Post by Deleted on Mar 29, 2013 15:04:58 GMT -5
Toronto, Canada.
Whitey Ford was surprised he was even ALLOWED into Canada, with the dozens of felonies and other various charges on his record. But, with the right amount of money shown to the right border guard, anything was possible. It was a brisk and chilly night, the moonlight blanketing the beautiful city in its glow. The International Champion gazed out of the limousine window at the buildings as they passed. I fucking hate Canada, he thought to himself before grabbing the bottle of vodka that was on the seat next to him. As he raised it to his lips, Ford noticed his error; this bottle was empty. Tossing the returnable to the floor next to the other three bottles he had finished earlier, Whitey reached into the paper bag to pull out the last bottle of his stash.
"I fucking hate Canada." Ford said aloud this time, directing his statement to his large Mexican bodyguard. "I mean...c'mon. Everything is beautiful, everyone is friendly, low crime rates I can only imagine, the country isn't at war with anybody...it's fucking stupid. Every other country in the world is focused on blowing each other up, but Canada is 'above that.'" He unscrewed the cap from the bottle and took a long drink, his face souring from the taste and from his hate of Canada. "I should run for President, and fuck this entire country up."
Veigns, who was sitting across from Ford, chuckled at the idea. "Is that what they call the leader in Canada? President?"
Whitey scoffed, rolling his eyes. "I don't fucking know. President, king, dictator, thane, ruler, project manager, employee of the month, whatever it is I should run for it. For all I know these happy assholes don't have a leader, they just figure things out on they're own because they're so fucking nice." Ford took another drink, trying to drown his dislike of the country with vodka. "How far until the next bar?"
Veigns glanced at the handheld GPS that sat in his lap and cracked his knuckles. "Only another mile or so. We'll be there in a minute." He then picked up the deposit bag that sat beside him, and began to thumb through a wad of cash. "I thought Canada would be a heavy drinking country. We're not goin' through the money as fast as we thought."
The words were barely heard by Ford, who had drifted off into a daydream. His thought process amazed even HIM sometimes. Thank God for the AWA going under and the fact he had the best lawyer in New York to sure Timmy Draven for contractual fraud, or else he'd never be able to fund all these crazy ideas. In a way, thank God that Rick Majors was so delusional. They're are a million different ways to try and take down a corporation; being employed by them and competing for one of the most coveted accolades wasn't one of them. Maybe it was Rick's mid life crisis to try and be a hero, but the business he's crusading against must have concussed him more times than he realized. Because if you're trying to take down the company from within...
...why go against the most hated man in PCW?
Thousands and thousands of people tune in to the E! network each week to see Whitey Ford. They could care less if he even competed, or if he had a microphone, or if he was only on camera for five seconds. The fans wanted to see Ford get his ass kicked for all of the vile things he's done or will do eventually, and anybody who's attempted to do so is instantly thrust onto the hero's pedestal and spotlight. But for Majors to turn around and say he's going to tear the PCW around him for being so terrible seems counter-productive. Do something that the fans will love by beating Whitey Ford, then do something they'll hate by badmouthing the business they all love?
It makes no fucking sense! Ford took another drink, trying to force some logic into the situation. Michael Jordan didn't win championships then tell everyone to stop watching basketball. Wayne Gretzky wasn't a legend, only to complain that hockey is too violent and a boring sport. Raw Lewis didn't win a Superbowl only to complain that football is corrupting today's youth. So why does this prick think that becoming a champion proves that wrestling is 'evil?'
Ford was drawn out of his thoughts by noticing the limousine had come to a halt. He hadn't even noticed them turning into the parking lot of the bar he had asked about a few minutes earlier. Whitey sighed; talking to the Canadian populace wasn't his favorite thing in the world by a long shot, but if he wanted to really get under Majors skin, this was the best (and most appalling,) way to do it. "Give me the money." Veigns casually tossed over a stack of one-hundred dollar bills and got out of the limo, holding the door open for Ford. The latter got out as well, but lost his balance upon standing up. If it weren't for the watchful eye and quick reflexes of Johnny Veigns, Ford would have ended up face first on the pavement. "See that? People as why I drink vodka. Obviously, because it gets you fucking drunk!"
