Post by Red Bull Icon on Jul 25, 2009 23:37:24 GMT -5
-SUNDAY February 22, 2009-
(Our scene opens in the back halls of the GIW Arena following the last Sentinel. Most of the crowd has left, and the majority of the after show clean up has been finished. As we scan the hallway we notice quite a few of Professor Bling’s Security Staff gingerly walking together, sharing in each other’s bruises and aches. As they turn a corner and fade from our sight we are greeted by the Red Bull Icon approaching nonchalantly from where ever the security staff was headed.
BoolZ now garbed in a faded pair of frayed heeled blue Dickies, a crisp new ‘Good Enough for a Poke’ black shirt, and his well broken in Converse All-Stars. Conni follows closely behind his master. The defunct GIW Hardcore Title Belt swaying back and forth in the American Red Nosed Pit Bulls mouth as the now not so puppy trots along.
We follow RBI as he continues down the hallway. After a few steps, and flick and a pop, and a fresh puff of his cigarette he reaches his destination. Standing in front of a door marked ‘Boss P’, BoolZ glances down at Conni, and then opens a Red Bull from his back pocket.)
BoolZ; “This should be fun. Wait here.”
(Consequences, well trained, does as he’s instructed. As he lowers himself to the floor to continue gnawing on his chew toy, BoolZ casually opens the door unannounced.)
Boss P; “MOTHAFUCKA, WHO DA MOTHAFUCK DO YA THINK YA UR ALL BARGIN’ IN BOSS P’S MOTHAFUCKIN’ OFFICE LIKE YA OWN DA SHIT? MOTHAFUCKA, NEVER LERNT TA KNOCK!?!
BoolZ; “What, heard you wanted to talk to me. Here I am.”
(Conni barely notices the commotion. Instead he simply continues his task at hand. Once our view shifts to the interior we can see BoolZ standing in front of a very heavy oak desk. We’re not sure if it’s steam or smoke he’s exhaling into the icy room. Boss P is positioned behind the desk, behind the stacks of paperwork, and in front of the dozen or so small white Chinese takeout boxes. Boss P shovels a heap of what looks like shrimp chow mien into his gullet as he looks at BoolZ with clear distain.)
BoolZ; “So is this about my challenge to Kiseragi next week? Do I get the match?”
Boss P; “YEAH MOTHAFUCKA, DIS ABOUT YA MATCH. YOU GET YA MATCH, KICKY NIGGA GETS HIS REVENGE, BUT LET ME SAY IT NOW SO WE’S PERFECTLY MOTHAFUCKIN CLEAR ABOUT DIS SHIT. I WAN’ YA TO REALLY MOTHAFUCKIN LISTEN TO THE WORDS DAT BE COMIN’ OUT MA…”
BoolZ; “Squawk box!”
(There’s an awkward silence as Boss P just looks at the young man before him.)
BoolZ; “Sorry, I got a problem with impulse control.”
Boss P; “NO SHIT MOTHAFUCKA! LISTEN I GOTS YA HUR ‘CAUSE I WANNA…”
BoolZ; “Peck at me for how I’ve been treating your Unified Champions! Sorry.”
(There is another long awkward pause as Boss P stabs his fork into the noodles taking another bite.)
Boss P; “JUS, WHO DA MOTHAFUCK YOU TINK YOU IZ, SON? LISSIN’ TA ME! I IS TELLIN’ YA RIGHT MOTHAFUCKIN’ NOW DAT IF DIS SHIT WIT YOU AND THE FAT MODEL NIGGA TURN INTA A FULL BLOWN BLOOD FUED LIKE YA AND DA GANGLY HIPPY NIGGA, DEN I’MA GON…”
BoolZ; “Alright, alright, I get it. Don’t get your eggs scrambled over there. Listen I’m going to take that TFC Belt away, I’m going to take the Global Belt away, and then when I think he’s learned his lesson I’ll leave him alone. It’s not like beating Kiseragi is anything new to me. Wait isn’t it kinda lame to be eating Chinese food with a fork?”
(Boss P doesn’t say a word. He doesn’t take another bite. He just looks at the Red Bull Icon.)
BoolZ; “Oh, wait a minute. Don’t tell me. You can wield fully automatic assault rifles with those flippers, fins, wings? You can sign my very large paycheck with whatever those damn things are, but you can’t use a set of chopsticks can you?”
(Boss P doesn’t even look at RBI. He doesn’t hesitate to leave from his perch from behind the desk.)
BoolZ; “Hell I even heard rumor of a certain chief and…”
BANG BANG BANG
(Boss P doesn’t play. He had calmly, nonchalantly, picked up his AK-47 and BoolZ barely manages to escape the frozen death pit in one piece as bullet holes rip through the office walls. Conni takes the chance to playfully lick his owner’s worried brow.)
BoolZ; “What the hell Conni? Who plucked his feathers… scales… feathers?”
-MONDAY February 23, 2009-
(When the shot comes back we’re gone from the mazelike corridors of the GIW Arena. Replaced by the seemingly empty long narrow stretch of Interstate 15 from Los Angeles to Las Vegas. We’re out of Boss P’s refrigerator like office, and we’re in the coffin like confines of the passenger cab of Randy Boolzian’s ‘U-Suk’ Mobile.
