Emperor's Cup 2020: Emperor's Cup/World Championship Tourney
Jul 17, 2020 22:23:22 GMT -5
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Post by John Cavanagh on Jul 17, 2020 22:23:22 GMT -5
A sobbing Tiffany Pendergast is seen crying over the closed casket of her husband Adam Pendergast while Shannon Riley does her best to console her. No one enjoys the wake of a loved one but its even more saddening when the casket needs to be shut. A life of reckless abandonment and living outside of society’s norms had caught up to Adam and now it was up to his poor wife to pick up the pieces and carry on with their three children. The two young boys and the baby girl are seen in the distant background with their four grandparents. Family members, friends, representatives from the Laborer’s Union that Adam was a “member” of and of course the boys. John Cavanagh stood in the center of his partners in this crazy Life. To John’s right is his younger brother Chris always dressed to the nines even though everyone is all wearing black his black suit, shirt, cufflinks, shoes, tie all seem to have a bit more pizazz then the rest of the company. Chris looked much like John, three years younger, but Chris was never as big as John—they didn’t have the same build, John had broader shoulders and while Chris wasn’t petite he was always noticeably smaller than his older brother. Their bearded enforcer Petey Sheridan stood next to Chris, his glasses glimmering in the fluorescent light of the room. On John’s left stood two of his other closest confidants Shane “Fitz” Fitzpatrick who’s tattooed body was covered all except for the words “HATE” and “PAIN” tattooed on his knuckles with a skull on the hand that reads “HATE” and a smoking revolver on the hand that read “PAIN” looks as if he had been crying, he and Adam were both a year younger than John in school and had been best friends since the second-grade, next to him stood the oddity of the group a bald-headed short and stocky Puerto Rican from the neighborhood named Raul “Spanish” Colon.
Fucking shame, huh Chris?
Yeah can’t believe this shit. Feel like we were just at his wedding yesterday.
John nods in agreement before turning his attention to his friend Shane Fitzpatrick.
Shane…you alright?
Shane looks as if he is fighting back the Niagara Falls of breakdowns, Shane gulps before replying to John’s question.
Nah, I ain’t fucking alright. Somebodies gotta pay for this shit.
Raul Colon’s bear claw of a hand pats down on Shane’s back.
All in due time my friend, all in due time.
Shane’s destitute face shows a glimmer of hope with a slight smirk.
That’s why I fucking love this dirty Puerto Rican we’re always on the same page.
I got the guys out on Long Island seeing if they’ve heard anything out that way.
Good idea Petey, can’t have too many ears out there.
John’s eyes catch someone he had been waiting for.
Speaking of ears...
An Italian man with slicked back black hair with silver patches advancing throughout, the man was at least 15 years older than John and his scowl showed the battle hardened demeanor of this man in his fifties. The man walks forward towards the group of predominately Irishmen and extends his hand.
John, I’m so sorry for your loss.
Thank you Carlo. Carlo Anastasio you know my brother Chris, that guy hiding behind the beard is Petey, the emotional guy over here thats Fitz and the Spanish Mr. Clean, or Señor Limpio as I like to call him, that’s Spanish. A few of my other guys are scattered throughout here but I know you don’t give a fuck to meet them all.
That’s for sure. I had my driver drop me off around back, didn’t wan’t my picture taken here if possible.
This fucking guy…that why you’re an hour late?
Part of the reason. Don’t be a prick now Johnnie, you only get one of those a visit out of respect for your father.
Yeah that’s right boys, my father the legend of the Kitchen and Carlo Anastasio used to run the West Side together. Carlo even helped him in my pop’s war for control of the neighborhood in ’91.
Carlo looks annoyed at Chris divulging past secrets that Petey, Fitz and Spanish clearly were unaware of. Carlo’s eyes dart to John.
Obviously only one Cavanagh brother inherited their father’s knowledge of underworld etiquette. Chris, take a lesson. You boys, nice to meet you and I’m sure there has been something for me that you may have taken care of already without knowing so I thank you for that. John, I think we need to continue this conversation in private.
John nods and walks off with Carlo as Fitz looks to Chris with a puzzled look.
Took care of already? Like what?
You guys remember that guy who fell off the scaffolding a few blocks away from the bar?
Mierda! I remember that shit that Dominican puto begged pretty hard.
Oh yeah, that fucking guy! Pissed his pants when he saw us!
Why am I drawing a blank on this?
I think that was one of your skid bits on Riker’s for smacking somebody over something stupid or whatever other dumb shit you’ve done.
Shane nods his head. The scene cuts to Carlo and John tucked away in a corner speaking in hushed whispers.
My guys are out there picking around and asking questions. We’re doing our best but I need you to keep your loose cannons under control until we know for sure who was behind the hit on your guy.
I think it’s pretty fucking obvious that its the Lastraglias. They’ve always gave us problems and tried to convince you guys to share on the neighborhood profits.
Over my dead body the Messinas are never going to be OK with that. Trust me, when I helped your old man sew up this neighborhood I was just a Soldado, nowadays I’m a Capo I’ve got a whole crew spread across this fucking island listening for me and don’t forget every other wise guy in the Messinas knows to keep an ear out right now.
Yeah, what is it damn near 300 made guys and another five, six hundred guys that wanna prick their figures for you? And here I am with maybe two dozen guys in the neighborhood and another dozen guys out on Long Island. Glorified fucking street gang.
Street gang or not, an organization with power and powerful friends.
I’ll keep Fitzy and the others at bay for the time being…but if nothing happens sooner or later, they’re gonna call out the Lastraglias over some ancient bullshit.
Keep buying time, war is bad for business.
John nods his head in agreement as the feed cuts. The feed reopens to John Cavanagh seated inside of Jimmy Kline’s gym in Hell’s Kitchen. Cavanagh is taping up his hands as he prepares for his upcoming training session.