Veigns shut the door behind Ford and signaled to the driver to wait. Despite the initial stumble, Whitey managed to walk a mostly straight line as the two of them headed towards the entrance to the bar. Ford waved his arms around at the full parking lot. "Look at this! Finally, a full one! See all these cars, Johnny? Know what that means?"
Veigns begrudgingly answered, not masking the fact he didn't agree with what was about to happen. "That most of these cars will have drunk drivers behind the wheel come closing time."
"Precisely, spic-a-roo!" Ford said with way too much joy in his voice. "But I don't just want drunk drivers tonight. I want completely plastered, seeing double, can barely walk let alone drive, just threw up a minute before drivers! C'mon, lets go." Whitey opened up the door to the bar and stepped inside with bravado, amazingly not falling flat on his face. Veigns stepped in right behind him, ready for any trouble that might occur.
The patrons of the bar, which happened to be a sports pub, turned to greet the new arrivals; however, all were speechless at what they saw. While a good few of them were wearing sports jerseys and hats, none of them looked nearly as tattered and torn as Ford's Marshall's Law varsity jersey...which was more like a vest at this point. Ford held his arms wide open, boasting a huge smile as he yelled, "Greetings from America! I come bearing gifts in the form of alcohol!"
The bouncer closest to the door placed a hand on Ford's shoulder. "You can't bring booze in here, sir, it's against the law." Instantly Johnny Veigns was standing extremely close to the bouncer, waiting for one more aggressive move towards his client before taking him down. Ford waved Veigns off, producing the wad of cash he was handed earlier.
"Well then!" Whitey said with a cheery voice and a disarming smile, playing the role of a personable tourist very convincingly. "I guess I'll just have to buy it here." He moved further into the bar, and as he went Ford handed every person he passed a one-hundred dollar bill. "I don't know why, but today I felt like giving some of my...uh...hard earned money to the folks that really deserve it. Working class folks, just like you!"
One man, upon being handed the money, raised an eyebrow at Ford while the others had just laughed and cheered. "Hey man...I just don't get it. This money isn't stolen or fake or anything, is it?" He implored.
Ford flashed another disarming smile, but his patience was being tested. "I know you wouldn't call me a thief or a crook, eh?" Ford opened up the mans hand and forced the hundred dollar bill into his palm. "It's money. Take it and spend it."
Whitey eventually had made his way to the ordering station and slapped the remaining amount of cash down on the counter in front of the bartender. "I'll take a pitcher of whatever, surprise me..." Ford then turned to address the bar as a whole again. "This money I'm giving the bartender is for all of you! Until the cash runs out, free shots all night! Let's get fucking wasted!" A great cheer arose from everyone in the bar, some raising their mugs and others talking in excitement about how lucky their night had just become. The pitcher arrived, and Ford poured a glass for himself and Veigns, the only person in the bar who didn't seem to be enjoying himself.
They pair stuck to the plan; provide the means to get the entire population of Toronto wasted, and only stay at each bar for a few moments, just long enough for the population to feel comfortable drinking off of they're tab. With the pitcher finished, Whitey stood in front of the exit, shouting out as he took his leave. "Enjoy the night, folks! Remember to drive extra fast when you leave so you're not on the roads for very long, you lovable goofy canucks...or...something..."
Ford let the words trail off once he was outside, letting his demeanor shift back to the more natural angry and bitter look. Veigns opened the door to the limousine for him once again, and soon they were back on the road, heading towards the next pinpointed watering hole. Veigns didn't say a word, looking more sour by the minute. Whitey didn't take any notice, naturally; if the big Mexican wanted to pout all night, so be it, as long as he was there to take care of the dirty work.
