Sins of the Father : Strange Bedfellows

[Gerard Angelo]

Pytor had always been a valuable solider in The Butcher’s crime empire. He followed orders and didn’t ask too many questions. Pytor was also a great earner and was handy with various weapons (or things turned into weapons). He quickly worked his way up the ranks and became very valuable to Mr. Semenov. Pytor became The Butcher’s right hand. The Butcher’s Cleaver, as some of the newspapers and FBI have referred to him. Pytor didn’t care much for the nickname, but it was apropos. Pytor when he was given a “problem” to fix was swift, precise, and deadly. Over the years there was nothing that he did that could be traced back to Pytor or Mr. Semenov. That is until a few weeks ago when he had carelessly tossed Igor’s body into the harbor. The only time Pytor had a lapse in judgement and it could cost them all everything they’ve been working for over the last few years. So Pytor has spent the last week or so cleaning up his mess.

There was no going back on the Feds discovering Igor’s body. That ship had sailed. So Pytor was just tying up the loose ends. Out for the four men who were at the pier that night, Pytor was the only one left. Porter invited Stepan to his house for cards and beer. He had strangled Stepan and sliced his body into separate pieces. He had spent the next few days driving around the Tri-State area and depositing trash bag covered body parts in out of the way areas. With Nikolay, he brought him to Mr. Semenov’s pig farm under the guise of the manager stealing money from The Butcher. Pytor wound up slitting his throat with a filet knife and dragged his corpse to the pig pen. With in three hours there was nothing left of Nikolay.

These were men Pytor had drank with. They had gone to each others family gatherings, including Stepan’s son’s christening. Yet, Pytor felt no remorse. He was doing his job, and his loyalty was to Semenov above all else. These men may have considered Pytor a friend, but they were simply men who out lived their usefulness to him and The Butcher. In their business everyone is expendable.

And even a good solider like Pytor would eventually become expendable.

Pytor mused over these thoughts as he sat at the bar of O’Rourke’s Pub. It was an Irish bar but it was one of the places protected by The Butcher, so Pytor and the rest of the soldiers frequented. He found himself staring up at the television mounted on the wall, playing reruns of SportsCenter, as he took a drag from his cigarette. He let out a cloud of blue-gray smoke from his nostrils as he ashed the cancer stick into he heavy ash tray located on the bar. It was already littered with piles of ash and snuffed out butts from heavy use.

Pytor swallowed the rest of the whiskey in his rocks glass and dropped it loudly back on the bar. There were only three other patrons in the pub at this time and they paid Pytor no mind. The bartender, an older guy named Mark, walked over and silently refilled Pytor’s glass with Jack Daniels. He gave Mark a slight nod and went back to his thoughts.

He knew eventually The Butcher would have no use left for him, and he would wind up just like the men he took care of. That was inevitable. The whole point behind this job was grab as much money as you can before your time is up, so your family can survive with out you. Pytor was smart enough to recognize that. He could only hope that Semenov’s plan would work. Pytor took a sip of his whiskey as he snuffed out his cigarette in the ashtray. As the right hand man for the Butcher, he was privy to all the important information of Semenov’s empire. If what he was told was true, even the bare minimum of money they would get was beyond anything Pytor ever dreamed of. With his cut he could possibly get the hell out of this business and save his own life in the process.

He just had to survive until then.

==========

Henry Louis Gehrig stood at home plate at Yankee Stadium. He looked around at all the fans and reporters that showed up for his tribute. “The Iron Horse” wiped a hand over his face as he fought back tears, stepping to the microphone.

"For the past two weeks you have been reading about a bad break. Yet today I consider myself the luckiest man on the face of the earth.” The reverb from the microphone joined the echo as the PA system sent his message across the ballpark. “I have been in ballparks for seventeen years and have never received anything but kindness and encouragement from you fans.”

He looked down as he choked back tears. This was the hardest thing he ever had to do in his life. He looked back up at the fans filling the seats in the Bronx as he continued.

“When you look around, wouldn’t you consider it a privilege to associate yourself with such a fine looking men as they’re standing in uniform in this ballpark today? Sure, I'm lucky. Who wouldn't consider it an honor to have known Jacob Ruppert? Also, the builder of baseball's greatest empire, Ed Bar…” He cut off as one of the boom mic comes crashing into the shot, nearly hitting Gerard in the head and sending extras dressed as reporters scattering.