I remember when I was somewhere around 10, a few years before my father went away for his nice long stretch, he was explaining to me that sometimes the best way to deal with your anger and aggression isn’t to go out and hurt someone, it’s better to be positive and go hit a bag or hit the weights. “Save yourself the headache of a stupid charge Johnnie”, he didn’t know that his baby boy would have his own run-ins with the law but it was a lesson that stuck. I’ve got a friend or two who has been to Riker’s on so many little skid bits for smacking someone in a bar or head butting someone on the sidewalk that its almost embarrassing. I always tell him he’s doing life on the installment plan. Now, normally I would be hitting the gym here at Jimmy’s place and busting my ass in preparation for one important match before each Evolution, this time I’m here busting my ass for three different important matches that will all help at Emperor’s Cup. A Quarter Finals victory, a Semi-Finals slaughter and a triumphant Final round. I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again, it doesn’t really matter to me which three of these seven guys I have to defeat…Realm, Carlito, Dank, Arthas, Devin, Lou, Adrian they’ve all got their own strengths and weaknesses just like myself. Let’s face it, I may be the only person that really matters in that pack of eight but I know I’m not perfect because, let’s face it, no one is. I guess since the last time the EWF Universe heard from John Cavanagh some of his “competition” has decided to open their mouths so I guess that means once again, I’m going to have to tell these little boys the way it really is.
Cavanagh gets to the end of his right fist, he grabs the scissor and cuts the training tape. Cavanagh takes the tape and now begins to tape up his left hand with the black training tape.
Let’s start with the man who thinks he’s the biggest and the baddest, the man who thinks he knows better than anyone else. Realm, aren’t we being a little fickle about the verbiage used by other superstars around here? I’m sorry that I said you’re a “clone” of “shooters” I should have crossed my T’s and dotted my I’s and made sure I spoke one hundred percent perfect English for you to understand…”a clone of ONE of the Columbine Shooters”. The fact that you would even sit there and try to pick someone a part just because they didn’t include the phrase “one of”. When I took this job at the EWF I wasn’t aware that we had a principal as the boss and an English teacher trying to be the biggest, scariest mother you know what on the planet. Realm, you can take the words I spoke as literal as you are and continue to look like a pompous ass who “knows it all” OR you can look at the basic facts at its most simple level. See, Realm, those two losers who shot up that school and all of those innocent people, yeah I know their name and what their plan was—I’m pretty sure anyone who grew up during the 90s knows what those two fucks did and planned on doing. Their names don’t deserve to be mentioned, they deserve to be forgotten to history like the sorry sacks of shit they were. “The kids picked on me wehhhh!!!!!!!!” Little pansies that should have been blowjobs so the world never had to deal with their shit. You may not look identically like them, once again we are being oh so literal around these parts, but obviously for such a smart ass you’ve forgotten about the phrase “Trench Coat Mafia”. It’s your choice, you can be compared to the little bastards who don’t deserve to be remembered or you can be the gimp from Pulp Fiction..which do you prefer?
So, while I was sitting at home in the comfort of reality and listening to you continue to ramble and spew nonsense about how you don’t condone senseless violence? Are you bat shit crazy?! You’ve admitted to loving the unrest which has led to more senseless violence than Al Capone and Dion O’Banion during Prohibition era Chicago. You want to say you’re not a fan of killing innocent people…what the fuck do you think the coronavirus is doing? You don’t have to be a human to kill an innocent person you can be a little germ just like that virus that you seem to enjoy watching take hold of people. Shit, you’re lucky I’m not some “phenomenal” conspiracy theorist or I’d be saying that Realm created that shit in some laboratory in China. Now you can sit there in your pre-dug graves for all of your “victims” if that makes you feel better, maybe that shit is part of your training methodology…maybe you keep your body in shape by digging holes, hell I know one or two guys who have dug enough holes that their arms look like cinderblocks.
You want to talk about a loss humbling me? I’ve been humbled before in life kid…you have no fucking clue what I’ve been through. I’ve seen more violent acts committed against other human beings than your simple minded ass could even fathom. Oh yeah, I’m not just talking about violence committed in a wrestling ring. See, Realm, you just think I’m one big ego…the problem is, the ego I have…it’s built itself up over time by accomplishing the goals that my mind has set. It’s continued to grow over time every single time I have some piece of shit like Realm who thinks they know how the entire world works. I’ve known you before Realm, maybe not you exactly since you take everything so literal, but i’ve known plenty of wrestlers like you before. Plenty of people who thought they could talk the talk and walk the walk, plenty of people who thought they could come into my ring and teach me a lesson, plenty of people who thought they would hear the bell ring and see me laying flat on my back in the center of the squared circle! I can’t hate on you or any of those previous pions for employing the power of positive thinking—hell, even I read The Secret while I was in the can…gotta find something other than working out and fighting to pass the time. The problem with employing positive thinking is that sometimes you find out that “positive thinking” alone just ain’t always gonna cut it.
Cavanagh takes the scissors once more and cuts the tape at the end of his left hand. Cavanagh throws a few shadow punches in the air before returning back to the camera.
Yes, you’re right there regarding my record, I have three wins in three matches and so does Lou Natic. I love that you are so great at taking things literal and pointing out the obvious. We have had three shows, two of us happen to have won at all three shows. Maybe that’s foreshadowing of something in the future. Maybe I’m 3-0 and Lou Natic is 3-0 because we both happen to be better than most of the sewage that’s rotting in the locker room. I don’t view a 3-0 record as holding weight, I didn’t make it a huge part of my little speech because it wasn’t that important to me. I mean, let’s face it, anyone can get lucky three times. Hell, you got lucky once already if you’re lucky twice more in a row you find yourself in the finals of the tournament…against John Cavanagh where you find out that 3-0 means exactly what you said, it doesn’t hold any weight. Shit, until you’re at a Goldberg-esque record a streak isn’t a streak. I’ve come in to promotions and won twenty, thirty matches before someone finally toppled me so forgive me if I don’t think that you’ll be able to do it in the fourth, fifth or sixth match of my EWF career! See, after this tournament ends, you’re going to look at that little win-loss record on EWF.com and see it says John Cavanagh 6-0…you’ll see on the Champions page the World Champion is John Cavanagh…you’ll see my face all over that place! Roster page, Champions page, Title History page, Emperor’s Cup page…look wherever you want after this pay-per-view and you’re going to see John Cavanagh! You want to tell me that a loss will be good for me, I’ve lost before kid…I’ve been humbled before by other wrestlers and this nation’s crooked justice system. One thing that would not humble me, is losing to you. If I, somehow, where to lose to Realm…I think all it would do is light a fire under my ass. I think it would make me double the amount f time I spend at the gym, add a little more training time to the regimen and then, I’d probably wait and find out where your little football field of graves is hidden…so I can come down there and beat this piss out of you and chuck you into one of your metaphorical graves and then make it your true final resting place.
