Place Charles de Gaulle
Paris, France
Wednesday 26th November 2008
It’s a cold, dark and breezy winters evening in Paris as cars manically weave around each other as they try to traverse the Arc de Triomphe roundabout, more commonly known to locals as Place de l’Etoile, or Star Square. Horns are sounding in the background and Frenchmen shout the occasional obscenity. August Joyce looks out from the back seat of his taxi, watching the chaos and giving thanks that he’s not the one behind the wheel in the midst of such chaos.
“How ya feelin’?”
August snaps out of his distant gaze and turns his attentions back inside the car, to Benjamin Doi who is sat next to him.
“Better, thanks.” August says with a sniff. “Can’t believe I came down with something after being in London all of two days.”
Ben smiles. “Jus’ consider yourself lucky to be gettin’ another shot at the big time this week.”
August smiles and nods. “I consider myself lucky every day I wake up next to Xanthe.”
“You wet bastard.” Ben joke punches August on the leg. “How in the hell are you a pro wrestler?”
“You don’t think that about Verity?” Joyce sounds surprised.
Ben sighs and shakes his head. “As a man there are things you think, and things you say. I aint crossing that line, aight?”
“Fair enough.” August says with a chuckle. “I’m just in a good mood, I guess. Things with the wife are great, my friends are with me and my career’s about to get a nice boost thanks to the MWA.”
“Not if you don’t man up it aint.” Ben does his bit to keep Augusts feet on the ground. “You got to be focused, gotta make damn sure ya ready for John Patrick this coming week. You need to be a mean-assed fighting machine… need to have that…. ‘Killer’ instinct.”
August shudders at the mention of the name ‘Killer’.
“Alright, point made. And, please, let’s not bring up that name again.”
Ben nods. “Aight, I won’t. As long as you prove to me that you learnt somethin’ from dat night, and the couple a days you spent in the hospital with a cracked fuckin’ skull.” He knocks on Augusts head, trying to make a point.
August swats his friends hand away. “I learnt from that night alright. More than anything I learnt that life can throw the unexpected at you at any time, that all you know and love could disappear in a flash. I was given a fresh opportunity, a new perspective on things. I leant that you need to be prepared for your opponents best at all times…”
“That why you did so damn well in Any Given Night?” Ben asks, cheekily.
“I was jetlagged to hell! That wasn’t the real August Joyce and you know it!”
“Yea, I know.” Ben starts, putting an end to the conversation. But he can’t help but tease his friend. “The real August Joyce gets man flu and tells the world how much he loves his wife!”
“Hey, we can’t all be mean hard bastards inside and outside of the ring.” August says with a smile. “Some of us soften up a little outside the squared circle. Just because you have a heart of ice…”
“Aight, stop it now, befo’ I throw yo ass out of this semi-moving vehicle. And you know no-one out there is insured if they run you down, right?”
“What?” August says, confused. “What the hell are you on about?”
“No-one out there is insured.” Ben says, straight faced. “No insurance companies cover any vehicle usin’ this freakin’ road.”
Just as Ben says this there’s the sound of crunching bumpers in the background, followed by an increase in horns and verbal abuse.
“And you know this how?” August says, almost laughing at the thought.
”Zhen told me. An’ she a lawyer, she knows what she talkin’ ‘bout.” Ben says, firmly. Although he soon questions his belief. “Right?”
Vancouver, BC
6th November 2005
“I’ve been offered a deal with a big promotion, based in Florida. This could be it, the big time.”
“Not gone to plan?” Xanthe is surprised by the calmness of her husbands agent. “Have you seen what’s happened so far? First he lasts about a solid minute in the Any Given Night match, then he has his match with John Patrick cancelled.” She shakes her head. “Patrick is one of the biggest names in the MWA, has one of the richest histories here. That could have been a great catapult for August, to have it cancelled is a joke.”
Zhen is a little dismissive of Xanthes worries. “Don’t be so concerned, Xanthe babe. August came a long way at short notice, he’s not adjusted yet. He was jetlagged during the Any Given Night match, and he’s had trouble settling into the swing of things with a big promotion like this. They cancelled his match due to a scheduling conflict, nothing more.”