“CUT! Cut god dammit!”, the director leaps out of his chair, his face red with fury as he makes a beeline for the grip that dropped the boom. “What the fuck, Max? You tryin’ to ruin this god damn picture?!”

The young kid looks taken aback as the heavyset director continues to yell in his face, spit flying out of his mouth onto his goatee as the rest of the crew just stopping and watching. Gerard, who has removed his Yankee cap to smooth his hair out, walks over and puts his hand on the directors shoulder.

“Easy there, Larry. Everyone is fine.” Gerard feels Larry’s shoulder relax as he takes a deep breath. “Maybe we should take a break for dinner.” Larry turn to his star and nods, quickly turning away from the young grip as fast as he closed in on him.

“Alright. Everyone, we are doing dinner. Hour, hour and half, people!” Larry says before turning back to Gerard. “I dunno where they keep sending me these kids. Can’t even do the simplest tasks right!”

“It’ll be fine, Lar,” the star of Iron Horse says, rolling his eyes, “Just go get yourself a sandwich, you’re getting hangry.” He gives the director a playful nudge and the older man laughs in response and hurries off for some food. Gerard turns back to the young grip, who’s looking dejected as he heads in the opposite direction of the crew. Gerry walks over and claps him on the shoulder, slowing him down.

“Hey, kid, don’t worry about Larry. He’s only a dick ‘cause his is small.” This gets a laugh from the kid and Gerard smiles. “Listen, Max, was it?” Max nods. “Yeah, you’re doing a great job. He’ll forget about in an hour.” The kid nods and seems more relaxed.

“Thanks, Mister Angelo,” Max says, sighing, “I just hate how he needs to rip people apart in front of everyone.” Gerry nods. Just yesterday Larry screamed his head off at his assistant. The only thing the poor girl did was not give him enough sugar for his coffee.

“Yeah, I know. His bark is worse then his bite. Just go get yourself something to eat, and then we will finish up the day.”

Max nods and turns around, heading off to catering. Gerard looks around, wondering which was he can go sneak a cigarette, when one of the assistants walks up to him.

“Mister Angelo?” She asks, looking up at the tall actor/pro wrestler, “Your agent is in your trailer.”

“Thanks, Penelope.” Gerard says with a smile and she scurries off. Gerard turns on his heel and heads in the direction of his trailer. He hasn’t seen Jimmy in weeks and he refuses to answer his phone. Gerry is gonna have to smack him upside his head for worrying him like that. He gets to his trailer and hops up the two steps, swinging the door open as he walks inside.

“You better have a good damn excuse for not answering my texts or calls, you asshole. I have the right mind too…” Gerard trails off as the chair in his trailer spins around and seated in it is not Jimmy, but his father, Anthony Angelo. He smiles at his son, who’s jaw had dropped.

“I could say the same about you, my son.” Anthony says with a grin as he straightens out the cuffs on his Armani suit. Gerard’s face goes from shock to anger.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” Gerard angrily foods his arms over his chest, “Don’t you have morons to trick into voting for you?”

“I figured you’d be happy to see me for once.” The elder angelo says with a smirk. Gerry grinds his teeth as he tries to fight the urge to punch his old man. Smug bastard, he thought.

“I was told my agent was here.”

“And here I am.” Tony says with a smirk as he looks up at his oldest son with a smile. Gerard’s face has just become a permanent scowl.

“The fuck you are. Where’s Jimmy?” Gerry asks, growing increasingly impatient. His father was the last person he wanted to see. Not just now, but ever. Tony stands up from the chair and walks over to the bar cart that was one of Gerry’s perks in his contracts. The billionaire grabs a rocks glass and drops a few ice cube in it with the tongs, the ice clinking against the fine glass. Tony pours in some scotch and swirls it before taking a sip.

“You don’t have to worry about Jimmy anymore. You won’t be dealing with him.” Anthony turns back to his son, who’s clenching a fist.

“What the fuck are you talking about?”

“Didn’t you hear? AngCorp bought out Jimmy’s agency.” He smirks. “You work for me now.”

