CHAPTER FOUR

 

 

New York.

The floor to ceiling glass panel windows were making everyone nervous outside the church. The wrestlers on top of the card – those that could afford it – stayed in their blacked-out limos for fear of being seen socializing with their ‘sworn enemies.’ The lower card wrestlers dispersed themselves around the grounds until the sermon began. There didn’t seem to be anyone from the public around – but that’s not to say any of the wrestlers would be forgiven by their promoters for ‘breaking character’ either. 

Ricky walked the pathway that was cut through the manicured gardens of the church grounds. The tree branches overhead leaned across each other to form a woven guard of honor. He knew it was going to be a long day. He liked Annie and missed her terribly too. Not that anyone was going to be thinking of him and his problems. 

In the absence of Danno, Ricky was unofficially appointed the Wrestler’s Wailing Wall. 

All disputes, matches, wrestling cards and wrestler problems just fell to him by proxy. But Ricky had his own problems. All he was focused on was Ginny, alone and slightly confused looking, by the church door. Ricky wanted to put his arms around him and help him tuck in his ruffled shirt. He wanted to put his arms around him and protect what he had become – a joke to the younger wrestlers who took every single opportunity to disrespect and laugh at him when his back was turned.

Ricky could see it, but he couldn’t do anything to stop it. Because, like everything in the wrestling business, there was a facade that must be kept intact at all times. None of The Boys worked with fags. None of The Boys would shower with them or be seen with them. And The Boys certainly wouldn’t take orders from one. 

So Ricky guiltily walked past his partner’s smile and outstretched right hand and marched straight into the church. For both their sakes.

On his way down the hard stone aisle he was grabbed gently by a well-pressed Texan. “The Garden is flat, Ricky,” Wild Ted Berry said in a hushed tone.

Ricky nodded in acknowledgement. His silence didn’t impress Bill one bit. “I’m telling you that The Garden is flat and all you can do is nod?” 

Ricky nodded again and continued towards the top pew. 

They were to tour around and finish their loop once a month at The Garden. That was the New York company’s stronghold. The building where they always gave a little more. A title match, a TV taping, a cage match – something extra. Something you don’t see at every card.

Others expected a sold-out house but Ricky was more realistic. The last time they ran a card in New York was only a couple of weeks before, and they didn’t deliver their main event. It was the most hyped and anticipated main event in their history. The New York crowd rioted and tore up Shea Stadium where they had paid to see it. Not enough time had passed for them to forget.

That’s why the house was flat.

“Just a note of condolence for the boss,” The Folsom Nightmare said before Ricky could build up a head of steam.

Ricky took the card. “I’ll make sure he gets it.”

“Terrible day.”

Ricky again nodded and tried to move on. 

“Doc says I’m good to go,” Folsom said without real conviction. “My Achilles is healed all back up. Healed, get it?”

Ricky looked along the row and could see one of Folsom’s many young sons trying valiantly to hide his father’s crutch under the pew. Wrestlers who didn’t wrestle didn’t get paid and there were a lot of young faces looking in Ricky’s direction.

“Folsom… ” Ricky began.

Folsom leaned in closer to talk about business. “I could start back in Battle Royals or something. The Boys will look out for me, Ricky. I could come over the top and take a bump on my back or something. I don’t need to put pressure on my foot straight away.”

Ricky could see a proud father pleading with him in front of his family. 

“We’ll give it some more time,” Ricky said as he lay a useless hand on Folsom’s shoulder. “You’ll be back soon.”

Folsom forced a smile.

“You’d think Proctor King would have at least shown to pay his respects,” Ricky said as he left.

He walked away with a heavy heart knowing that The Folsom Nightmare, hurt in the ring, would never wrestle again.

He also knew that Proctor not being there would spread like wildfire.

Midgets, beauty queens, tattooed faces, gold sunglasses, new black suits, hugely obese twins, a bald old woman, toothless mountain men, islanders, a one-legged man and a giant. 

Christ Church was stuffed with representatives from all over the wrestling world. All the other bosses from the National Wrestling Council were there. Even though their Annual General Meeting was officially off, promoters from Japan, Europe and Africa still arrived. They all wanted to make sure that Danno saw them sad. If they could only swing one tour with Danno’s huge champion they could roll in the money. So they did what any self-respecting promoter would do – they out-cried each other.

“Where’s the boss?” Ricky asked the huddled crowd at the top pew. Nobody knew. 

Across the aisle, the chairman of the National Wrestling Council, Joe Lapine, wondered where Danno was too. Beside him stood the boss of the Carolinas, Tanner Blackwell.