As the engine roars causing the truck to barrel down the stretch of highway we watch as Randy, speechless, puffs away on his cigarette before washing down the toxic air with his Red Bull. ‘Swan Dive’ by hed(pe) plays out over the supped up sound system while Conni gleefully continues his task of chewing through the defunct GIW Hardcore belt.
As the vehicle continues it’s march we watch as Randy’s attention is drawn to the carcass of a large dog laying off to the side of the road. The desert sun has taken its toll on the body causing the skin to shrink around the mouth, and the fluids and gases inside the abdomen to swell and cause the lifeless form to bloat.
Randy watches, doesn’t take his eyes from, the soulless shell as the truck screams past. Randy inhales another drag, exhales slowly, and shakes his head while flicking the cigarette butt out of the window. He looks down to his canine companion who looks back to his owner, and lets out a small whine.)
Randy; “I know, boy. I’m sorry. We’ll buy a house when we get back into town. I just needed to get out of that city for a bit. I mean Alex is right. There really isn’t much cause for the animosity between us.”
(A flick and a pop later, and Randy is lighting another cigarette before he kills his Red Bull and discards the empty can to the floor of the passengers side.)
Randy; “I mean yeah I guess it started with what he said about Chris, but Austin’s a big boy and he doesn’t need me fighting his battles. Plus no matter what Kiseragi could have ever said it couldn’t have hurt more than the DiscomBoolZalator I nailed Chris with. “
(Randy pauses again as the truck passes an armadillo turned on its back succumbed to the trauma caused by a fifteen ton semi truck. It’s legs in the air, arms out stretched to welcome the coming nothingness.)
Randy; “Hell, you know I almost liked Alex when we first met. I thought he was ‘plucky’. There he was in my locker room trying to gain approval. Trying to match me Red Bull for Red Bull. No wait, no he just bought me a Red Bull the first time we met. His wanting validation was when Komosube and I carried him through that six man tag.
You know it doesn’t matter. The end result was I had nothing against him. Hell I even tried to help him. How bad would it have been if he had to watch me dismantle his old man, so I being the nice guy that I am met up with Yasutoki and politely informed him that if he get involved in my matches that I’d stop treating him like a spectator and more as a participant. Simple as that. I didn’t mean any harm, but that failed model douche had to get all uppity, and Pearl Harbor me on my way to respectfully back out of the match his old man demanded. Fucking back fighter.”
(Conni has turned his attention back to the leather and gold of his favorite distraction. Randy flicks his cigarette out of the window as the radio begins to play ‘Ghost Town’ by Shiny Toy Guns. Randy pops open another can of Red Bull as watches the truck plod past a cat this time. The feline’s intestines spread thin across the asphalt as clumps of fur stick to the dried sticky mess.)
Randy; “Then Horizons, you know. I mean I wasn’t upset with Kiseragi after he got beat, thus losing the match. It was just a tough break, you know, kicking his way through the roof of the cell and plummeting down to the ring. Shit happens, I moved on, barely gave him another thought unless he was in my way. Infinity? I almost gained a little respect for him. There he was recognizing his own limitations. Realizing that he only ‘won’ the Global Title because of his daddy, and knowing that he can’t win it in a straight up match, so he sneaks and plots, and takes the title a bit shifty like. Hey at least he knows what he has to do to win, and is clearly more than willing to cut what ever corners he’s got to to do it.”
(Randy reaches for his pack of Marlboro Blend 27s as he watches the ‘U-Suk’ Mobile press on past what can only be assumed is a dog by it’s size. The crumpled, twisted, broken body must have jumped from the back of a pick up or thrown from the window of a speeding minivan. The animal, couldn’t have been long ago, enjoying it’s everlasting well earned peace after the inevitable brief moments of excruciating pain. Randy his brow scrunched looks into the pack of smokes to find nothing but a few stray shreds of tobacco. He tosses the empty box to the floor, and opens the glove box to search for his backup pack.)
Randy; “Then last night. I really don’t know what to say. I mean what did he think was going to happen? Like I need his pity. Like he was doing me some huge favor. Like I need everyone looking at me like some psycho charity case. Who didn’t see me, after all I did to Roberts, getting involved in that ladder match? What did he think I’d just smile, and accept his ‘gift’? I don’t know, maybe I over reacted. Bullshit! I don’t know. I mean I don’t know why there’s the tension between us that there is, but goddamn it I hate him. I hate hearing about his stupid little happy childhood full of training with his father and summers in Japan. I hate seeing him shunning the advice he gets from Yasutoki. I hate seeing him forsake the family that half our fans would probably give their left nut for. I hate him… motherfucker!”
(Randy, leaning over to the glove box searches frantically. He pulls out a new, fresh, trophy. He produces handfuls of small pieces of paper dotted only with a name and telephone numbers. He takes out the stray empty can of Red Bull. No less than a dozen assorted pens. The owner’s manual for the ‘U-Suk’ Mobile. No cigarettes, just a large collection of disposable paper wrapped chop sticks remain.)
Randy; “Fucking MJ, and her sushi!”
(The scene fades as we pass a sign reading ‘Las Vegas – 73 miles’. The scene fades as we slowly drift down from the sign to a crow missing most of its feathers. Stripped by the wind or its own shame. Its beak spread wide stuck in a perpetual scream for mercy. Its eyes rotted out by the elements saving it from the sight of the atrocities that keep this world turning.)
