MC1 - Shanghai'd

[montaguecervantes]

i 

Somehow, I'd done it. Looking at the height of the wheel, the handgrips and leather straps, as well as the prodigious arm that held the whole thing up, you'd be forced to assume it was already here, and the hotel room had been built around it. But no, a keen understanding of angles in the third dimension had given me all the knowledge (and only three jammed fingers) I'd need to force it into through the door.  

Giving it an experimental spin, I can't help but grin when it doesn't scrape the ceiling. I scoop up my kunai from the coverlet and step over to the bolted-in television. Taking one by the handle in my left hand, I whirl it in a spiral behind my head, and take aim for the well-chipped spot behind the practice dummy's right ear. 

"I hope you didn't bring that thing through the lobby," the sudden, unexpected interjection not only reminded me that I'd left my hotel room door propped open with a concierge trolley, but also caused me to time my throw poorly. The kunai flew a split second early, and found it's mark in the practice dummy's right eye. 

Poor Merrick. 

"Just look what you've made me do to Merrick, Jordana. I'll never hear the end of this, mark my words," I turn to her with a welcoming smile. 

She's a vision in a Chun-Li outfit. Jordana simply does not go out in public without being in cosplay. It's not just a hobby for her, it's a way of life. I don't believe she owns stitch of clothing that isn't a part of some cosplay. 

As she enters, Jordana turns and lifts her chin toward the giant wheel, "Going to put some pretty lady in that thing in Springfield next week?" 

"Are you volunteering?" I wink before turning to extract the kunai from Merrick's socket. 

"No thanks," Jordana wrinkles her nose at the thought of my tossing cutlery at her head while spinning her round and round. "I'm sure you'll have no trouble charming one of the soccer moms in the crowd to get strapped to that thing." 

I have to rock the knife up and down a few times before it finally will come out of the styrofoam head of the dummy. I grunt theatrically to make sure Jordana knows how much effort I'm having to put into correcting the mistake she caused. 

"So what's happening?" I wonder aloud. "Have you got another gig for me?" 

I turn, holding the kunai up at shoulder height triumphantly. I'm just in time to catch her eyes cut toward the door, as if plotting an escape. 

"I do, actually," she allows with some hesitation. I drop the kunai into a leather sheath strapped to my thigh. 

"Well, what is it?" I try to give a lopsided smile to assuage her reluctance as I walk toward my suitcase to unpack some more props. "Is it fire-eating? I think the scorch marks have healed from last time, I should be ready for a another go of it." 

"It's for UGWC," she blurts out, eyes looking up at me to gauge my response. Which, of course, had been to stop dead in my tracks. 

"I haven't been booked by the Morgan-Baals have I?" I venture to hope. 

"No, this time it's the Creative Director Rob Cartwright requesting an appearance," she smiles meekly. 

I nod, going back to rifling through my suitcase, "Very well. Perhaps this will smooth over the losses we took as a result of that summer fiasco in the desert." 

"I have to be honest with you, Monty, you--" 

"Uh-oh," I cut her off. "You only call me that when you're trying to butter me up. No, no...." 

I put up a hand without looking at her, dramatically implying that she may have taken a step into the room to plead her case. Which, of course, she hasn't. Far too proud and dignified for that. 

"... no sense in beating around the bush. Go ahead and tell me what embarrassing thing you've gotten me into this time." 

Jordana clears her throat, forcing me to turn at look at her. That was her business throat-clearing. 

"First of all, you will be working with the Morgan-Baals. And second... you'll be wrestling." 

My shoulders slump as I realize precisely what she's gotten me into. When I don't respond after a few minutes, she attempts to soften her surprise with some good news. 

"The take is almost five times what we lost." 

My jaw drops to the floor of it's own accord. 

"How did you manage that??" I can't believe it. With a payday like that, I'd be able to take some time off after Christmas. 

"I can't take credit," she admits with a smile, knowing she's snared me. "That's what he offered right off the bat. There's a big pay per view event coming up on the 28th called Outlast. You'll be teaming up with the Morgan-Baals and Donovan Hastings to compete against another four-person team. I'll have to get more details as that's all I know so far, but apparently it's one of their premiere events." 

I look away, weighing the massive payday and exposure against... Nevermind. 

"Alright, let's do it," I finally agree with a resigned sigh. She lights up and nods, tossing up a peace sign, winking one eye, and poking her tongue out. 

---

ii 

"The Wreck Room is one of my most loyal clients, Jordana!"  

I can't believe she's doing this to me. Less than 24 hours before I'm scheduled to emcee a juggling competition at one of my few guaranteed monthly gigs, and she's cancelled it so that I can referee a match on the UGWC weekly program, Synergy. 

"Montague, how long do you think you can keep this up? You need a steady gig to--" 

I grip the phone tightly. The last thing I want to do is lose my temper. Jordana has been the best possible thing that could have happened for my career... for my life.  

"This was a steady gig, Jordana." 

"That you do for ten percent of the door, Montague. You're forty years old, you can't keep living dive bar to traveling circus to fairground." 

I hold up a finger, as if she could possibly see it through the phone call. 

"I also do conventions!" 

"Don't you want to settle down someday? Stop living the carny life and get a steady paycheck? 

"Jordana... it sounds awfully like you're trying to convince me to take on professional wrestling full time," I say slowly. The undertone of warning has to be detectable. 

"I know how you feel about it," she admits, "But this isn't like that. This is athleticism and showmanship. And I'm not trying to convince you of anything but to maximize this opportunity. Where you go in October has yet to be decided, and I don't want to put any pressure on you. But give this more than a passing glance you never know what other opportunities it might open up. I wager making these two appearances will get your image out there enough to have you booked until well after Christmas!" 

When I haven't thought of a pithy retort for a few moments, she adds, "Don't you trust me?" 

I soften at the sincerity in her voice.  

"Of course I do, Jordana." 

So much for that vacation.