“Danno killed his own champion,” Tanner said to Joe. 

“I tried for days to talk him out of it,” Joe replied. “He was blind with rage.”

None of the bosses ever cry when a world title gets taken from someone. This increases the chances significantly that they are next in line to receive it. 

“I heard he did it himself?” Tanner said to Joe.

Joe leaned in and whispered, “What?”

“Last night. Danno did the job himself.”

Joe shook his head disbelievingly. “No way.”

Tanner smiled.

Hiring someone from outside to kill is one thing. The guy with the whole business in his hands doing the killing was something completely different.

“Not in a million years,” Joe said. 

Joe, like everyone else, didn’t think Danno Garland had it in him to kill. But Tanner knew. He paid to find out.

The priest shuffled from the sacristy door and his jowly face hung down like a melted candle. His entrance cued the gathering to daydream about being champion, having the champion or who held them back from being champion. 

For those in the wrestling business, those three permutations of the one possession gnawed and prodded at them and demanded most of their time. 

With that heavyweight title came a lot of power and a lot of money. There wasn’t a single person in attendance who didn’t want both.

Ricky looked at Annie’s casket and couldn’t help but imagine what her last seconds were like. The cops wouldn’t tell Danno much more than where she was found and how she was killed. They hadn’t got to the who part yet. They said some prints were found and a man was seen walking towards her room.

“Please rise,” the priest said from the altar. 

Danno had been such an infrequent visitor that the priest never even noticed that the husband of the deceased wasn’t even in attendance.

Ricky noticed though. 

Outside, Danno stood with his back to the church wall and his face in the sun. He couldn’t walk through the doors. His legs just wouldn’t do it. He couldn’t be close to her again until he fulfilled his promise. 

“He’s started,” Ricky said from the large arched doorway in his most gentle voice.

“Did you find Curt Magee yet?” Danno said without looking away from the sky.

Ricky was uncomfortable with just how loose Danno was with his words in public. “I’m trying to keep things moving with the business. All the other bosses are in town and we have The Garden coming up.”

Danno turned directly to his long time confidante. “Fuck the business, Ricky. You find the man who killed my wife. You track him down and you fucking hold him till I get there. Do you hear me?”

Through the window Ricky could see everyone straining to look at them outside. Even the priest was distracted. 

“Do you hear me?” Danno asked again, suddenly becoming overwhelmed. He stopped himself crying. “How can I go in there to her? How can I stand in the same room as that poor woman when I haven’t made it right?”

“I’m sorry about what happened. My heart is broken for you but … ”

“But what?”

Ricky walked a little closer and spoke a little softer. “Boss, you need to let yourself grieve or mourn or whatever it is people do at times like this.”

Up close and on their own, Ricky could see just how broken Danno was. He was missing.

“I just want him to feel like I do,” Danno said.

“I know.”

“No, you don’t. I want the bastard to feel exactly like I did when I heard. Like I did when I had to see her laid out like that. I want his family to feel that loss. Like I am.”

Danno moved to leave. “And I will. If it’s the last thing I do on this earth. I will make good on my promise. And I’ll transfer this pain I have onto them.”

Ricky struggled to verbalize his reluctance to follow his boss. Such words were unfamiliar to him but Ricky was simply a retired wrestler – a man who loved the wrestling business. He wasn’t a detective or hitman and, unlike a lot of the people at the ceremony, he had no desire to be.

Ricky followed him. “Where are you going?”

“If I have to ask for their help instead of yours then I will,” Danno said about the other bosses. “I want Curt Magee found or I’m going to go like a tornado across all the territories until I find him.” 

Danno walked for the large gates as Ricky stopped in his tracks. 

“Cause someone out there knows where he is,” Danno shouted back.

Ricky tried to figure out how to cool all this down. He knew that Danno accusing the other bosses of hiding a murderer wasn’t going to end up good. Bosses can’t just take each other out whenever they feel like it. That makes everyone at the top nervous.

In the wrestling business funerals only grant you pity for a day. Then it’s all about the money again. 

A weak and unfocused Danno was a gift to everyone who wanted what he had. And Ricky knew that everyone in that church was using the opportunity to gauge just how wounded Danno was.

 

Nevada.

Lenny felt stupid and childish and secretive. And excited. He simply didn’t want word getting back to his wife that he was back looking at this sort of thing again.  

So a purple, tiled public restroom it had to be.

He sat in the stall and silently pulled out the brown bag from inside his shirt. Luke sat on the floor directly outside his father’s stall with a mouth full of candy and his little brother on his lap, sucking on a popsicle. Their faces were a pleasurable, sugary mess and their fingers were too sticky to part.

