Harry.

“So here's to the lifers

The struggle-and-strifers”

—--------------------------------------

Lil’ Tony Two-books.

How was your break?

You know, getting to go home, see everyone you love and care about. I know you didn’t stay on that damn boat. How could you? I wouldn’t want to be within three-hundred miles of that goddamn ship. It’s cursed. Especially now.

How could it not be cursed?

It smells like piss.

It looks like piss.

It has Vickie Hall on it.

Cursed.

Absolutely fucking cursed.

Most people don’t like your boss. Some of them hear “Friend of mine…” and their skin begins to crawl. Not me, we’ve been pretty good pals in the past. We shared a microphone in a shitty ring once, that basically makes us eskimo brothers. And everyone else sees this terrible, mean, spiteful shithead. I don’t. Jiles has never really bothered me. Sure, he’s a mean spiteful shithead. But he’s one of those mean spiteful shitheads with a code, you just have to learn how to navigate the river of the bandit. Never step in front of the sun on deck, never step in front of the lights in the ring, just stay in line.

Oh, and make sure he doesn’t lose.

And if he does, make sure there’s like fifty other people you can blame for it.

It’s really not that hard.

You do a good job, I’m sure he likes you a lot Tony.

—-----------------------------------------

“No, they don't give up and they don't give in

When things don't go their way”

—------------------------------------------

Los Angeles, California

12/18/2024

“I dunno…” The Behemoth mumbles as he swipes the hair out of his face with his paw. The beast gnaws at him quietly, a small pressure in his chest, it just stays there. His thoughts race as he stares off into space. The woman across from him looks at him eagerly, waiting for him to finish. He takes a quick sip from a coffee mug that looks entirely too small in his hands.

“I uh…” a napkin is dashed across some coffee froth in his mustache, he looks up at her hazel eyes. His own steel blues linger for a moment before he looks back down at the tiny white cup and saucer.

“Are you like a cowboy criminal?” Her laugh is quiet, almost hushed. Or maybe it just sounds that way to Clay’s forty-two year old ears. He couldn’t quite make out the high notes after that last fall at Colossus. He smiles back, it’s uncomfortable though. It flares, the uncertainty struggles and pulls to escape.

“Naa, I ain’t no Yellowstone crime boss,” he tries to shrug it off and looks back towards the woman. She tosses her bright red hair back over her shoulder before folding her hands under chin and resting her elbows on the table.

“I’m a paralegal for a firm downtown, I’d know if we had a gazillionaire rancher in town. And since I’ve never seen you before, I’m sure you aren’t some big time actor or celebrity…” Clay listens with a smirk, he’s nobody, and he never has been. It roars inside him though, and he has to just blurt tit out.

“I might work witha few, but yeah, I guess we’ll just get there. I’m a wrassler,” it fades away in his chest, a raised eyebrow hints to The Monster from Plainview to continue. “Work with some folks, Tsonda, Youngblood, Avalon, Lindsay Troy. Ya mighta heard of them.”

“Oh! I’ve heard of her! My friend in school was obsessed! She used to wear those Tripp pants because she did!” She smirks and swirls her coffee before having a small sip. “So where do ya do that at…”

“Well, just started working for Lindsay. So it’s all over the world. But before I was doin’ time up in Chicago…” Clay drones on, the California sun causes him to shift his chair slightly to make sure he’s under the umbrella.

“Did time?” she asks with a laugh. It claws in his chest at the inside of his ribcage. It’s worse than before. “I thought you said you weren’t a criminal?” it rips and tears, she laughs and glances down. Probably innocently, but it screamed and shouted, kicking and punching inside of his body.

“Uhh…” it wracks and convulses uncontrollably. He’s losing her, and he knows it. The southern California sun is still bearing down, he tries to focus on the freckles on her arm as a bead of sweat flows down the side of his neck.

“It’s a long story…” The words aren’t thought out, they aren’t meticulous. It’s the unfiltered brain thoughts coming to the surface, she blinks three times rapidly and glances down at her phone. Clay can see it’s blank but she picks it up and begins frantically thumbing.

“Sorry, uh, I gotta go. My friend has a thing going on and needs me to come over and help her with her hair… Maybe we can do this some other time?” She gives an apologetic smile and gets up to her feet.

“There’s this mob fella and an aircraft carrier…” she shakes her head at the futile attempts and roots through her purse. She puts a few dollars on the table and smiles awkwardly, walking off. It screeches and pulls at his veins as she walks away.

“Fuck.” Clay says to no one in particular as he looks down at his own phone. He picks it up in his hands and just stares at the empty screen for a few moments. His brain tries to comprehend what exactly just happened to him. He flicks open a  web browser and stares at a google search page.

“God damnit, I’m a fuckin’ idiot,” He runs his hands through his beard. His inner monologue continues the self deprecation: “Couldn’t just spit it out.” “All you had to say was you hated your old job.” “All you had to do was say it was fucking miserable.” It goes on and on, but finally the blank staring is interrupted by a sandwich placed in front of him and a half sandwich on the saucer in front of her.

“Oh, uh, do you want me to take this to the back?” Clay just waves the waiter to bring the sandwich over to him. The waiter straightens his white apron and looks down at the cash on the table.

“Yeah take it, I’m a fuckin’ criminal anyway,” Clay reaches over and picks up the money and passes it over to the waiter. The sidewalk patio goes eerily silent, and the waiter takes a step back before taking the money.