-TUESDAY February 24, 2009-
(Our scene re-opens as Randy unties Conni from a news paper stand outside of a small liquor store. A fresh cigarette in his lips, Conni’s leash in one hand, and an ice cold Red Bull in the other the two begin their short walk back to their Las Vegas hotel. In route Randy is puzzled by a group of early twenties men kneeling in a circle in the parking lot of the hotel.
Randy and Conni cross the street and approach the group unseen. Once close enough we see the four men trying to fish something out of a sew grate with a pair of chop sticks. As three of the men suddenly stiffen in an attempt not to move the forth brings what looks like car keys to the grate before they slide off the chop stick and back to the damn floor.)
Guy; “Fuck Andrew I’m telling you this isn’t going to work!”
Andrew; “You got a better idea, Lex?”
Lex; “Yeah, we leave Ed’s stupid ass here. He’s the one that tossed those key in the first place.”
Ed; “Fuck bro, what was I supposed to do? Just let Xavier drive? Fucker had like a twelve beers at the last table.”
Xavier; “I can drive, what are you talking about?”
(Andrew, the one trying to get back Xavier’s keys, resumes his task. Xavier who had his keys apparently snatched by Ed seems to be finally giving in to the wavy rolling contents of his belly. Ed and Lex both take a step back away from Xavier. Randy now close enough reaches down, slides his fingers between the horizontal bars, and opens the small grate out of housing where it had been resting causing the hinges to squeak and whine.)
Randy; “Come on guys, don’t make shit harder than it’s gotta be.”
(Dumbfounded the four kids look in aw at Randy and Conni.)
Andrew; “Oh shit, you’re BoolZ!”
Lex; “Damn, yo man, see I told you those chop sticks weren’t gonna work.”
Ed; “Hey, can I get an autograph.”
Xavier; “HA HA you lost to Travis!”
Randy; “Losing happens. Have a good one guys.”
Andrew; “Hold on. Like I gotta ask, man. Why’d you help Travis last week?”
Xavier; “Yeah, it didn’t really make sense.”
Randy; “Who said I helped Travis?”
Ed; “Well you did kinda, win the match for him. There was no way he was catching AKis on that ladder.”
(Randy’s eyes narrow as his relaxed posture shifts to quiet confidence giving way for the Red Bull Icon to comment.)
BoolZ; “So you think because the Red Bull Icon knocked Kiseragi off that ladder it helped Roberts? Really? I don’t know, I would think showing the world that the only times he can win, ‘when it counts’ is with help. Whether it be Declan or me from the outside, or Kiseragi or me doing ourselves in. When was the last time you saw ‘The Blessed One’ just out match his opponent?
Hell, the most influential man in his own mind can’t even keep his opponents attention with the help of the Unified Title. And KisKis knows it. Travis isn’t the same man he once was, and his only purpose now is to drop that title. Why else do you think after all the training and refocusing Alex did going into Infinity that he’d be so willing to insult RBI instead of keep his attention on his challenger. Hell the fact that you think I cost Alex his title speaks to that fact. There he was, already clobbered and laid out by me once that night and he still had enough in the tank to probably beat Travis up that ladder.
Seriously though guys, the Red Bull Gods Chosen is supposed to be vacation not reminiscing about how much better he is than Roberts. Take care.”
(Without another word BoolZ and Conni leave the group as Xavier snatches his keys back causing Andrew, Lex, and Ed to give chase to the barely sprinting Xavier.)
-WEDNESDAY February 25, 2009-
(We’re home in another hotel room during the darkest hours of the not quite morning. The disheveled heap on the bed instantly tells at least half of the story of another conquest and the trophy won. This time however we quickly move to the patio of the high rise hotel to see Randy Boolzian leaning against the guard rail.
He’s dressed. Completely. From the Dickies pants, t-shirt, even already has his shoes on. Conni sits patiently at Randy’s side as the traffic, even at this ungodly hour, down below is as thick and heavy as ever. We watch as Randy brings his cigarette to his lips. We notice his hand decorated with bruising, swelling, and the distinctive bit pattern of a human adult cut into his knuckles. This is as close to peace as possible for him.
Then we hear not the sounds of car horns or road noise as tractor trailers hurl themselves forward, but Chop Stix being played. Randy and Conni both turn from the guard rail back towards the sliding glass door to the room, and he remembers the Baby Grand Piano where he’d doubled over his entertainment for the night just hours prior.)
Randy~ What the hell? Even MJ passed out our first night.
(When the song ends, abruptly, we see the silhouette of a thin female dancing from one end of the room to the other. Randy now facing the door, behind the blackout curtains, leans against the guardrail and looks down to Conni with a shrug.)
Randy~ Shit, how are we gonna get out now?
(Then the door quickly slides open, and all movement stops. They’re both surprised, Randy just hides it better. There she is. Blackened and swollen left eye, surprise etched into her young complexion, and a cold shiver running up her spine causing her nipples to harden and unrestrained by a stitch of clothing poke forward.)
Tiffany; “Whoa!? I thought you would have ran out by now.”
(Randy perhaps speechless simply shrugs as he looks down to his covered feet.)
Tiffany; “Well this is good though, it lets me thank you again. I don’t know what would have happened if you hadn’t showed up. I really think Claude might have killed me.”
{{We flashback to still images of a terrified woman running, panicked, from a fat man with his pants around his ankles in the park. We see an overly made up and augmented woman being thrown out of her BMW while at a stop light. We see the image of a father being stabbed at the ATM because he stopped too late on his way home to withdraw his son’s allowance. The petite hauntingly innocent looking brunette pinned against the wall getting the shit beat out of her in a Las Vegas ally way.}}
Tiffany; “Do you mind?”
