Post by Night Rider on May 14, 2016 5:47:22 GMT
He could feel the sweat rolling off his body. The sun beat down upon him as he lay on the bench. The weights feel good in his hands and his grip is sure. He lifts the weights from the cradle and held them high above his chest. He brought them down swiftly, stopping just a hair above his body. Then he slowly raises his arms to their full length before coming crashing back down again. He repeated this process until he reached his limit. He placed the weights back upon the cradle and slid out from under them. Slowly he sat up and grabbed his bottle of vitamin water beside the bench. After taking a drink he sprayed some of it on his face. It was nice and cool, refreshing him.
He sat the bottle back down and took a look around. the place wasn't bad but it was his. He was out in back of the main house on the half of the patio that held his private gym. There was an outdoor table and four chairs with an umbrella over them on the other half. There was a fully stocked bar just on the other side of the table. A privacy fence surrounded the entire yard. The grass itself was a luscious green with no weeds in sight. The house itself was a two story colonial white with black trim and shutters. Three Lilac bushes were on each side of the front door with a large porch where a swing swung gently in the breeze.
He thought about his upcoming match and the excitement started burning deep inside him once again. He couldn't wait to get back into the ring. He didn't know much about Avery Miles III and Johnny Gillmen except they were a couple of high flying risk takers who think they are invincible. Especially Miles, the guy is nothing but a high flyer. Take away the guys legs and see what he does. Guys like that come and go. Most of them end their careers by taking one too many risks. that's just how it is. Gillmen, here's a guy who still thinks the Iron Claw is relevant. This isn't the seventies and he's not Baron Von Raschke. At least Miles uses something a little more recent than that with the Figure Four Leg Lock. You remember? The one Ric Flair made famous? My point exactly.
Both of those guys need to get beaten back into the present. They need to realize this is the new age of wrestling and that shit just doesn't work anymore. Now the bigger, stronger and more agile wrestlers like myself are kicking some ass and leaving a trail of bodies in our wake. I can jump from a standing position and kick you right between the eyes before you even realize you have been hit. My standing drop kicks are some of the most deadly around.
On top of that I have a clothesline that will hit you so hard you will swear your head is being ripped from your body. I'll hit you so hard the last thing that will cross your mind will be your asshole! He stood up and walked over to one of the chairs. after sitting down he grabbed his stash box and pulled it towards him.
Night Rider: Nothing like a good buzz to take your mind off of the aches and pains.
He opened the box and took out his weed. After unwrapping the baggie he brought it to his nose and partook of it's sweet aroma. It was the best around. One hitter quitter shit. The type that gets most people stuck. He sat the baggie down and grabbed the remote. 'Rock you like a hurricane' by the Scorpions came on as Night Rider cranked it up. He filled up his pipe and took a nice long hit. He held it in as long as he could before his lungs gave up and evicted their contents.
When he finally stopped coughing he sat the pipe back down.
Night Rider: Damn that is some good ass shit. I hope they don't test for this shit. If they do, I'm screwed. Oh well. I am who I am and of they don't like it then fuck them. I'm not changing for anybody.
He picked up the pipe and took another hit. This time he held it in just a little longer before releasing it in a cloud of smoke. He could feel the effects of the thc entering his system. He could feel himself relaxing. Ahhhhh........ now isn't that nice.
You know what?
What the fuck am I doing?
Why am I waisting away such a beautiful day thinking about those clowns. Their just not worth it. I have better things to do with my time. This is 'Sin City' isn't it? I think it's time to have some fun for a change. He wondered if Sandi was still living in Henderson? He would have to stop by and check later on. It's been a long time since he was in Vegas. It was time to get reacquainted. He turned off the stereo and headed inside through the sliding glass doors.
After locking the doors he showered quickly before putting on his leathers and grabbing his keys off the stand. He set the alarm before closing the door and heading for the car port. He climbed onto his 2016 Harley Davidson Night Rod Special. He traded his in every year and got a new one. The bike was completely black except for a red A in flames on the gas tank. This one was his favorite one yet. This mother fucker screamed down the highway like a rocket. He never worried about getting a ticket because the cops could never catch him.
