“G’damn…”
He awoke in an unfamiliar location. It was dark and he was wet. He could hear the sound of police sirens in the distance. Dazed and confused, he rolled over into a puddle of water. The ground was as hard as a rock. Most nights he ended up on another couch of a so-called “friend” but this was definitely not that. Thunder rolled in the distance as he felt more water dropping down onto his face.
Were those little pricks pulling another prank on him? How many times did he have to tell them the whole putting someone’s sleeping hand in water doesn’t actually make you piss your pants? Now they’re just throwing water on him? He needed to get up and kick someone's ass.
He struggled to open his eyes and found himself staring up at the dark clouds of the night sky as the rain dropped down onto his face. So it wasn’t some rundown apartment he was in after all.
Passing out in a literal gutter? This was a new low, even for him.
The pain in his head was radiating all the way from his forehead to the back of his head. The throbbing was certainly the familiar pain of the hangover he experienced on most mornings. The taste of the whiskey and cheap beer still lingering in his mouth certainly was enough evidence of that, if waking up in an alley on the sidewalk next to a Chinese restaurant’s dumpster wasn’t enough evidence to begin with.
But that wasn’t the only pain he was experiencing.
His attention turned to the stinging coming from his right hand. Through his own mental fog and the darkness of night, he examined his knuckles… blood? Was it his own? Perhaps he had fallen when he stumbled into the alley and passed out, perhaps skinning his knuckles as he fell to the sidewalk.
He sat up on the ground, scooting back against the sidewalk to lean his back up against the brick wall of the Chinese restaurant. He tilted his head back, rubbing his knuckles in an attempt to ease the pain.
How did he get here? What had happened last night?
There was a flash. First of lightning in the sky but also a memory flashing in his head. He pictured himself… his first driving repeatedly into the face of his boss. Over… and over… and over…
He looked down at his fist again. Was that his blood or… someone else’s?
Panic began to set in. That couldn’t have been what happened. It was just a dream. Because, yeah, there’s no denying he had thought about what it would be like to bash his boss’s face into a bloody pulp. But he would never ACTUALLY do that. He NEEDED that job.
Hoping that perhaps it was just that… a memory of a drunken dream… he got back up to his feet with the assistance of the wall. He needed to get somewhere warm and dry and sleep off that damn hangover. Taking in his surroundings, he finally realized what street he was on. He was only a couple blocks from Jessica’s apartment.
Wait… no, fuck, he remembered. That’s what started this whole mess. More was coming back to him. He couldn’t go to her apartment. She had kicked him out. So what now? He had used up all the possible favors from Dusty… Skeeter… Shawn… Billy Joe…
He stumbled down the sidewalk, slowly making his way toward the main road. How he had fallen so far? How had he gone from living what he thought was his dream… to this nightmare?
Well, he thought, at least it can’t get any worse than this.
But as the police sirens grew closer, he realized he was wrong. Terribly wrong. The police car stopped right in front of the alley as he reached the road. He was confused but stopped in his tracks as the police officer whipped open his door and rushed over, grabbing his wrist.
“Easy, man! What the fuck is goin’ on?”
“Are you Bryan Baxter?”
“Who’s askin’?”
“I am. Answer the question.”
“Yeah, that’s me - what’s the big idea?”
The officer grabbed the handcuffs off his belt, slapping them across Bryan’s right wrist first, causing him to wince in pain as he yanked his arm back and then cuffed the left arm.
“You’re under the arrest for your assault on Mr. Justin Sanderson. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to speak to an attorney, and to have an attorney present during any questioning…”
~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *
Big Bryan Baxter
in
Not a Dreamer
~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *
“Jesus Christ, Baxter,” a frustrated Mr. Scorpane lashed out to Bryan Baxter as they entered Scorpane’s luxury suite inside the Sukru Saracoglu Stadium in Istanbul during the events of Fallout 025. “What the Hell was that? I thought we both said that this rematch wasn’t gonna happen?” Scorpane walked over to the refrigerated cooler and grabbed a bottle of vodka out and proceeded to pour it over a glass of ice.