(Randy still without anything to say looks at the pre-roll and cheap Bic lighter in her hand as she steps through the doorway.)
Randy; “Who am I to judge?”
Tiffany; “Alright good. I was a little afraid you’d turn out to be square after you didn’t drink at dinner. You want?”
(Again, he doesn’t feel the need to speak and slowly shakes his head. That’s all the excuse she needs to spark her relaxation and begin to ramble on in a very quick tempo.)
Tiffany; “So, well look at you. You’re all ready to head out, huh? Where we going? OH YOU KNOW, the Luxor is doing some bad ass shark exhibit all week. Or I know a really nice breakfast place on the other side of the city. I gotta stop and pick up some new clothes first though. I imagine Claude’s already burned everything I brought on the trip. He just gets so jealous sometimes. Like he really thought that blackjack dealer was hitting on me because I kept winning. Like it’s my fault I got lucky. Two grand I won, I was on a roll, like nothing could stop me. Nothing but Claude’s fist anyway, but you showed him. God I am really just so thankful. I didn’t think people still gave a damn about strangers anymore. Like why should you risk yourself to help me, but it does it just really reassured me that not everything is lost in the world. So Lucy’s Boutique, they have the cutest clothes, and they’re on the way to my favorite diner. It’ll be so much fun, let’s go, you wanna go, yeah let’s go. Just let me take a quick shower, I feel kinda yucky and sticky after what you did to me, do you have an extra shirt I can wear until we get to Lucy’s? Oh you’re not gonna leave while I’m in the shower are? I’ll be real quick, you know what, no you’re coming with me.”
(It didn’t take long for her to rattle off her hodgepodge thoughts, and even less time for her to grab Randy’s left hand and lead him back into the hotel room. Still, clearly, speechless now Randy can only look back at Conni. He would swear his dog was laughing at him.)
-FRIDAY February 27, 2009-
(We reopen to the sunny valet parking kiosk in front of Randy’s hotel. We open to a shot of Randy looking uncharacteristically worn out. No sooner than he flicks away one cigarette butt, he light’s another. Conni at his left sits patiently with what can only be a look of utter glee and joy over what he knows they’ve had to endure for the last two days.
Finally the ‘U-Suk’ mobile pulls up under the awning and a valet steps from the drivers side door causing the pre-recorded sounds of thousands of fans cheering to echo through the dry desert air. Randy doesn’t make it two steps before it starts again.)
Tiffany; “So this is it huh? When you said goodbye this morning I thought you were just going to get cigarettes. You know they sell cigarettes in the gift shop, where we going to pick up your smokes. I know not everywhere sells your brand, but is it far? You know in some cultures when you save a life, like I really think Claude probably would have killed me, then that live becomes yours. Where do you live anyway? I shit, I have a meeting in L.A. on Monday, I should probably start thinking about getting back to town. Gee, I hope Claude didn’t take the car, he probably did though. I should look into a bus ticket when we get back upstairs. I hope he’s not gonna be looking for me though, he just gets so obsessive. Hey you know most bus trips from Vegas to L.A. stop off at Whiskey Pete’s? I’ve had such good luck there, last time I won two hundred bucks on a nickel machine. You know it might not be that good of an idea to stop this time though, Claude knows how much I love that place, and will probably be waiting for me there. He’s done it before you know. I think he thinks coming to Vegas is like his excuse to act like an ass and hang out in strip clubs while I play the tables then he gets guilty and his jealousy overwhelms him. Maybe I’ll take a plane instead, I still got lots of winnings, oh shit my I.D. was in my bag, they won’t let me on a plane. Yeah I’ll call the Grey Hound when we get back. So where we going? I know there’s like a smoker’s depot a few miles away, I got this water pipe there a couple years ago, when I came out with some girlfriends for my 21st birthday. Suzy, well she was only nineteen at the time, but we got her drunk, and she says, I don’t believe her, but she says she went down on like six guys that night in the bathroom. What a slut, right? I’ll have to give her a call if I make it back to L.A. alive…”
(Looking down at Conni and somewhere between wondering if he’ll end up taking in every stray he helps or how bad would it really be to give her back to this Claude he can’t believe what he’s saying.)
Randy; “Vacation’s over, and I have to get back to L.A. Do you need a ride?”
Tiffany; “Oh that would great, yes, thank you. See there you are saving my ass again. You really are a night in shining armor aren’t you? So what do you do for a living? I’m a secretary for a very important architect. It’s boring as all hell, but it pays really well…”
(As soon as he said it, he regretted it. Standing by the still open, still cheering, door Randy looks up at his new travel mate, and seemingly almost can’t believe his eyes as he focuses in on a pair of beautiful ornate bone chop sticks holding Tiffany’s hair up in a bun.)
Tiffany; “… What?”
Randy; “Have you ever had one of those moments where you see something for like the hundredth time I mean you just get used to seeing it, but this time it really just stands out as special?”
Tiffany; “Awww, that’s sweet. Thank you.”
Randy; “Huh?”
(The scene fades out as Tiffany climbs into the passenger seat, moving the GIW Hardcore Belt and the contents of the glove box from the seat to the floor. Conni hops into the cab sitting on Tiffany’s lap, and BoolZ pulls himself up and in behind the steering wheel shutting the door behind him.)
