Post by Arsen Goodstone on May 7, 2018 20:03:13 GMT -5
Footsteps.
He could hear them echoing off the narrow hallway leading up to his office, but he didn't get up from old wooden chair behind his desk. Closer and closer the steps rang out, only stopping once they were replaced by a muffled yet stern voice from the other side of the door. One of Arsen Goodstones gruff employees was no doubt asking about the intruders business with his employer.
Some might say not being hospitable is bad for business. Those people have never seen with their own eyes the power of intimidation. That was truth, without a doubt, especially in the area of violent contracts and shady dealings. If the prospective buyer was scared before he got to the negotiating table, he would be more easily scared while the negotiation was taking place...making prices much more managable. Anyone taking a contract out for my line of work is either a coward or a very smart man who knows his limits. A coward won't haggle for prices, and an intelligent being needs to be shown that there are no easy way outs here. What you see is what you get.
The door swung open slowly, and a man in a zebra shirt shuffled in timidly with a henchman pushing him in by the scruff of his neck to speed up the process. "Mr. Goodstone may not seem like it, but he's not very patient and he's a very busy man. SIT." The henchman forced the client into a metal chair on the opposite side of the desk as Goodstone.
A referee...this will be interesting, I'd wager. Arsen thought to himself as he shrugged his shoulders, lifted his wide brimmed hat just a smidgen, and leaned forward to rest his forearms on the table with his hands clasped in front of him. His face was expressionless, and almost bored. Goodstone sat, still as a statue, staring the the man who had entered his office unannounced. Unannounced, fuck...I don't even have a phone down here. Everyone shows up unannounced.
"Well, go on then. You waltzed in here without an invitation, knowing exactly what kind of show we run down here, and you're just going to sit there and stare?" If anything besides brutal and efficient, Goodstones henchman were well trained in reading the emotions (or lack thereof) of Mr. Goodstone. It almost brought a smile to the hitmans face...almost. The referee sputtered out a few half-concocted syllables before clearing his throat.
"I...I have a problem. See, there's a wrestler who...well, he frightens me. I mean, no just him, but his whole...posse. His team." The zebra started, his voice quivering with fear of either the man he spoke of or the man he was speaking to. "He started out as a man of honor, a strong symbol of heritage and respect, but...now he just...hurts people. They all do." The ref rubbed his sweating palms on his pant legs, growing more and more nervous as Goodstone simply sat there staring at him and not saying a word. "Just the other day...well, a few weeks ago, at the second to last Trauma event, he beat a man pretty bad. Razor Blade...he squashed him three times even though he was definitely beat by the second. I can't watch that anymore; if someone is putting up a fight, I can handle brutality. It's my job, but...he was defensless. If we call the match early, we get written up because it's what the viewers want to see."
Another henchman, who the referee hadn't noticed because he was standing behind the door as it opened, sniggered. "Did you not see what Mr. Goodstone did to Mr. London the LAST Trauma? He wasn't exactly letting the chap have a fair go either."
"I...I know." The referee stammered. "That's why I came to you. I saw your message; we all did." The ref awkwardly glanced back at the man speaking to him, then surveyed the room for other possible threats. "Look, I don't want my name in this. I want to be anonymo--"
"WHY THE FUCK!" Goodstone exploded, slamming his fists down on the oaken table with enough force to make the referee stand up and choose flight over fight. The two other men in the room pushed him back down into the chair with ease. "WOULD I TELL PEOPLE YOUR NAME! I don't even know what it is you want, you haven't told me. You've been too busy trying not the cry over the neighborhood bully who you're afraid to stand up it. I don't care what your name is, boy, I care if you need me to do something and I care if you have the cash to make me consider doing it for you!"
"I want you to hurt--"
"NO, stop. Just...stop." Goodstone threw his hands up in exasperation, leaning his chair back on two legs. "What do you have to offer me? You don't have a spine, is your wife going to allow you to pay me or does all of your money go directly onto HER bank statement? I hope you're not wasting my time here, son, or it's going to end bad for you and better for this...this fucking scary old boogeyman who you can't face on your own?"
The referee looked as if he was ready to bolt out of the room again, but he was being firmly held into place by the two thugs, both of them with a hand on either of his shoulders. "I...I can give you one whole paycheck. I can't afford it but I don't want to see people like Razor Blade hurt that badly again. He--"
"He's a loony? He's got a mental illness, mate? What, are you an advocate for the underdog?" The first henchman said, leaning in close to get face to face.
"How much is that paycheck, boy? Don't waste my boss's time!" The second one chimed in, but barely a second later he stumbled back holding his already mangled nose. One solid jab from a seated position from Arsen Goodstone stopped any more words and sent him reeling back against a wall.