“Do you really gotta that in front of me?” the recovered alcoholic Bryan responded with a grimace as he watched his agent take a sip of the vodka.
“Just because you’ve become a stick in the mud doesn’t mean I can’t enjoy myself. Besides, after that shit you just pulled, I need a few of these.”
Baxter took a seat on the couch, throwing a towel over his head so he didn’t have to watch Scorpane partaking without him. “Look, it’s no big deal.”
“NO BIG DEAL?” Mr. Scorpane said as he slammed the bottle of vodka down on the nearby table. “After all this work we’ve put in to getting you to this point… it’s a pretty big fuckin’ deal! Don’t give me that shit!”
“We? Who’s this we you speak of?”
“Don’t sass me, boy,” he said as he picked the glass back up. “You know I’m just as responsible for gettin’ you to this point as you are. And we’re THIS close to walkin’ out of this tournament with an FWA title shot… and you’re tryin’ to flush it all down the drain like one of your massive shits.”
Baxter shook his head through the towel, still not wanting to look up at his agent. “I don’t think I ever asked for your help?”
Scorpane nearly choked on his next sip of vodka and spit it out. “Ahhh- HA! Now that’s a REAL rich comment, right there! Pretty sure you askin’ me for help is how this entire relationship started in the first place!”
“Really? That’s a bit of a cheap shot, dude.”
Mr. Scorpane chuckled as he polished off the rest of the glass and placed it back on the table. “It’s a fair comment and you know it. And besides, I haven’t seen you complain. Don’t act like you haven’t enjoyed this success.”
Baxter reached up and removed the towel, tossing it down on the couch. He hated that he was absolutely right. Of course, he has enjoyed it. Racking up win after win over the past several months. It was like nothing he had ever experienced before.
He wanted more.
Winning was becoming an addiction.
Something he’d do anything to get more of.
As usual, Scorpane had a point. And he knew that Baxter’s silence told the entire story. He grinned as he pulled out a cigar and lit it up. “That’s what I thought! But now look at what you’ve gone and done… you’ve agreed to this stupid little rematch with Rosie when your focus should be on closing out the Climaxxx! And all for what? Because you wanna impress Jeremy Best?”
“I owe Jeremy everything. He owes me nothing. I wanted to make things right, okay?”
Irritation once again setting in on Scorpane’s face, he walked over, knelt down in front of the seated Baxter, and puffed on his cigar. “No… you OWE ME everything!”
Baxter coughed on the smoke as he clenched his fist at first but would show restraint to not knock Scorpane right in his puffy face and shove that cigar into his eye socket. Scorpane noticed the tightened fist as it slowly relaxed back into a palm. He stood up and grinned again. “Just what I thought… again.”
“My boy, you’re a lucky man. You’re on your way to the top of the FWA. You have the North American championship. You’re about to win the F1. You have the best goddamn agent in professional wrestling. What more could you need!? This is the dream, isn’t it?”
Was it?
Bryan and dreams have not had the best relationship over the years...
~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *
“So, Bryan…”
Bryan was taken off guard. It was the voice of Jeremy Best. Was he actually talking to him?
Most of the regular talents in Elite Wrestling Federation wouldn’t be caught dead talking to the “enhancement talent” like Big Byran Baxter. Baxter was used to it and didn’t mind because at least he was getting a paycheck out of it. Meanwhile, Jeremy Best was a relative newcomer to EWF but his personality, charm, and friendly disposition had quickly earned himself a fan favorite. Here Bryan was just unlacing his boots after another jobbing effort, ready to grab his money and hit up a nearby bar and hopefully find some local girl to impress by being a “professional wrestler.”
“Bryan?” Jeremy repeated himself as he walked over. “I’m sorry, I hope I didn’t misremember your name. It’s Bryan, right?”
Bryan realized that he was in fact talking to him. “Oh… uh, yeah… no, that’s me.”
