FEBRUARY 5, 2024
DAZZLING DAVE’S RESTAURANT, BROOKLYN
“Look, I don’t give a fuck,” Chris said, emphatically. He marched towards the door of the restaurant in a fit of anger, “I’ve got enough of my own shit to deal with at the moment and watching him drink himself to death isn’t going to solve any of them. I’m fuckin’ out of here!”
To say that he had reached the end of his tether with his brother was something of an understatement. He was supposed to be preparing for his next F1 Climaxxx match with Halloween Knight, but again here he was cleaning up another of Drew’s messes.
“Chris - please!”
Chris allowed his hand to leave the door, delaying his exit. He heard desperate and frantic footsteps approaching him from behind. They belonged to Cindy, one of the waitresses at Dazzling Dave’s. After dropping out of college at Christmas, she started working at the restaurant as a means to placate her parents. Despite only recently entering the fold, she had quickly developed an affinity for the Peacocks and their customers.
Perhaps unwisely though, she grabbed Chris by his arm and attempted to pull him back into the restaurant. He immediately shimmied in an attempt to free himself.
“Cindy, I know you’re trying to help… but you need to get your hands off of me right now. This shit is between me and my brother and it's best that you don’t get involved, kid.”
“No, you need to fix this! He’s your brother. We can’t go on like this-”
“What’s all this ‘we’, Cindy? All due respect, but you don’t know dick about any of this, alright? I’ve had to put up with the jealousy, the holier than thou bullshit since you were floating around in your dad’s sack. I. AM. DONE!”
Again Chris attempted to leave, but again Cindy tried to physically prevent him from doing so. Gritting his teeth, Chris contemplated how long he was going to allow this to continue for. Customers were watching. The last thing he wanted anyone to bear witness to was someone disrespecting him and not suffering any consequences for doing so. He knew that would give everyone else carte blanche to do the same. Considering he was feeling rather unfulfilled on the respect side of things anyway, that was the last thing he wanted.
“I’m not going to move.”
“I’m not going to ask again. Let me leave.”
“No, I won’t-”
“Don’t make me do something that I’m going to regret.”
Chris assumed that the threat would garner the desired result. However, he was wrong. Cindy stood in the restaurant doorway with her arms folded. The expression on her face made it clear that she was being deathly serious. Chris balled his fist, actually considering whether he should forcibly move her out of the way. Instead, he grumbled and stood with his hands on his hips.
What Cindy wanted was a reconciliation between the twin brothers. The fact of the matter is that Chris had attempted to support Drew and help him overcome his addiction issues on multiple occasions. However, each attempt by him to do so only resulted in Drew plummeting further into the depths of the disease. What was best for both of them was some distance. Perhaps without Chris around, Drew could actually make some positive changes. As for Chris, pushing his brother’s issues out of sight and out of mind would likely contribute to better joy in the ring.
“Cindy, I need to go. It’s for the best. Now, please, will you let me leave?” Chris asked in a kind, but firm, voice, “Me being here with all of this other shit I’ve got going on isn’t helping anyone. Drew isn’t alone. He’s got you, and Max. I’ll ask Sonny and Rick to stop by as well-”
“Ugh,” groaned Cindy, with a tinge of jest. Both Diamond Dogs had made several passes at her in the limited interactions that she’d had with them, “Anything but that. I’ll let you go, as long as you promise not to tell those two to come here.”
“It’s a deal,” Chris said with a chuckle, “Look, tell Drew I’ll be back in Brooklyn after my next match. I want to come back home before Baxter in Tokyo as I’ll imagine I’ll need to straighten some shit out before going up against that fat fuck again.”
The two shared a laugh at Chris’s jibe at the North American Champion, but inside of himself, he knew the mammoth task that was waiting for him inside Korakuen Hall. Halloween Knight was first, though, and then Deathswitch with Alyster. Given his recent FWA record, he could ill afford to overlook any opponent, regardless of how academic his victory seemed to be on paper. Baxter would still be there after Seoul and Tsushima. Preparing for that match could wait. If it was going to mean anything, it would have to.
A bashful smile from Cindy was enough indication for Chris that she was prepared to let him leave. She then slinked away from the door and he patted her on the shoulder as he walked past her, the bell attached to the door ringing as he did so.
On the street, Chris’s thoughts turned to his upcoming match with Halloween Knight and how important it was that he did not let his disappointment and anger over losing to Xavien Marshall cost him once again. As he reached into his pocket for his headphones he was bumped from behind. With his eyebrow raised, Chris turned around to see two middle-aged men wearing tracksuits and white trainers.
“Can I help you?”
The man on the left nudged his friend and chuckled, “You hear that, Frankie? Probably so wiped out of his mind he doesn’t remember who we are.”
“OH! Drew, my boy!” the second man exclaimed as he cupped Chris’s cheek and gave it a couple of gentle slaps, “You drunk motherfucker, heh-heh. You got somethin’ for us this week?”
Chris rolled his eyes and motioned towards the restaurant, “If you’re looking for Drew, he’s the useless fuck passed out on the kitchen floor in there.”
The first man stepped closer to Chris with a look of scorn. Chris eyeballed him for a moment, not showing any sign of intimidation. After a few seconds, the man’s demeanour changed and he gave out another chuckle which sounded similar to some sort of stutter. Like the first man, he gave Chris a couple of playful slaps on the cheek, before pointing at him with both his index and pinky fingers, “Anyone ever told you you look exactly like him?”
“I get that a lot,” Chris responded before he nodded his head at the two men and walked onwards down the sidewalk. When he glanced back over his shoulder, he saw the men enter the restaurant. After hearing the bell ring once more, he continued along the sidewalk.
Chris Peacock in…
“A FRIEND OF A FRIEND,
NOT A FRIEND OF OURS.”
FEBRUARY 13, 2024
FBI RESIDENT AGENCY, BROOKLYN
This Tuesday promised to be different to any other Tuesday for Agent James Mando. It was with optimism that he entered the conference room where his colleagues were waiting for him. An entire wall was covered in black and white pictures of various men and women. They were a mix of mugshots and voyeuristic stills taken covertly from the back seat of issued service vehicles.
“Good morning, gentlemen,” Mando said as he dropped the pile of folders in his arms on the large table. Each was a royal blue with the letters ‘FBI’ emblazoned in yellow capital letters on the front. He took care to slide one to each of his three colleagues.
“You seem pretty chipper this morning, Mando,” one said with a smirk. Mando flashed a middle finger at Agent Stefano Serpentino. “It must be good news if you’re feeling this optimistic. Nothing else has seemed to work so far against this guy.”
The other two agents in the room grinned in a knowing way, almost joining in with the mockery of Agent Mando. Jimmy Monarca and Thomas Bolgia had worked on the task force with Mando and Serpentino for some time. Organised crime was running rife in Brooklyn, with one family exercising almost complete control over the territory. No one had been able to stand in their way. It was the responsibility of the men in this department and the people that they handled to put an end to their dominance.
