're a scammer?

Yes, a scammer. You scam people into having even the smallest shred of sympathy for you and then you take their feelings and bounce. Nobody cares if you're old, they care if you're old and famous. You're only famous in your own head. You come in here with shiny video packages and overproduced CGI to make you look human when in reality you look like you eat the oatmeal for breakfast while Margret is changing your shit-stained bed covers, secretly wishing you won’t make it to New Years.

You're a scammer, and I am here to expose you.

I am not sure how things operated in your day, but I am pretty sure they were in black and white. Let me tell you how they operate now, in MY day, on the show that I made famous. I knock you around that ring for several minutes, then I lock you in an arm bar and pull on it until it snaps. When people step into the ring with me, there is a chance they don't step into a ring again. Jessalyn Hart, Arthur Grey, Bill Blakk, Doug Whitford, Geri Vayden. None of them have ever come back after I got through with them. Management wants to book me in a match against nobodies, and every single time I make sure that XWF can still list their "now hiring" posts on Craigslist. I have been in the ring with legends as well, I am a multi-time champion, you're a washed up joke who wasn't even good when you were in your "prime". I've seen aged strippers with more light in their eyes. You know deep down that you are in over your head, and at Savage I am going to make you wish you never got off your couch.

You wanna be famous? You wanna be a legend? Considering your circumstances and background, you have a fair shot at going down in the history of rehab for being the only person that fucked their life up on Mike’s hard lemonade and wine coolers. There's a first for everything, but when it comes to stepping into the ring with Hanari Carnes, you're just another in a long line of victims.

Scam busted.