Zhen takes another sip of her cocktail, sighing with pleasure and closing her eyes as she does so. She really doesn’t have a care in the world tonight. For some reason, however, Xanthe is very concerned.
“You sure it’s not that he’s just not good enough for this level? They didn’t cancel it because they don’t think he’s capable?”
“Have some faith in your husband, Xanthe.” Zhen dismisses the worries again. “They rearranged the match for this week, so the MWA obviously see something in him. Benjamin hasn’t lost the faith, neither has Yana. I’m surprised to hear you say these things. I thought your support for August was unwavering… I guess I was wrong.”
Xanthe sighs and looks away for a brief moment.
“I have my reasons for being concerned.”
TD Waterhouse Centre
Orlando, Florida
12th November 2005
August Joyce has the man known simply as Killer in a headlock. Sweat trickles down his face; sign of both effort and the Florida heat taking their toll on the man from north of the border. The crowd cheer on August, who has struggled thus far in his first match here in Florida. He is definitely the underdog against Killer, a former champion and experienced veteran.
It’s not long before Killer uses his strength advantage to shake off August. He grabs August and takes him down with a back suplex, the jolt is enough for August to relax his grip on Killer, and August’s opponent is free of the headlock. Both men get back to their feet, both a little dazed.
August is the first to attempt a strike, charging for Killer and leaping into the air. August looks to connect with a flying forearm, but Killer has the move scouted. He lunges forward while August is in the air, stretching out his big right arm and smashing August out of the air with an almighty clothesline. August spins round in mid-air before crashing to the mat with an almighty bump, landing hard on the back of his head.
There is an audible intake of breath from the crowd watching as August crumples to the mat. Killer cheers and taunts the crowd, mocking August. He begins to kick August in the head, lightly, shouting at him to get up. The referee spots that August is hurt and tries to stop Killer, but Killer reacts badly to the referee’s interference and knocks him out with one big punch.
Killer slides out of the ring and grabs a chair, tossing it back inside while he argues with a fan at ringside. He slides back into the ring and places the chair on the head of the semi-conscious August Joyce. Killer then heads to the top rope. The man, who is a hefty 280lbs, then proceeds to leap off the top rope and connect onto the chair with a flying elbow drop. The body of August Joyce doesn’t move at all, he’s out cold.
Dave Spikey leaps over the security railing and slides into the ring. At the same time security and other officials rush to ringside, along with a doctor. Between them they make sure Killer leaves the area and August receives medical attention.
Later in the evening August is sat in a locker room, a brace around his neck. He is still looking more than a little drowsy. Dave is with him.
”That bastard is gonna pay.” Dave starts. “Get your arse a rematch and I’ll help yous beat a lil respect into him, like.”
Just then another figure appears in the doorway. A tall, slim man in a fitted grey suit. He has a serious look on his face, and a letter in his hand. He walks up to August and hands him the letter.
“I’m sorry about what happened to you tonight. Hopefully you’ll be fighting again real soon.” He pauses and looks at both August and Dave. “Unfortunately your next fight will not be with us, we’re going to have to let you go.”
“Eh!?” Dave says in surprise and disgust. “Yous are cuttin’ us loose? We come here every night for weeks until your sorry arse finally gives our kid a match, August gets a fuckin’ batterin’ from some freakin’ loon and you fire our arses before we can get some revenge or a second fuckin’ chance?”
“In order to make it here you need to be able to handle guys like Killer. Yes, he’s an ass. Yes, he over stepped the line, and he will be made to pay for his actions. But the fact of the matter is…” He turns to August. “You’re not good enough to make it at this level, Mr Joyce.”
Yana Gradlienko strolls into the room in her training gear, bag in hand and a towel over her shoulder. August Joyce sits at the other end of the hotel gym and looks over to her when he hears the door swing open. He holds a hand up to Yana, getting her attention. He’s just finished his daily work out and is getting his breath back, sat on the floor with his back up against the wall. Yana walks over to him, tossing him the towel.