“I’ve realised something. My approach to taking these guys down last year was all wrong. I put too much focus on him,” Mando said with emphasis. As he did so, he prodded the board behind him. His finger rested on the face which sat at the top of the twisted web of photographs. This man was old, balding and he grinned from ear to ear in his mugshot, and the text underneath the photo read, ‘GERRY MIGLIORE’.
“Migliore might be the guy in the top spot, but believe me, he’s not the real threat here.”
“Who is, then?” asked Bolgia.
Mando did not answer immediately. With his hands on his hips, he considered the gallery of faces in front of him. Countless people under the influence of Migliore, who were forced to abide by his rules and preferences. This was a crime family built on the ideals of friendship. It showed, too. Almost all of the people identified as belonging to the family seemed ecstatic to be a part of it. Smile after smile, even in the candid photos that were not taken by a police station photographer.
Finally Mando’s eyes rested on one photograph. Directly underneath the photo of Migliore, it portrayed a larger man. He stood out from everyone else because unlike everyone else, he was not smiling. Instead, he wore a scowl. His eyes were narrow and his frame wide. As intimidating as a man could look. His demeanour exuded dominance, so much so that just from looking at a black and white photograph, one could truly get a feel of how much of a mean fucker this guy could be.
‘IL BASTARDO - BRIAN GRASSO’
Mando felt it. Whilst this mean fucker was critical to his plans to bring down the Migliore family, he knew that it was no easy feat. Serpentino on the other hand, snorted. He rose from his seat and plucked the mugshot from the wall, “You don’t mean to tell me that you’re worried about this, Agent Mando? We… well, I… have pinched him before. It isn’t as impossible as you’re making it out to be.”
“You’re right. It isn’t impossible, but unlike last time, we’ve got to make this one stick. He’s still been out there, doing what he wants and consolidating the power of the Migliores. The guy controls North Brooklyn. If we can take him off the board, then that leaves Migliore vulnerable. We’ve got to nail him and nail him properly this time. Now’s our chance.”
As Mando attempted to get the photo back, Stefano pulled it away out of Mando’s reach. “Why now?”
Mando gestured to the board once again in response. He pointed to someone separate from the family tree. A classically handsome man, pictured smoking a cigarette on his way into a building - ‘MIKEY PARISI’.
“Grasso’s territory is under threat. Mikey Parisi used to hold it for a long time way back when, and rumour has it he’s planning a move to take it back. We can see how that plays out and bring Grasso in after that. He’s almost certain to do something he shouldn’t in order to make sure he doesn’t lose to Parisi. Every challenge to his territory this guy has overcome, he’s employed some shady shit to do it. This time, we don’t let him get away with it.”
“I don’t know. I’m not too sure,” Monarca spoke up, sitting uneasily in his chair, “You say this guy has pulled stuff before… but how come no one has been able to stop him yet?”
“I have.”
“He didn’t lose anything when you got him before… I think what Mando is saying is that we need to put an end to this guy for good. Make sure there’s no way he can come back from it.” Bolgia looked towards Mando for approval, and Mando nodded whilst swiping the picture of Grasso out of Serpentino’s hand.
“Exactly,” said Mando with some enthusiasm, “Even if Parisi is able to take North Brooklyn, what’s stopping Grasso from just taking it right back? I’m going to make it stick this time.”
As Mando stood triumphant in the conference room, the other three agents cast a look at one another. In unison, they turned to him, “How?”
Without saying a word, Mando grinned and removed the cork board from the wall and turned it around. On the reverse side were more photographs. Neither Serpentino, Monarca or Bolgia recognised the faces or names shown.
FEBRUARY 14, 2024
JOHN F. KENNEDY AIRPORT
The high of turning his luck around on both Meltdown XXXVIII and Fallout 038 quickly eroded upon landing at JFK, when Chris was swiftly accosted by airport security and bundled into a stuffy room situated within the airport. All he had for company was a chair which wobbled each time he moved, a table and the handcuffs which shackled him to the latter. It had been almost half an hour since he had asked for a drink of water, which had not yet arrived.
Chris was no stranger to interrogations, which is what he presumed was waiting for him whenever someone did return to the room. His antics had frequently resulted in him becoming known to the law, although he had never been detained at an airport before. What troubled Chris the most as he was left alone with nothing but his thoughts was thinking about what had actually led him to being here. What had they picked him up for?
As the minutes passed he racked his brain for answers but continually drew blanks. Soon, his mind wandered to his next match against Bryan Baxter. Now that Halloween Knight had been dealt with and that tricky fucker Marshall was out of the picture, Chris felt that he could now afford himself the time to think about the Bastard. Everyone had learned by now what Bryan’s modus operandi was; beat his opponent up before the match, during it and then sometimes afterwards too depending on how he felt.
It was Chris’s hope that his pre-emptive strike on Meltdown had left him in good stead and he had shown Baxter that he was not to be taken lightly. Bastard had every reason to assume victory over Chris Peacock, given what happened in the previous F1 Climaxxx. Peacock took Baxter lightly - similarly to Marshall this time around - and it bit him in the ass. Both men had their eye on the final, and meeting Michelle there. The loser at Fight Night would see her one stage sooner.
Chris had begun to feel like a man who needed to live up to his reputation, but was struggling for ways to do it. Whether he was to face Michelle in the final or the semis, he felt like he needed to meet her expectations. She went out of her way to put him in his place before the tournament began. He knew deep down that she did it because she knows all too well the threat he poses. What better way to prove his credentials than doing what she had managed a year earlier?
Big Bryan Bastard losing was an almost-alien concept for the FWA. Michelle was one of two people to have beaten him. Chris needed to be number three. It was not going to be easy, though. Chris knew that he could not afford to view Baxter as merely a stepping stone. He lost against Baxter before because his focus was instead on Jeremy Best and he approached Baxter as an extension to him. He was acutely aware of Michelle’s presence looming over this match, but this could not be about her. Bryan Baxter was Chris Peacock’s sole focus.
The same could not be said for Baxter himself, though. Mike Parr was up on the docket before Peacock at Fight Night, so Chris was ready to benefit from that extra time to devise a plan to inflict a third singles defeat on the North American Champion. He felt full of purpose now that he’d been able to articulate his thoughts and align his focus. Such was a benefit of being locked in a room with no means of escaping. However, on the other side of the coin, he was locked in a room with no means of escaping. Putting his planning into action was impossible from such a position.
Minutes soon became hours, and mercifully, after five of them the sole door to the room swung open. Chris looked up from his slouched position in an exhausted daze to see a strikingly handsome man perched on the table and looking back down at him. He wore a dark blue windbreaker and sunglasses, which he removed and placed down on the desk. The man produced a paper cone full of water from behind his back and moved it closer to Chris, “Sorry you’ve been waiting so long, Mister Peacock. Here, drink.”