Luke dropped one of his sweets on the restroom floor. He waited for his father’s instruction to leave it where it fell. It never came, so he wiped the escaped sweet and popped it in his mouth. 

“You nearly finished in there, Dad?” Luke asked with his mouth full.

Lenny pulled a magazine from his paper bag and delicately opened it. He missed those glossy pages. The smell of a new publication. 

USA WRESTLING CHRONICLES.

“Dad?” Luke again asked. “Are you nearly finished in there?”

A stranger entered and tried to figure out what two little boys where doing sitting on the floor of a public restroom. 

The seven-year-old’s arm was still in one sleeve of his jacket but the other empty sleeve was running underneath the stall where Lenny was standing on it. Like holding a dog on a leash.

“Nearly finished, son,” Lenny answered.

The bemused stranger went about his business.

Lenny couldn’t wait any longer to see if his debut as a referee made the magazines. Growing up in Long Island, Lenny used to buy stacks of those same magazines to catch up on all the matches and new champions in the wrestling world. He religiously tore out the center poster and replaced the image on his wall, based on who was new and cool. One man never got replaced on the Long wall though – The Sugarstick Shane Montrose. Lenny considered this his reconnaissance. After all, he’d have to know what was happening in the wrestling world if he was to go back. It was just a pity that wrestling magazines were always weeks behind.

In the middle of Las Vegas, with his kids on the floor and his wife dealing cards, Lenny Long was the happiest man in the world. Because of wrestling. 

It would soon make him feel a whole lot different. 

 

New York.

The old back bar room was dark and smoky. Even the process of mourning had to be kept away from the public. Every major boss and their top wrestling stars were dotted along the chipped tables and cozy booths. 

When someone of note in the wrestling business dies, it’s a good networking opportunity. When someone belonging to a boss dies – you better be there or your name gets blackened. But when the wife of a boss gets killed, and the killer is still out there, you better be there or theories start to form and questions begin to get asked. 

And so, Annie Garland’s wake was standing room only. 

The back room of a nightclub wasn’t where Annie Garland should have been remembered – but rules are rules. Protect the business at all times. 

Even when business is the last thing on your mind.

Danno sat alone, and in thought, at the top of the room. Everyone was giving him space and time. He wasn’t eating, he wasn’t drinking. And he wasn’t talking. Most of the other ‘mourners’ were trying to figure out how long is respectful enough to stay sober.

They were all together, on a day off, in a bar. That never happened. And the temptation to capitalize on that perfect storm of circumstance was excruciating. 

Even with the bar signs covered over and the tables draped in flowers – it was still a shit-hole and Danno knew it.

A bar like this would have been the last place a woman like his wife would go if she was alive.

 

Outside, The Sugarstick Shane Montrose, hurried and late, marched down the dark alleyway towards the wake.

 As always, he was dressed in style. His suit was beige pinstripe with matching bellbottoms and a single breast pocket. Gold button. His shirt was blue and his tie was red silk with a paisley design. Shane Montrose was one of the biggest wrestlers of all time. Over his many years in the business he saw and did it all – nearly. And that life was evident for all to see on his handsome, but aging, overly-tanned face. He was a man in his mid fifties who looked a whole lot older. 

He was also a mess of drink and cocaine. He could carry neither with style or dignity. Anytime he got drunk or stoned he was a fucking lunatic. Which was often. On both counts.

But in wrestling he was a draw. He was someone the people were willing to pay to see no matter what territory he was in. In his business he had done it all. Except be champion. Only the heavyweight championship of the world eluded him. 

For now, he thought.

He nervously walked to the designated back door and was immediately recognized by a star struck rookie wrestler who got the job of doorman. Shane tipped him with a hundred. He tipped everyone, all the time.

He slowly took the steep stairs and waited to reclaim his breath when he reached the top. He fixed his hair and made sure all his jewelry was facing the right way. The sounds inside were muted but large. He knew it was a full room of scumbags and whores doing their best not to enjoy themselves too much in front of the boss who had the champion. 

It was a long time since Shane Montrose was nervous. 

But this time he had good reason to be.

 

In the dingy restroom Danno robotically washed his hands. Most everything he was doing now was from preprogramming. Autopilot.

The restroom door opened and Joe Lapine, the Chairman of the NWC entered. Danno watched him in the mirror and he stood with the stall door open and took a piss.

“How are you holding up, Danno?” Joe asked.