Dirty work... The phrase instantly made Ford think of Ace Anderson. I wish i could just have Johnny beat the piss out of Anderson and be done with it...but I don't even know if he could get the job done. As cocky as Ford was, he recognized Ace as a threat; an obstacle he barely managed to overcome in the scramble match. Now he was the special guest referee in this title defense, something that was definitely going to make beating Majors much more difficult. The only logical way Ford could see Ace calling the match down the middle was so he could get his rematch for the International Title against him. Ford sighed to himself. No use worrying about it. I'll just have to do what I do best, and that's win.
Something dawned on Ford just then, and he laughed in spite of himself. "Hey, Johnny, why are you so quiet? Usually you ask a bunch of questions, but tonight you don't seem to give a shit. Actually, you seem a bit pissed off. Tell me, why haven't you asked me why I'm getting the entire city of Toronto drunk?"
Veigns didn't look over to meet Ford's gaze, but kept staring out the window. "Because I already know why, and I think it's a completely terrible thing to do. I'm a bad man, but this is low. But, you're the boss, and I'm behind you."
Ford smiled again, this time a grin that shone bright with his evil intentions. "And that reason is?"
"You're trying to get people to drive drunk, because Kelly Majors was almost killed by a drunk driver four years ago." Veigns replied coldly.
______
It was late; only a bit after 1am but still late enough. Kelly Majors was fast asleep in her Toronto home, her mind no doubt still troubled over her husbands current warpath against the PCW. Her fitful dreams were interrupted by the house phone ringing. She was tempted to ignore it at first, but what if it was an emergency? Dragging herself out of bed and stumbling blindly through her dark home towards the sound of the phone, Kelly made it to the receiver just in time. "Hello? Hello?"
"Aaah, Kelly Majors. You sound just as pretty as I imagined." The voice on the other end of the phone slurred through.
"What...who is this? Do you know what time it is?" Something wasn't right, and Kelly could feel it. The voice on the other end of the phone had a familiar, ominous feel to it.
"Surely you recognize the voice of your husbands best friend, EH? It's me, Whitey Ford! Kelly's jaw hit the floor. How had he gotten her number? Listen, Kelly, I've never been much of a phone talker, and I happen to be in Toronto! What a coincidence, also, that I happened to be able to get your address from the work files at PCW Arena. I thought I'd stop in, maybe we'd have a late night drink and talk about how much better I am in bed than your husband.
"Don't you DARE think about stopping here! I'm calling the police, you stay away from this house!" Her voice was trembling, not knowing whether Whitey Ford was bluffing or not. One thing she did know was she didn't want to meet this man one bit.
"Aww, c'mon. I'm only a couple blocks away. Just a few more minutes and I'll be knocking on your door...better hope those damn mounties and spur their horses to move pretty quick, then.
Kelly hung up the phone and dropped it to the floor in haste, the battery compartment bursting open and clattering across the kitchen tile. Whether or not Whitey was joking, she wasn't going to wait around to find out. No time to call the police just now, she'd call in the car from her cell phone. Grabbing said phone and her car keys, Kelly threw on a jacket and slippers before bolting out of the door. Jumping into her car she sped away into the night, heading for the police station itself...and in her panicked rush, not noticing the black limousine parked further down the block.
Ford laughed to himself, sitting inside the limo. Veigns had a cell phone out, and was recording on video Kelly Majors jumping into her car and leaving. Stopping the video, he handed the phone to Whitey with a grim look on his face. "There ya go, boss. Write whatever you want. I can't believe you did this."
"Oh, c'mon!" Ford took the phone from his bodyguards outstretched hand, preparing to send the video in a text message. "She'll be fine...probably. Who gives a shit, anyways? I don't like this sudden rise in your morality, Johnny."
In the morning, when Rick Majors checked his phone for messages, he'd find that video, with the caption, "I just bought half of Toronto thousands of dollars of booze, and now you're fool wife is off driving at 1am. Deja vu? Don't worry, I'll keep her company in the hospital...if she survives the night."
