"Sometimes a deal with the devil is better than no deal at all."

- Lawrence Hill



Grand County, Utah
45 miles from Utah/Colorado border
Sunday

Once again, the vast desert surrounds our protagonist.

The Ex-Detective pushes his dirty Oldsmobile to nearly top speed along I-70. It took him about five hours to get through Utah. In that span, not a single vehicle passed. No lights, no small towns, nor cities. Nothing. The stars weren't even shining tonight. Just a black sky, the nothingness around him, and the road. This alone feeling seemed all too familiar.

The sun should be coming up soon...

He adjusts his mirror to view around behind him. Nothing coming, nothing going. The backseat is cluttered with papers, old whiskey bottles, and emptycartons of cigarettes. He lights a cigarette and begins shuffling through the bag beside him. Pulls a small bottle of vodka from it and takes a long drink. He made a deal, another deal, with an old friend of his just the night before. You scratch my back, I'll scratch yours. Little did the Ex-Detective know, the Doctor's workings aren't always what you're thinking.


Fremont Street, Las Vegas
Apartment of Trevor Dedntik
One day ago


Trevor- ... So you'll take care of my problem?

Doctor D'Ville- I wouldn't want to have any distractions for you either, would I?

I hope he kills the fucker...

Trevor- You get those fuckers off my back and you got a deal.

Doctor D'Ville- They'll forget you existed, my friend.

Alright. Grab the money, some booze, and see what this sicko wants me to do. I know I'm going to regret this...

The Ex-Detective walks into the bedroom, into the closet, and removes his hidden safe box from inside the wall. As he grabs it, he immediately drops it. It is nearly cherry red and is burning hot. In a panic, he begins throwing all the numbers from his seven-digit code together in the front of the box, burning his hands in fingers doing so. Finally getting it open, flames blast out of the box and burning money scatters throughout the room. Hundreds of dollar bills slowly float to the ground as if a grand finale of fireworks was just set off in his very bedroom. The flames spread to the mattress on the floor and up the walls.

Fuck, FUCK, FUCK! FUCK!! FUCK!!!


Grand Junction, Colorado
Sunday Morning

The Ex-Detective wakes up. He's lying sideways, sitting in the drivers seat of his car. He rises up in his seat and looks in the mirror. His eyes are completely bloodshot and a fresh bruise crawls up the side of his face. He looks around beside him and picks up an empty bottle of vodka. He holds the empty bottle upside down above his head, to no avail. Throwing the bottle aside, he opens the door to his left and crawls out of the vehicle.

He looks around and finds himself in a small parking lot. The streets are quiet and anyone walking about them seems to be on their own agenda. No bothered with the drunk man passed out in his vehicle.

The Ex-Detective begins to walk down the street. He sees a liquor store across the road and is nearly hit by an oncoming vehicle crossing to get to it. He reaches in his pockets and pulls out the few dollars he had in his pocket before his apartment engulfed in flames. All the work and the hell he's been put through the past couple years, gone. At least now, the fat man will assume he's dead and hopefully move on. Coincidence perhaps? The Ex-Detective thought of a few other ways to get himself off the hook than ruining his life a second time, although this route was certainly effective.

Pulling on the locked door to the liquor store, the Ex-Detective swears to the skies above him. He lights a cigarette and stumbles down the street further into town. He sees a small tavern off the main road sitting off by itself. It looks ancient, but a drinks a drink. He stumbles along the gravel and through a small paved parking lot to reach the door. He nearly throws himself to the ground by the force he used entering the building. He places the cigarette in his mouth, fixes his shirt and walks to the bar. The barmaid stands wide-eyed looking at the Ex-Detective as he approaches her.

Barmaid- ... What can I get ya there, sweetie.

Trevor- Double of Jose... And keep 'em coming.

The Barmaid glares a little at the Ex-Detective.

Barmaid- Mm. Sorry honey. He don't serve alcohol 'til eleven o'clock on Sundays. We're serving breakfast though! You look like you could use some eggs. How about I fry you some up? Hmm?

Fuck your eggs...

Trevor- No. No thank-you.

The Ex-Detective turns around and leans against the bar. He groans and rubs his eyes. Opening them again and his eyes refocus. The booths that line the outside perimeter of the bar are mostly empty. A few people sit among them and enjoy their breakfast. The regular patrons will probably be in closer to noon. His nostrils flare up and he catches the small of burning cigar somewhere in the bar. He scans around and notices the Doctor sitting alone on the far side of the bar. He smiles at the Ex-Detective and gives him a little wave.

Holding back an explosion from inside his head, he quickly storms over to the booth to the Doctor. The Ex-Detective sits hard down in the seat across from him.

Trevor- What the FUCK, Lou?

Doctor D'Ville- Is there a problem, Trevor?

The Ex-Detective scowls at the Doctor.

Doctor D'Ville- You look displeased.

Trevor- You're damn right I look displeased! My apartment is gone, my life is already in shambles, and now I'm driving across the fucking country with NO money on this wild goose chase that you've probably just made up! Just like everything else you've ever done!

The Doctor laughs a bit.

Doctor D'Ville- You said you wanted to be free, Trevor. A phenomenon happens and destroys what residue of the life you had, and you're disappointed?

