Post by The Legend on Oct 23, 2023 19:50:56 GMT -5
“You been shakin on the job,
Just one drink ahead of your past.”
“You’re real good at that.”
Rob Williams looked up from the pool table. He was drunk. Of course, he was drunk. He closed one eye and squinted, trying to make out the effigy before him. Oh, it was her.
“You’re a hard man to find, Rob Williams. Been to every hell hole in this town looking for you. We need to talk.”
He stared down the cue like a sniper taking aim, trying to line up the 3 ball with the corner pocket. The balls cracked softly as they made contact. Across the table a local yokel, probably in his mid-twenties, watched in awe as the 3 ball gracefully found its home in the corner pocket. Without skipping a beat, Rob moved to the next.
“Yeah, well,” Rob barked out to Charlotte,” you had your work cut out for you then. Ain’t exactly a booming metropolis.”
The 4 ball rolled off the cue ball and into the side pocket, connecting with the 5 just before sinking. The 5 rolled down the rail to stop perfect in front of the adjacent corner pocket. The yokel’s face boiled red as he began to fidget uncomfortably. Charlotte crossed her hands over her hips, sighing aloud. She had seen this play out a thousand times. She knew this racket all too well. Rob had probably let the kid have a few balls of the break for the first two games, stroking his ego.
“We gotta go, Rob.”
Then, maybe the fourth game, Rob suggested 9 ball. Oh how he loved 9-ball.
Rob thought 9 ball was pure. Just like wrestling – pure. There were clearly defined rules. Strategy and tactic mattered. You had to be setting your next two shots up with each move. It was about finesse. Brute force and raw talent could just as easily have you wind up in some old sniper’s crosshairs.
“All I gotta do is die and pay taxes, babe,” Rob chuckled from behind his Lucky Strike as the 9-ball bounced off the side rail and back into the side pocket on a perfect bank shot.
And just like that, Rob Williams had left another opponent stupefied and routed.
“Pay up, young buck.”
“C’mon, old man,” the yokel was staring at a wad of twenty-dollar bills as he rolled off the agreed $100 and tossed it down on the table, “let’s run it back one more time. I see how your moves now.”
“Kid, it’s like the man said. You gotta know when to walk away and when to run. This lovely young lady says I gotta go.”
Rob stuffed the money in the pocket of his Hawaiian shirt and softly laid the pool cue down on the table. He had enough to get a bottle of some good stuff. Charlotte was wearing a mean grimace, but she also had on that leather jacket with a tight white t-shirt and blue jean combo he loved. Maybe if he played his cards right and rubbed her feet 9-ball wasn’t the only luck he’d have tonight. The yokel was still beckoning Rob, but in his golden years he’d learned that you can’t jump at every steak.
Outside the cool night air hit Rob’s lungs like a punch in the gut. He coughed, tossing his lit butt into the snow. Anchorage had been hell on him in more ways than one. The promotion they’d come out here for, like so many before it, buckled. If he knew how to do anything else he’d cut his losses.
“We got a call back,” Charlotte said as she shivered, reluctantly leaning into Rob’s warm embrace. “Thunder Pro Wrestling.”
Rob leaned his head back and stared at the starry night sky. It was lit up, just like him. He couldn’t quite remember where TPW was based, but prayed it was somewhere warmer. These stars, though. He would miss them.
“They got starry nights there?”
“How the hell should I know? Anything's gotta be better than this crap. I've had enough snow for the rest of my days."
She was right, this town had grown old.
"Hey old man," a voice called out from behind them.
"Rob," Charlotte's grip tensed, "just let it go. We're out of here and the last thing we need is you stuck in jail."
Of course it was the kid. The confidence of youth.
"I said HEY, old man! Get your ass back here! I'm not done with you."
"Oh contraire," Rob beckoned and wheeled around just in time to take the kid's right hand on his chin. The kid threw had a respectable hook. Rob had absolutely taken stronger right hooks, but he couldn't recall any of them at the moment. While it wasn't enough to lay the seasoned vet down, he took a step or two back and was positive he'd remember this one tomorrow.
A few more punches were thrown by the kid, but Rob was once again in his element and deflected all of them. Some other local yokels had exited the bar like a bunch of barn animals coming to the trough. They hooted and hollered "Get him, Jim" and "Kick the old man's ass!". This fell on deaf ears for Rob who had spent his entire life taking a beating in front of yelling fans. He was wearing the kid down and hadn't thrown a punch yet.
Finesse. Tactic. Strategy.
"Kid, you got a cute face and that'll take you places. Let this one go."
As was par for the course, Rob's attempt at defusing the situation just further aggravated. Another one of his limited talents. The kid audibly growled and reared back, lunging forward just to catch Charlotte's cowboy boot right in his crotch. A gasp escaped the crowd. The young man shrieked, grabbing at the family jewels and falling into the snow. Another boy stepped forward as if he were planning to put his hands on Charlotte.
This moved Rob, both emotionally and physically. He deftly pulled his shirt over his head to put all of his scars on display as he raised his marred hands up, dropping his head behind them in a defensive position. Charlotte put her finely manicured hand on his chest in the nick of time.
"Let's go, babe," she said softly.
He gathered up his shirt from the ground and spat blood in front of the young man writing in pain on the ground. Rob sank his muscular arm around Charlotte’s shoulder, pulling her tight as the two embarked into the dark night.
"You're the boss, babe. You're the boss."
And so began their trek to the East Coast. They opted to drive, as always. It wasn’t the cost of flying nor a fear. They always seemed to find themselves and each other on the road. Top down, music playing, and hearts full of excitement for their next adventure.
TPW, look out.