Due to his thirst being so strong, Chris forgot that he was handcuffed to the table and ended up slamming his forehead on the metal surface when met with resistance. Agent Mando then carefully placed the water in his hand and Chris drank some at an awkward angle. Despite the difficulty, feeling the ice cold liquid pour down his throat was almost orgasmic.
“Who are you, why am I here and what do you want?”
And so, Agent Mando spent the next forty-five minutes spinning Chris a yarn and bringing him up to date with the machinations of the Migliore crime family. Throughout, Chris wondered repeatedly what any of this had to do with him. That is until one of the photographs that Mando produced showed two men he recognised, “These two - I bumped into them outside my family’s restaurant. They were looking for my brother!”
“Frankie Mussachio and Michele Amici - they call him ‘The Major’. They’re both soldiers in the Migliore family and part of the reason why we brought you in today, Mister Peacock. I assume that you’re not aware, but your brother has been involved with these people for some time now. Mussachio and Amici collect ‘protection money’ from him every week. It’s a common extortion tactic used by the mob.”
Chris sat silently for a moment. He was initially concerned for Drew’s wellbeing, but he quickly began to seethe. The family restaurant had been invaded and sullied by these scumbags under Drew’s watch.
“Mister Peacock, I believe that you are in a unique position to help us with our investigations into the Migliores and Grasso in particular. Your occupation tells me that you know how to handle yourself. I think under the right circumstances, you can infiltrate Grasso’s crew and get me the kind of information I need to bring this asshole down. Once he’s out of the picture, your brother won’t be getting any trouble from him or the rest of them again.”
“No,” said Chris, firmly. He shook his head, “My brother got himself into this mess, he can get himself out of it.”
“It is imperative that you comply, Chris. Grasso is about to enter into a big fight with another wise guy and if he gets his hands dirty again, we’ll nail him. Think about your brother, Chris.”
The pleading to his emotions by the agent caused Chris to chuckle, “You’re good on the eyes, but you’re not as good at this as you think you are, Mando. I don’t give a shit what happens to my brother. He’s a liability and maybe these two guys should smack a little sense into him. Now, if that is all, would you kindly let me get the fuck out of here?”
Agent Mando stood up and winced, whilst adjusting his belt. He scratched his chin and then walked around the table until he was standing in front of Chris.
“You really should have cooperated on your own free will, Chris. There’s a reason you’re in handcuffs, and it is because you’ve been a very bad boy. Very… bad… indeed.”
“Look, I already said you’re a handsome guy, alright? Coming on a bit strong though. Maybe dial it back a little.”
The agent maintained his professionalism and ignored Chris’s attempts at flirting. Instead, he reached into his folder and pulled out several more pieces of paper and laid them out in front of Chris. He spoke in a stern voice with a hint of superiority, “I’ve got eyewitness accounts, CCTV footage and forensic evidence linking you to several federal and state crimes. Aggravated assault, possession of a deadly weapon, possession of narcotics with intent to supply… kidnapping… it's all here, Peacock. You forced Calvin Lucas to consume drugs at knifepoint in a crowded room full of people!”
Mando walked towards the door and rested his hand on the doorknob. He waited for Chris to look at him, but in his head, Peacock was remembering what he had done to Cage several weeks earlier. He was disappointed in his recklessness.
“Eyes here, Peacock! I’ve got narcotics detectives on the other side of this door and all I’ve got to do is give them the word and you can say goodbye to life as you know it.” Mando walked closer to Chris and leaned in near his face once more, speaking with a much softer tone of voice, “Unless, you decide to help me bring Grasso down.”
“You do make a good argument, Agent Mando. Prison, though… I’ve done that before and honestly, it wasn’t that bad. Three square meals, plenty of time to work out, regular sex and not having to put up with the bullshit brought on by my family or the FWA… don’t threaten me with a good time.”
As Chris sat smugly, he could tell he was getting under the agent’s skin. Mando had a lightbulb moment and proceeded with his next gambit, “It isn’t just you that’s had some brushes with the law. Your buddy, Alyster… I’ve got Australian authorities on the other end of the phone wanting us to extradite his ass because of a bar fight that he caused last year. He set a car on fire, Chris. Australia is very flammable… they don’t take too well to shit like that over there.”
Chris could tell that Mando had done his research. Of course, the one way to get Chris Peacock to do what you want is to tap into the melodrama and heavy feelings he shares with his best friend. Chris’s love and friendship for Alyster would compel him to do literally almost anything.
“Am I that predictable? You’re not going to get me like that. I’ve set a fire in Australia before, I know that if they wanted Alyster, they’d have him. Looks like you’re going to have to find someone else-”
“There is no one else, Chris. Only you. It is crucial that I take this guy down and prove myself to everyone who doubts me. I’ve got a dozen guys I can do this with but I know that none of them could do the job that I expect from you. You strike me as the kind of man who wants to prove himself, too.
“Answer this for me, Chris; are we similar in that regard? Is there anything else that gets your dick hard like proving your value?”
Indeed, Agent Mando had performed extensive research into the psyche of Chris Peacock. Chris thrived on establishing himself as better than someone else, exceeding expectations and showing his status as the best. He was a staunch egomaniac, after all. Mando fed that ego in the right way… and he had his man.
FEBRUARY 16, 2024
DAZZLING DAVE’S RESTAURANT, BROOKLYN
In the midst of the bustling and busy Friday night dinner service, barely anyone noticed the small ring of the bell attached to the door when Chris entered the restaurant. Seeing the restaurant thriving and packed, with guests huddled near the door as they waited for their table caused a warm and proud sensation in Chris’s stomach. He knew that his father would be proud of what the restaurant has become, and he realised that if the kitchen was busy it meant that Drew was not drunk beyond comprehension.
That realisation lingered for a moment, and Chris quickly reminded himself of why it was necessary for Drew to work so hard. He was still furious at his brother for allowing the mob to syphon off a portion of the restaurant’s profits every week. That was also exacerbated by the fact that Drew had not told him about the arrangement, either. It was the first real thought that he had given to the situation he found himself in two days earlier, when he was speaking with Agent Mando.
Quite correctly, Chris was focussed squarely on facing Bryan Baxter in Tokyo at Fight Night. Unlike his previous encounter with the Bastard, Chris was doing his best to concentrate solely on his opponent. The previous evening and some of the afternoon had been dedicated to watching back some of Baxter’s matches, including his own defeat just over a year ago. After hitting the gym, Chris had a hankering for some pasta, so of course there was only one place to go.
He quietly excused himself through the line of waiting diners, until he bumped straight into Cindy, causing her to drop her notepad with the most recent order she had taken scrawled on the front page, “You should watch where you’re going! I’m a paying customer, you know!”
“Kiss my ass, Chrissy boy,” Cindy said with a grin as she walked over to the POS system to input the order. Chris followed her and leaned on the counter. She was aware of his presence but continued looking at the screen as she engaged with him, “Besides, you don’t pay for anything here. Congratulations on your wins, by the way. We all huddled around a TV and watched both of them. Glad to see you heading back in the right direction again.”