“Oh, well hi there!”
Jeremy took a seat next to Bryan on the bench. “Did you… uh… need something?” Bryan said with confusion.
“Nope, just thought I’d come over and chat! I saw your match tonight… you sure have some hard punches!”
“Heh, thanks, man. I’ve… uhh, been workin’ on them, I guess?”
Jeremy chuckled, “no, I mean it! I think you have a lot of potential.”
Bryan shrugged his shoulders. He wasn’t used to people taking interest in him or his wrestling. “Eh…”
“Oh come on! Surely you have dreams, right? Of makin’ it to the big time… like… maybe even the FWA one day?”
Baxter removed his left boot, reached up, and wiped his nose with his arm before he shrugged his shoulders. Jeremy’s seemed completely overwhelmed at the thought that Baxter seemed devoid of any type of aspirations within wrestling. “Really? Nothing?”
“Look, Jeremy, you seem like a nice guy… and the people here locally seem to love ya, no doubt. But what are the odds of any of us really makin’ it big?”
Despite the big downer energy from Baxter, Jeremy remained positive and chipper. “Aw, I dunno, Bryan. Crazier things have happened. I mean, look at me! I don’t look like what most people think a professional wrestler should look like, right? No one would’ve thought I’d probably even be right here! But here I am! Why stop here?”
“So what’s your dream? You really think one day you’ll be wrestling with the ‘big boys?’”
“One day I plan on wrestlin’ right alongside my hero, Krash!”
“Yeah, okay,” Bryan scoffed.
“Hey, I always say you can’t do it if you don’t dream it.”
Baxter couldn’t help but laugh. Jeremy put his hands on his shoulders, playfully. “What’s so funny? I mean it!”
“Well,” Baxter started, “that’s exactly the opposite of something my old man always said to me. Don’t be a dreamer. Be a doer.”
“Aw, that’s… kinda sad,” Jeremy said, his smile fading. “Everyone should have dreams.”
“Nah… it’s fine. It keeps me grounded. Helps prevent disappointment. I know what my capabilities are and I just stick to my lane and do what I need to do.”
“Where’s the fun in that?!”
“Who said anything about fun? This is work.”
“Wooooaaahhhhhh, now just hold on one minute now mister!” Jeremy’s jaw had nearly hit the floor. “Wrestling is many things… but it ain’t work! C’mon now! Are you tellin’ me you don’t enjoy any bit of this?”
Bryan wanted to say that he did. Growing up, he loved wrestling. As a kid, he wanted to be a wrestler. His dad pushed him towards other sports like baseball and football. But Bryan’s heart was never in it no matter how hard his dad tried. In high school, Bryan started attending local indy shows and really thought that he could get into it.
Once upon a time, Bryan did have a dream.
But that dream was just that.
His father would have nothing of it. He refused to pay to get Bryan into any of the local wrestling schools and eventually Bryan would just give up the dream. Instead he would be spending his days working odd jobs for his dad’s construction firm. He only landed these jobber roles because they put out some ads for former high school athletes who wanted to make some money and he figured, why not?
“I mean, sure, I like wrestling and all…”
“See! You’re just comin’ at it from the wrong perspective! You want it to be a job…”
“I mean that IS what I’m doin’, ain’t it?”
“But it could be SO much more! Dream a little!”
“I dunno… I don’t handle rejection real well. And this is comin’ from a guy who has been rejected A LOT.”
“Don’t you worry, I’ll be right by your side! Hey! There’s an idea!” Jeremy perked up, standing up from the bench.
“Are you okay?”
“I’m great! Because I was just thinkin’ the other day how much fun it’d be to do some tag team work. I’m always lookin’ for a new friend, y’know! How about I go to the big guy and pitch us teamin’ up?”
“Uhhh.. I really don’t think he’ll go for that…”
“Oh no, this is perfect! The guy you wrestled tonight has a partner… we can pitch working with them some more. The fans hate them too so it’d be the perfect underdog story!”