Gerard’s face shows his emotions as he cycles between confusion and anger repeatedly.

“I don’t believe that for a second. Jimmy would never sell to you.”

“Jimmy really needed money. More money then most had just lying around. So he gave me a call.”

Gerard runs a hand through his hair in frustration, still not wanting to believe what his father was saying. How had he not known Jimmy was in trouble? Why didn’t Jimmy ask him for help. Gerard shook his head.

“Well, I fucking quit then. I will never work for you.”

“Well you have to, Gerard.” He says with a grin, “Or we are gonna sue your ass for everything you have. You’re under contract to us for another two years. If you try to get out we will sue you for breach of contract. I’ll have my lawyers drag you into court for years. And you won’t be able to make movies the entire time.”

Gerard is continuing to fight the urge to punch his father in his smug face. He points a finger at him and is about to tell him to bring it when his father drops another bombshell.

“Oh, and you won’t be able to wrestle either until the law suit is cleared up, since we represent you in that as well.” Tony smirks as he takes a long sip of scotch from his glass, relishing the fact he seemingly has gotten an elusive victory over his rebellious offspring. Gerard drops his hand and clenches his fist, unwilling to accept the fact that he lost this round.

“What the fuck do you want then?”, he asks his father defeatedly. Tony smiles and claps his son on his shoulder with his free hand.

“Don’t worry. Everything is going to stay the same, mostly.” He tilts the glass back into his mouth, finishing the rest of the expensive liquid. “But there is one thing you’re going to do for me, in exchange.”

Gerry raises an eyebrow as his father’s expression becomes serious.

“You are gonna come out publicly and throw your support behind me for New York senator.” The billionaire turned politician says, “All you have to do is send out one little Tweet. I just need you to help me with that young person vote.”

Gerry glares at his father but sighs in defeat.

“Are we done here?” He asks, and Tony nods, heading towards the exit.

“This is the beginning of a beautiful new relationship between us, son. I can feel it.”

Tony exits the trailer, leaving Gerard to ponder his new fate.

==============

Well don’t we have a god damned clusterfuck this week, huh?

But be before we get into that, guess who is the number one contender for the World Championship?

That’s right. It’s ME. Not Justin Michaels. Not Dominator. Not Seromine.

And I fucking EARNED it. I didn’t dress up in a stupid mask for three months to interject myself into the main event. I thought you were suppose to be this great wrestler, Justin. For someone that can’t shut the fuck up about how good he is, I figured you would try to earn a title shot. Instead you’re running around dressing up like a scarecrow and talking about you’re here to “save the business”.

Next thing you’re gonna get a bunch of shitty tattoos and lip ring while calling yourself the Best in the World.

Seriously, I’m cocky as fuck but at least I admit it. You act like everything you do is for some greater good, yet all i see is the biggest egomaniac in this match. And that’s coming from a self admitted one.

Yet, we have to some how coexist this week to take on probably the most dangerous duo of wrestlers in recent memory. And the current World Champ is the special guest referee. I give it about fifteen minutes before it falls apart.

But maybe we can actually pull out a win at Trauma. You just need to follow my lead. I mean, I am the only person in this tag match to actually win at Deadly Intentions.

Which brings me to the Black Hand. Grimm, I have nothing against you, aside from the fact that we are facing each other. I mean, we are undefeated as a tag time, right?

And Dominator. Well, no hard feelings, huh big guy? Even though I totally stole your spotlight since everyone and their mother had pegged you to be the one getting this title shot. Too soon? Well that’s showbiz, Dom. Gotta move quick or you’re gonna be on the outside looking in.

Oh! And I almost forgot our esteemed ref.

Kyle Shane. I’m guessing I wasn’t who you were expecting to face at Collision Course. Yeah, I’m probably the only person who wasn’t shocked by the results of the Deadly Rumble. I’m sure its a breath of fresh air for you to not be facing someone who’s gonna retire by the end of 2019 for once.

But we’ll cross that bridge when we come to it. For this week, just call it down the middle. I know, I know. Stormm really fuckin’ sucks. But just because he’s biggest douche, don’t fuck with my win/loss record.

See ya on Thursday.

Champ…