The beast came to life as he fired it up and took off screaming down the highway. It didn't take long before he was heading down towards Las Vegas Boulevard. It wasn't quite as crowded as it would be once the sun went down and the temperature dropped. Blame the tourists for that. You know them, the ones who stop in the middle of traffic just to ask for directions. If there's a one way street you'll always see them going the wrong way. They were always good for a laugh or two. You watch them flock to the one arm bandits just hoping to hit the jackpot.
Some people just don't get it. Kind of like Miles and Gillmen. Gillmen? Kind of sounds like a deformed fish or something, doesn't it? It must have sucked growing up with a name like that. No wonder he turned to wrestling. It was either that or the carnival right? He reached Fremont street in no time and pulled into the parking deck for the Plaza. He parked his bike in his usual spot and flipped his kill switch on his key chain, rendering the bike inoperable until he pressed it again.
He headed straight for the bar. There shouldn't be too many people yet. It was still early and the tourists couldn't take the heat. Hell it wasn't bad here. At least they didn't have those insufferable winters where you could freeze to death in moments. He would take the heat any day. The only white Christmas he wanted went straight up his nose. He liked his winters just like they were. When he felt like dealing with some snow he went to his cabin in the rockies and did some skiing. When he was sick of it he came back here and laughed at the fools freezing their asses off.
He found a table in the back where it was a little darker and sat down in the soft chair. A waitress began walking in his direction. The closer she got the worst she looked. She had been ridden hard and put out to pasture a long time ago. The skin on her face sagged, her two chins hanging like a pair of testicles. Her breasts looked like they hung down to her knees. She opened her mouth to speak and one of the few teeth she had left came falling to the ground.
Night Rider stood up and headed straight for the bar. The bartender was there in an instant placing a napkin in front of him.
Bartender: What can I get for you bud?
Night Rider: I'll take a Jack and Coke in a large glass. The stuff off the top shelf not the watered down shit. here's a hundred, leave the bottle and make sure that waitress comes no where near me and you can keep the change.
Bartender: Yes sir, I'll be right back.
In no time there was a full glass and a bottle in front of him. Night Rider grabbed it and walked back to his table while the bartender motioned the waitress over to the bar. He said something to her to cause her to look his way before stomping off. Her sagging ass bouncing with every step. Night Rider just laughed as he sat down and took a sip of his drink. He held it in his mouth and savored the taste before allowing it to slide gently down his throat.
Night Rider: Damn that shit hits the spot.
He took a bigger drink before placing his glass on the table. Someone fed the jukebox as the opening chords to 'Born in the USA' by Bruce Springsteen began playing. Good tunes, good booze, and some relaxation. What more could a person ask for? He wondered what his opponents were doing right now. Were they preparing for the beating they were going to take? Here he comes from out of nowhere to shock the world.
He wondered how they would take it. They were expecting a regular match and they would go through their regular routine. They would talk the same old shit and think it will be good enough to scare me just a little bit. Just enough to make me pause or hesitate at the wrong moment and BOOM! Sorry, that's not going to happen. Night Rider didn't give a shit who he went up against. He approached each match with one task in mind. the opponent is the enemy and must be eliminated at all costs. There was no gray area. Failure was not an option for him.
He looked forward to seeing the fans' tears begin to fall as their favorites took a pounding. He longed for their boos and the foul things they would say to him. It was all just music to his ears and cash in his pocket. He could give a fuck what they thought or felt about him. It was all about that almighty dollar. You don't get the big bucks floundering around the bottom of the cards. Hmmm........... floundering? Is there a fish in the area? Oh yeah, Gillmen. What a joke he is, he just doesn't stand a chance. He can't handle this.
His attention was diverted when he heard a noise to his right. He turned to see a skinny guy with a camera in his hands making his way towards him. Night Rider laughed as he almost tripped on his own foot.