Cavanagh brushes his face with his taped up hands before bringing his ice blue eyes back to the camera.
Alright, alright…I know a lot of people throughout my career have told me that “Johnnie, once you start going you can talk about someone for a day” or whatever amount of time they meant for “a lot”. And, wouldn’t you know it the resident hippie of the EWF, Dank Sinatra, just happened to say the same god damned thing! Why yes, Dank, I do remember everything—I have one hell of a memory, it helps a lot in every aspect of my life. It’s funny I can roll myself a fat joint and smoke it on my balcony or pound back a few Jamo & Ginger Ales but I’m still able to recall 99% of the shit I’ve done in my life…I’m assuming poor Dank can’t say the same thing. How do you think John Cavanagh is always prepared for what his opponent’s have to offer inside of the squared circle? I study film, I analyze the matches you’ve had in the past, I see what makes you all successful and what makes you all weak. I take all of this information, keep it locked up in the natural computer that is the human brain and use that information like a tool to take you apart bit by bit. Dank, you want to be a wise ass and ask what am I doing writing a wrestling history book? Yeah, actually, that is exactly what I am doing. Every single time I step foot in the ring I write another paragraph in whatever chapter of that book I’m working on. I take the feeble like the Dank Sinatras and I make an example of them and then record it for future generations of wrestlers to see. Why? It’s because John Cavanagh is going to be on the cover of that god damned history book of professional wrestling! I’m not satisfied with having a chapter, fuck that, I’ve got more drive and ambition than having a chapter I want to be the god damned main attraction while most of you boys in this tournament are complacent maybe having a paragraph written about you. Dank you want to know where you fall in the pro wrestling history book? I’m not even sure you’ve done enough to warrant a paragraph, you may be lucky if you’re even a god damned footnote as of this taping. Continue to make your cute little jokes comparing myself and everyone else in this match to different strains of weed…I’m OG Kush, this guys Fruity Pebbles, what are you Dank? I didn’t see you taking out any ganja to represent yourself? Oh yeah, that’s because it’s around the block on the corner with some guy named Hector who’s probably related to Los Despiadados and it’s called Mexican Brick Weed!
Cavanagh laughs at his own joke referencing Dank’s talent to the quality of shit weed found growing at pretty much any farm in Mexico.
Now, how could I ever forget about the walking comedy routine that is Arthas Lance and Fiona. Arthas, the pain of realizing theres no chance in hell of you walking out of Emperor’s Cup as the EWF World Champion must have stung pretty damn hard, huh? You must have went back to the locker room at last Evolution feeling like you were on Cloud 9, you just debuted, you successfully ridded the EWF of some punk named Luke Marshall and you qualified for a one night tournament to try and bring home the top prize offered around here. Sounds like one hell of a successful debut night—why not celebrate a little bit? I’m all for partying but what I think happened for Mr. Lance was he went back and watch the following seven matches and realized—“Fuck, Fiona, I don’t think we got what it takes to bring home the big one this time!”. So, what does any unreasonable man do? He turns to the bottle and gets himself so properly stewed that when the camera crew shows up he slurs every word of his speech and hiccups more often than he makes sense. Shit son, you even had to let your big loud mouth finish your little promo for you! You want to take offense to me calling you a fat slob? Honey, look in the mirror…maybe you should take a bit of advice from a New Yorker called 50 Cent, and handcuff your big ass to the treadmill! You don’t have to worry about “picking up the pieces” of me and doing what you want with them after Arthas is “done” with me. Arthas isn’t going to be “done” with me Fiona. If your man happens to be the poor schmuck that has to face me in the Quarter Finals its gonna be a nice quick exit for your poor boo thing. If he manages to get past someone else in this tournament, which I highly doubt, and he winds up against me in the Semis or by some miracle he makes it to the finals…John Cavanagh will be there waiting to pick him a part limb by limb. Then once I’m done with your Romeo, you can crawl your ass in to the ring and try to pick up what’s left of him. You two can sit there and talk about this shared moment you will enjoy with me and my sudden fall from grace as much as you want but its little more than a delusional dream. “The Only” Arthas Lance may be one of “only” three people that I need to defeat to become the first EWF World Champion. And I heard Lou Natic called me a cheater? Here is a guy who qualified with an ass shot from his manager and has already basically said that Fiona is hunting for me like she hunts for the sesame chicken at an all you can eat Chinese buffet! You have got to be kidding me that this is the type of shit the EWF has signed to represent this promotion?
Cavanagh takes a few steps off of the camera to a heavy bag and begins to throw rights and lefts to the bag for a few moments before coming back to the camera.
It also seems as if my new found human punching bag, Deathmatch Devin, has decided to stick his head out from whatever hole in the ground he’s hiding in right now. Devin, I’ll give it to you—you definitely are willing to put your body through every single stage of hell in order to try and entertain the people. Yeah, that’s probably the morally correct thing for a professional wrestler to do but in the end—what do you get from all that? You get a legion of fans who are willing to buy your merchandise and cheer you on…good for you! If a fan wants to go buy a John Cavanagh T-Shirt that’s their business…they want to cheer me on or call me a piece of shit, that’s their option. It doesn’t really matter to me what the fans want to see—this is a competition and in the end the only thing I want the fans to see is that John Cavanagh is better than any and all competition that the EWF has to offer. Devin I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again—I want to be that asshole who crushes your dreams of finally achieving a run as the World Champion of a promotion! If crushing your dreams and defeating you man to man in the ring isn’t enough to end your recently developed Irish fetish then I guess I’ll have to go one step further and put you in a god damned hospital bed for a bit.