Cindy spared a moment to smile at Chris as she delivered her thoughtful sentiments and he reciprocated. It bothered him that there was a clear connection between the two of them, because he was aware of how it would look if anything happened there. Not only was he fourteen years older than her, but given their respective positions in the restaurant hierarchy, Chris was acutely aware of how a relationship could be perceived. He cared for Cindy, though. Despite his current disdain towards Drew, Chris was pleased that there was someone trustworthy there to keep an eye on him.
The stake that the Grasso crew of the Migliore family had in the restaurant meant that the time for trusting Drew to act in the restaurant and the family’s best interests was passed. With Cindy at the restaurant, it was just another person he cared about in danger with those people frequenting the place on a regular basis.
He realised that he had not offered a verbal response to Cindy’s kind comments, “Sorry, just got a lot going on at the moment. Thank you, Cindy. It feels good to be on the up again. It had been a while.” This time Cindy did not immediately answer as she was still inputting the table’s order in the system.
“Speaking of being sorry, I didn’t mean to be a dick a couple of weeks ago. With all of Drew’s bullshit and things going on in the fed, things got a bit too much for me. I didn’t mean to take any of that out on you. I’m really sorry.”
Cindy laughed, “Chris Peacock apologises for something. Didn’t have that one on my bingo card for tonight. In all seriousness, though, it’s fine. Sometimes things don’t work out how we want them to, and it is frustrating,” she said in a reassuring voice. She looked away from the screen once more and into Chris’s eyes. He felt her place her hand on his wrist and the instant she did so, it was if his heart stopped momentarily. “If you ever need to talk, just know that I’m here for you.”
She smiled in a comforting way which drew out the kindness in her eyes. They were a blend of green and hazel, almost perfectly complimenting her long dark brown hair which looked black in certain lighting. Chris felt as if a lion was roaring inside of his chest, but he remembered the obvious drawbacks of pursuing her for anything further than a completely platonic relationship. He smiled back and subtly slid his arm out from underneath his hand.
“I’m gonna hit the kitchen and whip myself something up. I think it is a carbonara night!”
“You know, you could help your brother out if you’re going in there. We’re slammed… just a thought, you know.”
Chris raised his eyebrows as he slinked away towards the kitchen. With one hand on the door, he stopped when he heard the bell at the entrance ring once more. The huddle of customers parted as two men barged through. Chris’s stomach sank as he recognised them as the two men he had encountered on the street two weeks earlier - who he now knew as Frankie Mussachio and Michele Amici.
In the same tracksuits as they wore in their previous encounter with Chris, the two men made a beeline for Cindy. Chris watched as she greeted them kindly, and Mussachio pointed with his index and pinky finger for her to go to the kitchen. It must have been so Drew could emerge and pay them their “protection money”. Cindy gave a polite smile - a true professional at her craft - and turned to retrieve Drew.
As she did so, Frankie reached forward and helped himself to a handful of her ass. Cindy froze and shuddered as the two much older men laughed between themselves. She shook slightly whilst walking towards Chris, who brushed past her. The look of rage on Chris’s face made it clear that he was not prepared to take this idly, “Chris! Don’t! Just leave it!”
They recognised Chris as he approached them, “Ey! It’s Mister Look-A-Like! How’s that brother of yours? Surprised you get anything done around here with a piece of ass like that walkin’ around.”
“Like a grapefruit. Heh-heh,” Frankie chimed in after his handsy display, making a squeezing motion with his hand. The two men laughed at their misogyny, but not for long, as Chris grabbed the top plate from the stack on the counter next to him and struck Mussachio in the face with it. It broke on his nose, causing him to fall to the ground with a deep gash across his face from the sharp edge of the ceramic.
“OOOOOOOOOOOOOOH!” Amici screamed and he tried to throw a punch at Chris, but he blocked it. Chris then bounced his head off of the counter and escorted towards the door through the crowd of people, who were shocked by what they were seeing. A woman screamed.
“Out of the way,” Chris said in a haste. He motioned towards the door, “Hold that open… GET OUTTA HERE!”
Chris turned around, and Frankie was back up. A punch connected with Chris’s face, but he managed to catch Frankie’s fist when he went for a follow up. He bent the mobster’s wrist back and got close to him. “Next time, keep your fuckin’ hands to your fuckin’ self. Now get the fuck out of my restaurant you fuckin’ mutt.”
Frankie didn’t need a second invitation and he scurried out of the open door. He and Amici regrouped before scurrying away into the distance and into their vehicle. Chris worked his way back through the appreciative crowd of people and found Cindy, who was crying next to the kitchen. He put aside his hang ups over them for a moment, putting his arm around her.
“They’re gone. There’s nothing to worry about anymore. I’m sorry that happened to you - hey, there I go apologising again. Not quite sure what has gotten into me!”
The attempt at levity seemed to work, as Chris saw Cindy look up at him with a smile. She wiped the tears from her eyes and hugged him. He patted her on the back and nodded at her in a way to tell her that it was all going to be okay. She sniffled into an old piece of tissue which she had kept safe in her apron, “Chris, those guys… they’re going to come back. They always do. You didn’t need to do that. They work for a really bad man, Drew said. They might try to find you, now.”
Nothing that Cindy said was incorrect. Chris knew that he had poked the bear now and that he needed to tread carefully in light of the potential consequences for acting out in such a manner. There was no doubt that he would be on Grasso’s radar now. However, if he was to go along with Mando’s plan, that is exactly where he needed to be.
“I’m banking on it, Cindy.”
DATE UNKNOWN
PLACE UNKNOWN, LOOKS LIKE THE RESTAURANT
It was late. Or at least it seemed like it was late. Chris sat alone at a booth in the restaurant. Alone in almost every sense, as he seemed to be the only patron. The plate in front of him was covered in spaghetti, but instead of a fork in his hand was just more spaghetti. Nonetheless, he was able to use the hand spaghetti to extract the plate spaghetti from the plate spaghetti and send it into his mouth.
An undetermined amount of time passed. Chris still sat at the booth, but now his plate was covered in forks. He swallowed one without issue. A door swung open - it was from the kitchen. Brian Grasso emerged from the kitchen and walked towards Chris at the booth. Whilst Chris was completely nonplussed by his appearance, anyone else would have been as he was adorning nothing but a smock, not too dissimilar to the one he usually saw Cindy and the other waitresses wearing.
“Everything okay with the food?”
Chris nodded as he chewed on the fork in his mouth. Without thinking, he did something very embarrassing by following up with, “Great. You?”
There was no chance for him to experience the awkwardness as when he looked up Grasso was gone and Cindy stood in his place, wearing the same outfit. It looked much better on her. After what seemed like a second, he was sitting next to Cindy at the restaurant bar, and the two of them were laughing. Chris sipped on his drink - a pornstar martini - and then stood up.
