The Cruiserweight (2 page)

Turning his head in a swift motion to one side,
the responding blow shot past close enough for him to feel the wind
of its passing. Brett grabbed his aggressor’s forearm in one hand.
He powered out his other hand in an open-palmed blow. His palm
landed with a satisfying thump high on his attacker’s chest,
eliciting a rush of exhalation.

He felt the stranger’s arm and hand twist
against his thumb, not one of his strongest grip areas. Brett‘s
grip, however, was anything but weak. When the stranger broke free,
he clamped Brett’s wrists and landed behind him. His forearm went
across Brett’s throat. The other man’s knee slammed into Brett’s
spine. He grunted in surprise and pain.

People from both sides tried to break up the
fight without success. Brett broke free of the man’s viselike grip,
leaped onto his nemesis in one swift motion, and sent both of them
to the floor. Brett yanked him up and threw additional punches to
the man’s face. One sharp blow landed on his nose. Brett finished
by kicking his adversary in his right knee. The attacker landed on
the table with a thundering crash. Splinters stabbed into the other
man’s slightly muscled arms. Blood flowed from his nose.

While his rival lay in a crumpled heap being
attended to by the twins and a few other friends, Brett hooted in
victory and jumped up on another table to thunderous applause of
other customers. He danced in time to the thumping techno music and
reveled in the newfound attention several females began to lavish
on him.

The triumph was short-lived. Brett lost his
balance and fell off the table. He landed near a woman’s feet. He
looked up and saw a lovely brunette with a voluptuous
body.

Before he could catch up to her and apologize,
Brett and the other man were ejected from the club. Bruised and
stiff, he was accompanied by Big Mac back to their hotel, where he
helped clean up Brett.

“You check out how I fucked up that dude? All
bloody and his fancy clothes torn up! I kicked major
ass!”

“Yeah, and you’re lucky to only have been
thrown out of the place and not carted off to jail for breaking the
guy’s nose.”

“He should’ve shut up while he was ahead. You
know what? I wish I’d met the lady I almost knocked down before
getting kicked out. Guess I’m meant to be alone.”

“No way, bro. A real babe is going to come
along when you least expect it.”

“Face it, Mac, the steady love in my life is
wrestling.”

“Shit. Tell me that in a year. Meanwhile, just
stick with the chubby chasing you dig so much.”

*****

Brett was still stiff and bruised from the
nightclub altercation when he arrived in Portland for a show three
days later. Not one to opt out of the ring unless he had a major
injury, he was ready to face Oscar Cortez, a Mexican cruiserweight
known for the bright-colored masks he often wore.

He did his usual backstage preparation of
push-ups on the concrete floor, pull-ups on water pipes outside of
the locker room, jogged in place, and sneaked outside to smoke a
joint before getting dressed.

Instead of arriving to his music, Brett was
waiting in the ring while Cortez arrived to a thundering,
enthusiastic crowd, lights shining, signs waving, cheers and claps
almost drowning out his theme.

The match began with the two circling the ring
before locking up. Brett shoved Cortez away and taunted him. They
circled each other again and Cortez kicked him. He had a move
reversed on him by Brett. Cortez countered by jumping over him.
Brett’s next action was so quick, a
whoosh
sound could be
heard by those seated in the first two rows. Cortez flew over the
top rope, but missed his target when Brett dove outside.

Cortez threw Brett back into the ring. He
leaped up and kicked Cortez in the back. Brett knocked his masked
opponent down before pinning him for a one count.

“
I’m going to beat you for that
one,” Brett muttered in Cortez’s ear, trying not to
laugh.

“Bring it on, white boy.” Cortez too was making
an effort not to grin.

“You getting smart with me?”

"No. Just going to kick your ass.”

"Don't get smart with me, boy.”

“I promise I won’t be too rough with you,
Kerrigan.”

“Better not. Otherwise, I’ll have Mac turn you
into a burrito when we get backstage.”

Wrestlers often shared such banter when they
were facing away from the crowd. It both eased the tension of the
match in progress and kept both contenders focused.

He sat Cortez on the top rope and attempted to
flip him to the mat, but as if he had invisible wings, Cortez flew
over Brett, ducking a forearm swing and landing on Brett for a near
fall. Brett cut him off with a kick and tried to flip him. Cortez
knocked Brett down and rolled onto him for another near
fall.

“I should rip off your mask right now and show
everyone your freak face,” he joked in Cortez’s ear.

“Why? They’re too busy laughing at
yours.”

Cortez performed one of his famous aerial moves
to thunderous applause. Brett responded with his own high-flying
style, landing on his opponent. Cortez tried to get to the ropes,
but Brett dragged him back to the center of the ring.

“Shit, dude, I didn’t hurt you, did
I?”

“No, blondie, I’m cool. Just go for trying to
take me down like the script read.”

Cortez shifted his weight and Brett lifted him,
but Cortez rolled down, pulling Brett into position with him.
Cortez performed his successful Crash Landing finishing move for
the win.

After the match, Brett was pissed. He glared at
the fans and shoved the referee. Big Mac started walking toward
him. He approached Brett with a brief glare. Brett shrugged Mac off
before making his exit.

“I swear to Christ, you have to be the toughest
cruiserweight to beat,” Brett said when they were backstage. “Good
match, Oscar.”

“Thanks, holmes. I should be surprised you
lasted as long as you did tonight, but I’m not.”

“What do you mean, man?”

“Mac told me about the fight you had with some
dude the other night. Big fucker. Is it true you kicked his
ass?”

“Hell yeah. I’m still a bit sore from both that
and the match with Mac a few hours before that happened, but you
know me. I’d have to be
dead
not to compete.”