Danno didn’t know how to answer such a question. So he didn’t.

“I don’t even know what to say to you,” Joe said as he finished up. “It’s a tragedy.” He flushed and took up a spot washing in the sink next to Danno.

Danno realized he had washed his hands twenty times over and the cuffs of his shirt were soaking wet. 

“I wanted to stay with you last night,” Joe said as he checked to make sure the stalls were empty. “Because no man should go through that alone.” 

Danno never even looked up.

Joe caught Danno’s eye in the mirror. 

“I appreciate you giving me the Chair when you could have taken it for yourself. So I’m glad we could set that up for you,” Joe said, reminding Danno that he brought Proctor, and Mickey Jack to kill him, the night before.

Danno rubbed his hands on the worn-out towel that was barely clinging to the wall.

“Someone said you … ” Joe stopped and looked around again. “ … did the deed?”

Joe could clearly see that Danno didn’t want to talk about it so he changed the subject. “Now, we all just want to help you move on, Danno.”

“Move on?” Danno asked, his voice raspy from lack of use.

“Move on,” Joe reiterated. “To get back to business.”

Danno cleared his throat so there would be no misunderstanding in what he was about to say. “You think I’m finished looking for him, Joe?”

“We hope that you are. All of us. It’s best for business.”

Danno dried his hands, reached for the door and walked back into the packed room. 

Joe said, “The National Wrestling Council stands with … ” 

Danno was gone and Joe didn’t even bother to finish his sentence.

 

January 10th 1969. 

Three years before the murder. 

Oregon.

The National Wrestling Council was a collection of men who owned the largest wrestling territories in the Americas. It was set up to prevent other wrestling outfits from starting up and eating into their pie in such areas.

For many years, they patrolled and promoted successfully without too much of a challenge. People knew better than to try.

Merv Schiller sat as president of the National Wrestling Council since its inception in the mid-forties. Over the years he had positioned himself so as to own the table that everyone else dined at.

They met frequently, as needed, to discuss business matters, wrestler trades and decide who was going to be Heavyweight Champion of the World.

The owner who got the champion got rich. The money goes where the champ goes – and the power goes where the money goes. So the owner who got the champion essentially ran the syndicate by proxy.

All eyes were now on the main item of the agenda. Danno’s stomach had been upset just thinking about it. 

Merv rechecked his notes as he rolled his fat cigar around his brown fingers. “No change,” he announced from behind his huge glasses. “That’s the verdict.”

The small, smoky, back room acted animated like the outcome was a shock. Danno did all he could to hide his devastation. 

“There’s no need,” Merv continued above the mostly feigned disquiet. “Sal Pellington is a good champ for us and a good draw along the west coast. So, no change.”

Merv, it just so happened, owned the west coast territory, had control of Sal Pellington and was chairman of the NWC. 

“What about the rest of us, Merv?” asked an aggressive Curt Magee from Texas. “How are we supposed to eat?”

“With your fucking mouth,” the slight, old chairman spat back.

Curt looked around the room for anyone as shocked as him. “Did you say ‘with your fucking mouth’ or ‘watch your fucking mouth’?”

“Both.” Merv wound up and knocked out his most worn line, “None of you are tied to this council.”

Danno knew he had been screwed over again. He brought Missus Garland and put her up in the Governor Hotel, such was his confidence this time. She even wore them under-britches that very seldom see anything but the bottom drawer.

 

 Annie Garland sat in the foyer half reading from her book and half watching the door. She looked out for any sign of Danno – although she knew he’d be hours yet before he returned from his big meeting. Her heart was full with excitement. And guilt. But she felt she couldn’t help it. For days she had tossed the word ‘compelled’ around in her head. That’s all she could think to call her wants. She felt, and was, compelled.

“You ready?” whispered a moving voice behind her.

Annie took one last look at the giant, glass front door and satisfied herself that the coast was clear. She quickly followed Shane Montrose into the waiting elevator.

 

Back at the meeting, Danno felt stupid for even believing that he had a deal. Eight months previously he had flown all the bosses in to see his giant seven foot prospect beat Ricky Plick in a hell of a main event in the New Jersey Armory. He knew it was a small crowd, but a great match and a true attraction wrestler gave Danno the nod over the other potential champions in line.

It was all sealed by a crystal clink in his office backstage. Everyone was going to get rich off this huge kid. The members of the NWC were happy and unanimous that the belt be dropped to the giant after their next official meeting in Portland, Oregon.

This meeting.