He extended a hand towards Cindy and invited her to join him in a small clearing in between the tables. She shook her head, but Chris urged her, “Come on… dance with me.”
As Chris quickly found himself spinning Cindy around on the spot and music filled the restaurant.
“It’s murder on the dancefloor…”
The two brought their bodies close to one another’s, and effortlessly moved along with the music, as if they had rehearsed this performance thousands of times before. It was seamless how they were able to transition from one move to the next without missing a step. Dancing was like second nature to Chris, and he looked down at Cindy’s feet to see that she was keeping up without any trouble whatsoever.
The restaurant interior morphed around them and soon they found themselves inside a giant martini glass. Orange liquid surrounded them in the giant-sized pornstar martini and the two of them resumed their dancing on the slice of passionfruit which floated on the surface of the drink. Chris took a moment to examine Cindy’s footwork once more, however when he looked up, he saw that he was dancing with Brian Grasso.
Again, this did not worry Chris. Grasso leaned into his ear, “Everything okay with the food?”
Chris did not answer. Brian still wore the waitress apparel and Peacock was surprised to see that he also could keep up with Chris when it came to the dancing. A wave crashed inside the giant glass and this caused the passionfruit slice to tilt along with the motion of the liquid. It caused Chris to fall forwards onto his partner, which was once again Cindy. They looked into each other’s eyes and then passionately kissed.
FEBRUARY 17, 2024
CHRIS PEACOCK’S BEDROOM, BROOKLYN
“What the fuck is he doin’?” asked Amici. He was responsible for watching over Chris as he slept whilst Frankie Mussachio rifled through Chris’s wardrobe in the background. The mobster was confused to see Chris groaning and moaning in his sleep, whilst his entire body slowly gyrated into his mattress and duvet. The scene caused Amici to feel uncomfortable, “You done back there? I don’t like this, I wanna wake him up, Frankie.”
Frankie tossed aside an empty shoebox and then joined his friend. He stood over Peacock with his hands on his hips. The sliver of light coming through the crack in the curtains allowed the plaster across his nose to be seen. “Yeah, let’s wake him up and take him to the boss. Motherfucker hit me with a plate - I got the first shot, you hear?”
There was no discourse from Amici. Frankie pulled out a crowbar from his jacket and lined it up, striking Chris on the ribs and instantly waking him up. Amici used his hands to cover Chris’s mouth to prevent anyone from becoming alerted by the noise. As Chris kicked out to fight them off, he fell from the bed and then both Mussachio and Amici stomped on his body on the bedroom floor. They probably were not supposed to do as much of a number on Chris as they did, but they made sure they were able to render him unconscious and therefore easy to drag out of the apartment into the trunk of a waiting car, which sped off into the night…
FEBRUARY 18, 2024
UNDISCLOSED LOCATION, BROOKLYN
All Chris could stifle was a groan as he regained consciousness. Before he had even opened his eyes, he knew that he had been tied up. The unyielding hard material around his wrists, rendering him unable to separate them could only be zip ties. The chair he was affixed to by his ankles was a steel folding one, not too dissimilar from the kinds that he is familiar with as part and parcel of being a professional wrestler. However they had used duct tape for his ankles, and across his mouth to prevent him from talking. His first initial thought was to worry about how much it was going to hurt to remove the tape across his face and whether his moustache would be fully intact after doing so.
Without trying to give away the fact that he was aware of his surroundings, he kept his eyes closed and listened to the conversation happening around him. The two voices were ones he recognised pretty easily as belonging to Mussachio and Amici, “You know when the boss is gonna be here?”
“Ey, remember… B ain’t the boss, Frankie. Gerry Miglione? He’s the boss of the family.”
“Yeah I know,” Frankie said, pausing for a moment, “But think about it. Brian is the guy that’s done all of the heavy liftin’ this whole time. Look at how long he’s held North Brooklyn for. This putz Mikey Parisi ain’t gonna do shit to him, trust me. Just another guy to fall by the wayside. Gerry might be boss in name, but come on, B is the real threat here and the guy keepin’ this shit goin’.”
Before Amici could respond to either agree or disagree with Frankie’s assertions, Chris heard the door open and close, and a third voice spoke immediately.
“I’m keepin’ what goin’?”
Chris realised that the person who had entered the room was none other than Brian Grasso.
“Nothin’, B. Just talking about that motherless fuck Parisi. We ain’t got nothin’ to worry about there, if you ask me.”
“Time will tell.”
Things went silent between everyone as the caporegime meandered around the room for a minute or so, possibly sizing Chris up. Most evident was Grasso’s heavy breathing, which Chris assumed must be due to his weight. It was clear that his days of sneaking up on anyone were long gone as his animalistic huffing would be a dead giveaway to any target. “This the guy from the restaurant?”
“That’s him, B. He’s the brother of our guy over there. The drunk-”
“It’s a disease, got it? The guy might be a fuckin’ bum, but it’s not his fault. Why don’t you worry a little less about what some civilian does in his spare time and more about how this piece of crap took you both out on his own, huh? All good and well you writin’ off Parisi, but you better back it up.”
There was silence from both of Grasso’s men. Whatever was about to go down between Grasso and Parisi, it seemed that Grasso was definitely taking it seriously. “Look, wake him up. I wanna talk to him.”
Before Chris even had a chance to do anything to prepare himself, he was struck on the side of the head by a fist. He groaned and opened his eyes to see the three men standing in front of him. They were in a warehouse of some description but Chris had no idea where. From the pitch black sky visible through the upper windows, he surmised that it was in the early hours of the morning.
“Don’t look up there. Look at me,” Grasso said whilst pointing to himself. Chris diverted his eyes to the large man, who was even more rotund in real life than in the pictures and his crazy dream.
“You probably know who I am by now, and if you do, you know that I wouldn’t want to be you right now.”
From the satisfied smirk on his face and the more than comfortable body language, Chris was immediately able to tell that Grasso enjoyed the fact that Chris was helpless. A completely submissive opponent, thanks to the work of his henchmen. Chris deduced just from looking at him that Brian Grasso was a man who thrived on holding power over his adversaries and it didn’t matter to him by which means he attained it.
“You laid your hands on these guys. These are MY men. Not that it’s any of your business, but these are made men. That means you don’t get to pull shit like that and expect to live to tell the tale, got that?” Chris nodded in understanding, and he grimaced under the tape whilst he considered what was going to happen to him next. Grasso cracked a small smile - it was scary how easily he could portray a friendly, caring figure but be something completely different. “If you’re going to put your hands on my men and disrespect this thing by not playing by the rules, then you’re disrespecting me and everyone who came before. I can’t allow that, I don’t care who the fuck you are.”
Despite his size, Grasso was able to connect with an excruciatingly strong punch to Chris’s jaw. It felt like it had dislocated or perhaps even detached entirely. Chris could tell that Grasso was not immune to the power of the punch either, as he shook his hand out after striking Chris. Grasso paced around the room, exchanging eye contact with his subordinates and gauging what their reactions were to Chris.