What’s funny Devin is thinking about a highlight reel of your career isn’t even the most disgusting thing I’ve had to think about the last couple of weeks. I also don’t mean the thought of Fiona squashing me like an ant with the weight of an entire ton. No, the most disgusting thing that I’m referencing is Carlito Rodriguez. Similar to Devin it seems Carlito has developed his own Irish fetish only his being for my fiance, Shannon. Carlito I don’t know how many times I’ve got to tell you this so I’m assuming I’m going to have to beat it through your thick skull—this little pornographic fantasy that you’ve concocted in that very creative little mind of yours ain’t gonna happen. Your other fantasy, of being the EWF World Champion, that ain’t happening either little boy. See what happened with you is you’ve been obsessed with trying to get into a vagina since the moment your mother pushed you out of hers, that’s all fine and dandy but you haven’t slightest clue what it would take to go out to that ring and compete with someone of my caliber. You wouldn’t last all of five minutes in a one on one fight with John Cavanagh. I would pull you by that mane of hair that you love so much and drag your pathetic ass around the ring, bust your face with my fist, my knee, the turnbuckle, the mat, the ringpost…then pull your ass up and drop you on top of your head with a Hell’s Kitchen Drop..or maybe lock you in the Celtic Deathlock and listen to you scream and squeal until you tap out or I bust your wind pipe!
Cavanagh backs away a bit shaking his head as the ideas from Carlito’s thought process enter his head and he is left wondering how the hell does this guy think so highly of himself.
Let’s not forget about Dennis Slater’s favorite employee, Lou Natic. Lou Natic the guy who has flip flopped on how he views me—he’s said I like to get in there and give a good fight and now I’m sitting here as a cheating bastard with some “hoe” who helps me at ringside. Lou, what you and people like Dank and Devin calling cheating—more intelligent people call that seizing an opportunity. If there is an opening to secure a victory, to take an advantage you’re a god damned fool if you don’t run up and take that opportunity. You want to threaten to choke out Shannon? First and foremost if you lay so much as a finger on her I will make sure that it you are the one trapped in a Celtic Deathlock gasping for air, pleading with me to let go before you pass out or tap out, second off I don’t need Shannon’s help to win anything! If Shannon decides to get herself involved in a match that’s her decision, I never will nor will I ever ask her for her assistance in a match. Not only that, I wouldn’t want Shannon to get involved in a match against some pion like you—some man who walks around bitching and complaining about the competition in this company when he hasn’t even stepped foot in the ring with the biggest fish in this little pond…and I’m not referencing Fiona on that one before you get cute Lou. This Saturday night Lou Natic we will all see just what the competition in this promotion truly has to offer when you have the best eight partake in this tournament. This Saturday night Lou Natic will get to the ring and be bettered by someone—I could see you making it to the end and being the man I have to defeat to bring the championship with Shannon and I back to Hell’s Kitchen and if that’s the way the night ends than so be it. I’m one hundred percent fine with Emperor’s Cup ending with an image of John Cavanagh holding the EWF Championship over the broken body of Lou Natic. Shit, maybe your best friend Dennis Slater will be kind and give a guy a raise for taking care of his little problem employee.
And last but certainly not least, the man on a mission, the man trying to prove to the world that the Cinderella story can reign supreme—Adrian King. Adrian, I’ve gotta say buddy you’re the opponent that intrigues me the most. Not because I think you have a chance at defeating me in the ring but because a man with something to prove can always be a dangerous x-factor. It wouldn’t surprise me if you’re able to advance all the way to the finals based of sheer determination to prove the parents wrong kid. Matter of fact, I see great things for you in the future. I think you may even have a great singles career ahead of you—maybe you can be the first EWF Television Champion to successfully defend the belt five times and get yourself an EWF World Championship Match. Maybe one day you’ll even be able to say that John Cavanagh taught you a thing or two about how it is to be a superstar, and then…maybe in a decade or so when I decide to retire from full-time in-ring competition…maybe then you’ll be able to say that John Cavanagh taught you something about how to be a World Champion and how to carry an entire god damned promotion on your back!
Cavanagh hears a loud grunt from the back corner of the gym and he pauses. He thought he was alone this entire time but obviously he was not. Cavanagh begins to walk towards the back of the gym as he sees old Jimmy Kline sitting on a stool while he shouts directions at a large muscular man.
Jimmy, how the hell are ya? I didn’t hear you guys back here.
We just got here a minute ago. John Cavanagh I want you to meet my grandson….
Cavanagh takes one look at the hulking physical specimen that is racking out the leg press machine and instantly smiles…
Jimmy, I think I might have a few jobs for this kid…
The scene abruptly cuts away. The words Friday July 17th, 2020 read across the screen. A casket is waiting to be lowered into freshly dug graves as a very small gather has come together for Adam Pendergast. The man is to be buried and all of those surrounding the grave have masks but they aren’t wearing them, social distancing rules have been through out the window as they embrace each other. John Cavanagh stands with the same crowd from the wake the other night—Chris Cavanagh, Peter Sheridan, Shane Fitzpatrick and Raul Colon. Raul Colon looks behind him and notices a few not so inconspicuous police officers taking photographs of the people at the funeral.
Policia boys.
Fucking cops, always trying to figure out what the hell is going on.
Pig pieces of shit this is a god damned funeral! Anyone ever tell you cock suckers that blue lives don’t matter!
Shane Fitzpatrick picks up a vase of flowers that was left on a nearby grave and throws it towards the police. The vase crashes about three feet from the fence.
Calm the fuck down, we don’t need you making a scene right now Fitzy.