 

Shane hurriedly opened the door to his room and scooped Annie off her feet. His wrestling dates had kept them both apart for the best part of a year. She adored him, missed him. She loved him. She wondered if he felt the same. He must have. He made it his business to get to Oregon. To her.  

He was a mercenary his whole career. He traveled where the best money was and he never had any problems letting the bosses know that. He was a rare thing in the wrestling business in that he got over with the audience no matter how many times a promoter tried to make an example out of him by making him lose. He once lost four straight title matches in the same building and he still managed to sell it out the next week.

And he did it all with a microphone.

He knew how to make people feel the way he wanted them to feel. He knew how to garner sympathy and rally soldiers of support in the stands. He could do what all truly great wrestlers could – he could manipulate people. And the bosses loved that. Not that they’d ever let the wrestlers know that. 

Annie knew it was no coincidence that he was here at the same time the NWC was meeting here too. Still, she let herself be fooled. He was here for her. 

 

“Okay, let’s move on to any other business,” Merv said as he pushed his glasses onto his forehead and shuffled some papers. 

Danno cleared his throat and the meeting left a respectful silence for his potential input. He stood up.

“We had a deal, Merv.” Danno looked around the room to see which of the other owners had knifed him in the back. “But more than that, I have someone who we know people are going to pay to see. I have someone who you all watched work a few months ago; someone who could make us all a lot of money. Now I’ve kept him under wraps for months, waiting for the nod today. I was going to explode this kid onto the scene and get the world talking.”

“He was green as goose shit and we need to move on to other business, Danno,” Merv interrupted.

“But I have a question,” Danno fired back.

“Make it quick,” Merv said.

Fuck it. Danno had nothing to gain anymore by being polite anyway. “Yeah, just one point. Would you still be reneging on our deal if the giant jumped to your company like you quietly asked him to do several times last week?”

The occupants of the room turned squarely to Merv to hear his response. Danno simply asked what everyone else was thinking.

“In my life I’ve never been so insulted and  … and  … what’s the word  … ?”

Danno instinctively finished his sentence. “Crooked?”

Merv picked up his ashtray and unsuccessfully threw it at Danno’s head. “You be fucking careful what you lay at my door, you Mick fuck. Where’s your evidence that I tried anything of the sort? You didn’t get the belt ‘cause you’d only fuck it up if you did. Simple as that.”

 

Annie lay on the bed and watched one of the most famous wrestlers in the world tear at his clothes. His body was a little softer than she remembered. The road, and time, were taking their toll. 

Shane smiled at her and tried to hide the fact that various injuries wouldn’t let him get down far enough to take his socks off.

The hotel room, the running around, the planning, the danger. Back home it kept Annie going. She cherished the flutter it gave her. But here, in reality, it made her feel sick. Danno was a good man. Solid. Timed. Predictable. A little boring. But good.

“I can’t,” she said as she whipped herself from the bed.

“What?” Shane replied.

“I can’t,” she repeated as she dropped her head in shame and made her way to the door. “I’m sorry.”

“Wait, baby. What’s going on here?”

“I’m sorry. I don’t know what I’m doing.”

She managed to break away from this once before. Things were getting better at home. She didn’t know what made her say yes to see him again.

History and chemistry were a dangerous combination.  

 

“You’re the worst earning member of this council, Danno. I’d keep my fucking mouth shut if I were you,” Merv warned. 

Danno slowly sat down.

Merv reigned over the silence in the room. He wiped the froth from his mouth and watched everyone else’s reaction, waiting to take on any more of this uprising bullshit. “In case anyone forgot the procedure in here, there was a vote taken on this decision, just like every time we have someone who thinks they have the next champ. So, please do me a favor and stop with the bleeding heart routine in here. I’m getting all fucking emotional.”

Merv was right. There were nine men who all had a say in the secret ballot. Just that none of them would say anything different than Merv. He had just enough of them on his side with backhand deals and co-promoting perks that he never had to worry about losing a ballot.

“Anyone else like to say something?” Merv asked.

As small and as old as Merv was, the whole business knew that he had come to this business from another business. If that old cunt didn’t want you around anymore, you’d stop being around. 

“Well?” Merv glared at Danno. “Are we moving this meeting on?”

Danno hesitantly nodded. There would be no celebration, no victory speech and no blowjob from Missus Garland that night.

Merv, in turn, sat down also. “I was going to inform the meeting that Sal was going to tour your territories again this summer as champion. Boost your gates.”

The other owners smiled and nodded at the scrap of generosity and everyone turned attentively to his next item. Everyone except Proctor King, who winked at Danno.

Business was about to pick up.