He paused on Frankie Mussachio. The older Mussachio did his best to hide his anger as his younger caporegime held his face with one hand by the chin in order to get a better look at the cut across his nose. Grasso cracked another smile, “He really did a fuckin’ number on you, huh?”
The smile faded and a flicker of disappointment descended over Grasso’s face for a moment. Luckily, Frankie was not perceptive enough to notice it. Grasso retook his seat opposite Chris and slapped him on the cheek a couple of times to ensure that he was still paying attention. “Stay with us, Chris. There’s a lot we gotta talk about still. Now, I’ve got to think about what to do with you. What you did was very bad, but it showed me something that I didn’t expect to see fall at my feet like this. You’ve got some set of balls on you, kid.”
Being referred to as a kid as a fully grown, thirty-seven year old man both confused and annoyed Chris. Especially as Grasso was telling him things that he already knew. Anyone who knew Chris reasonably well could tell you that there is very little he was intimidated by. This was not his first time being tied to a chair or held captive - not even including his FBI detainment earlier in the week.
“What I guess I’m saying is, that I can use you. I’m putting you to work out on the streets. There’s a war comin’, and I need people out there… soldiers that I can trust to get the job done and not fuck it up.”
It was at this moment that Chris decided that he would divert from placating Mando to actively helping him take Grasso and his goons down. Not only had Mando’s plan succeeded as Chris was already becoming ingratiated with Grasso personally, but he did not take well to people wishing to exercise control over him. He could have called Mando’s bluff and told him where to stick his mission, but there was no reasoning with Grasso, Chris could tell.
Grasso rose to his feet and ruffled Chris’s hair - something else that he despised other people doing to him since he was a child - and made for the exit. He stopped on his way out though, as if an idea had struck him. He pulled the cigar out of his front jacket pocket and held it up near his mouth before addressing Chris, “Don’t confuse this for a pass, though. I’m still taxing you for pain and suffering caused to my dear friend Frankie here. Call it another two points added to your brother’s kick and you’re gonna give me a taste from this wrestling crap. You got that?”
Chris solemnly and silently nodded his head whilst looking in Grasso’s eyes. The smug smirk on his face was dying to be wiped off, and Chris felt glad that he would be able to contribute to it.
“Good. There’s something I want you to take care of for me. Tomorrow night. Blue Comet Video Dome in Queens, seven thirty. Don’t make me come lookin’ for you.”
Grasso left. Both Mussachio and Amici lingered for a while longer, and Frankie was in no rush to release Chris from his binds by slicing the zip ties with a knife. Eventually he did, and he slapped Chris across the face in a playful manner. He somehow managed to let out a laughing noise whilst keeping an entirely straight face, “Heh-heh.”
As the two crew members left, Chris kept an eye on them in order to avoid any surprises. He was frustrated that Mando had allowed him to dive this far into this kind of life, and whether it was even still possible to resume his FWA commitments if he was now going to be leading it. But at the same time, the allure of being at least partially responsible for bringing Grasso down was irresistible for the man who had conquered the disco dancing and wrestling worlds. This hunger for success, even when not completely motivated to attain it, is why Chris Peacock has excelled at anything he has turned his hand to.
He decided that he would partake in whatever it was that Grasso had in store for him at the ‘Blue Comet Video Dome’ in Queens the following night. A chance to get closer and more face time with Grasso was a chance to study his character more and then identify any weaknesses to exploit. Looking for weaknesses to take advantage of - he was even beginning to think like a wise guy now. He used his now-free hand to tear the duct tape from his mouth and screamed loudly as parts of his moustache came with it.
FEBRUARY 19, 2024
BLUE COMET VIDEO DOME, QUEENS
Traditionally, Chris was unhappy to be in another New York borough other than Brooklyn. Queens and the others just lacked something compared to his home area. However, this was a different kind of visit to Queens - he was excited for it. His chance for more exposure to Grasso and opportunities to formulate his plan to bring him down from the inside.
The Blue Comet Video Dome was located on a relatively quiet street, and Chris leaned against the wall window of a launderette a few buildings down as he waited for Grasso to meet him. The sign erected from the side of the video store depicted a blue video cassette being shot through a space-like background with the letters ‘BCVD’ written underneath it. When he walked past the store as part of a minor reconnaissance, he caught a glimpse inside and realised that this was not a regular video store. He could have sworn he saw a DVD with Gabrielle splashed across the front cover on one of the shelves.
He did not actually know why he was in Queens or what Grasso wanted him to do. Checking his phone, he saw that it was 7:27. Grasso didn’t strike him as the kind of man who stuck to a rigid schedule as there would be few who would dare question him if he was not punctual to this or any other activity he and his cronies engaged in. He was the man in charge, even if not in name, per Frankie.
It was therefore not a surprise to Chris when a maroon SUV pulled up next to him on the road at 7:52. The passenger-side window rolled down and Chris saw Grasso in the driver’s seat. He beckoned for Chris to join him in the car, which Peacock did. Once Chris had closed the door, Grasso pressed a button on the dashboard to lock them both inside.
As expected, there was no apology from Grasso for his tardiness, and it was straight to business, “Good. You’re here. Now, listen up. I need you to collect from the guy who runs that store. He and his partner are into us for quite a lot and well, after running into me, let’s just say his partner isn’t on the scene anymore.”
The implication of what happened to the business partner caused Chris to look slightly worried for a moment. He had momentarily forgotten that the man he was locked in a car with was a homicidal psychopath who’d not hesitate to make him disappear if he learned of his involvement with the FBI. Grasso sensed his concern and snorted, cracking a small smile.
“He skipped town, Chrissy. We didn’t hurt him, but if he ever does decide to show his face again then we’ll make sure to remind him of his obligations to us.”
That did little to reassure Chris. Despite this, Grasso continued, “Anyway, this guy ran off and left his partner in the lurch. That isn’t our problem though. As far as we’re concerned, we’ve still got a job to do. So what I want is for you to head on in there and straighten things out. Here, you’ll need this.”
Chris watched as Grasso pulled out a black pistol and placed it on the armrest in between them. Together they looked at the gun for a few seconds, before Chris tentatively picked it up and placed it in his waistband underneath his jacket and shirt. He took a deep breath as the situation was becoming very real to him very quickly, but Grasso put a hand on his shoulder.
“Look, you don’t have to actually shoot him unless completely necessary. It’s an intimidation tactic. Once he sees that, you won’t have any trouble. Fire a warning shot or two at the ceiling if he’s not pissed his pants yet. Better yet, take one of those dildos they got in there and use your imagination. Got that?” Grasso waited for Chris to nod in response, “Good, now what the fuck are you waitin’ for? Get to work! GO!”
The doors unlocked and Chris quickly exited the vehicle. When he was back on the pavement, he turned back to Grasso who was stoically watching. Grasso leaned out of his window, “OH! His name is Kenny, by the way!”