“Thanks…” he takes another step back and turns the other way. The patio goes back to the dull murmur, and The Behemoth can feel the eyes on him. It smirks inside, a low pang that crawls across the top of his stomach. A few glances and smiles is all it takes to set the big man off.

“Fuck!” he shouts and pounds the table. All eyes are back on him, and he throws another wad of cash on the table while scooping up all three sandwiches in his left hand. He steps over the black patio railing and begins walking down the street, shaking his head.

—----------------------------------

“Yeah, we're gettin' knocked down,

 yeah, we're gettin' back up”

—----------------------------------

I didn’t mean that as an insult Tony. See, we're both good at our jobs.

Being a henchmen is an art, and most people don’t understand how difficult it is to be a great one. You can’t have delusions of grandeur, you can’t have goals and desires. You sacrifice them, swallow them for everyone around you. Would you love to be the Universal Champion? Sure. But you and I both know the reality of the situation.

That’s for the stars, we’re just the men that look after the stars. We do it in different ways, you do it with what you're best at. You cheat your ass off to make sure Jiles gets his way, I support Kerry, Troy and Keyes. That’s my job.

See Tony, we’ve seen the bright lights, we know what they mean. We understand what they do to us, they pull at us and beg us to step into them. But we know we can’t do that. Not anymore, those lights aren’t for guys like us. We don’t need them, let the other guys take the spotlight. We’re happy handling our own business, and just happy to be part of a winning team.

I’m so damn proud of Kerry and everything he’s done the last few months. Sure, he didn’t get there this time, but he will next time. His journey has a long way to go, and he’s got plenty of peaks and valleys to climb through. But he worked his ass off, he went to war with a hell of a champion and took him to his knees.

He’ll finish the job.

I’m sure you're proud of what Coral’s accomplished with you by his side. The captain leading the way. Or maybe you aren’t and you're more of a Jiles guy, but after UltraViolence you knew that ship had some trouble with a forehead shaped reef. And now look at you, having the captain stick his neck out for you, giving you a wiff of it, a taste of it.

The tin and leather, it’s always right there. Right at our fingertips.

But see, we ain’t meant for that life lil’ Tony. We ain’t never been meant for that life. We do the dirty work, Coral can’t get his hands dirty? No problem, Tony and Cancer are there. It’s like Kevin McCallister having the Wet Bandits with him.

You must be Harry.

HA

Two absolute cockroaches capable of surviving any nuclear fallout, and you got the brains capable of delivering nuclear strikes to everyone leading the way. It’s really working out for Harry and Marv. Two guys who would have been all time great henchmen if they really put their mind to it, they would have done anything for a good boss. Those two men walked through literal fire to try to kill a kid with a piss filled super soaker. Imagine what they’d have done for a real crime boss.

Didn’t you used to have Marv’s and Harry’s?

What the fuck were there names anyway?

I digress.

But I get it Tony, I respect you. You’re a card carrying henchmen union member like myself.

But make sure you tell Marv if he thinks he’s feelin’ froggy I’m gonna kick his fucking teeth in so he’ll just be left puckering.

—------------------------------

“The cowboys in old hats

The last of the Great Generation”

—-------------------------------

Los Angeles, California

12/18/2024

It should be gone, but it’s not. It never goes away, and the big man finally rounds the corner of a building and steps into the alley. He leans his back against the wall, and slumps. The sandwiches are still in his left hand and he runs his right hand through his blonde locks.

“Ya gonna eat that?” A man in a half rusted wheelchair asks as he rolls up beside Clay. The Behemoth just holds the food out to the man and shakes his head. The guy needed it more than he did anyway. The food disappears and the man turns and wheels off. “Thanks.”

“Yea…” Clay looks down the alley, but the man is already thirty feet away from him. He looks up towards the sky from his spot on the sidewalk. A pinch of warmth flows over him as he stares at the bright blue sky, it’s satisfied with the results of the excursion.

“I fuckin’ hate you…” He mumbles to the sky. He looks down, back at the concrete then over to the asphalt then back to the concrete. He doesn’t mean to curse anyone but himself, but he curses the man in the sky instead. “Sorry…” he mumbles to the sky, and looks back to the concrete.

“I fuckin’ hate me…”

—----------------------------

“It seems they still dream”

“Lifers” by Cody Jinks

—----------------------------

But we were something else, weren’t we Tony?

And sometimes, those delusions, they reach out and they grab us. They twist us and turn us. We rip and pull at them. It’s like being a country boy and a big city lawyer. The suit tries to fit, and we don’t like the way it feels. But god damn, does it look nice. God damn does it feel great.

But it’s just for us to dream about, isn’t it?

It’s just for us to wonder about.

The dirty little thing we bury away in the back of our mind. That little secret desire, maybe one day one of them will fall on a banana peel, maybe one day we’ll deserve the spotlight. But Tony, the clock ticks on both of us. I’m no spring-chicken, and you ain’t either. That world, it’s for the Colton’s and the FLAMBERGE’s. It’s for the Diamonds’ and Farthington’s. It’s for the Kuroyama’s and the Hunter’s.

It’s not for us.

It’ll never be for us.

And that’s okay.

We’ll just beat the fuck out of each other down here while the rest of them get their fill.

Unless you still dream.