Baxter stood up, trying to calm Jeremy down. Perhaps bring him back to Earth. “Listen, man, I get it. Your gimmick is that you’re a nice guy…”
“My what now?”
“But you don’t need to do all this just to be nice to me. I don’t deserve it.”
“Nonsense! We are doing it! Today is the day, Mr. Baxter. Today is the day we get you dreamin’ again!”
~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *
Jeremy had always been the dreamer of their team. Bryan was just along for the ride. But to his credit, it was infectious, and just like now, teaming with Jeremy and finding success in EWF triggered that addictive part of his personality. He wanted more and more… until he eventually turned on his own partner to get even more.
But without his dreamer, Bryan’s life would become a nightmare.
“And that my friend,” Mr. Scorpane continued as he poured another glass of vodka over his cup of ice, “is why you need to stop worrying about Eliza and start worrying about… who are you facing next?”
Baxter snapped out of his own thoughts for a moment. “First of all, I ain’t worried about Lizzie. I beat her the first time and I’m gonna fuckin’ destroy her the second time. And there won’t be any denying who should’ve won. Second of all… good question.” Bryan realized the match was probably ongoing as the winner between Tommy Bedlam and MvH was going to determine just that. Turning on the television in the suite, they tuned in just in time to see Michelle picking up the victory.
“Who’s the broad?”
“Do you really follow any of this? You should probably know more about the company your clients work for if you want to be the best agent in professional wrestling.” Scorpane simply shrugged his shoulders. “Well, it’s MvH - Michelle von Horrowitz. Former world champ.”
Mr. Scorpane sipped on the vodka and then held up his hands as if imitating being scared. “Ooooh, big scary former world champ. Big whoop. So was that VAG guy and Virus. Nothing to be scared of.”
“Never said I was scared. ‘Cause I’m not.”
“Good. Because we’ve come too far to lose now. Look at her… you should crush her like a bug!”
“Well, I’m not gonna sit her and underestimate her either.”
“Pfft… and wait, she’s The Dreamer. What kind of stupid name is that? The Dreamer. Hahaha!” Scorpane polished off his glass again and leaned over the bar, laughing while Baxter began to tune him out.
Dreamer.
Baxter went back into his own world of thought. As he had been thinking earlier, Jeremy Best was always the Dreamer of their team. Granted a different type of “Dreamer” than MvH, of course. For Jeremy, it was his head in the clouds personality. But with Jeremy by his side, Bryan got to experience a dream he once had himself. He got to be half of the EWF tag team champion. Eventually he'd get that EWF Championship as well.
It was a dream forgotten… but when he became addicted to that success… Jeremy was suddenly gone.
And his dream was broken.
~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *
Bryan Baxter opened up the door to his girlfriend’s apartment. “Hunny, I’m home,” Baxter made his grand entrance but was not greeted by the excitement he expected. His girlfriend, Jessica, sat at the dining room table, her blonde hair a mess as she riffled through the paperwork.
“Past due,” she shuffled through enveloped, “past due. Last notice. Warning. Oh and my personal favorite - EVICTION WARNING.”
Baxter seemed uninterested as he walked past the table and over to the refrigerator. He opened up the door and grabbed a beer out, popped the top, and started to drink. “So we’re a little behind.”
“A LITTLE? Bryan, if I don’t come up with this money, I don’t have a place to live. And where the Hell have you been? You are barely here at night anymore and I know you have missed work because I keep gettin’ calls from Justin askin’ where the fuck you are.”
Baxter sipped on the beer, “uhh.. what day is it, Wednesday?”
“No Bryan, it’s Monday.”
Bryan laughed as he took another swig, “oh man… guess this week got a little away from me. Listen, don’t worry… I’ve been workin’ on these fools down at the bar… I’m slow play husslin’ them at pool. I’ve lost five games in a row… and tonight it’s sixtuple… sixduble… what’s the word for times six…?”
“....Sextuple?”