Armed with that information and an actual fucking gun, Chris entered Blue Comet Video Dome. He was inside for a total of two minutes and forty-two seconds. Grasso grinned from his SUV as he heard a total of two gunshots, some very loud screaming and then Chris emerging from the video store with the gun in one hand and a carrier back full of cash in the other. Chris entered the car and Grasso locked the doors once again.
Chris breathed heavily, high on the adrenaline of the successful bust. He placed the gun back on the arm rest and Grasso put it away, and then he handed over the cash. He wondered how Grasso and men like him could do that. He considered himself someone unafraid to maim or injure others, but that was something new. It was pure intimidation and something that Chris had never been able to exude before, despite his temperament and achievements in a wrestling ring.
“Looks like it's all here. Very good work, Chrissy!” Grasso’s demeanour changed entirely as he took Chris’s head under his arm and ruffled his hair once more, “The kid’s a natural!”
With the adrenaline wearing off slightly, Chris allowed himself a pleased smile. He could see why Grasso operated in such a way. The high of having that much power was addictive. The closest thing he could think of was how he felt when he was World Champion. It was a feeling that he missed.
“I wanted to talk to you about what happened last night… in the warehouse. I know that I was an asshole to you, but that’s how it needed to be in front of those two guys,” Grasso said, making sure to look directly into Chris’s eyes. Chris was surprised to learn of this admission from Grasso. “The thing is, in this thing of ours, we take the ideals of friendship and family very seriously.”
“The job of a friend or someone you consider family is to raise you up. Help you become a better person. That’s what Gerry Migliore did for me and that’s what I’m doing for Frankie and Michele. They work for me, so I’ve got a responsibility to protect them, and their interests.
“That’s why I had to give you the high colonic yesterday after you took shots at them. We look after our own. Not like that coward from that video store who ducked out on his partner.”
These words resonated with Chris, and he pondered whether he had done a good enough job in looking out for his own. Was he too quick to give up on his brother? The breaking point for him wanting to try to help Drew was too low, he thought. Guilt filled him and he was only snapped out of the momentary glum by a light punch to the shoulder by Grasso.
“You’re worried about your brother. I get that. Family is important. Look, I’ll get the guys to lay off him. You’re with us now. We need to get you earning, not the opposite.”
Chris actually felt more guilty once he realised that Grasso believed he attacked the guys in the restaurant because of Drew, when in reality, it was because one of them groped the girl he liked and he saw this as a sign of disrespect towards him. Deep in his thoughts, he failed to notice Grasso pulling out some of the notes that Chris had taken from the video dome.
“Here,” Grasso said as he presented them to Chris, “Your cut of the take. I’ve taken the tax from it already and I’ll give it to Frankie for you. Consider that debt settled.”
“Thank you. You didn’t have to-”
“Did you not listen to what I just fuckin’ said? We look after our own. You’re with us now. You’re Italian, right?”
“Half, on my mother’s side.”
“That’s good enough for me.”
The two sat in silence as Grasso pulled away from the video store. Flashing blue lights shone in the distance, undoubtedly as a result of the scene caused by Chris inside. Grasso did not seem bothered by this and casually drove away from the scene. Once they were far enough away from the scene of the crime, Chris felt like it was a good time to try and learn a bit more about Grasso as he had planned.
“What’s going on with this Parisi guy, then? I keep hearing that name come up… you got some beef there or something?”
Grasso quickly darted his head at Chris in disbelief that he would even dare ask something like that unprompted and in such a brazen manner. From his comfort when in control and relative panic when challenged, Chris knew that Grasso was someone unable to adapt when a situation called for it. That is why it was so necessary for him to be in control at all times.
Eventually, Grasso calmed himself down following the abrupt shock and let out a light chuckle, “Some balls on you, kid. Where do you get off askin’ shit like that, huh? Mikey Parisi… he controlled North Brooklyn for a long time. He’s synonymous with the place. People say that everything going on there is because of him and the work he put in. He tried taking it back from me last year, but me and the guys were ready.”
“We’ll be ready again when he makes his next move. I don’t plan on giving anything up anytime soon, but if it did come crashing down around me, it won’t be at the hands of Mikey Parisi.”
Silently, Chris agreed. Grasso caught this and a grin formed across his face as he believed to have another ally to his cause for his fight with Parisi and anyone else to come in the future. What he didn’t know was that it was Chris Peacock that was destined to take everything from him. Grasso believed that he held all the cards, insulated from danger by his friends and unable to be touched. He was wrong, and Chris was going to prove it. Not anyone else. Him.
FEBRUARY 22, 2024
DAZZLING DAVE’S RESTAURANT, BROOKLYN
Despite it being such a late hour on a Thursday night, the restaurant was full to the brim with people standing and sitting in loud conversation. Chris was surprised to see how popular the FWA viewing parties were at the restaurant with the locals, given he had never been able to attend one himself. What was different about this one than all of the others was that Chris was not who the occupants of the restaurant were rooting for.
When it came to the North American Showdown, Mike Parr was the clear fan favourite inside Dazzling Dave’s. These were Chris Peacock’s people, and they weren’t prepared to forgive Big Bryan Bastard for his actions against Chris and his friends. There was the loss to Baxter in the previous F1 Climaxxx and the Friendship Wrestling Alliance taking the FWA World Championship from Alyster, not to mention everything they had done to Krash.
Funnily enough, the only person in the entire joint actually cheering for the Bastard was Chris Peacock himself. Winning the F1 Climaxxx and becoming the North American Champion to get one over Michelle was his aim, but he would be lying if he said he did not want to be the one to personally relieve Baxter of the belt through winning the competition.
With just over an hour to go until the match was about to begin, Chris checked his phone and saw that he had received a text from Agent Mando, informing him that he was on the way to the restaurant. Chris had not heard from Grasso or anyone else in the crew for the entire day, nor had he seen Grasso since he hit up the video store.
As he sat alone at a table in the restaurant, he pondered what could have been happening to everyone due to the radio silence, but his thoughts were broken up by some music starting to play through the speakers in the restaurant;
“Just a small town girl, livin’ in a lonely world.
She took the midnight train, going anywhere.”
The bell at the entrance rang, and Chris watched as Agent Mando strode through the door. He was just as good looking as Chris remembered him to be in their first meeting. It did not take long for him to find Chris and join him at his table.
“Just a city boy, born and raised in south Detroit.
He took the midnight train, going anywhere.”
“What brings you here then? Wanna watch the match?”
“Bad news, I’m afraid, Chris,” Mando said as he removed his coat and set it down next to him. He looked across at him with a straight face, but his facade cracked slightly. He was clearly frustrated about something, “Parisi got there first… Grasso’s gone. His whole crew, too.”
“A singer in a smokey room.
A smell of wine and cheap perfume.
For a smile they can share the night.
It goes on and on and on and on…”
It was very difficult for Chris to envisage Brian Grasso losing. He did not think the man who possessed such strong controlling tendencies would have allowed something like that to happen to him, “How?”