Trevor- Somehow, someway this is your doing! You were supposed to get rid of them! Not me! I know you torched my apartment, Lou.

Doctor D'Ville- Ha ha. It seems like you could use a drink, my friend.

The Doctor pulls a small flask from inside his jacket and waves it at the Ex-Detective.

Trevor- Aww fuck you, Doc.

The Ex-Detective snatches the flask from the Doctor's hands and takes a huge gulp. The rage he had just a few seconds ago is extinguished and he sits back in the booth.

Trevor- Dammit, Lou. I wish you weren't as fucking vague all the time. You're sure they'll just forget about me?

Doctor D'Ville- Certain.

The Ex-Detective puffs from his cigarette and stares through the smoke at the Doctor.

Trevor- So on top of my apartment being torched, YOU just disappear. I had no idea where to go. I had no idea where to start. Aside from you saying you were going to Denver, I had no idea what the hell to do.

Doctor D'Ville- You seemed to know exactly what to do, Trevor. Just continue on with your eyes and ears open.[/b]

Trevor- I don't even know who or what I'm supposed to be looking for, Lou...

Doctor D'Ville- Isn't that part of your job, Trevor? I'll tell you what...

The Doctor reaches in his inside pocket and places a stack of money onto the table.

Doctor D'Ville- Consider this a down payment for your services. Since you seem a bit disappointed in the way I handled my end of the bargain, I suppose we can't think of another way to compensate you. Take this and why not clean yourself up a bit. Get yourself some new clothes, my friend, you're looking a bit homely at the moment.

The Ex-Detective smirks at the Doctor. He reaches over and grabs the money off the table and stuffs it into his pocket.

Trevor- I suppose it's a start.


Doctor D'Ville- Continue going the way you're going. Meet me in Denver and we'll talk more about this there. And do try not to piss all that away.

The Ex-Detective looks around the tavern. The few patrons there have stopped eating their breakfasts and are just staring over at him.

What the fuck are they looking at...

He looks back across the booth and realizes he's sitting alone. The Ex-Detective looks all around the tavern and the Doctor is no where to be seen. He looks behind the bar and sees the barmaid watching him and talking on the phone with someone. He finds it in his best interest to be moving on. He stands up from the booth and exits the tavern.


At the end of Grand Avenue is a bus stop. The Doctor sits alone on a bench waiting for the arrival of the next ride. The next destination, Denver, Colorado. In just one day, the Doctor will finally come face to face with the XWF Television Champion, Gator. His sights now fully focused on his opponent, the Doctor cannot help but smile.

Doctor D'Ville- Hello, my friends.

The Doctor lights a cigar from his inside pocket.


Doctor D'Ville- It seems I've tripped something inside that head of yours, Jacob. Does my new associate make you nervous? Did I plant a seed of fear, perhaps? Well, fear not. Surely your Red Headed Beauty has enough smarts to avoid placing herself in such danger. I wouldn't want to jeopardize the happiness of a patient anyway. Also, it's good that you're starting to remember the good times you've had with your father. Get rid of all of the negative energy from your most recent encounters. I know you don't like it when I begin analyzing you, but what is it that turned your relationship around? What caused the love from your father to turn to disdain?

Doctor D'Ville-[/b][font=times new roman] You don't have to answer that if you don't want to, Jacob. It seems our session here has made you feel a bit uncomfortable. You've even gone on to accuse my practices as illegitimate. That I'm not a doctor at all. For shame. I believe it is going to take actual treatments to convince you that I am indeed for real. Don't let my mispronunciations throw you off, my south Louisiana accent is not always so kind. If you wish to attack it, do as you will. My signature is also a little sloppy, but please don't tell anyone.

A bus bounces across some railroad tracks a few miles down the road. It travels a slow speed towards the Doctor from across town.

Doctor D'Ville- I also find it irrelevant to continue on the same subject over and over again. I try not to sound like a broken record, my friend, so if it seems lke I ignore or drop a subject, I apologize. It was not your history in J-Pro that concerned me, Jaccob. It was the history with your father, of course.

You seem to be caught up on a certain time limit that's been implemented during our title match. Fifteen minutes, you say? What a shame. My sessions normally last a bit longer, but I'll accept this. Thinking of this short session as an advantage to you must be another one of your jokes, Jacob. Are you planning on running around for the full duration, avoiding me until the final bell rings? You certainly don't want a Draw and you certainly don't actually believe I can be put down in that amount of time. You laugh at my achievements thus far in the XWF. The paths that were handed to me that lead to you. I'm a survivalist, Jacob. I survived my first two sessions, which happened to be Battle Royals. And my most recent session, which, indeed is nothing to talk about. Trust me, Jacob, I am not so ignorant that I believe this is going to be a breeze. I believe you are a worthy adversary, Jacob. If it's going to take the Doctor taking your Television Title in order to prove it, so be it. Time draws short Jacob, so continue to keep your eyes on the hands of the clock you find so nemesing.

The bus stops in front of the Doctor. He raises from the bench and walks onto it and to the back. Meanwhile, across town, the Ex-Detective argues with a traffic cop in regards to a parking ticket he's just been written. Another set-back. He should quit arguing just to avoid any other trouble, so he can get on the road to Denver.



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*"Bound for the Floor" by Local H