 

All the real meetings took place after the meeting. All the owners knew this but never said anything. The planning, scheming, the hush-hush handshakes, all took place an hour after everyone left to ‘go home’.

This is when Merv Schiller, as chairman of the NWC, normally held court, cut deals and generally protected his spot.

Merv wasn’t the only one who was at a meeting.

Danno’s took place with an unlikely ally in Proctor King. They never had much, if any, dealings with each other in the past. Proctor’s request for a meeting was unusual to Danno to say the least. He took it because he just didn’t want to go back home a failure again. He didn’t want to have that talk with his wife again. He couldn’t. He was too old to be an ‘also ran’.

So he waited in the restaurant.  

For an opening night, this Old Spaghetti Factory sure was quiet. Danno read the menu for the second time at a table that sat under a big stained glass window. Right on time, Proctor walked through the front door and pointed Danno out to the waitress.

 

The one man who was without a meeting was Curt Magee. 

Same old shit, same old fucking shit, he thought as he lowered another beer and wiped the foam from his white moustache. 

He skimmed and re-skimmed the meeting from earlier in his mind. The way he had been spoken to. The disrespect of cutting a grown man out of his livelihood. He knew that they were all planning a meeting without him. Curt’s territory was hurting more than most. He needed a slice of the money that old Merv was funneling off for himself. But he knew he wasn’t in Merv’s troop – or any other troop. That left Curt very vulnerable. 

To keep your place at the NWC table you have to be valuable. Curt was just about out of any worth – within the NWC or his own goddamn house.

He squinted at the figure at the end of the bar. “Shane?” he asked himself.

At the other end of the Governor Hotel bar, The Sugarstick Shane Montrose was lowering shot after shot. Curt didn’t recognize him at first. Partly because his sight was shot, and partly because he’d never been in a bar with Shane Montrose where the Sugarstick was so quiet and somber.

“Well, fuck me,” Curt said as he walked closer.

Shane barely looked up from his glass. “Curt Magee, the famous owner from Texas in these United States of America.”

Curt dragged up a stool. “What are you doing here?”

“Fishing. What do you think I’m doing in a fucking bar? I’m knitting a hat.”

“Okay, I was only asking.”

Shane downed another shot and slammed his glass off the bar. “How many wrestlers did you all fuck over today?”

“What?”

“At your big meeting. How many of us did you guys fuck over? Did you cut our payoffs some more or trade us like the fucking cattle you think we are?”

Shane slipped uneasily off his stool and clawed at his shirt – ripping all the buttons off. He then struggled to pull his tailor-made jacket over his head – but only succeeded in trapping himself.

“Fucking help me,” Shane said in a panicked, high-pitched voice.

Curt grabbed the jacket and Shane burrowed himself backwards out of it.

Curt became more aware of the scene they were creating. “What are you doing?”

“Freeing myself,” Shane replied as he unhooked his belt.

Curt grabbed his arm. “People are watching.”

“Fucking good.” Shane pulled away from Curt and fell into an empty table behind him.

 

Proctor didn’t feel at ease in the restaurant, so he and Danno came outside The Spaghetti Factory and slid down the bank by the river. Now it was Danno who was ill at ease. There was no one around. That’s what Proctor wanted. Danno – not so much.

“Nice view, huh, Danno?”

Danno tried to assess the situation and the geography without making it obvious he was doing so. He also watched the water’s edge so as not to get his feet wet.

“What did you want to see me about?” Danno asked.

“I want to do some business that will make us both rich,” Proctor replied as he inhaled. “Big money.”

“Haven’t you got an office or a phone for this kind of stuff?”

“Not this kinda stuff.”

Proctor waited for Danno’s response. It was like he was enjoying the power of watching Danno digest the broken information.

“Well?” Danno asked. “What are we talking about here?”

Proctor took one last look up the bank before gravitating towards Danno’s ear. “I want to get you the belt.”

Danno leaned back to recapture his personal space. “You were there today, Proctor. You saw the room go with Merv.”

“Fuck Merv and those monkeys who follow him. I can get you the belt by the end of the month. That’ll give you time to put a program in place for that giant golden goose you found – you lucky bastard.”

 

Curt and Shane sat in a booth in the bar. Shane was wearing just his jacket, underwear, black knee socks and shiny dress shoes. This arrangement seemed to have calmed him.

“Merv got me,” Shane said as his suckled on a beer bottle. “He said I was the greatest of all time. The best wrestler to never have the heavyweight title. I agree with him there.” 

Curt also nodded in agreement. Everyone knew the same.

