My thanks to the kind folks who bought books today, especially the leggy blonde who had passed a thousand times, both on Bay Parkway and my usual nook in Sheepshead Bay, without making a purchase. She either married or moved in with her boyfriend, who I refer to inwardly as Johnny Handsome. I asked for a dollar and she gave me five.
Here’s an excerpt from Defining Moment, part of the A Hitch in Twilight collection, link below. It’s about a retired wrestler filling in when another goes missing. The clip is less than 900 words, a few minutes read.
As he was driving, he tried to calculate what his record actually was. He was certain of the wins. The three came long ago in preliminary matches when the federation still held cards at bingo halls and gymnasiums. His losses may have exceeded 1000. In 20 years he'd taken time off only to recuperate from injury. He missed the excitement, the limelight, even though he'd been only a bit player. Were the game on the up and up, he believed he could have beaten many of the stars to whom he'd been made to take a fall.
As he reached the security gate, he spotted a man of medium height and light hair, pacing, apparently waiting for him.
"How ya doin', Al?" said Len, rolling down the driver's window.
"Please hurry, Leonard," the man returned in a British accent. "You're on soon. We're all fouled up tonight."
He was at Al's heels, following him to the dressing room. There stood a handsome, burly young man in a fine suit, who extended a hand to Len, thanked him, and urged him to dress.
"Anything I should know?" said Len, pausing at the door.
"Just follow his lead. You don't even get in a punch."
"So what else's new?"
He smiled. Junior remained expressionless.
Smoke was thick in the air, as it'd been upon his first glimpse into a wrestlers' locker room. As a boy he'd gazed through the peephole at the Rollerama, fascinated that "good guys" and "bad guys" shared quarters, sat naked at a card table, chomped on big cigars, laughed uproariously. Unable to afford a ticket, he would wait outside for his heroes, some of whom even signed autographs.
"Ay!" said a huge, bearded man - "look what the cat dragged in."
Veterans approached and patted him on the back.
"There's no time for that now," said Al urgently.
"Keep your shirt on, your lordship," said a young stud in pink tights. "Boys, here's a real pro. My first match here I broke his nose with a Drop Kick - and he never said a word."
Len flushed like a teenager. "Ah, you know the business - spit happens."
Although he didn't know the newcomers personally, he recognized them from television appearances. They ignored him.
Suddenly the door burst open and two giants entered, perspiring profusely, laughing.
"The 'marks' are restless tonight," said the bleached blonde. "I got hit with everything but the kitchen sink."
"Who's that there?" said the other, dressed in camouflage, advancing. "Lenny Giordano?"
They flew into an embrace and pounded each other's back.
"Please, Leonard," said Al, "this is most unseemly."
"Blow it out your nose, Al," said the soldier, known professionally as the Mercenary.
The room broke into howls.
"Who'm I workin' with, Al - the indian?" said Len, nodding in the direction of a massive young man sporting a red mohawk.
"No, Doctor Voodoo."
He gazed about. "Which one's he?"
"He's in the office."
"Which reminds me -- I forgot about my money."
"Worry about it later."
His eyes spread. "First rule of business - get your money up front. I shouldn't hafta tell you that. You been at this racket a helluva lot longer than me."
Dressed in a one-piece black spandex suit that cover two-thirds of his torso, Len knocked at the door across the hall. It opened abruptly and out stepped a tall, bronze man in painted face, beads about his thick neck, a string of shrunken heads in his grasp.
"Hey, kid," said Len, offering a hand. "I'm...."
The young hulk growled, shook the shrunken heads before Len's nose, and hurried away. Len chuckled, shaking his head. He loved the business. It was so colorful.
"Let's have it, Jun'," he said, entering the office.
"Half now, half later," said the promoter, seated at a desk.
"Since when? You know you can count on me. All of it right now or I walk. My wife's ready to divorce me as it is."
Scowling, Junior opened a drawer and counted out the purse. "You better make it look good. You're the Bronx Bomber tonight."
"But I'm from Brooklyn."
"Who cares?"
"I do. Why can't I just go by name like always."
"We don't do that any more. Now get out there. And I want some 'juice' tonight."
"No way, not with this AIDS thing goin' 'round, with these kids all usin' needles to shoot up with steroids. God knows if I caught it in the days before we ever even heard of it. An' my forehead's like a road map as it is. No deal."
"Pansy," said Junior contemptuously.
"You been doin' 'em too, I hear," said Len. "For what? College guy like you should know better."
Junior glared. "Get out."
Pausing in the corridor, he kneeled and put the money at the bottom of his right boot, which he laced tightly. Before rising, he blessed himself. Al led him toward the arena. The buzz of the packed house grew louder at each step. Adrenaline was flowing through, raising a smile to his face.
"I feel like a kid again."
My thanks to the kind folks who bought and donated books today.
Vic's 4th Novel: http://tinyurl.com/bszwlxh
Vic's 3rd Novel: http://tinyurl.com/7e9jty3
Vic's Website: http://members.tripod.com/vic_fortezza/Literature/
Vic's Short Story Collection (Print or Kindle): http://www.tiny.cc/Oycgb
Vic's 2nd Novel: http://tinyurl.com/6b86st6
Vic's 1st Novel: http://tiny.cc/94t5h
Vic's Horror Screenplay on Kindle: http://tinyurl.com/cyckn3
Vic's Rom-Com Screenplay on Kindle: http://tinyurl.com/kny5llp
Vic’s Short Story on Kindle: http://tinyurl.com/k95k3nx
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