“So, you ready?” She says plainly in her thick Russian accent.
“Ready for what?” August replies with a raised eyebrow
Yana frowns. “John Patrick. Your MWA debut. What else I talk about?”
“Ok, point taken.” August slowly makes his way to his feet, grabbing a bottle of water out of Yana’s hand. “And, for the record, yes.”
“Yes what?”
“Yes I’m ready. John Patrick. My MWA debut. What else I talk about?” He smiles cheekily.
Yana is not so easily amused. “No need to take piss.”
August shrugs, still not really ‘getting’ his young Russian friend.
“In all seriousness, I feel great, I feel ready. This is a fantastic opportunity for me, and I don’t intend on wasting it.”
August wipes the sweat from his face and takes a sip of water.
“Love him or loath him, John Patrick is a legend in the MWA, multiple champion, a highly skilled athlete. He’s exactly the kind of guy I was hoping to face in my full debut match. Because what better way to show off just how good I am than by taking a guy like Patrick, that all the fans know, and knocking him down a peg or two. Beating him in his own back yard and making people stand up and take notice of me.”
He takes another swig of water, pausing for a while as if something just popped into his head.
“But I have this niggling feeling in the back of my mind, questioning why I’m here. Why did they hire me? Why now?”
He begins to walk through the gym, towards the exit. Yana does not follow him, stood still and looking confused. August eventually notices he’s walking alone and stops, turning back to face Yana.
“What you on about?” Yana says.
August thinks briefly before responding. “Well, after Florida three years ago, people have been reluctant to give me a chance. My reputation was ruined and no-one in the major promotions would talk to me. Now, out of nowhere, the MWA… biggest wrestling company on the planet… suddenly offers me this opportunity.” He shrugs and looks down at his feet.
“You know what it is?” Yana says as she walks over to August. “Someone finally decided to ignore that one silly match and offer you fresh start, clean slate.” She pats August on the arm, trying to be reassuring.
“Yeah.” August says, after being initially confused by Yana’s attempt to display feeling. “You know what, I shouldn’t be thinking about that. I should be thankful for the chance to put right what once went wrong.”
For a second August pauses, possibly having an image of Sam Beckett pop into his head. He shakes the thought out of his head.
“This is the chance to prove myself on the big stage. “And I know I can. I have it in me to beat John Patrick. I have it in me to announce my arrival in the MWA in glorious fashion. I’m ready, more than ever before.”
The Frog and Firkin
Vancouver, BC
Wednesday 26th November 2008
“Alright la. Yous Brands man?”
The man looks up from his coffee, takes a quick look at Dave and extends his hand.
“Yes I am, you must be Mr. Spikey. Nice to finally meet you in person.”
“Please, call us Dave.” Spike says as he shakes the mans hand.
“Ok, Dave.” The man begins. “I believe you have another prospect for us at the MWA.” Dave nods confirmation. “That’s all well and good, but why did you drag me all the way out here? It’s customary for me to review a tape and invite them for a trial. Tell me what’s so special about this one…”
Dave pauses before responding, trying to get the barman’s attention first. When he fails he returns his attention to the man from the MWA.
“It’s August Joyce.”
The man sighs and drops his head. “Dave, we’ve been through this on the phone before. We don’t feel that Joyce is ready for the MWA. He’s a journeyman, nothing special.” Dave goes to say something, but the man raises a hand to stop him. “I’m not denying that the man has some skills. But there’s no potential. He’d never cut it against the big names of the MWA, the likes of Jack Griggs, Lien, Logan Wolffe, Kacy Knight, John Patrick. They’d destroy him, just like that Killer guy did in Florida. You know everyone in the business has seen that tape, no-one will hire him.”
Dave shakes his head. “I know what yous said, like. But things is different now, our kid’s got himself a strong team around him. He’s improvin’ steadily with every match. Got himself a good manager, with important and influential friends.”
Dave slides a brown envelope across the bar. The man looks at it, suspiciously.
“What’s this? Other than a cliché…”
“An offer yous would do well not to refuse, my son.”