Montrose continued, “Merv said he was putting together the biggest match of them all. He got me to leave Tanner and come with him to San Francisco. I moved the family. Laid down some money on a nice house, put my kid in a new school. It was finally going to happen for me. He promised me the belt. Now he’s fucking avoiding me. He won’t even book me on his cards.”

It took Curt all of two seconds to figure out why Merv would keep one of the best of all time on the shelf. What Shane was saying clicked with what Curt heard at the NWC meeting earlier. 

Merv had tried to sign Babu the giant from under Danno’s nose. He was wanting to put together the most popular wrestler never to be champion, Shane Montrose, versus the new Giant. Montrose trained the giant, broke him into the wrestling business. Teacher versus student. Experience versus youth. The rightful champion versus the new unstoppable giant. It was perfect. It was also a gold mine.

“Does he have a contract with you?” Curt asked.

“You know how these things work, Curt. I’m fucked.”

“Jesus.”

“Things are not good. This piece of shit has me signed for three years.”

Curt saw the opening he was looking for.

“Merv is a greedy pig. He wants to collect all the talent and put them on the shelf so no one else can have them.”

“Yeah, well, the way you guys have this game stacked – we only get paid when we work. And I can’t live on fresh air and hollow promises.”

 

  “What are you planning on doing with Merv?” Danno asked, not sure if he really wanted to hear the answer.

Proctor dodged the question. “Listen, I want that belt – we all do, but everyone knows you’ve got the guy for now. The other owners had already signed off on it, except fucking Merv clicked his fingers and frightened them back into line. When he’s removed from the situation, you get the belt. And my reward for doing it is that you drop the belt to me next.”

Proctor tried to read Danno’s face. “I pay you two hundred thousand dollars upfront and another two when your giant does the job to my son in a few years time.”

“A few years?”

“Yeah.”

“Why a few years?”

Proctor offered his potential partner a cigarette. Danno declined with a shake of his head.

Proctor answered, “I’m going to be honest with you. If I had all my pieces in place now I would just do this and get the belt for myself, but … my son just went inside,” Proctor said with some noticeable pride.

 

Curt and Shane sat side by side, both feeling cheated, both making little money and both thinking what a greedy little prick Merv was.

Curt made absolutely sure that no one from inside the wrestling business was around before he stooped into Shane’s ear. “Why don’t you come work for me?”

Shane looked at Curt skeptically. He’d heard that one before.

“Fuck Merv,” Curt whispered.

Owners didn’t talk like that about other owners. Particularly in front of wrestlers. Shane was drunk, but not drunk enough to not be worried that someone might hear.

“He’s got my contract,” Shane said.

“What if I could do something that made us rich?”

Curt knew that Merv was trying to have all the cake. Merv wanted to own Shane Montrose and the giant. Curt didn’t consider himself that greedy. If Danno Garland had the giant then Curt could snap up the challenger now and cut him off at the pass. Half the box-office of the biggest match of all time was better than none of the box-office of the biggest match of all time.

Curt wasn’t comfortable in the open. He signaled for The Sugarstick to follow him into the small hallway off the restrooms.

“I’ll sign you. We’ll make the match. You versus the giant. We get half and Danno gets half. We do the match all over the country. There’s more money there than any other match.”

“What about Merv?” Montrose asked.

Curt took a swig of his drink. His hands were shaking. They did that a lot when he got excited or angry. “I’ll sort Merv. I’d be doing everyone a favor.”

 

Proctor flicked his exhausted cigarette butt into the river. “We got a deal?”

Danno felt he needed a lot more time. It seemed to make total sense as Proctor laid it out so smoothly, but he knew this was as close as his mortal self was ever going to get to shaking hands with the devil.

“Danno?” Proctor’s pitch raised, surprised that he had to chase an answer.

Danno opened his mouth to not only agree, but to get himself in even further with Proctor. Money and fancy under-britches were powerful motivation.

“On one condition,” Danno said, the water now running over his feet.

“What’s that?”

“I call the angle when the time comes.”

Proctor smiled and offered out a handshake. He knew that Danno was a simple storyteller. In the end, the giant would lay down for his boy. Proctor and Danno shook hands.

 

“Deal?” Curt asked.

Shane warily thought about what they were getting into. Merv left him no choice. 

“On one condition.”

“What’s that?” Curt asked.

“I work with you. Not for you. Partners.”

Curt saw five more years of work left in Shane’s faltering body. If he could pull off a deal with Danno they would be the five most lucrative years of all their lives. If he couldn’t… Curt didn’t even want to entertain that thought. There’s only one match out there that made any sense. And Curt Magee was about to outthink them all for once, and own half of it.

