"You're not seeing the bigger picture here."

Zane Kingsley III sighed, shaking his head as he watched his client Luca Arzegotti - raggedy and unkempt as he'd ever been - stomp around the living room of his Oakland abode like a man on a mission. Eyes wide and wild, head thrashing about like a madman, scanning the whole place for something to drink. Or smoke. Or snort. Or do anything with, for that matter.

There was no avoiding it: Arzegotti was a mess. A drunken junkie: addicted to just about any drug he could get his dirty, shaking hands on. Zane knew this well before their professional relationship began - one couldn't know anything about Arzegotti without knowing of his self-destructive behavior. After all, it was what drew Zane to the runt of The Black Circle's litter anyway.

"You're not seeing the little picture here: she's fucking twelve."

Zane concealed a chuckle behind a faux-stoic expression.

"That's just it! She's a fucking child prodigy, dude. Everyone looks past her because she may not be as old as your normal competitor but who needs normal? Have you ever seen someone with so much innate wrestling talent so young?"

"She's a fucking twelve year old; have you gotten that through your thick skull? This isn't some grand, talented anomaly; it's a fucking indictment on the whole XWF roster. How emaciated and starved for talent are they to turn to fuckin' middle schools for the future of the company?"

"She's the TV champ, bruh."

"Even worse!"

Luca sighed, resting his back on one of the small tables.

"She's like fuckin' Steve Urkel, my dude. A god damn genius and shit."

"Oh great, and she's a fuckin' nerd? It's like you don't even know me at all."

Kingsley's blank expression turned to one of quizzical curiosity and he stroked his chin, squinting at Luca.

"Weren't you the one who suggested we start comparing ourselves to characters from a piece of web animation?"

Luca cocked his head to one side, eyeing Zane curiously.

"Who also calls himself, and I quote, 'hashtag Meme Queen'?"

"If you got a point, get to it."

"And constantly appropriates pieces of pop-culture like a walking encyclopedia of banal bullshit?"

"The answer to all of these questions is yes. Shit, wanna move on or are there are any more questions you already know the answer to you wanna ask?"

"And you're calling someone else a nerd. That's what's going on."

"Well hey, at least I ain't a twelve year old prodigy running roughshod over a roster that's been fucked more times than a slut with daddy issues. When I was twelve I was doing stupid twelve year old shit. Not being a pro wrestler. Most of these fuckin' child stars are lame anyway. This bitch is gonna fade away in the next couple years and no one will give a fuck."

"Don't you worry about that shit. Lemme handle the longterm shit. All I need you to do is just go along with her and make sure people don't try and fuck with her or anything. She might be a better wrestler than most of the current XWF roster but she's still twelve: she ain't invincible."

Luca squinted at his agent for a second, his gaze cold and distrustful. Then, without warning, he slapped the top of the table and burst into hysterical laughter, pausing for a second to confirm whether or not Zane was actually being serious.

"Wait, you want me to babysit a twelve year old. Me?"

Zane nodded.

"Shit, might as well give me the fuckin' nuclear football. No way I'd do more damage there than I would to the little nerd."

"Look, I just need you to do this for me. Her agent is a friend of mine and I owe him a favor or two so could you just do this? And be on your best behavior too."

"Wait, like my best behavior or a normal person's best behavior?"

"One or the other, but be consistent."

"And this friend of yours, will I get a chance to meet him anytime soon?"

"Nonsense! You and Paul have already met."

"Paul," Luca repeated under his breath with a puzzled expression on his face, before the lightbulb in his head flickered to life and his eyes narrowed to slits, staring daggers into the eyes of his ever helpful agent. "You don't mean..."

Zane nodded with a smile on his face and finished Luca's sentence for him.

"Heyman."

---

Special Agent John Forester stared down the bridge of his nose at the unnaturally-wide grinning visage of Zane Kingsley III, who sat with his feet up on the wide, mahogany desk in between the two. Forester's gaze lowered to the surface of the desk: a boneyard of sorts of knickknacks and defaced pop-culture memorabilia. His eyes met the cold, lifeless approximations of a bust of Helios painted up to look like a member of KISS. Kingsley, ever the charmer and painfully aware of the agent's diverted focus, cleared his throat loudly and pounded the surface of the desk before speaking: a hint of venom seeping through his his typically dopey California surfer accent.

"Yo, did ya just come here to cop some interior decoratin' ideas?"

Forester's eyes met Kingsley's for a second before he returned to looking around the office, crossing his legs in a figure-four formation. A dull smile crossed his face and he placed a hand on his knee.

"Nice place you got here," he said, his inflection betraying a hint of bemusement.

"Look the part, be the part motherfucker."

Kingsley's eyes widened and his jaw dropped in a display of faux-concern. "Sorry, I mean sir."

"Been called worse."

Kingsley eyed his guest with a sly smile and brought his feet to the floor, leaning over the desk. He snaked his hand across the desk and placed his hand atop Forester's, stroking the back of the Fed's hand with his index finger.

"What brings a Fed to my little home away from home?"

"Who's a guy gotta blow to get an office this nice 'round here, eh? I'm working outta my garage just about." Forester's smile widened as he observed Kingsley's less-than-amused reaction. "C'mon, don't tell me you don't swing that way."

Kingsley's face continued to sour. Forester pulled his hand away.

"Didn't answer my question."

"I'll get to it. Give me a break, dude, I don't normally make it out to the West Coast. Just trying to get my money's worth."

Kingsley sighed.

"Yeah, well, I don't have all day. I do have clients."

"Like Luca Arzegotti."

Kingsley nodded.

"Have you come to harass him? I can give you his phone number and address right now. Or should I just call his lawyer now? William and I are good friends - I'm sure I wouldn't be bothering him."

"As much as I'd love to meet the little prick, this ain't about him."

"Well, that's a relief."

"How well did you know James Ricci?"

"The dead Senator from Jersey?"

"New York."

Kingsley cocked his head and shrugged.

"Never met the guy. Saw that on the news though. Hell of a way to go."

Kingsley's eyes narrowed and his smile returned to his face.

"This is about that."

Forester nodded.

"So you really just wanted to see the West Coast, eh?"

"I wouldn't be here if it weren't important, I promise you."

Kingsley chuckled, shaking his head.

"Am I a suspect?"

"That's the thing. We got a letter a few days ago - details only the killer would know, yadda yadda. All in a fuckin' cypher code. Signed Zane Kingsley III."

"And?"

"We think you're in danger too."

Forester stood up, leaned into Kingsley's ear and whispered: "your brother says hello."

"Tell Max he almost had me going for a minute.

"Then tell him I'm going to kill him."