Post by Holden Ross on Jan 28, 2020 22:19:41 GMT -5
He caught the first flight outta South Carolina and headed for California. Just hours ago he “lost” his crown to the seemingly eternal, Rick Majors. The wheels on the private jet were up minutes after midnight, screaming west across the night sky, sipping on a rum and Coke. The evenings events replay over in his mind. And the one question that keeps repeating itself; How did he beat ME?! HOW?!
“Can I get you anything else, sir?” the buxom stewardess asks, he voice smooth as silk.
“Got any bud?” he asks and, of course, receives a curt shake of her head.
“I'm sorry, sir, but there is no smoking allowed on the plane. Or were you referring to a beer?” her megawatt smile reminds Holden of a shark.
“Herb.”
She shrugs. “Anything else I can help you with?”
He turns his attention to his phone where he fires off a text to Gerry, letting him know he will be in Cali for the next week. The rest of the flight is spent with a sleeping mask on. What the stewardess missed was the three white capsules he popped into his mouth about five minutes after takeoff. He was out like a light for the entire trip, including fuel stops in Chicago and Denver! When the plane landed the following morning in L.A., he was more than well rested, if but a little groggy from the pills.
His Mom greeted him up at L.A.X. with a bear hug that nearly bowled him over. Her smile stretched ear-to-ear, and tears welled up in her eyes. She, of course, is concerned as her eyes stop at each cut, every stitch, and at every bruise. With a sigh, she takes his hand and the two walk through the concourse heading for her car.
“ Do you really have to do this for a living, son?” she asks, her voice saturated in concern.
“No, I don’t have to do anything….but I’m good at it and I love it….”
She gives a small nod while considering her next question.
“I understand that but dies it have to be that violent “death match” stuff?”
They are stopped by a young man, maybe nineteen, who recognizes Holden from TBS and wants the teo time Underground King's autograph. Holden even poses for a selfie with the kid, mugging for the camera with a hard glare and a clenched fist held near the young mans head.
“You love that, the attention, don’t you?” she asks as they near her Toyota.
“What’s not to love? Nothin wrong with a lil fame, Mom. Besides, that fame is what made me the money to buy you that new house.”
They're buckled in and on the freeway when she lays it on him.
“I…I need to tell you something, Holden; I never bought a house. I..I spent that money at the casino…..”
He turns his head, slowly, to look at her and when she glances, tentatively, over at him she sees herself reflected in the lens of his aviator sunglasses. His hands are clenched into fists and his neck flushes in anger. He turns his attention back on the road with a sigh.
“I'm sorry, son, but I was chasing a-“ she’s cut off mid explanation.
“I don’t want any of your excuses! Jesus Christ! I sent you over two hundred thousand! AND YOU BLEW IT?!” his roar drowns out the radio and makes her flinch away from him. He takes notice and it only infuriates him more. “Did you just flinch? For fucking real?!”
A tear creeps down her cheek.
“I'm sorry, son, I have a problem…and I let you down.” Her voice trembles, on the verge of tears.
“You're not Punking me, are you? Some dipshit isn’t gonna pop out yellin ‘Gotcha!’?” he stares at the license plate on the car in front of them.
“I wish, son. I'm getting help and not just meetings. I'm using some of that money for counseling…”
He remains silent, his eyes fixed on that license plate, for the rest of the ride. She doesn’t venture any further down the counseling road and knows to keep quiet as well. When he is like this he clams up and doesn’t say a word. He's always been this way with her. Rather than say something hurtful he clams up. Tabitha gets the same results when they butt heads. Something engrained in his DNA, via his mom’s father. He once got so pissed at his wife that he took off on his own and wasn’t seen for nearly two weeks. (To be fair, he got lost in the mountains and lost three toes to frostbite.)