(Our scene opens in the back halls of the GIW Arena following the last Sentinel. Most of the crowd has left, and the majority of the after show clean up has been finished. As we scan the hallway we notice quite a few of Professor Bling’s Security Staff gingerly walking together, sharing in each other’s bruises and aches. As they turn a corner and fade from our sight we are greeted by the Red Bull Icon approaching nonchalantly from where ever the security staff was headed.
BoolZ now garbed in a faded pair of frayed heeled blue Dickies, a crisp new ‘Good Enough for a Poke’ black shirt, and his well broken in Converse All-Stars. Conni follows closely behind his master. The defunct GIW Hardcore Title Belt swaying back and forth in the American Red Nosed Pit Bulls mouth as the now not so puppy trots along.
We follow RBI as he continues down the hallway. After a few steps, and flick and a pop, and a fresh puff of his cigarette he reaches his destination. Standing in front of a door marked ‘Boss P’, BoolZ glances down at Conni, and then opens a Red Bull from his back pocket.)
BoolZ; “This should be fun. Wait here.”
(Consequences, well trained, does as he’s instructed. As he lowers himself to the floor to continue gnawing on his chew toy, BoolZ casually opens the door unannounced.)
Boss P; “MOTHAFUCKA, WHO DA MOTHAFUCK DO YA THINK YA UR ALL BARGIN’ IN BOSS P’S MOTHAFUCKIN’ OFFICE LIKE YA OWN DA SHIT? MOTHAFUCKA, NEVER LERNT TA KNOCK!?!
BoolZ; “What, heard you wanted to talk to me. Here I am.”
(Conni barely notices the commotion. Instead he simply continues his task at hand. Once our view shifts to the interior we can see BoolZ standing in front of a very heavy oak desk. We’re not sure if it’s steam or smoke he’s exhaling into the icy room. Boss P is positioned behind the desk, behind the stacks of paperwork, and in front of the dozen or so small white Chinese takeout boxes. Boss P shovels a heap of what looks like shrimp chow mien into his gullet as he looks at BoolZ with clear distain.)
BoolZ; “So is this about my challenge to Kiseragi next week? Do I get the match?”
Boss P; “YEAH MOTHAFUCKA, DIS ABOUT YA MATCH. YOU GET YA MATCH, KICKY NIGGA GETS HIS REVENGE, BUT LET ME SAY IT NOW SO WE’S PERFECTLY MOTHAFUCKIN CLEAR ABOUT DIS SHIT. I WAN’ YA TO REALLY MOTHAFUCKIN LISTEN TO THE WORDS DAT BE COMIN’ OUT MA…”
BoolZ; “Squawk box!”
(There’s an awkward silence as Boss P just looks at the young man before him.)
BoolZ; “Sorry, I got a problem with impulse control.”
Boss P; “NO SHIT MOTHAFUCKA! LISTEN I GOTS YA HUR ‘CAUSE I WANNA…”
BoolZ; “Peck at me for how I’ve been treating your Unified Champions! Sorry.”
(There is another long awkward pause as Boss P stabs his fork into the noodles taking another bite.)
Boss P; “JUS, WHO DA MOTHAFUCK YOU TINK YOU IZ, SON? LISSIN’ TA ME! I IS TELLIN’ YA RIGHT MOTHAFUCKIN’ NOW DAT IF DIS SHIT WIT YOU AND THE FAT MODEL NIGGA TURN INTA A FULL BLOWN BLOOD FUED LIKE YA AND DA GANGLY HIPPY NIGGA, DEN I’MA GON…”
BoolZ; “Alright, alright, I get it. Don’t get your eggs scrambled over there. Listen I’m going to take that TFC Belt away, I’m going to take the Global Belt away, and then when I think he’s learned his lesson I’ll leave him alone. It’s not like beating Kiseragi is anything new to me. Wait isn’t it kinda lame to be eating Chinese food with a fork?”
(Boss P doesn’t say a word. He doesn’t take another bite. He just looks at the Red Bull Icon.)
BoolZ; “Oh, wait a minute. Don’t tell me. You can wield fully automatic assault rifles with those flippers, fins, wings? You can sign my very large paycheck with whatever those damn things are, but you can’t use a set of chopsticks can you?”
(Boss P doesn’t even look at RBI. He doesn’t hesitate to leave from his perch from behind the desk.)
BoolZ; “Hell I even heard rumor of a certain chief and…”
BANG BANG BANG
(Boss P doesn’t play. He had calmly, nonchalantly, picked up his AK-47 and BoolZ barely manages to escape the frozen death pit in one piece as bullet holes rip through the office walls. Conni takes the chance to playfully lick his owner’s worried brow.)
BoolZ; “What the hell Conni? Who plucked his feathers… scales… feathers?”
-MONDAY February 23, 2009-
(When the shot comes back we’re gone from the mazelike corridors of the GIW Arena. Replaced by the seemingly empty long narrow stretch of Interstate 15 from Los Angeles to Las Vegas. We’re out of Boss P’s refrigerator like office, and we’re in the coffin like confines of the passenger cab of Randy Boolzian’s ‘U-Suk’ Mobile.
As the engine roars causing the truck to barrel down the stretch of highway we watch as Randy, speechless, puffs away on his cigarette before washing down the toxic air with his Red Bull. ‘Swan Dive’ by hed(pe) plays out over the supped up sound system while Conni gleefully continues his task of chewing through the defunct GIW Hardcore belt.