“Isn’t that the truth,” Mac joined in. “I think
Kerrigan’s the hardest guy on the roster to kill. Hey, Brett, think
we can go for some brewskis tonight without being evicted from the
bar?”

“I promise to behave, Mac. No more hitting on
skinny chicks. Chances are good they belong to some guy bigger than
I am. Care to join us, Oscar?”

“Love to,
mi amigos,
but my wife is with
me tonight. I promised quality time with her.”

“One of the advantages of being single. Have a
good time. Mac, I’ll meet you outside. Don’t forget to put on
deodorant. Nobody wants to wait twenty minutes just to get our
first beer because the waitresses are avoiding your
funkyness.”

“Another comment from you, smart ass, and
I’ll
be the one throwing you out this time,” Mac replied,
just hiding a grin.

CHAPTER 2

“Hey, lady, need a ticket?” a scalper asked
when Karen arrived one November evening to cover another wrestling
event.

She smiled and shook her head. “No thank you. I
have one.” She carried a press pass, but neither made him nor
anyone else aware of the fact.

“Need a date?”

“Sorry. I’m meeting someone.”

As Karen made her way to the media area, she
couldn’t help but notice the excitement in the air as children
dressed in costumes and replica championship belts stood in line
with their parents. The youngsters became restless and impatient
waiting for the arena doors to open. Mothers and fathers put
forward efforts to keep their offspring entertained while
attempting conversations with other adults. Several other fans were
packed near the talent entrance, hoping for glimpses of their
favorite stars.

“All of those people standing outside on such a
cold night. Talk about dedication.”

“Good evening, Miss Montgomery,” a security
guard greeted her. Karen was well-known. Unless she encountered a
new employee, her credentials often weren't requested.

“Hi, Ernie. I’m supposed to meet three other
writers from the paper. Are they here?”

“You’re the first person, miss. I can have
Stephen take you to the press box if you like.”

“All right, I’ll meet everyone
there.”

Ernie beckoned Stephen, who led Karen upstairs.
She noticed that the arena was quiet with the exception of a few
people doing a final run-through in the ring. One person in
particular caught her eye.

“Is that Brett?” She came out of the press box
for a closer look. He stood several feet from her, perfecting his
moves for a match placed on the final card. “I should go down and
introduce myself.”

A male voice stopped her. “There you
are!”

She turned around and found sports editor Terry
Jackson standing with two other co-workers, veteran sports writer
Lou Hobbs, and humorist Eddie Romano. “Where have the three of you
been? You were supposed to meet me an hour ago.”

“Stuck in traffic,” Eddie said. “Did we miss
anything?”

“No.“
Thanks to your timing, I missed Brett
again, though.

*****

Brett had an anxiety attack, gasping for
breath. His heart felt like it was about to jump out of his chest.
He sensed impending doom, as if the locker room was closing in
around him.

I have to get out of
here!

He hurried outside without stopping to talk to
anyone. There was only one thing that calmed him in frightening
situations
—
from encountering women to
participating in high-profile wrestling matches
—
the joint in his hand.

From a hidden spot behind the arena, he took
several deep drags off the joint and held smoke in his lungs. “Oh,
yeah
…
”

He continued to smoke while watching fans enter
the arena. “Little do people know one of the guys they spent
hard-earned money to see tonight is toking on a fat one. Shit, who
am I kidding? Most fans know I’ve been in the bosses’ doghouses for
failing twelve THC tests. Piss on management! I bust my ass every
night, so I’ve earned a joint. The fans don‘t give a fuck, why
should
I?”

Brett extinguished the roach with a stubby
finger and thumb, then dug a Kleenex out of his pocket, wrapped up,
and hid the tissue-swaddled roach in a nearby trash can. He liked
to refer to such disposing practices as “hiding the
evidence.”

He snickered, “Pity the dude who finds that
thing. Then again, someone may figure out who smoked the roach, try
to get the piece of shit autographed to sell on eBay. ‘Genuine
Roach, Smoked and Autographed by Brett Kerrigan.’ I can almost
vision the auction.”

Returning inside to prepare for his scheduled
practice run, he became incensed after being informed the dark
match he was to wrestle was scrapped at the last minute. “This is
bullshit! People need to either give me a damn match or just send
me home! I didn’t come here to either hang around backstage and
count floor tiles or sit in the stands with a finger up my
ass!”

At the pre-show meeting backstage, an
announcement was made that Bones Malloy was pulled from one of the
featured matches after a death in his family.

“Can this night get any worse? Poor Donnie. He
would’ve been great. I hope he and the rest of his family are going
to be okay,” Brett said.

One of the managers glanced in his direction.
“Kerrigan, you‘re going to be Malloy‘s replacement.”

Brett‘s prior anger dissipated.
“Me?”

“You see anyone else here with the last name of
Kerrigan?”

“Hell no! Count me in!”

Getting on the card
—
even
under such sad circumstances
—
was a huge chance
for Brett. As much as he felt terrible for Malloy, he was elated to
be chosen. Plus there would be the ever-sought bonus for
participating in a PPV event.

He approached the ring, dancing in time with
his theme as it blared through the arena. “Take a good look,
bitches! Your boy Malloy isn‘t around tonight. They replaced him
with a
better
man!”

The crowd responded with displeasure, boos, and
jeers.

“Think I care? I never have and never will give
a shit about
any
of you or what you think.”

Three teenage boys threw items at Brett before
security escorted them from the building.

“Have a nice night, kids!” Brett called after
them.

The match was changed from the planned six-way
tag team match to a gauntlet. The last man standing at the
conclusion of the contest would be declared the winner. Kamsaki was
eliminated by Brett when Slimy Shane Smith interfered.