The men return their attention to the service being held for their fallen friend. John’s eyes are set on Tiffany and the three small children as Shannon and Tiffany’s parents try their best to console the grieving widow. What if that was Shannon with three kids? What if that was me in that box? Things were never quiet, never peaceful in this Life. But, at the same time it wasn’t exactly easy to get our of this Life. John knew he wasn’t as reckless as Adam…Adam was the type of guy who would start a bar fight with you over a pool game. If you could beat Adam in the first fight its best you leave, not just leave the bar, leave and get as far away from Hell’s Kitchen as you could because next time Adam saw you he would fire without hesitation just to prove a point…John was always more careful to cover his tracks, that difference alone was part of the reason John never gave any direct orders to someone like Adam. A cowboy like Adam Pendergast blows some guys brains out on a crowded City block and gets locked up, if he decides to talk you’re screwed and with 25 to life staring at you even some of the toughest guys to ever walk the streets have flipped on their buddies. As John’s thoughts continue his train of thought is disturbed by a hand gently touching his shoulder. John turns to his left to see who it is and there stands Carlo Anastasio, Caporegime in the Messina Crime Family, and next to him his hulking bodyguard Anthony Giambanco.
Carlo, I didn’t think you were going to show up.
I wasn’t going to, I hate giving the Feds a photo op but I have something you should know….
The scene cuts before Carlo is Abe to share his information with John.
Fucking shame, huh Chris?
Yeah can’t believe this shit. Feel like we were just at his wedding yesterday.
John nods in agreement before turning his attention to his friend Shane Fitzpatrick.
Shane…you alright?
Shane looks as if he is fighting back the Niagara Falls of breakdowns, Shane gulps before replying to John’s question.
Nah, I ain’t fucking alright. Somebodies gotta pay for this shit.
Raul Colon’s bear claw of a hand pats down on Shane’s back.
All in due time my friend, all in due time.
Shane’s destitute face shows a glimmer of hope with a slight smirk.
That’s why I fucking love this dirty Puerto Rican we’re always on the same page.
I got the guys out on Long Island seeing if they’ve heard anything out that way.
Good idea Petey, can’t have too many ears out there.
John’s eyes catch someone he had been waiting for.
Speaking of ears...
An Italian man with slicked back black hair with silver patches advancing throughout, the man was at least 15 years older than John and his scowl showed the battle hardened demeanor of this man in his fifties. The man walks forward towards the group of predominately Irishmen and extends his hand.
John, I’m so sorry for your loss.
Thank you Carlo. Carlo Anastasio you know my brother Chris, that guy hiding behind the beard is Petey, the emotional guy over here thats Fitz and the Spanish Mr. Clean, or Señor Limpio as I like to call him, that’s Spanish. A few of my other guys are scattered throughout here but I know you don’t give a fuck to meet them all.
That’s for sure. I had my driver drop me off around back, didn’t wan’t my picture taken here if possible.
This fucking guy…that why you’re an hour late?
Part of the reason. Don’t be a prick now Johnnie, you only get one of those a visit out of respect for your father.
Yeah that’s right boys, my father the legend of the Kitchen and Carlo Anastasio used to run the West Side together. Carlo even helped him in my pop’s war for control of the neighborhood in ’91.
Carlo looks annoyed at Chris divulging past secrets that Petey, Fitz and Spanish clearly were unaware of. Carlo’s eyes dart to John.
Obviously only one Cavanagh brother inherited their father’s knowledge of underworld etiquette. Chris, take a lesson. You boys, nice to meet you and I’m sure there has been something for me that you may have taken care of already without knowing so I thank you for that. John, I think we need to continue this conversation in private.
John nods and walks off with Carlo as Fitz looks to Chris with a puzzled look.
Took care of already? Like what?
You guys remember that guy who fell off the scaffolding a few blocks away from the bar?
Mierda! I remember that shit that Dominican puto begged pretty hard.
Oh yeah, that fucking guy! Pissed his pants when he saw us!
Why am I drawing a blank on this?
I think that was one of your skid bits on Riker’s for smacking somebody over something stupid or whatever other dumb shit you’ve done.
Shane nods his head. The scene cuts to Carlo and John tucked away in a corner speaking in hushed whispers.
My guys are out there picking around and asking questions. We’re doing our best but I need you to keep your loose cannons under control until we know for sure who was behind the hit on your guy.
I think it’s pretty fucking obvious that its the Lastraglias. They’ve always gave us problems and tried to convince you guys to share on the neighborhood profits.
Over my dead body the Messinas are never going to be OK with that. Trust me, when I helped your old man sew up this neighborhood I was just a Soldado, nowadays I’m a Capo I’ve got a whole crew spread across this fucking island listening for me and don’t forget every other wise guy in the Messinas knows to keep an ear out right now.
Yeah, what is it damn near 300 made guys and another five, six hundred guys that wanna prick their figures for you? And here I am with maybe two dozen guys in the neighborhood and another dozen guys out on Long Island. Glorified fucking street gang.
Street gang or not, an organization with power and powerful friends.
I’ll keep Fitzy and the others at bay for the time being…but if nothing happens sooner or later, they’re gonna call out the Lastraglias over some ancient bullshit.
Keep buying time, war is bad for business.
John nods his head in agreement as the feed cuts. The feed reopens to John Cavanagh seated inside of Jimmy Kline’s gym in Hell’s Kitchen. Cavanagh is taping up his hands as he prepares for his upcoming training session.
I remember when I was somewhere around 10, a few years before my father went away for his nice long stretch, he was explaining to me that sometimes the best way to deal with your anger and aggression isn’t to go out and hurt someone, it’s better to be positive and go hit a bag or hit the weights. “Save yourself the headache of a stupid charge Johnnie”, he didn’t know that his baby boy would have his own run-ins with the law but it was a lesson that stuck. I’ve got a friend or two who has been to Riker’s on so many little skid bits for smacking someone in a bar or head butting someone on the sidewalk that its almost embarrassing. I always tell him he’s doing life on the installment plan. Now, normally I would be hitting the gym here at Jimmy’s place and busting my ass in preparation for one important match before each Evolution, this time I’m here busting my ass for three different important matches that will all help at Emperor’s Cup. A Quarter Finals victory, a Semi-Finals slaughter and a triumphant Final round. I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again, it doesn’t really matter to me which three of these seven guys I have to defeat…Realm, Carlito, Dank, Arthas, Devin, Lou, Adrian they’ve all got their own strengths and weaknesses just like myself. Let’s face it, I may be the only person that really matters in that pack of eight but I know I’m not perfect because, let’s face it, no one is. I guess since the last time the EWF Universe heard from John Cavanagh some of his “competition” has decided to open their mouths so I guess that means once again, I’m going to have to tell these little boys the way it really is.