After a nap he was picked up by two of his old running buddies and the trio headed off to a bar. Doug, or Dougie to some, is reminiscent of “The Kingpin” of comic book fame; stocky, bald, and loves a cigar. Malik is the other friend; tall, thin with dreadlocks nearly to his waist, and skin the color of leather. The trio grew up together and played football together in high school with Doug playing center and Malik as both safety and wide receiver. Besides the quarterback, they were the most popular kids in school.
Now days, Doug runs a stereo installation shop and Malik works for a landscaping company. They both sell cannabis and LSD for Holden. Doug drives the three to a local taco shop, “Super Taco,” were they catch up and have a company meeting, of sorts. Through a connection his Father hooked him up with in the Northwest, Holden is thinking about adding psychedelic mushrooms to their inventory and his two top salesmen in Cali are all for it. Business is booming!
They spend the day smoking blunts, enjoying each others company, and eventually Holden is dropped off at his Mothers home. It’s a sweatbox of a house; barely one thousand square feet, poorly insulated, and a patchwork of colors due to the graffiti sprayed on the walls on a nearly nightly basis. He crosses the swath of bare dirt, save for a few patches pf brown, dead grass, and takes the two steps on the porch in one stride. He knocks, gently, and after a few heartbeats, his Mother opens the door.
The hinges squeal in protest and the floor squeaks just inside the threshold. But the air, the air is filled with such mouthwatering aromas! She has spent the past few hours preparing all of his favorites; chicken fried steak, chicken parmesan, and yes, even a turkey with all the trimmings. He looks at her, a boyish smile slanting his lips, while her eyes brim with tears.
“I’m going to do better, son, I promise. Can we sit down and eat?” she pleads with a hitch in her voice. He nods and swallows her in his arms, giving her a bearhug, and causing those tears to spill down her cheeks. Gambling debts and past issues are forgotten as they share a meal. It’s almost like when he was a kid….
The next day
Cameras open on Holden, in a pair of black board shorts, as he floats in a pool on an inflatable lounger. It’s a pristine day with spotless blue skies and the golden sun shining down on the former Underground King. The sun casts starbursts off of his aviators as he takes a swig from a red solo cup that is beaded with perspiration. He smacks his lips and removes a joint that was discreetly tucked behind his left ear. He places the drink in the loungers cup holder and grabs a lighter. He inhales deeply after sparking the joint before exhaling a plume of smoke.
“Life….is good. Here I am, lounging in beautiful, sunny California in the pool of one of my greatest friends, Gerard Angelo. I flew out here to both visit with family and, more importantly, to meet Gerry's tailor to the stars. Something I have learned, since linkin up with Gerry and David, as well as a few pointers from my lady, that no matter how much I feel like a success, I will always be looked at as a scrub if I carry myself that way. If I want to move on to bigger and better opportunities, I need to look the part, not just be the part. As long as I carry myself as a unique force within the Underground division, that’s all I will ever be perceived as.”
He takes another long toke from the spliff and exhales with a smirk curling his lips.
“Pandæmonium is defined as the capital city in Hell in the epic tale by John Milton. The second definition is chaos," he chuckles to himself before the laugh is abruptly cut off when he sits forward and yanks his aviators off. "In Chaos lies opportunity....that's all that we need. Opportunity... We will make our own opportunities, just like we have been all along, starting this week with both The Black Hand and the random clusterfuck that is the team of Stormm and Steel. We, Pandæmonium, has put Steel on his ass a few times with his embarrassing series of matches with Tyler Scott. Dom knows us all too well and Stormm, the history between he and us is still being written.
I ain’t comin to win. I am going to be in that arena with one goal in mind; sew the seeds of Chaos deeper into the fertile soil of the P.C.W. battlegrounds. Plant the idea that some of your “Gods” really are just men. This week, on the Superstation TBS, we will do what we do best…. Catch ya then…..” he says as the camera fades to black. Gerry is waiting off camera, finishing off typing out a text, while Holden slips off of the lounger and makes for the steps leading out of the pool.