As the vehicle continues it’s march we watch as Randy’s attention is drawn to the carcass of a large dog laying off to the side of the road. The desert sun has taken its toll on the body causing the skin to shrink around the mouth, and the fluids and gases inside the abdomen to swell and cause the lifeless form to bloat.
Randy watches, doesn’t take his eyes from, the soulless shell as the truck screams past. Randy inhales another drag, exhales slowly, and shakes his head while flicking the cigarette butt out of the window. He looks down to his canine companion who looks back to his owner, and lets out a small whine.)
Randy; “I know, boy. I’m sorry. We’ll buy a house when we get back into town. I just needed to get out of that city for a bit. I mean Alex is right. There really isn’t much cause for the animosity between us.”
(A flick and a pop later, and Randy is lighting another cigarette before he kills his Red Bull and discards the empty can to the floor of the passengers side.)
Randy; “I mean yeah I guess it started with what he said about Chris, but Austin’s a big boy and he doesn’t need me fighting his battles. Plus no matter what Kiseragi could have ever said it couldn’t have hurt more than the DiscomBoolZalator I nailed Chris with. “
(Randy pauses again as the truck passes an armadillo turned on its back succumbed to the trauma caused by a fifteen ton semi truck. It’s legs in the air, arms out stretched to welcome the coming nothingness.)
Randy; “Hell, you know I almost liked Alex when we first met. I thought he was ‘plucky’. There he was in my locker room trying to gain approval. Trying to match me Red Bull for Red Bull. No wait, no he just bought me a Red Bull the first time we met. His wanting validation was when Komosube and I carried him through that six man tag.
You know it doesn’t matter. The end result was I had nothing against him. Hell I even tried to help him. How bad would it have been if he had to watch me dismantle his old man, so I being the nice guy that I am met up with Yasutoki and politely informed him that if he get involved in my matches that I’d stop treating him like a spectator and more as a participant. Simple as that. I didn’t mean any harm, but that failed model douche had to get all uppity, and Pearl Harbor me on my way to respectfully back out of the match his old man demanded. Fucking back fighter.”
(Conni has turned his attention back to the leather and gold of his favorite distraction. Randy flicks his cigarette out of the window as the radio begins to play ‘Ghost Town’ by Shiny Toy Guns. Randy pops open another can of Red Bull as watches the truck plod past a cat this time. The feline’s intestines spread thin across the asphalt as clumps of fur stick to the dried sticky mess.)
Randy; “Then Horizons, you know. I mean I wasn’t upset with Kiseragi after he got beat, thus losing the match. It was just a tough break, you know, kicking his way through the roof of the cell and plummeting down to the ring. Shit happens, I moved on, barely gave him another thought unless he was in my way. Infinity? I almost gained a little respect for him. There he was recognizing his own limitations. Realizing that he only ‘won’ the Global Title because of his daddy, and knowing that he can’t win it in a straight up match, so he sneaks and plots, and takes the title a bit shifty like. Hey at least he knows what he has to do to win, and is clearly more than willing to cut what ever corners he’s got to to do it.”
(Randy reaches for his pack of Marlboro Blend 27s as he watches the ‘U-Suk’ Mobile press on past what can only be assumed is a dog by it’s size. The crumpled, twisted, broken body must have jumped from the back of a pick up or thrown from the window of a speeding minivan. The animal, couldn’t have been long ago, enjoying it’s everlasting well earned peace after the inevitable brief moments of excruciating pain. Randy his brow scrunched looks into the pack of smokes to find nothing but a few stray shreds of tobacco. He tosses the empty box to the floor, and opens the glove box to search for his backup pack.)
Randy; “Then last night. I really don’t know what to say. I mean what did he think was going to happen? Like I need his pity. Like he was doing me some huge favor. Like I need everyone looking at me like some psycho charity case. Who didn’t see me, after all I did to Roberts, getting involved in that ladder match? What did he think I’d just smile, and accept his ‘gift’? I don’t know, maybe I over reacted. Bullshit! I don’t know. I mean I don’t know why there’s the tension between us that there is, but goddamn it I hate him. I hate hearing about his stupid little happy childhood full of training with his father and summers in Japan. I hate seeing him shunning the advice he gets from Yasutoki. I hate seeing him forsake the family that half our fans would probably give their left nut for. I hate him… motherfucker!”
(Randy, leaning over to the glove box searches frantically. He pulls out a new, fresh, trophy. He produces handfuls of small pieces of paper dotted only with a name and telephone numbers. He takes out the stray empty can of Red Bull. No less than a dozen assorted pens. The owner’s manual for the ‘U-Suk’ Mobile. No cigarettes, just a large collection of disposable paper wrapped chop sticks remain.)
Randy; “Fucking MJ, and her sushi!”
(The scene fades as we pass a sign reading ‘Las Vegas – 73 miles’. The scene fades as we slowly drift down from the sign to a crow missing most of its feathers. Stripped by the wind or its own shame. Its beak spread wide stuck in a perpetual scream for mercy. Its eyes rotted out by the elements saving it from the sight of the atrocities that keep this world turning.)
-TUESDAY February 24, 2009-
(Our scene re-opens as Randy unties Conni from a news paper stand outside of a small liquor store. A fresh cigarette in his lips, Conni’s leash in one hand, and an ice cold Red Bull in the other the two begin their short walk back to their Las Vegas hotel. In route Randy is puzzled by a group of early twenties men kneeling in a circle in the parking lot of the hotel.