Cavanagh gets to the end of his right fist, he grabs the scissor and cuts the training tape. Cavanagh takes the tape and now begins to tape up his left hand with the black training tape.
Let’s start with the man who thinks he’s the biggest and the baddest, the man who thinks he knows better than anyone else. Realm, aren’t we being a little fickle about the verbiage used by other superstars around here? I’m sorry that I said you’re a “clone” of “shooters” I should have crossed my T’s and dotted my I’s and made sure I spoke one hundred percent perfect English for you to understand…”a clone of ONE of the Columbine Shooters”. The fact that you would even sit there and try to pick someone a part just because they didn’t include the phrase “one of”. When I took this job at the EWF I wasn’t aware that we had a principal as the boss and an English teacher trying to be the biggest, scariest mother you know what on the planet. Realm, you can take the words I spoke as literal as you are and continue to look like a pompous ass who “knows it all” OR you can look at the basic facts at its most simple level. See, Realm, those two losers who shot up that school and all of those innocent people, yeah I know their name and what their plan was—I’m pretty sure anyone who grew up during the 90s knows what those two fucks did and planned on doing. Their names don’t deserve to be mentioned, they deserve to be forgotten to history like the sorry sacks of shit they were. “The kids picked on me wehhhh!!!!!!!!” Little pansies that should have been blowjobs so the world never had to deal with their shit. You may not look identically like them, once again we are being oh so literal around these parts, but obviously for such a smart ass you’ve forgotten about the phrase “Trench Coat Mafia”. It’s your choice, you can be compared to the little bastards who don’t deserve to be remembered or you can be the gimp from Pulp Fiction..which do you prefer?
So, while I was sitting at home in the comfort of reality and listening to you continue to ramble and spew nonsense about how you don’t condone senseless violence? Are you bat shit crazy?! You’ve admitted to loving the unrest which has led to more senseless violence than Al Capone and Dion O’Banion during Prohibition era Chicago. You want to say you’re not a fan of killing innocent people…what the fuck do you think the coronavirus is doing? You don’t have to be a human to kill an innocent person you can be a little germ just like that virus that you seem to enjoy watching take hold of people. Shit, you’re lucky I’m not some “phenomenal” conspiracy theorist or I’d be saying that Realm created that shit in some laboratory in China. Now you can sit there in your pre-dug graves for all of your “victims” if that makes you feel better, maybe that shit is part of your training methodology…maybe you keep your body in shape by digging holes, hell I know one or two guys who have dug enough holes that their arms look like cinderblocks.
You want to talk about a loss humbling me? I’ve been humbled before in life kid…you have no fucking clue what I’ve been through. I’ve seen more violent acts committed against other human beings than your simple minded ass could even fathom. Oh yeah, I’m not just talking about violence committed in a wrestling ring. See, Realm, you just think I’m one big ego…the problem is, the ego I have…it’s built itself up over time by accomplishing the goals that my mind has set. It’s continued to grow over time every single time I have some piece of shit like Realm who thinks they know how the entire world works. I’ve known you before Realm, maybe not you exactly since you take everything so literal, but i’ve known plenty of wrestlers like you before. Plenty of people who thought they could talk the talk and walk the walk, plenty of people who thought they could come into my ring and teach me a lesson, plenty of people who thought they would hear the bell ring and see me laying flat on my back in the center of the squared circle! I can’t hate on you or any of those previous pions for employing the power of positive thinking—hell, even I read The Secret while I was in the can…gotta find something other than working out and fighting to pass the time. The problem with employing positive thinking is that sometimes you find out that “positive thinking” alone just ain’t always gonna cut it.
Cavanagh takes the scissors once more and cuts the tape at the end of his left hand. Cavanagh throws a few shadow punches in the air before returning back to the camera.
Yes, you’re right there regarding my record, I have three wins in three matches and so does Lou Natic. I love that you are so great at taking things literal and pointing out the obvious. We have had three shows, two of us happen to have won at all three shows. Maybe that’s foreshadowing of something in the future. Maybe I’m 3-0 and Lou Natic is 3-0 because we both happen to be better than most of the sewage that’s rotting in the locker room. I don’t view a 3-0 record as holding weight, I didn’t make it a huge part of my little speech because it wasn’t that important to me. I mean, let’s face it, anyone can get lucky three times. Hell, you got lucky once already if you’re lucky twice more in a row you find yourself in the finals of the tournament…against John Cavanagh where you find out that 3-0 means exactly what you said, it doesn’t hold any weight. Shit, until you’re at a Goldberg-esque record a streak isn’t a streak. I’ve come in to promotions and won twenty, thirty matches before someone finally toppled me so forgive me if I don’t think that you’ll be able to do it in the fourth, fifth or sixth match of my EWF career! See, after this tournament ends, you’re going to look at that little win-loss record on EWF.com and see it says John Cavanagh 6-0…you’ll see on the Champions page the World Champion is John Cavanagh…you’ll see my face all over that place! Roster page, Champions page, Title History page, Emperor’s Cup page…look wherever you want after this pay-per-view and you’re going to see John Cavanagh! You want to tell me that a loss will be good for me, I’ve lost before kid…I’ve been humbled before by other wrestlers and this nation’s crooked justice system. One thing that would not humble me, is losing to you. If I, somehow, where to lose to Realm…I think all it would do is light a fire under my ass. I think it would make me double the amount f time I spend at the gym, add a little more training time to the regimen and then, I’d probably wait and find out where your little football field of graves is hidden…so I can come down there and beat this piss out of you and chuck you into one of your metaphorical graves and then make it your true final resting place.
Cavanagh brushes his face with his taped up hands before bringing his ice blue eyes back to the camera.