“Hurry up and get changed, we have an appointment to get you fitted in forty-five minutes. It takes at least that long to get there.”
Holden offers him the spliff, which Gerry declines, and heads for the pool house to change, moving at his own pace.
“Can I get you anything else, sir?” the buxom stewardess asks, he voice smooth as silk.
“Got any bud?” he asks and, of course, receives a curt shake of her head.
“I'm sorry, sir, but there is no smoking allowed on the plane. Or were you referring to a beer?” her megawatt smile reminds Holden of a shark.
“Herb.”
She shrugs. “Anything else I can help you with?”
He turns his attention to his phone where he fires off a text to Gerry, letting him know he will be in Cali for the next week. The rest of the flight is spent with a sleeping mask on. What the stewardess missed was the three white capsules he popped into his mouth about five minutes after takeoff. He was out like a light for the entire trip, including fuel stops in Chicago and Denver! When the plane landed the following morning in L.A., he was more than well rested, if but a little groggy from the pills.
His Mom greeted him up at L.A.X. with a bear hug that nearly bowled him over. Her smile stretched ear-to-ear, and tears welled up in her eyes. She, of course, is concerned as her eyes stop at each cut, every stitch, and at every bruise. With a sigh, she takes his hand and the two walk through the concourse heading for her car.
“ Do you really have to do this for a living, son?” she asks, her voice saturated in concern.
“No, I don’t have to do anything….but I’m good at it and I love it….”
She gives a small nod while considering her next question.
“I understand that but dies it have to be that violent “death match” stuff?”
They are stopped by a young man, maybe nineteen, who recognizes Holden from TBS and wants the teo time Underground King's autograph. Holden even poses for a selfie with the kid, mugging for the camera with a hard glare and a clenched fist held near the young mans head.
“You love that, the attention, don’t you?” she asks as they near her Toyota.
“What’s not to love? Nothin wrong with a lil fame, Mom. Besides, that fame is what made me the money to buy you that new house.”
They're buckled in and on the freeway when she lays it on him.
“I…I need to tell you something, Holden; I never bought a house. I..I spent that money at the casino…..”
He turns his head, slowly, to look at her and when she glances, tentatively, over at him she sees herself reflected in the lens of his aviator sunglasses. His hands are clenched into fists and his neck flushes in anger. He turns his attention back on the road with a sigh.
“I'm sorry, son, but I was chasing a-“ she’s cut off mid explanation.
“I don’t want any of your excuses! Jesus Christ! I sent you over two hundred thousand! AND YOU BLEW IT?!” his roar drowns out the radio and makes her flinch away from him. He takes notice and it only infuriates him more. “Did you just flinch? For fucking real?!”
A tear creeps down her cheek.
“I'm sorry, son, I have a problem…and I let you down.” Her voice trembles, on the verge of tears.
“You're not Punking me, are you? Some dipshit isn’t gonna pop out yellin ‘Gotcha!’?” he stares at the license plate on the car in front of them.
“I wish, son. I'm getting help and not just meetings. I'm using some of that money for counseling…”
He remains silent, his eyes fixed on that license plate, for the rest of the ride. She doesn’t venture any further down the counseling road and knows to keep quiet as well. When he is like this he clams up and doesn’t say a word. He's always been this way with her. Rather than say something hurtful he clams up. Tabitha gets the same results when they butt heads. Something engrained in his DNA, via his mom’s father. He once got so pissed at his wife that he took off on his own and wasn’t seen for nearly two weeks. (To be fair, he got lost in the mountains and lost three toes to frostbite.)
After a nap he was picked up by two of his old running buddies and the trio headed off to a bar. Doug, or Dougie to some, is reminiscent of “The Kingpin” of comic book fame; stocky, bald, and loves a cigar. Malik is the other friend; tall, thin with dreadlocks nearly to his waist, and skin the color of leather. The trio grew up together and played football together in high school with Doug playing center and Malik as both safety and wide receiver. Besides the quarterback, they were the most popular kids in school.