Randy and Conni cross the street and approach the group unseen. Once close enough we see the four men trying to fish something out of a sew grate with a pair of chop sticks. As three of the men suddenly stiffen in an attempt not to move the forth brings what looks like car keys to the grate before they slide off the chop stick and back to the damn floor.)
Guy; “Fuck Andrew I’m telling you this isn’t going to work!”
Andrew; “You got a better idea, Lex?”
Lex; “Yeah, we leave Ed’s stupid ass here. He’s the one that tossed those key in the first place.”
Ed; “Fuck bro, what was I supposed to do? Just let Xavier drive? Fucker had like a twelve beers at the last table.”
Xavier; “I can drive, what are you talking about?”
(Andrew, the one trying to get back Xavier’s keys, resumes his task. Xavier who had his keys apparently snatched by Ed seems to be finally giving in to the wavy rolling contents of his belly. Ed and Lex both take a step back away from Xavier. Randy now close enough reaches down, slides his fingers between the horizontal bars, and opens the small grate out of housing where it had been resting causing the hinges to squeak and whine.)
Randy; “Come on guys, don’t make shit harder than it’s gotta be.”
(Dumbfounded the four kids look in aw at Randy and Conni.)
Andrew; “Oh shit, you’re BoolZ!”
Lex; “Damn, yo man, see I told you those chop sticks weren’t gonna work.”
Ed; “Hey, can I get an autograph.”
Xavier; “HA HA you lost to Travis!”
Randy; “Losing happens. Have a good one guys.”
Andrew; “Hold on. Like I gotta ask, man. Why’d you help Travis last week?”
Xavier; “Yeah, it didn’t really make sense.”
Randy; “Who said I helped Travis?”
Ed; “Well you did kinda, win the match for him. There was no way he was catching AKis on that ladder.”
(Randy’s eyes narrow as his relaxed posture shifts to quiet confidence giving way for the Red Bull Icon to comment.)
BoolZ; “So you think because the Red Bull Icon knocked Kiseragi off that ladder it helped Roberts? Really? I don’t know, I would think showing the world that the only times he can win, ‘when it counts’ is with help. Whether it be Declan or me from the outside, or Kiseragi or me doing ourselves in. When was the last time you saw ‘The Blessed One’ just out match his opponent?
Hell, the most influential man in his own mind can’t even keep his opponents attention with the help of the Unified Title. And KisKis knows it. Travis isn’t the same man he once was, and his only purpose now is to drop that title. Why else do you think after all the training and refocusing Alex did going into Infinity that he’d be so willing to insult RBI instead of keep his attention on his challenger. Hell the fact that you think I cost Alex his title speaks to that fact. There he was, already clobbered and laid out by me once that night and he still had enough in the tank to probably beat Travis up that ladder.
Seriously though guys, the Red Bull Gods Chosen is supposed to be vacation not reminiscing about how much better he is than Roberts. Take care.”
(Without another word BoolZ and Conni leave the group as Xavier snatches his keys back causing Andrew, Lex, and Ed to give chase to the barely sprinting Xavier.)
-WEDNESDAY February 25, 2009-
(We’re home in another hotel room during the darkest hours of the not quite morning. The disheveled heap on the bed instantly tells at least half of the story of another conquest and the trophy won. This time however we quickly move to the patio of the high rise hotel to see Randy Boolzian leaning against the guard rail.
He’s dressed. Completely. From the Dickies pants, t-shirt, even already has his shoes on. Conni sits patiently at Randy’s side as the traffic, even at this ungodly hour, down below is as thick and heavy as ever. We watch as Randy brings his cigarette to his lips. We notice his hand decorated with bruising, swelling, and the distinctive bit pattern of a human adult cut into his knuckles. This is as close to peace as possible for him.
Then we hear not the sounds of car horns or road noise as tractor trailers hurl themselves forward, but Chop Stix being played. Randy and Conni both turn from the guard rail back towards the sliding glass door to the room, and he remembers the Baby Grand Piano where he’d doubled over his entertainment for the night just hours prior.)
Randy~ What the hell? Even MJ passed out our first night.
(When the song ends, abruptly, we see the silhouette of a thin female dancing from one end of the room to the other. Randy now facing the door, behind the blackout curtains, leans against the guardrail and looks down to Conni with a shrug.)
Randy~ Shit, how are we gonna get out now?
(Then the door quickly slides open, and all movement stops. They’re both surprised, Randy just hides it better. There she is. Blackened and swollen left eye, surprise etched into her young complexion, and a cold shiver running up her spine causing her nipples to harden and unrestrained by a stitch of clothing poke forward.)
Tiffany; “Whoa!? I thought you would have ran out by now.”
(Randy perhaps speechless simply shrugs as he looks down to his covered feet.)
Tiffany; “Well this is good though, it lets me thank you again. I don’t know what would have happened if you hadn’t showed up. I really think Claude might have killed me.”
{{We flashback to still images of a terrified woman running, panicked, from a fat man with his pants around his ankles in the park. We see an overly made up and augmented woman being thrown out of her BMW while at a stop light. We see the image of a father being stabbed at the ATM because he stopped too late on his way home to withdraw his son’s allowance. The petite hauntingly innocent looking brunette pinned against the wall getting the shit beat out of her in a Las Vegas ally way.}}
Tiffany; “Do you mind?”