Alright, alright…I know a lot of people throughout my career have told me that “Johnnie, once you start going you can talk about someone for a day” or whatever amount of time they meant for “a lot”. And, wouldn’t you know it the resident hippie of the EWF, Dank Sinatra, just happened to say the same god damned thing! Why yes, Dank, I do remember everything—I have one hell of a memory, it helps a lot in every aspect of my life. It’s funny I can roll myself a fat joint and smoke it on my balcony or pound back a few Jamo & Ginger Ales but I’m still able to recall 99% of the shit I’ve done in my life…I’m assuming poor Dank can’t say the same thing. How do you think John Cavanagh is always prepared for what his opponent’s have to offer inside of the squared circle? I study film, I analyze the matches you’ve had in the past, I see what makes you all successful and what makes you all weak. I take all of this information, keep it locked up in the natural computer that is the human brain and use that information like a tool to take you apart bit by bit. Dank, you want to be a wise ass and ask what am I doing writing a wrestling history book? Yeah, actually, that is exactly what I am doing. Every single time I step foot in the ring I write another paragraph in whatever chapter of that book I’m working on. I take the feeble like the Dank Sinatras and I make an example of them and then record it for future generations of wrestlers to see. Why? It’s because John Cavanagh is going to be on the cover of that god damned history book of professional wrestling! I’m not satisfied with having a chapter, fuck that, I’ve got more drive and ambition than having a chapter I want to be the god damned main attraction while most of you boys in this tournament are complacent maybe having a paragraph written about you. Dank you want to know where you fall in the pro wrestling history book? I’m not even sure you’ve done enough to warrant a paragraph, you may be lucky if you’re even a god damned footnote as of this taping. Continue to make your cute little jokes comparing myself and everyone else in this match to different strains of weed…I’m OG Kush, this guys Fruity Pebbles, what are you Dank? I didn’t see you taking out any ganja to represent yourself? Oh yeah, that’s because it’s around the block on the corner with some guy named Hector who’s probably related to Los Despiadados and it’s called Mexican Brick Weed!
Cavanagh laughs at his own joke referencing Dank’s talent to the quality of shit weed found growing at pretty much any farm in Mexico.
Now, how could I ever forget about the walking comedy routine that is Arthas Lance and Fiona. Arthas, the pain of realizing theres no chance in hell of you walking out of Emperor’s Cup as the EWF World Champion must have stung pretty damn hard, huh? You must have went back to the locker room at last Evolution feeling like you were on Cloud 9, you just debuted, you successfully ridded the EWF of some punk named Luke Marshall and you qualified for a one night tournament to try and bring home the top prize offered around here. Sounds like one hell of a successful debut night—why not celebrate a little bit? I’m all for partying but what I think happened for Mr. Lance was he went back and watch the following seven matches and realized—“Fuck, Fiona, I don’t think we got what it takes to bring home the big one this time!”. So, what does any unreasonable man do? He turns to the bottle and gets himself so properly stewed that when the camera crew shows up he slurs every word of his speech and hiccups more often than he makes sense. Shit son, you even had to let your big loud mouth finish your little promo for you! You want to take offense to me calling you a fat slob? Honey, look in the mirror…maybe you should take a bit of advice from a New Yorker called 50 Cent, and handcuff your big ass to the treadmill! You don’t have to worry about “picking up the pieces” of me and doing what you want with them after Arthas is “done” with me. Arthas isn’t going to be “done” with me Fiona. If your man happens to be the poor schmuck that has to face me in the Quarter Finals its gonna be a nice quick exit for your poor boo thing. If he manages to get past someone else in this tournament, which I highly doubt, and he winds up against me in the Semis or by some miracle he makes it to the finals…John Cavanagh will be there waiting to pick him a part limb by limb. Then once I’m done with your Romeo, you can crawl your ass in to the ring and try to pick up what’s left of him. You two can sit there and talk about this shared moment you will enjoy with me and my sudden fall from grace as much as you want but its little more than a delusional dream. “The Only” Arthas Lance may be one of “only” three people that I need to defeat to become the first EWF World Champion. And I heard Lou Natic called me a cheater? Here is a guy who qualified with an ass shot from his manager and has already basically said that Fiona is hunting for me like she hunts for the sesame chicken at an all you can eat Chinese buffet! You have got to be kidding me that this is the type of shit the EWF has signed to represent this promotion?
Cavanagh takes a few steps off of the camera to a heavy bag and begins to throw rights and lefts to the bag for a few moments before coming back to the camera.
It also seems as if my new found human punching bag, Deathmatch Devin, has decided to stick his head out from whatever hole in the ground he’s hiding in right now. Devin, I’ll give it to you—you definitely are willing to put your body through every single stage of hell in order to try and entertain the people. Yeah, that’s probably the morally correct thing for a professional wrestler to do but in the end—what do you get from all that? You get a legion of fans who are willing to buy your merchandise and cheer you on…good for you! If a fan wants to go buy a John Cavanagh T-Shirt that’s their business…they want to cheer me on or call me a piece of shit, that’s their option. It doesn’t really matter to me what the fans want to see—this is a competition and in the end the only thing I want the fans to see is that John Cavanagh is better than any and all competition that the EWF has to offer. Devin I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again—I want to be that asshole who crushes your dreams of finally achieving a run as the World Champion of a promotion! If crushing your dreams and defeating you man to man in the ring isn’t enough to end your recently developed Irish fetish then I guess I’ll have to go one step further and put you in a god damned hospital bed for a bit.
What’s funny Devin is thinking about a highlight reel of your career isn’t even the most disgusting thing I’ve had to think about the last couple of weeks. I also don’t mean the thought of Fiona squashing me like an ant with the weight of an entire ton. No, the most disgusting thing that I’m referencing is Carlito Rodriguez. Similar to Devin it seems Carlito has developed his own Irish fetish only his being for my fiance, Shannon. Carlito I don’t know how many times I’ve got to tell you this so I’m assuming I’m going to have to beat it through your thick skull—this little pornographic fantasy that you’ve concocted in that very creative little mind of yours ain’t gonna happen. Your other fantasy, of being the EWF World Champion, that ain’t happening either little boy. See what happened with you is you’ve been obsessed with trying to get into a vagina since the moment your mother pushed you out of hers, that’s all fine and dandy but you haven’t slightest clue what it would take to go out to that ring and compete with someone of my caliber. You wouldn’t last all of five minutes in a one on one fight with John Cavanagh. I would pull you by that mane of hair that you love so much and drag your pathetic ass around the ring, bust your face with my fist, my knee, the turnbuckle, the mat, the ringpost…then pull your ass up and drop you on top of your head with a Hell’s Kitchen Drop..or maybe lock you in the Celtic Deathlock and listen to you scream and squeal until you tap out or I bust your wind pipe!