Whitey Ford was surprised he was even ALLOWED into Canada, with the dozens of felonies and other various charges on his record. But, with the right amount of money shown to the right border guard, anything was possible. It was a brisk and chilly night, the moonlight blanketing the beautiful city in its glow. The International Champion gazed out of the limousine window at the buildings as they passed. I fucking hate Canada, he thought to himself before grabbing the bottle of vodka that was on the seat next to him. As he raised it to his lips, Ford noticed his error; this bottle was empty. Tossing the returnable to the floor next to the other three bottles he had finished earlier, Whitey reached into the paper bag to pull out the last bottle of his stash.
"I fucking hate Canada." Ford said aloud this time, directing his statement to his large Mexican bodyguard. "I mean...c'mon. Everything is beautiful, everyone is friendly, low crime rates I can only imagine, the country isn't at war with anybody...it's fucking stupid. Every other country in the world is focused on blowing each other up, but Canada is 'above that.'" He unscrewed the cap from the bottle and took a long drink, his face souring from the taste and from his hate of Canada. "I should run for President, and fuck this entire country up."
Veigns, who was sitting across from Ford, chuckled at the idea. "Is that what they call the leader in Canada? President?"
Whitey scoffed, rolling his eyes. "I don't fucking know. President, king, dictator, thane, ruler, project manager, employee of the month, whatever it is I should run for it. For all I know these happy assholes don't have a leader, they just figure things out on they're own because they're so fucking nice." Ford took another drink, trying to drown his dislike of the country with vodka. "How far until the next bar?"
Veigns glanced at the handheld GPS that sat in his lap and cracked his knuckles. "Only another mile or so. We'll be there in a minute." He then picked up the deposit bag that sat beside him, and began to thumb through a wad of cash. "I thought Canada would be a heavy drinking country. We're not goin' through the money as fast as we thought."
The words were barely heard by Ford, who had drifted off into a daydream. His thought process amazed even HIM sometimes. Thank God for the AWA going under and the fact he had the best lawyer in New York to sure Timmy Draven for contractual fraud, or else he'd never be able to fund all these crazy ideas. In a way, thank God that Rick Majors was so delusional. They're are a million different ways to try and take down a corporation; being employed by them and competing for one of the most coveted accolades wasn't one of them. Maybe it was Rick's mid life crisis to try and be a hero, but the business he's crusading against must have concussed him more times than he realized. Because if you're trying to take down the company from within...
...why go against the most hated man in PCW?
Thousands and thousands of people tune in to the E! network each week to see Whitey Ford. They could care less if he even competed, or if he had a microphone, or if he was only on camera for five seconds. The fans wanted to see Ford get his ass kicked for all of the vile things he's done or will do eventually, and anybody who's attempted to do so is instantly thrust onto the hero's pedestal and spotlight. But for Majors to turn around and say he's going to tear the PCW around him for being so terrible seems counter-productive. Do something that the fans will love by beating Whitey Ford, then do something they'll hate by badmouthing the business they all love?
It makes no fucking sense! Ford took another drink, trying to force some logic into the situation. Michael Jordan didn't win championships then tell everyone to stop watching basketball. Wayne Gretzky wasn't a legend, only to complain that hockey is too violent and a boring sport. Raw Lewis didn't win a Superbowl only to complain that football is corrupting today's youth. So why does this prick think that becoming a champion proves that wrestling is 'evil?'
Ford was drawn out of his thoughts by noticing the limousine had come to a halt. He hadn't even noticed them turning into the parking lot of the bar he had asked about a few minutes earlier. Whitey sighed; talking to the Canadian populace wasn't his favorite thing in the world by a long shot, but if he wanted to really get under Majors skin, this was the best (and most appalling,) way to do it. "Give me the money." Veigns casually tossed over a stack of one-hundred dollar bills and got out of the limo, holding the door open for Ford. The latter got out as well, but lost his balance upon standing up. If it weren't for the watchful eye and quick reflexes of Johnny Veigns, Ford would have ended up face first on the pavement. "See that? People as why I drink vodka. Obviously, because it gets you fucking drunk!"