(Randy still without anything to say looks at the pre-roll and cheap Bic lighter in her hand as she steps through the doorway.)
Randy; “Who am I to judge?”
Tiffany; “Alright good. I was a little afraid you’d turn out to be square after you didn’t drink at dinner. You want?”
(Again, he doesn’t feel the need to speak and slowly shakes his head. That’s all the excuse she needs to spark her relaxation and begin to ramble on in a very quick tempo.)
Tiffany; “So, well look at you. You’re all ready to head out, huh? Where we going? OH YOU KNOW, the Luxor is doing some bad ass shark exhibit all week. Or I know a really nice breakfast place on the other side of the city. I gotta stop and pick up some new clothes first though. I imagine Claude’s already burned everything I brought on the trip. He just gets so jealous sometimes. Like he really thought that blackjack dealer was hitting on me because I kept winning. Like it’s my fault I got lucky. Two grand I won, I was on a roll, like nothing could stop me. Nothing but Claude’s fist anyway, but you showed him. God I am really just so thankful. I didn’t think people still gave a damn about strangers anymore. Like why should you risk yourself to help me, but it does it just really reassured me that not everything is lost in the world. So Lucy’s Boutique, they have the cutest clothes, and they’re on the way to my favorite diner. It’ll be so much fun, let’s go, you wanna go, yeah let’s go. Just let me take a quick shower, I feel kinda yucky and sticky after what you did to me, do you have an extra shirt I can wear until we get to Lucy’s? Oh you’re not gonna leave while I’m in the shower are? I’ll be real quick, you know what, no you’re coming with me.”
(It didn’t take long for her to rattle off her hodgepodge thoughts, and even less time for her to grab Randy’s left hand and lead him back into the hotel room. Still, clearly, speechless now Randy can only look back at Conni. He would swear his dog was laughing at him.)
-FRIDAY February 27, 2009-
(We reopen to the sunny valet parking kiosk in front of Randy’s hotel. We open to a shot of Randy looking uncharacteristically worn out. No sooner than he flicks away one cigarette butt, he light’s another. Conni at his left sits patiently with what can only be a look of utter glee and joy over what he knows they’ve had to endure for the last two days.
Finally the ‘U-Suk’ mobile pulls up under the awning and a valet steps from the drivers side door causing the pre-recorded sounds of thousands of fans cheering to echo through the dry desert air. Randy doesn’t make it two steps before it starts again.)
Tiffany; “So this is it huh? When you said goodbye this morning I thought you were just going to get cigarettes. You know they sell cigarettes in the gift shop, where we going to pick up your smokes. I know not everywhere sells your brand, but is it far? You know in some cultures when you save a life, like I really think Claude probably would have killed me, then that live becomes yours. Where do you live anyway? I shit, I have a meeting in L.A. on Monday, I should probably start thinking about getting back to town. Gee, I hope Claude didn’t take the car, he probably did though. I should look into a bus ticket when we get back upstairs. I hope he’s not gonna be looking for me though, he just gets so obsessive. Hey you know most bus trips from Vegas to L.A. stop off at Whiskey Pete’s? I’ve had such good luck there, last time I won two hundred bucks on a nickel machine. You know it might not be that good of an idea to stop this time though, Claude knows how much I love that place, and will probably be waiting for me there. He’s done it before you know. I think he thinks coming to Vegas is like his excuse to act like an ass and hang out in strip clubs while I play the tables then he gets guilty and his jealousy overwhelms him. Maybe I’ll take a plane instead, I still got lots of winnings, oh shit my I.D. was in my bag, they won’t let me on a plane. Yeah I’ll call the Grey Hound when we get back. So where we going? I know there’s like a smoker’s depot a few miles away, I got this water pipe there a couple years ago, when I came out with some girlfriends for my 21st birthday. Suzy, well she was only nineteen at the time, but we got her drunk, and she says, I don’t believe her, but she says she went down on like six guys that night in the bathroom. What a slut, right? I’ll have to give her a call if I make it back to L.A. alive…”
(Looking down at Conni and somewhere between wondering if he’ll end up taking in every stray he helps or how bad would it really be to give her back to this Claude he can’t believe what he’s saying.)
Randy; “Vacation’s over, and I have to get back to L.A. Do you need a ride?”
Tiffany; “Oh that would great, yes, thank you. See there you are saving my ass again. You really are a night in shining armor aren’t you? So what do you do for a living? I’m a secretary for a very important architect. It’s boring as all hell, but it pays really well…”
(As soon as he said it, he regretted it. Standing by the still open, still cheering, door Randy looks up at his new travel mate, and seemingly almost can’t believe his eyes as he focuses in on a pair of beautiful ornate bone chop sticks holding Tiffany’s hair up in a bun.)
Tiffany; “… What?”
Randy; “Have you ever had one of those moments where you see something for like the hundredth time I mean you just get used to seeing it, but this time it really just stands out as special?”
Tiffany; “Awww, that’s sweet. Thank you.”
Randy; “Huh?”
(The scene fades out as Tiffany climbs into the passenger seat, moving the GIW Hardcore Belt and the contents of the glove box from the seat to the floor. Conni hops into the cab sitting on Tiffany’s lap, and BoolZ pulls himself up and in behind the steering wheel shutting the door behind him.)