Cavanagh backs away a bit shaking his head as the ideas from Carlito’s thought process enter his head and he is left wondering how the hell does this guy think so highly of himself.
Let’s not forget about Dennis Slater’s favorite employee, Lou Natic. Lou Natic the guy who has flip flopped on how he views me—he’s said I like to get in there and give a good fight and now I’m sitting here as a cheating bastard with some “hoe” who helps me at ringside. Lou, what you and people like Dank and Devin calling cheating—more intelligent people call that seizing an opportunity. If there is an opening to secure a victory, to take an advantage you’re a god damned fool if you don’t run up and take that opportunity. You want to threaten to choke out Shannon? First and foremost if you lay so much as a finger on her I will make sure that it you are the one trapped in a Celtic Deathlock gasping for air, pleading with me to let go before you pass out or tap out, second off I don’t need Shannon’s help to win anything! If Shannon decides to get herself involved in a match that’s her decision, I never will nor will I ever ask her for her assistance in a match. Not only that, I wouldn’t want Shannon to get involved in a match against some pion like you—some man who walks around bitching and complaining about the competition in this company when he hasn’t even stepped foot in the ring with the biggest fish in this little pond…and I’m not referencing Fiona on that one before you get cute Lou. This Saturday night Lou Natic we will all see just what the competition in this promotion truly has to offer when you have the best eight partake in this tournament. This Saturday night Lou Natic will get to the ring and be bettered by someone—I could see you making it to the end and being the man I have to defeat to bring the championship with Shannon and I back to Hell’s Kitchen and if that’s the way the night ends than so be it. I’m one hundred percent fine with Emperor’s Cup ending with an image of John Cavanagh holding the EWF Championship over the broken body of Lou Natic. Shit, maybe your best friend Dennis Slater will be kind and give a guy a raise for taking care of his little problem employee.
And last but certainly not least, the man on a mission, the man trying to prove to the world that the Cinderella story can reign supreme—Adrian King. Adrian, I’ve gotta say buddy you’re the opponent that intrigues me the most. Not because I think you have a chance at defeating me in the ring but because a man with something to prove can always be a dangerous x-factor. It wouldn’t surprise me if you’re able to advance all the way to the finals based of sheer determination to prove the parents wrong kid. Matter of fact, I see great things for you in the future. I think you may even have a great singles career ahead of you—maybe you can be the first EWF Television Champion to successfully defend the belt five times and get yourself an EWF World Championship Match. Maybe one day you’ll even be able to say that John Cavanagh taught you a thing or two about how it is to be a superstar, and then…maybe in a decade or so when I decide to retire from full-time in-ring competition…maybe then you’ll be able to say that John Cavanagh taught you something about how to be a World Champion and how to carry an entire god damned promotion on your back!
Cavanagh hears a loud grunt from the back corner of the gym and he pauses. He thought he was alone this entire time but obviously he was not. Cavanagh begins to walk towards the back of the gym as he sees old Jimmy Kline sitting on a stool while he shouts directions at a large muscular man.
Jimmy, how the hell are ya? I didn’t hear you guys back here.
We just got here a minute ago. John Cavanagh I want you to meet my grandson….
Cavanagh takes one look at the hulking physical specimen that is racking out the leg press machine and instantly smiles…
Jimmy, I think I might have a few jobs for this kid…
The scene abruptly cuts away. The words Friday July 17th, 2020 read across the screen. A casket is waiting to be lowered into freshly dug graves as a very small gather has come together for Adam Pendergast. The man is to be buried and all of those surrounding the grave have masks but they aren’t wearing them, social distancing rules have been through out the window as they embrace each other. John Cavanagh stands with the same crowd from the wake the other night—Chris Cavanagh, Peter Sheridan, Shane Fitzpatrick and Raul Colon. Raul Colon looks behind him and notices a few not so inconspicuous police officers taking photographs of the people at the funeral.
Policia boys.
Fucking cops, always trying to figure out what the hell is going on.
Pig pieces of shit this is a god damned funeral! Anyone ever tell you cock suckers that blue lives don’t matter!
Shane Fitzpatrick picks up a vase of flowers that was left on a nearby grave and throws it towards the police. The vase crashes about three feet from the fence.
Calm the fuck down, we don’t need you making a scene right now Fitzy.
The men return their attention to the service being held for their fallen friend. John’s eyes are set on Tiffany and the three small children as Shannon and Tiffany’s parents try their best to console the grieving widow. What if that was Shannon with three kids? What if that was me in that box? Things were never quiet, never peaceful in this Life. But, at the same time it wasn’t exactly easy to get our of this Life. John knew he wasn’t as reckless as Adam…Adam was the type of guy who would start a bar fight with you over a pool game. If you could beat Adam in the first fight its best you leave, not just leave the bar, leave and get as far away from Hell’s Kitchen as you could because next time Adam saw you he would fire without hesitation just to prove a point…John was always more careful to cover his tracks, that difference alone was part of the reason John never gave any direct orders to someone like Adam. A cowboy like Adam Pendergast blows some guys brains out on a crowded City block and gets locked up, if he decides to talk you’re screwed and with 25 to life staring at you even some of the toughest guys to ever walk the streets have flipped on their buddies. As John’s thoughts continue his train of thought is disturbed by a hand gently touching his shoulder. John turns to his left to see who it is and there stands Carlo Anastasio, Caporegime in the Messina Crime Family, and next to him his hulking bodyguard Anthony Giambanco.
Carlo, I didn’t think you were going to show up.
I wasn’t going to, I hate giving the Feds a photo op but I have something you should know….
The scene cuts before Carlo is Abe to share his information with John.