“It all came to a head. Parisi had grown tired of Grasso bullying people in order to keep the territory he believed was his. Something had to give… and it was Grasso’s heart. You believe that? He had a fuckin’ heart attack at the stand off.”
Despite the morbid situation, both men found a bit of amusement in this.
“Strangers waitin' up and down the boulevard.
Their shadows searchin' in the night.
Streetlights, people. Livin' just to find emotion.
Hidin', somewhere in the night.”
“Ain’t that a fucking bitch.”
“I know. I feel it too. I know how you feel. I wanted to be the one to do it as well. But you’ve gotta give Parisi credit.”
“Yeah… you’re right.”
“Workin' hard to get my fill.
Everybody wants a thrill.
Payin' anything to roll the dice,
Just one more time.”
Chris was frustrated with the outcome of his time spent with Grasso and the Migliore family - it wasn’t supposed to end like this. He could not bring himself to say anything and sat with his hands clasped together, unsure of what to do with himself.
“Some'll win, some will lose.
Some are born to sing the blues.
Whoa, the movie never ends.
It goes on and on and on and on…”
The silence was broken by Cindy arriving at the table with two men, in the same positive mood that she always takes when dealing with customers. In her hand was a tray of Italian cured meats, which she lowered towards the table, “Here you go, guys. Some prosciutto and gabagool-”
“Gabagool? Over here…” Mando said, motioning in front of him. Cindy set the tray down in the middle of the table and smiled at Chris as she walked away, gliding her fingers on his shoulder as she did so.
“Strangers waitin' up and down the boulevard.
Their shadows searchin' in the night.
Streetlights, people. Livin' just to find emotion.
Hidin', somewhere in the night.”
Firm in their understanding and shared disappointment, Chris and Agent Mando sat in silence as both helped themselves to the cured meats on the table. There was an occasional groan from both men as they enjoyed the capicola and prosciutto.
Chris looked around at some of the other patrons in the restaurant as he ate; he saw a man in a wheelchair holding both of his dogs on a lead. Both wore sparkling diamond collars. A young boy wore a wrestling mask, and he pulled his father towards the framed pictures of the wrestling Peacocks on one of the walls - the father being the owner of a tremendously styled moustache. A punk girl sat with her back to the wall whilst scrolling through her phone, looking completely uninterested.
“Don't stop believin’!
Hold on to that feelin'!”
The bell at the restaurant entrance rang once more.
“Streetlights, people.”
Chris looked up.
“DON’T STOP-”
“SORRY!” was the shout from a loud voice in the kitchen after the entire restaurant was plunged into darkness once people had calmed down. Everyone groaned as the lighting returned to normal, the televisions came back to life and the music continued to play in the background. Drew shouted from the kitchen once more, “CINDY! I shorted the microwave again… fuckin’ thing.”
The atmosphere in the restaurant returned to what it was pre-powercut and Chris looked back once more at Agent Mando, who had a slice of prosciutto hanging from his mouth which he quickly vacuumed up, “You sure you don’t wanna stay and watch the match with us?”
Considering the offer, Mando checked his phone but his eyes bulged when he saw the notification on the device. Quickly, he rose to his feet and started putting his coat on. In his haste he choked on a piece of meat.
“Woah, what’s the rush? Grasso’s gone, right?”
“Unfortunately for me, there’s more than one bad guy in the world. Bad girl, in this case. You know there’s a Dutch mafia? I work with a guy - Serpentino - he’s obsessed with them. They’ve been causing me some problems for a while now, but with Grasso out of the picture, we can devote the resources we need to to take them down for good.”
Mando extended his hand to Chris, who rose to his feet to shake it, “Thank you, Chris. I’ve been going through a lot lately. It isn’t often I get to work with someone who just seems to get me, you know? I feel like we’ve got a lot in common.”
“Who’s trying to fuck who here, huh? Get outta here you piece of ass.”
The two shared a laugh and Chris watched Mando leave, with the bell tinkling once more as he opened the door to exit. He exhaled and took his seat at the table once more as it was time for the match to begin.
An hour and five minutes passed. Chris remained deathly silent the entire time, despite the pandemonium and the excitement around him, especially when the match was over and Mike Parr was crowned the North American Champion for the fifth time, ending Bryan Baxter’s gargantuan reign. People attempted to celebrate with him, but it was clear to them that this was not a time for jubilation for Chris Peacock.
Chris remained in his seat for some time after the customers had petered out - the celebrations carried on into the night and onto the streets of Brooklyn. Not being the one to end Baxter’s reign stung. He thought about what happened at the conclusion between Baxter and Parr. Never did he think that Baxter would refuse the help of his allies, especially when they were so pivotal in most of his previous defences.
After all of his worries over not living up to Michelle’s expectations, Chris found himself being annoyed that the Bastard failed to live up to his own. That was not the man that Chris Peacock had been preparing to face since the pools were announced. That was not the man who defeated Chris in the pool stages of the previous tournament. That was not Big Bryan Bastard.
The similarities between Baxter and Brian Grasso were not lost on Chris. He had expected to be facing two similar animals in the sense that both were killers and would not hesitate to extinguish him, without batting an eyelid. They were still similar, insofar as that both had lost themselves. Grasso losing his heart and his balls at a crucial moment was not something he expected from a seasoned boss.
Baxter agreeing to an extra five minutes and then rejecting help was very out of character for the man he had never defeated before. It was because of this fact that he did view Baxter as the main driving force and most dangerous person in the Friendship Wrestling Alliance, despite Jeremy Best being the FWA World Champion. Because of all of this he ensured not to overlook Baxter this time around.
“Everything okay with the food?”
Cindy’s voice scared Chris for several reasons. Firstly, he thought that he was alone and it made him jump and secondly because he was worried that it was actually Brian Grasso from his dream. His relief was palpable when he discovered it was in fact the attractive young waitress who he shared a mutual crush with.
“Sorry, I thought I was dreaming for a second. What are you still doing here? Your shift finished an hour ago?”
“I wanted to get started on the dishes and well, to make sure you were okay,” she said in a caring tone, “I know that wasn’t the result you wanted tonight.”
There was no response from Chris other than a dejected and forced smile. She nudged him, causing him to look up at her, “Hey, no reason not to go out there at Fight Night and kick his ass still… you know he’s going to want to take it all out on you.”
Chris nodded once more. He slowly stood up and started walking towards the exit of the restaurant, “Come on. Let me walk you home.”
“Wait a minute,” Cindy said, not following him. He turned around and faced her once more. She extended her arm towards him, “I never got to properly thank you for what you did to those guys. How about I treat you to a dance?”
With a smile, Chris walked towards her. Just as he had done so in his dream, he held her body close and then spun her around on the spot.
Music played in his head as he watched her spin. Around and around she went.
The dance never ends.
“You woke up this morning. Got yourself a gun.
Mama always said you’d be, the chosen one.”