Goodstone pointed at his employee, still sitting down and still with a calm look on his face. "If I want you to help me talk terms of payment and how much a payment is, I'll fucking ask ya. You're job is to keep people from getting too hot under the collar here and starting trouble for me, and you're intimidating this rat? I do the talking here, got it? If I want you to know how much I make for a job, I'll let you know. I honestly could give a rats ass if you know how much I make but you really pissed me off, so now you won't know and you're out a days pay" Without waiting for a reply, Arsen pulled open a drawer and retrieved a piece of paper and a pen. He slid it across the table to the referee. "Write his name, write your offer."
The referee hastily scribbled down the requested items on the paper, but gingerly slid it back to Goodstone, keeping it in good mind not to anger the brooding powerhouse. The latter peered down at the paper for a moment before folding it up and placing it in his overcoats pocket. "Hiroshi Yukio...he's worth that much, huh?"
"I get paid well, and I want you to teach him a lesson."
"Well, that's good, because now I want this and half." Goodstone replied, once again lacing his fingers over the table. As the referees jaw dropped, Goodstone cocked his head to the side. "What, you think you're in a position to negotiate? You thought I'd just take your offer and take care of your problem out of the goodness of my heart? I don't care if he scares you; he doesn't scare me, and he shouldn't scare anyone else. I've never had any respect for those fat, so called strong twats. Letting yourself go like that isn't a sign of toughness or natural power, it's a sign of laziness and being content picking on the little shits. Little shits...that means you." Arsen flicks his hand in the direction of the referee. "If you want me to take care of this problem for you, I'll require half of the payment up front, and half the same night that I show your bully some humility. Got it? Can ya do that, mate?"
"...I can do it." The zebra replied, defeated.
For the first time during this encounter, Goodstone smiled. "That's what I like to hear. Donny!" He exclaimed, and the man nursing his bleeding face shuffled forward. "Get him out of here. Make sure he pays two thirds of this amount before he leaves the hallway, you fucking cunt. Then get the fuck out of my sight." Goodstone removes the piece of paper from his pocket and hands it over to Donny. As the thug grabs the paper and tries to pull it away, Goodstone holds on tight for a few moments while making deadly eye contact before eventually letting it go.
The two men pull the referee from his chair by his arms and pull him out of the room. As the door shuts behind them, Goodstone lets out a sigh and removes his hat, running his fingers through his hair. He is a big cunt, that Yukio...I'll give him that. And this isn't the job I thought I'd be getting after setting up shop here, but it's a start. Won't be easy, no fuckin' way...but I've been in worse fights with worse people under worse conditions. This is the first step to a very, very large paycheck; PCW will fall. Letting his thoughts go gray for a little while, Goodstone stares a hole through his office door, lost in his own thoughts.
And the world will find out on Trauma that I ALWAYS get my money.
He could hear them echoing off the narrow hallway leading up to his office, but he didn't get up from old wooden chair behind his desk. Closer and closer the steps rang out, only stopping once they were replaced by a muffled yet stern voice from the other side of the door. One of Arsen Goodstones gruff employees was no doubt asking about the intruders business with his employer.
Some might say not being hospitable is bad for business. Those people have never seen with their own eyes the power of intimidation. That was truth, without a doubt, especially in the area of violent contracts and shady dealings. If the prospective buyer was scared before he got to the negotiating table, he would be more easily scared while the negotiation was taking place...making prices much more managable. Anyone taking a contract out for my line of work is either a coward or a very smart man who knows his limits. A coward won't haggle for prices, and an intelligent being needs to be shown that there are no easy way outs here. What you see is what you get.
The door swung open slowly, and a man in a zebra shirt shuffled in timidly with a henchman pushing him in by the scruff of his neck to speed up the process. "Mr. Goodstone may not seem like it, but he's not very patient and he's a very busy man. SIT." The henchman forced the client into a metal chair on the opposite side of the desk as Goodstone.
A referee...this will be interesting, I'd wager. Arsen thought to himself as he shrugged his shoulders, lifted his wide brimmed hat just a smidgen, and leaned forward to rest his forearms on the table with his hands clasped in front of him. His face was expressionless, and almost bored. Goodstone sat, still as a statue, staring the the man who had entered his office unannounced. Unannounced, fuck...I don't even have a phone down here. Everyone shows up unannounced.
"Well, go on then. You waltzed in here without an invitation, knowing exactly what kind of show we run down here, and you're just going to sit there and stare?" If anything besides brutal and efficient, Goodstones henchman were well trained in reading the emotions (or lack thereof) of Mr. Goodstone. It almost brought a smile to the hitmans face...almost. The referee sputtered out a few half-concocted syllables before clearing his throat.
"I...I have a problem. See, there's a wrestler who...well, he frightens me. I mean, no just him, but his whole...posse. His team." The zebra started, his voice quivering with fear of either the man he spoke of or the man he was speaking to. "He started out as a man of honor, a strong symbol of heritage and respect, but...now he just...hurts people. They all do." The ref rubbed his sweating palms on his pant legs, growing more and more nervous as Goodstone simply sat there staring at him and not saying a word. "Just the other day...well, a few weeks ago, at the second to last Trauma event, he beat a man pretty bad. Razor Blade...he squashed him three times even though he was definitely beat by the second. I can't watch that anymore; if someone is putting up a fight, I can handle brutality. It's my job, but...he was defensless. If we call the match early, we get written up because it's what the viewers want to see."