Now days, Doug runs a stereo installation shop and Malik works for a landscaping company. They both sell cannabis and LSD for Holden. Doug drives the three to a local taco shop, “Super Taco,” were they catch up and have a company meeting, of sorts. Through a connection his Father hooked him up with in the Northwest, Holden is thinking about adding psychedelic mushrooms to their inventory and his two top salesmen in Cali are all for it. Business is booming!
They spend the day smoking blunts, enjoying each others company, and eventually Holden is dropped off at his Mothers home. It’s a sweatbox of a house; barely one thousand square feet, poorly insulated, and a patchwork of colors due to the graffiti sprayed on the walls on a nearly nightly basis. He crosses the swath of bare dirt, save for a few patches pf brown, dead grass, and takes the two steps on the porch in one stride. He knocks, gently, and after a few heartbeats, his Mother opens the door.
The hinges squeal in protest and the floor squeaks just inside the threshold. But the air, the air is filled with such mouthwatering aromas! She has spent the past few hours preparing all of his favorites; chicken fried steak, chicken parmesan, and yes, even a turkey with all the trimmings. He looks at her, a boyish smile slanting his lips, while her eyes brim with tears.
“I’m going to do better, son, I promise. Can we sit down and eat?” she pleads with a hitch in her voice. He nods and swallows her in his arms, giving her a bearhug, and causing those tears to spill down her cheeks. Gambling debts and past issues are forgotten as they share a meal. It’s almost like when he was a kid….
The next day
Cameras open on Holden, in a pair of black board shorts, as he floats in a pool on an inflatable lounger. It’s a pristine day with spotless blue skies and the golden sun shining down on the former Underground King. The sun casts starbursts off of his aviators as he takes a swig from a red solo cup that is beaded with perspiration. He smacks his lips and removes a joint that was discreetly tucked behind his left ear. He places the drink in the loungers cup holder and grabs a lighter. He inhales deeply after sparking the joint before exhaling a plume of smoke.
“Life….is good. Here I am, lounging in beautiful, sunny California in the pool of one of my greatest friends, Gerard Angelo. I flew out here to both visit with family and, more importantly, to meet Gerry's tailor to the stars. Something I have learned, since linkin up with Gerry and David, as well as a few pointers from my lady, that no matter how much I feel like a success, I will always be looked at as a scrub if I carry myself that way. If I want to move on to bigger and better opportunities, I need to look the part, not just be the part. As long as I carry myself as a unique force within the Underground division, that’s all I will ever be perceived as.”
He takes another long toke from the spliff and exhales with a smirk curling his lips.
“Pandæmonium is defined as the capital city in Hell in the epic tale by John Milton. The second definition is chaos," he chuckles to himself before the laugh is abruptly cut off when he sits forward and yanks his aviators off. "In Chaos lies opportunity....that's all that we need. Opportunity... We will make our own opportunities, just like we have been all along, starting this week with both The Black Hand and the random clusterfuck that is the team of Stormm and Steel. We, Pandæmonium, has put Steel on his ass a few times with his embarrassing series of matches with Tyler Scott. Dom knows us all too well and Stormm, the history between he and us is still being written.
I ain’t comin to win. I am going to be in that arena with one goal in mind; sew the seeds of Chaos deeper into the fertile soil of the P.C.W. battlegrounds. Plant the idea that some of your “Gods” really are just men. This week, on the Superstation TBS, we will do what we do best…. Catch ya then…..” he says as the camera fades to black. Gerry is waiting off camera, finishing off typing out a text, while Holden slips off of the lounger and makes for the steps leading out of the pool.
“Hurry up and get changed, we have an appointment to get you fitted in forty-five minutes. It takes at least that long to get there.”
Holden offers him the spliff, which Gerry declines, and heads for the pool house to change, moving at his own pace.