Bryan began to giggle immaturely, “yes, please!”
“Jesus Chris Bryan, grow the fuck up! You’re in your 30s and you act like a fuckin’ high schooler! You want to get us money - GO TO WORK!”
“Justin pays me in peanuts. We’re never gonna get by like that. But husslin’ fools at pool… now we’re talkin’.”
Jessica began to pull at her hair in frustration before standing up. “I don’t get it, Bryan. I just don’t get it! I thought maybe one day you’d grow up and want to actually... I don’t know… be an adult? Get a job. Make money. Maybe have some aspirations? Have a dream and try to achieve it? And maybe not be drinking every day by 11 AM?”
“Hey! I had a great job once! But then I went and actually tried. I tried living a dream and you know what happened… I crashed and burned, baby. Why bother, you know?”
“Oh, is that how you live your life now?”
“Yep, aim low and never be disappointed.”
“So is that what THIS is,” Jessica said, motioning to herself and her apartment, “this is you aiming low. I’m what you get when you aim low?” Clearly frustrated she storms over toward the door of the apartment.
“No, w-w-w-wait,” Baxter slurred his words, fumbling as he realized that poor lapse in judgment. “That’s not what I meant.”
“Oh, no, you’ve made it perfectly clear what you meant and how you feel,” she stated as she opened up the door. “Now get out.”
“C’mon, Jess! I didn’t mean any of that…” Bryan stood up, walking over to his angered girlfriend and trying to wrap his arms around her, “don’t be so bitchy! How about we… make up,” Baxter said with obvious innuendo but she instead slapped him across the face in response.
“GET OUT!”
“Fine!” Baxter said as he raised his voice as well while walking out the door. “But don’t call me later wanting any part of my sextuple!”
SLAM!
“And those are my beers in the fridge, so… like… uh, don’t drink them!” Bryan said with the door firmly in his face and the sound of the deadbolt locking from the other side.
~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *
Bryan Baxter sat handcuffed in the back of the cop car, a mixture of sweat and water dripping down from his hair and down his neck as the pain in his knuckles was further aggravated by the metal of the cuffs. He couldn’t help but sit in thought while being transported.
“How bad is it?” he spoke up, talking to the police officer driving the squad car. “Justin, I mean. Is it bad?”
“Dude’s gonna need some serious plastic surgery. You did a number on him alright. What’d he do to piss you off anyway?”
“I… am trying to remember…”
The officer laughed, “yeah, okay, sure. Right to remain silent, I gotcha.”
Except Bryan wasn’t just exercising his right. He genuinely didn’t remember. He remembered Jess kicking him out. He remembered the anger and frustration. Mostly at himself. He remembered immediately going down to the bar. Only made sense to go drink away some of that frustration.
He remembered that he never got to play the game of pool. He ended up getting cut off by the bartender. Apparently, they’ve now put in some kind of limit on the number of drinks you can have before 5 PM in a day. They even named the rule after him. Which, he actually thought was pretty cool. He had never had anything named after him.
But what happened next?
That’s right… Kevin’s. Kevin was a mutual friend he made through Jess but he had been kind enough to let him sleep it off on his couch. But Bryan assumed after the mess he left on the couch… he probably wasn’t going to be allowed back anymore. That he remembered now.
But that still didn’t explain his bloody knuckles and Justin’s distorted face…
~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *
“Nothing cures a hangover headache like this,” Bryan Baxter lifted up his beer as an IHOP waiter brought over his tall stack of pancakes. He sips on the beer as the waiter places the plate down on the table.
“Um,” the waiter nervously stated, “you shouldn’t be drinking that in here.”
Bryan looked at the waiter and took another sip anyway. “And why the fuck not? Is this not a restaurant?”
“It is, sir… but we don’t serve beer. And it’s 9 AM.”
“Okay, sure but it’s a weekend so who cares?”
“Sir, it’s Tuesday.”
“Wait… what?”
“It’s Tuesday.”