Kenny Stevens: Night Rider, I'm Kenny Stevens with the VWS. I tried calling you but your phone went straight to voice mail. I hate to bother you but I would really like to be the first to interview you here.
Night Rider: How in the hell did you find me?
Kenny Stevens: I traced the chip in your cell phone.
Night Rider: I'll tell you what. Since you actually showed some guts I'll let you get away with it once, just once! Go ahead, if I don't like what you ask I will politely kick your scrawny ass all the way out of town. Got it?
Kenny Stevens: I just wanted to get your thoughts on the upcoming match and how you feel about signing with the VWS?
Night Rider: Fair enough. I am very much looking forward to stepping into that squared circle and taking care of business. I have the strength, the stamina, the agility, and the guts to make it to the top. No one is going to stand in my way. I don't care who it is. There are some tough competitors here and I can't wait to show them they aren't as tough as they think they are.
Kenny Stevens: What about your match?
Night Rider: I was getting to that. Don't rush me, I'm warning you.
Kenny Stevens: Yes sir!
Night Rider: Let's see, we have Avery Miles the third. I wonder if the first two sucked as bad as he does? This guy just has no ideal. He doesn't get the concept yet. He doesn't understand that it's his opponents shoulders that are supposed to get pinned to the mat. Referees are refusing to do his matches because he wears their arms out. Getting his ass kicked will be nothing new to him. Then we have the fish. Johnny Gillmen. What the hell were his parents thinking?
Kenny Stevens: There's no reason to bring his parents into this.
Night Rider: Why not? They had him. They brought that sorry excuse for a wrestler into this world. He's a tricky one and he's a sneaky one. I don't give a shit. You can't pull a rabbit out of a hat with a broken arm. I enjoy inflicting pain on people and I can't wait to make him beg for mercy!
Kenny Stevens: It sounds like you really don't like him?
Night Rider: I don't know, there's just something about him that makes you want to punch him in the face. I want to wipe that stupid look right off his face. I used to take guys like him out into the desert here, beat the shit out of them, and leave their remains for the scavengers. I've done shit that would make your skin crawl. Fish is going to find out the hard way.
Kenny Stevens: How do you feel about teaming with Amok? Will the two of you be able to function as a team?
Night Rider: As long as Amok stays out of my way we will be just fine. He gets in my way and then he can get some too. I really don't give a shit. I'm not here to win friends I'm here to win matches any way possible. If Amok is true to his name we should get along just fine. Maybe we'll even head out here for a drink afterwards. Now if you will excuse me I have some drinking to do.
Kenny Stevens: Just one more question please? Where do you see yourself heading in the VWS?
Night Rider: Have you even been listening to what I said? I thought I made myself clear. I am heading straight for the top. I don't care if it's as a single or tag team. I am going to get some gold around my waist by hook or by crook. I don't care who I have to go through to do it. Line them up and watch them fall like toy soldiers. Now you have until the count of ten to get that camera out of my face before I give you a little taste of what I can do.
Kenny Stevens quickly turned off his camera and was heading out the door. Night Rider sat down and picked up his glass. He downed what was in it and filled it back up. Interviewers, They were all alike, each one out to interview the next superstar. Just trying to be the lucky one to hit the jackpot. What a bunch of pussies. The guy was lucky he was in a good mood today.
The bar began to fill as the tourists came out of their shells and hit the streets. He could always tell the ones who had already lost just about everything and tried to drown their pathetic uselessness. Someone needed to end their suffering. He downed his drink and filled the glass again as a group of guys walked in and sat down not far from him. His stomach turned as he heard them hitting on the waitress. Night Rider sat back and amused himself with what was going on while he waited.
They never learned. There was no getting away from it. Before the night was over one of them was going to start some shit and get his ass whipped. He smiled in anticipating the fun he was going to have. A nice little warm up before his match. Something to get the juices flowing and vent some of his hatred. A new beginning, and new prey to devour.