Another henchman, who the referee hadn't noticed because he was standing behind the door as it opened, sniggered. "Did you not see what Mr. Goodstone did to Mr. London the LAST Trauma? He wasn't exactly letting the chap have a fair go either."
"I...I know." The referee stammered. "That's why I came to you. I saw your message; we all did." The ref awkwardly glanced back at the man speaking to him, then surveyed the room for other possible threats. "Look, I don't want my name in this. I want to be anonymo--"
"WHY THE FUCK!" Goodstone exploded, slamming his fists down on the oaken table with enough force to make the referee stand up and choose flight over fight. The two other men in the room pushed him back down into the chair with ease. "WOULD I TELL PEOPLE YOUR NAME! I don't even know what it is you want, you haven't told me. You've been too busy trying not the cry over the neighborhood bully who you're afraid to stand up it. I don't care what your name is, boy, I care if you need me to do something and I care if you have the cash to make me consider doing it for you!"
"I want you to hurt--"
"NO, stop. Just...stop." Goodstone threw his hands up in exasperation, leaning his chair back on two legs. "What do you have to offer me? You don't have a spine, is your wife going to allow you to pay me or does all of your money go directly onto HER bank statement? I hope you're not wasting my time here, son, or it's going to end bad for you and better for this...this fucking scary old boogeyman who you can't face on your own?"
The referee looked as if he was ready to bolt out of the room again, but he was being firmly held into place by the two thugs, both of them with a hand on either of his shoulders. "I...I can give you one whole paycheck. I can't afford it but I don't want to see people like Razor Blade hurt that badly again. He--"
"He's a loony? He's got a mental illness, mate? What, are you an advocate for the underdog?" The first henchman said, leaning in close to get face to face.
"How much is that paycheck, boy? Don't waste my boss's time!" The second one chimed in, but barely a second later he stumbled back holding his already mangled nose. One solid jab from a seated position from Arsen Goodstone stopped any more words and sent him reeling back against a wall.
Goodstone pointed at his employee, still sitting down and still with a calm look on his face. "If I want you to help me talk terms of payment and how much a payment is, I'll fucking ask ya. You're job is to keep people from getting too hot under the collar here and starting trouble for me, and you're intimidating this rat? I do the talking here, got it? If I want you to know how much I make for a job, I'll let you know. I honestly could give a rats ass if you know how much I make but you really pissed me off, so now you won't know and you're out a days pay" Without waiting for a reply, Arsen pulled open a drawer and retrieved a piece of paper and a pen. He slid it across the table to the referee. "Write his name, write your offer."
The referee hastily scribbled down the requested items on the paper, but gingerly slid it back to Goodstone, keeping it in good mind not to anger the brooding powerhouse. The latter peered down at the paper for a moment before folding it up and placing it in his overcoats pocket. "Hiroshi Yukio...he's worth that much, huh?"
"I get paid well, and I want you to teach him a lesson."
"Well, that's good, because now I want this and half." Goodstone replied, once again lacing his fingers over the table. As the referees jaw dropped, Goodstone cocked his head to the side. "What, you think you're in a position to negotiate? You thought I'd just take your offer and take care of your problem out of the goodness of my heart? I don't care if he scares you; he doesn't scare me, and he shouldn't scare anyone else. I've never had any respect for those fat, so called strong twats. Letting yourself go like that isn't a sign of toughness or natural power, it's a sign of laziness and being content picking on the little shits. Little shits...that means you." Arsen flicks his hand in the direction of the referee. "If you want me to take care of this problem for you, I'll require half of the payment up front, and half the same night that I show your bully some humility. Got it? Can ya do that, mate?"
"...I can do it." The zebra replied, defeated.
For the first time during this encounter, Goodstone smiled. "That's what I like to hear. Donny!" He exclaimed, and the man nursing his bleeding face shuffled forward. "Get him out of here. Make sure he pays two thirds of this amount before he leaves the hallway, you fucking cunt. Then get the fuck out of my sight." Goodstone removes the piece of paper from his pocket and hands it over to Donny. As the thug grabs the paper and tries to pull it away, Goodstone holds on tight for a few moments while making deadly eye contact before eventually letting it go.
The two men pull the referee from his chair by his arms and pull him out of the room. As the door shuts behind them, Goodstone lets out a sigh and removes his hat, running his fingers through his hair. He is a big cunt, that Yukio...I'll give him that. And this isn't the job I thought I'd be getting after setting up shop here, but it's a start. Won't be easy, no fuckin' way...but I've been in worse fights with worse people under worse conditions. This is the first step to a very, very large paycheck; PCW will fall. Letting his thoughts go gray for a little while, Goodstone stares a hole through his office door, lost in his own thoughts.
And the world will find out on Trauma that I ALWAYS get my money.