“Deal,” Curt said.

Shane put out his hand, “Don’t you ever try and fuck me over, lie to me or cheat me out of a payoff.”

“I won’t.”

“Cause I’ll fucking kill you if you do.”

Curt finished his drink. “Anything I should know before we do this?”

“Like what?”

“Just anything you think I should know.”

Shane shook his head.

“Okay. Deal,” Curt said.

Curt and The Sugarstick Shane Montrose shook hands. Professional wrestling was littered with bad handshakes but this particular one ranked at the very top.

 

Four days after the murder. 

New York.

Shane slowly walked the backroom towards Danno with his head respectfully bowed. He didn’t know who knew what – if anything at all. He’d hoped that the fact he was still walking around meant Danno didn’t know. 

He was petrified, but not coming would only make things worse. So there he was, like a shameful dog, walking across the floor at Annie Garland’s wake. 

“Sit down,” Danno said without raising his head from thought.

Shane did just that, “I’m sorry about  … ”

“Do you know where Curt Magee is?” Danno asked directly.

“No, I swear to God. I swear on my kid’s life.”

Danno opened his hand and showed him a tangled ball of rosary beads. “This is what they gave me. They took her and put her in the ground and this is the receipt.”

“I’m sorry,” Shane said, trying to hold back his tears. “I’m sorry.”

Danno broke his stare from the floor and lifted his head. All the other mourners were sliding past the ‘respect’ phase of the wake and moving into the louder, more drunken part.

“They get you when you’re a kid,” Danno started. “And they put all this stuff in your head about devils and fire and clouds and light. And I can’t fucking shake it. I can’t carve the bullshit that they put in there out of my head.”

“Danno … ”

Danno slammed his fist off the table. The whole room stopped dead. 

“What are you looking at?” Danno asked the quiet onlookers.

 The room continued with its conversations and dirty jokes. Danno leaned  into Shane Montrose.  “I knew and I … accepted.”

“Accepted what?” Shane asked.

“None of your fucking lies,” Danno said as he dropped the rosary beads. “Not today.”

Shane drew a large breath and clasped his hands on the table. He leaned in closer. “I loved her.”

Those words, this day, no sleep, no joy. Danno did nothing.

Shane continued. “I loved her and I respected her. And my heart is broke over what happened. I want to help you find Curt.”

Danno watched Shane’s eyes fill up with tears. He then slipped his gaze around the filthy, smoky room. Danno Garland and Shane Montrose were the only two in the room who really felt something for Annie. 

“I’m ashamed of what I did. I’m ashamed and it makes me sick to my stomach. It wasn’t meant to be… it just got out of hand. I’m sorry Danno.” Shane grabbed Danno’s hand and dropped from his seat to his knee. “I’m sorry.”

The room tried to pretend it wasn’t looking at the scene unfolding in front of the boss.

Danno wanted to kill him – he wanted to stand up and thrust his fingers into his eyes and overturn the heavy table on the side of his head. He wanted to stomp him and stab at him and choke him and bite his face. “Get up.”

Shane looked up from his bended knee. “I’m sorry.”

“Get up I said.”

Shane warily rose to his feet. 

Danno stood and addressed the room. “Curt didn’t fucking do this on his own,” Danno shouted as he turned one by one around his fellow bosses. “I want you all to hear me when I say this.” 

The room was deathly quiet. Danno couldn’t have picked a more awkward and uncomfortable day or place to unload.

“My only business left is to make sure who did this to … ” He couldn’t bring himself to say his wife’s name. “To make sure everyone. Every-fucking-person who was involved in this dies. Then I will gladly lay down and you vultures can pick away.”

Danno looked at all the dropped heads in front of him. “For years you all wanted me to get my hands dirty. Well, fuck you – they’re dirty now.”

Danno swallowed his shot, threw his glass against the wall, and walked to the door. “I’ll give a hundred thousand dollars to anyone who leads me to Curt Magee,” he said before he left.

Joe Lapine shook his head in disbelief. There was only so big of a crack he could smooth over as Chair of the NWC. An outburst like this, in public, and in front of the wrestlers was sure to incense the other bosses.

“Did he just place a bounty? In here?”, Tanner Blackwell, the Carolina boss, mouthed to Joe in anger.

Shane Montrose, feeling responsible for the breakdown, reached into his pocket. He took out a ball of hundreds and walked to the bar. “This is on me. All of it.”

He wanted to see if it was possible to spend his guilt away. He had a lot of money and a lot of guilt.