Baxter put the beer bottle down on the table and grabbed his phone. He had 17 missed calls from Justin Sanderson. “Ah, shit! I’m late for work. I gotta go!” Baxter took a few bites of the pancake before rushing away towards the exit of the IHOP.
“SIR! I think you’re forgetting something!” the waiter trying to bring attention to the fact that Baxter was leaving without paying. Bryan stopped in his tracks and turned around, walking back over.
“Oh, how embarrassing,” Baxter chuckled as he stumbled over. “Can’t believe I was about to forget.” Baxter grabbed his beer bottle off the table. “Thanks for the heads up.” Baxter then rushed back toward the exit, now with beer in hand while the waiter frantically tried to chase him down.
The oblivious Baxter escaped his breakfast without having to pay but quickly realized he couldn’t find the keys to his car. Which, was probably a good thing, since he was clearly in no state to be able to actually drive his car safely down a driveway much less to his work site. So Baxter staggered and stumbled his way four blocks down the road.
Outside a construction site, a large black sign with gold writing read out Sanderson & Son Construction. His boss, Justin Sanderson, was the son in Sanderson & Son and as Baxter finally arrived at the site, Justin was clearly not pleased to see Bryan. Even less so when Bryan showed up with a beer bottle in hand.
“Well, well, well - so nice of you to finally fucking show up for work!”
“Heeeeeeyyyyy Justin… sorry man, have you not been gettin’ my messages?”
“No, because you haven’t sent any. And I’m not sure why you even bothered to show up.”
“Nah man, I sent you SO many messages. I’ve had this real bad stomach bug. Vomiting everywhere. Just ask my bud, Kevin. His couch… may never recover.”
Justin looked up at the current state of Bryan Baxter and focused in on the beer in his hand. “Yeah… you sure it didn’t have anything to do with the fact that you smell and look like you’ve been bathing in nothing but beer and whiskey for days.”
“Oh, this? Sorry, forgot about that. Here we go,” Baxter lifted up the beer in his hand and took another drink, finishing it off and tossing it to the ground. “All done. Soooooo... let’s get to work. How’s the uhhh… what are we building these days? An apartment? Hotel?”
Justin’s face began to turn a deep shade of red as his anger intensified. “Jesus Chris, Bryan. You are a useless piece of shit, you know that? Since your dad and my dad are friends, I thought maybe you’d be worth having on my team… but Jesus, you are nothing but a… FAT PIECE OF SHIT. You’re fired!”
Baxter’s attempt of being friendly quickly faded. “What… did you just say?”
“I said - you’re fired!”
“No…” Baxter’s fists clenched, “the other thing. What did you say?”
“Oh? That you’re a fat piece of shit? Apparently not only are you a fat fuck but you’re a dumb fuck too! Now take your fat ass and get the fuck off my worksite.”
In that moment, it became a perfect storm of all Bryan had been through in the past 24 hours. His girlfriend breaking up with him. Not having a place to stay. The endless amount of alcohol he had been consuming. And now he’s been fired. But this guy wants to sit here and resort to making fat jokes?
Not today.
He made the wrong choice.
~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *
Bryan leaned against the walls of his jail cell. The brain fog had finally started to clear as the events of the last 48 hours had come back to him. He now remembered the feeling of standing over top of his boss and ramming his fist over and over again into his face. The blood splattered on his fist and the ground.
And now that the alcohol had started to fade, he did not feel remorse for his actions. The bastard had it coming to him.
But reflecting on where he was now… this was the bottom of the barrel.
And perhaps the worst part. The most embarrassing part. With no one else to call with his one phone call given to him by the police, Bryan had no choice but to ask for his dad.
“Baxter. You have a visitor.”
Bryan was actually somewhat surprised that his father, Charles Baxter, walked into the room. While tall and portly like his son, Mr. Baxter's appearance is much more polished. His own beard much more well trimmed and his gray hair combed back. The disappointment was clear on Papa Baxter’s face as he walked towards the jail cell wearing a finely pressed buttoned-up dress shirt with black slacks. Everything about him just looked the exact opposite of his unkempt son. Bryan sat up and walked over to the edge of the cell, leaning into the bars.