Veigns shut the door behind Ford and signaled to the driver to wait. Despite the initial stumble, Whitey managed to walk a mostly straight line as the two of them headed towards the entrance to the bar. Ford waved his arms around at the full parking lot. "Look at this! Finally, a full one! See all these cars, Johnny? Know what that means?"
Veigns begrudgingly answered, not masking the fact he didn't agree with what was about to happen. "That most of these cars will have drunk drivers behind the wheel come closing time."
"Precisely, spic-a-roo!" Ford said with way too much joy in his voice. "But I don't just want drunk drivers tonight. I want completely plastered, seeing double, can barely walk let alone drive, just threw up a minute before drivers! C'mon, lets go." Whitey opened up the door to the bar and stepped inside with bravado, amazingly not falling flat on his face. Veigns stepped in right behind him, ready for any trouble that might occur.
The patrons of the bar, which happened to be a sports pub, turned to greet the new arrivals; however, all were speechless at what they saw. While a good few of them were wearing sports jerseys and hats, none of them looked nearly as tattered and torn as Ford's Marshall's Law varsity jersey...which was more like a vest at this point. Ford held his arms wide open, boasting a huge smile as he yelled, "Greetings from America! I come bearing gifts in the form of alcohol!"
The bouncer closest to the door placed a hand on Ford's shoulder. "You can't bring booze in here, sir, it's against the law." Instantly Johnny Veigns was standing extremely close to the bouncer, waiting for one more aggressive move towards his client before taking him down. Ford waved Veigns off, producing the wad of cash he was handed earlier.
"Well then!" Whitey said with a cheery voice and a disarming smile, playing the role of a personable tourist very convincingly. "I guess I'll just have to buy it here." He moved further into the bar, and as he went Ford handed every person he passed a one-hundred dollar bill. "I don't know why, but today I felt like giving some of my...uh...hard earned money to the folks that really deserve it. Working class folks, just like you!"
One man, upon being handed the money, raised an eyebrow at Ford while the others had just laughed and cheered. "Hey man...I just don't get it. This money isn't stolen or fake or anything, is it?" He implored.
Ford flashed another disarming smile, but his patience was being tested. "I know you wouldn't call me a thief or a crook, eh?" Ford opened up the mans hand and forced the hundred dollar bill into his palm. "It's money. Take it and spend it."
Whitey eventually had made his way to the ordering station and slapped the remaining amount of cash down on the counter in front of the bartender. "I'll take a pitcher of whatever, surprise me..." Ford then turned to address the bar as a whole again. "This money I'm giving the bartender is for all of you! Until the cash runs out, free shots all night! Let's get fucking wasted!" A great cheer arose from everyone in the bar, some raising their mugs and others talking in excitement about how lucky their night had just become. The pitcher arrived, and Ford poured a glass for himself and Veigns, the only person in the bar who didn't seem to be enjoying himself.
They pair stuck to the plan; provide the means to get the entire population of Toronto wasted, and only stay at each bar for a few moments, just long enough for the population to feel comfortable drinking off of they're tab. With the pitcher finished, Whitey stood in front of the exit, shouting out as he took his leave. "Enjoy the night, folks! Remember to drive extra fast when you leave so you're not on the roads for very long, you lovable goofy canucks...or...something..."
Ford let the words trail off once he was outside, letting his demeanor shift back to the more natural angry and bitter look. Veigns opened the door to the limousine for him once again, and soon they were back on the road, heading towards the next pinpointed watering hole. Veigns didn't say a word, looking more sour by the minute. Whitey didn't take any notice, naturally; if the big Mexican wanted to pout all night, so be it, as long as he was there to take care of the dirty work.