“I figured this would happen eventually,” Charles stated matter-of-factly. “I’m actually surprised it took this long.”
“Yeah… well… thanks for coming, pops.”
“Honestly, I think this is probably for the best.”
“Wait,” Baxter said as he began to worry about what his dad was about to say, “what do you mean?”
“Bryan… it’s been a long time coming that you turned your life around. Maybe you need a wake-up call.”
“I’m awake! Never been more awake!” Baxter said with panic setting in. “C’mon… don’t…”
Charles continued to keep his distance from the cell, adjusting his shirt. “I thought kicking you out of the house was tough love… but this… this I think is what we have to do, Bryan. I’m not going to bail you out right now.”
“Tough love? TOUGH LOVE,” Bryan said with outrage. “You’ve been given’ me TOUGH LOVE for 30 years!”
“Well, apparently it hasn’t been enough! But maybe some time in here will give you time to think about your life. Think about what you really want to do with yourself. I think you could do some things if you set your mind to it.”
“I thought you thought dreams were stupid. So why should I start having them now?’
“What?” his father said, lifting up his eyebrows with confusion. “I’ve always wanted the best for you, Bryan. You could’ve been a star in football or baseball… and if it wasn’t that, you could've applied yourself at school and done whatever you wanted. Started a business.”
“So be like you?”
“No, I never wanted you to be like me. I wanted you to be successful.”
“Just not in wrestling, am I right?”
“Wrestling was a waste of time. A waste of your potential.”
“But I could’ve been successful there. I was successful there.”
“And now look at you.”
“See… this is what I’m talkin’ about. You want to know why I’ve lived my life the way I have. It’s because of you. It’s because you taught me to not care about my dreams.”
Charles shook his head, “I think you’ve misunderstood me, son.”
“It's what you always told me! Don’t be a dreamer, be a doer.”
Charles chuckled, “that wasn’t me telling you to live a life of mediocrity. Or… whatever this is. It wasn’t me not wanting the best for you. I meant you can’t get to what you want by JUST dreaming. You actually have to work for it. You have to DO it. Baxter Companies didn’t become one of the top contracting firms in North Carolina because I had a dream. I went out there and I bust my ass. I started from the bottom and worked my way up. I learned everything about the business and then when I was ready, I started my own company and I hired people who busted their asses just like that. And people took notice. THAT is what I want from you. THAT is what you need to think about in here.”
Bryan staggered back away from the bars. He leaned against the wall and slumped down to the floor as a wave of emotions flowed through his body. How had he been so wrong all this time?
“Look, son. I know we haven’t had the best relationship… and some of that is on me. And for that, I am truly sorry. Seeing you in here right now… it doesn’t bring me pleasure. It doesn’t bring me joy. I’m deeply saddened by it. But you’re still young. Hell, I didn’t start BC until I was 40… there’s still time. Cut all the bullshit out of your life… figure out what you want to do in life… AND FUCKING… DO IT.”
Bryan continued to sit down against the wall of the jail. He buried his face into his hands without responding to his dad. Charles finally walked closer to the bars of the jail and grabbed on, leaning in. He smiled, knowing that he at least had his son thinking.
“Spend a few days and I’ll be back, okay? I do love you, son.”
He released his grips on the bars, giving one last look at his son before turning and walking away, leaving Bryan to reflect on his words.
~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *
One day.
Two days.
Three days.
Bryan sat in the cell waiting for his dad to come back.
But there was still no sign of the senior Baxter.
He was angry.
And not just because he was still in the jail cell. He was angry at his father for not bailing him out. He was angry at himself for wasting so much of his life to this point. He was angry that he could’ve been doing more.
But most of all, he was angry at his father for being right.
“Baxter!” the guard called out, “good news! Your bail has been posted!”
Baxter’s eyes perked up as he got up with eagerness. “Finally, I was starting to think you weren’t going to come back.”
Heavy footsteps entered the room as a dominating presence entered the room. But it was not his father. Those heavy, booted footsteps and leisure suit belonged to the man we now know as Mr. Bill Scorpane.
“I could never leave a talent like you just rottin’ away in jail. What kind of human being would do that?”
Baxter cocked an eyebrow as he approached the bars. “Wait, who the fuck are you?”
“That’s no way to greet your savior!”
“What are you talking about?”
“I’m here to get you out.”
“Oooooh,” Bryan said as he started to think he understood, “you must work for my dad and he sent you. Cool. Yeah, get me outta here.”
“No, your dad has no idea who I am and it's probably best it stays that way.”
“Then I’m completely lost.”
Scorpane nodded, “yes, yes you are. But that’s why I’m here.”
“So… who are you and why are you helping me?”
“We have a mutual friend. I assume you remember Jeremy Best.”
“Of course I do, but… I haven’t spoken to him in years. He wouldn’t possibly know about this…”
“Nope, he has no idea I’m here. And... let's also keep it that way. But I am his agent and I like to keep close tabs on anyone associated with my clients. So I know ALL about you and when your name popped up in some arrest reports... well, I figured we could mutually assist one another.”
“What do you mean?”
“Is this what you want your life to be like?”
“Uhm, of course not.”
“Then, Bryan Baxter… what do you want? What do you want to do?”
Baxter shook his head, “why the fuck do people keep askin’ me that lately?”
“Because, my dear boy, it’s a very important question. You’re at a bit of a crossroads, are you not? You’ve got a chance here to turn your life around. You have a chance to… go after… your dreams.”
“I want to think so… but I still have to deal with that whole assault…”
“Actually,” the guard chimed in as he walked over and unlocked the jail cell, “the guy isn’t pressing charges. You’re good to go.” The cop nodded at both men before heading off, leaving Scorpane and Baxter to themselves.
“What,” Baxter said with surprise. “That makes no sense… not after what I did.”
Mr. Scorpane adjusted the suspenders of his suit and smiled, “you’re welcome.”
“...What did you do?”
“Lesson number one… when you have enough money, you can literally just make problems disappear. So I just made yours disappear.”
“I just don’t understand. You’re helping me but look at me… what good am I to you. I’m useless.”
“Ehh…” Scorpane looked Bryan up and down, “yeah… you’re not wrong. At least like this, you are. But… once upon a time… you were pretty into that wrestling stuff, right?”
“You could say that, sure.”
“Well, thanks to Jeremy, I’ve started dabbling in that business. And I’ve got big plans. And… well, you could play a part in those plans. IF you clean this shit up.
Scorpane handed over his business card to Bryan who slowly reached out and accepted it. He glanced it over, “give it some thought… but you come down with me to Georgia and we’ll get your life on track… and I can make your dreams come true.”
~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *
Back in the luxury suite at Fallout, Baxter looked up to his agent as he was puffing on his cigar and watching Devin Golden and Alyster Black battling it on the television screen. Scorpane was right, he did owe a lot to him.
If it wasn’t for him, he might be still back in North Carolina working a low-level job trying to climb that corporate ladder like his dad. Or he’d be back in jail or worse.
Instead, he was about to wrestle his biggest match in his career. Another one. Seemed like each week was another “biggest match” in his career. Chris Peacock. Cyrus Truth. Now Michelle von Horrowitz. And yet he kept walking away with wins.
Bryan now knew exactly what he wanted in life. But it wasn’t a dream. It was what he was doing to do.
He is going to keep winning.
Not only will he keep his North American championship but he will get to the FWA Championship. He will win the Climaxxx.
And just two people were standing in his way now.
But first up…
Michelle von Horrowitz.
The Dreamer.
But Bryan Baxter...
He’s not a Dreamer.
He’s Doer.
You know maybe Cold Blooded needs to be changed as well. I was thinking since we have you by the balls.