Dirty work... The phrase instantly made Ford think of Ace Anderson. I wish i could just have Johnny beat the piss out of Anderson and be done with it...but I don't even know if he could get the job done. As cocky as Ford was, he recognized Ace as a threat; an obstacle he barely managed to overcome in the scramble match. Now he was the special guest referee in this title defense, something that was definitely going to make beating Majors much more difficult. The only logical way Ford could see Ace calling the match down the middle was so he could get his rematch for the International Title against him. Ford sighed to himself. No use worrying about it. I'll just have to do what I do best, and that's win.
Something dawned on Ford just then, and he laughed in spite of himself. "Hey, Johnny, why are you so quiet? Usually you ask a bunch of questions, but tonight you don't seem to give a shit. Actually, you seem a bit pissed off. Tell me, why haven't you asked me why I'm getting the entire city of Toronto drunk?"
Veigns didn't look over to meet Ford's gaze, but kept staring out the window. "Because I already know why, and I think it's a completely terrible thing to do. I'm a bad man, but this is low. But, you're the boss, and I'm behind you."
Ford smiled again, this time a grin that shone bright with his evil intentions. "And that reason is?"
"You're trying to get people to drive drunk, because Kelly Majors was almost killed by a drunk driver four years ago." Veigns replied coldly.
______
It was late; only a bit after 1am but still late enough. Kelly Majors was fast asleep in her Toronto home, her mind no doubt still troubled over her husbands current warpath against the PCW. Her fitful dreams were interrupted by the house phone ringing. She was tempted to ignore it at first, but what if it was an emergency? Dragging herself out of bed and stumbling blindly through her dark home towards the sound of the phone, Kelly made it to the receiver just in time. "Hello? Hello?"
"Aaah, Kelly Majors. You sound just as pretty as I imagined." The voice on the other end of the phone slurred through.
"What...who is this? Do you know what time it is?" Something wasn't right, and Kelly could feel it. The voice on the other end of the phone had a familiar, ominous feel to it.
"Surely you recognize the voice of your husbands best friend, EH? It's me, Whitey Ford! Kelly's jaw hit the floor. How had he gotten her number? Listen, Kelly, I've never been much of a phone talker, and I happen to be in Toronto! What a coincidence, also, that I happened to be able to get your address from the work files at PCW Arena. I thought I'd stop in, maybe we'd have a late night drink and talk about how much better I am in bed than your husband.
"Don't you DARE think about stopping here! I'm calling the police, you stay away from this house!" Her voice was trembling, not knowing whether Whitey Ford was bluffing or not. One thing she did know was she didn't want to meet this man one bit.
"Aww, c'mon. I'm only a couple blocks away. Just a few more minutes and I'll be knocking on your door...better hope those damn mounties and spur their horses to move pretty quick, then.
Kelly hung up the phone and dropped it to the floor in haste, the battery compartment bursting open and clattering across the kitchen tile. Whether or not Whitey was joking, she wasn't going to wait around to find out. No time to call the police just now, she'd call in the car from her cell phone. Grabbing said phone and her car keys, Kelly threw on a jacket and slippers before bolting out of the door. Jumping into her car she sped away into the night, heading for the police station itself...and in her panicked rush, not noticing the black limousine parked further down the block.
Ford laughed to himself, sitting inside the limo. Veigns had a cell phone out, and was recording on video Kelly Majors jumping into her car and leaving. Stopping the video, he handed the phone to Whitey with a grim look on his face. "There ya go, boss. Write whatever you want. I can't believe you did this."
"Oh, c'mon!" Ford took the phone from his bodyguards outstretched hand, preparing to send the video in a text message. "She'll be fine...probably. Who gives a shit, anyways? I don't like this sudden rise in your morality, Johnny."
In the morning, when Rick Majors checked his phone for messages, he'd find that video, with the caption, "I just bought half of Toronto thousands of dollars of booze, and now you're fool wife is off driving at 1am. Deja vu? Don't worry, I'll keep her company in the hospital...if she survives the night."