Fahrenheit 207

Ding-dong.

“That’s for me,” Tom said to no one in particular at the AirBNB as he sprung from the couch in the living room with an unusual spring in his step. Lasting longer than your mortal rival in Survivor will have that effect on a man. Kenny was still on his shitlist for the gift card fiasco from Colossus, and Tom wasn’t sure if even the other Whoresmen liked Rob. Other than that, the remaining draw was favorable. Two friendly faces in Lake and Keyes and a rasa tabula in Coltrane gave him good vibes going forward, and he was still riding high off binge drinking Malort on his way to immunity in Chicago.

And KC would bring another favorable challenge.

“That’s one Big Green Egg, shipped all the way from Philadelphia.”

“Thank you,” Tom said as he signed for the package.

“One question though,” the delivery driver replied. “You’re in Kansas City, the barbecue capital of the world. Why bring your own smoker in if you’re just visiting from out of town?”

Tom smirked and chuckled.

“Training purposes.”

🥩

Not five minutes after Aggression went off the air did a production assistant hand Tom a booking sheet for the next show. He clutched his Intercontinental Championship close to sore ribs, product of a beatdown from Adam Benjamin and Sebastian Dodd after the show. Not that “Yours Truly” and the man Tom derisively referred to as “Promo Bot” had any great love for each other. Both men wanted what Tom had, and they weren’t afraid to temporarily align to eliminate the Champion from the equation and make it a duel between the two of them.

“What the FUCK.”

Tam heard the obscenity from inside the locker room, where staff and security escorted her so she didn’t catch a stray from either one of Tom’s assailants. She emerged just as her then-fiancé was mid-U-turn from where she was situated.

“Babe, where are you going?”

Tom turned around, mask shielding the world from the shade of bright red his face had taken on, holding now both the belt and the booking sheet close to his chest.

“Dan’s office. I gotta talk to him.”

“About what?”

“He’s rewarding those two weasels with a shot at my title next week. I thought I’d be done with these clowns by now, but apparently you can jump a guy and…”

He stopped short and winced. The sting was still fresh from the boots and fists dropping their impact on his midsection.

“C’mon, you gotta ice up. Get ready for next week. Take care of them and then you can wrestle the guys like Melton and Windham.”

“No, I’m tired of waiting,” he said through gritted teeth. “I want it now.”

🥩

Feet up on a plastic ottoman. Adirondack chair with enough pillows for adequate lumbar support. A rum runner in a hurricane glass on the table next to him – sweet drinks were needed to wash the memory of an entire bar crawl of Malort from his brain.

And a Big Green Egg billowing smoke gently in the Missouri summer haze.

Tom thought he could get used to life like this, a stable, steady island under a lush canopy as the river of life around him roared and raged. Alone with his thoughts, which for a change were not trying to kill his peace.

Or was he?

“Keyes.”

The Kraken sprang up from behind the shrubbery in the front of the BNB.

“How long have you been waiting there?”

“Ever since just after you put the meat on the smoker. I’ve been trying to level up my skills at the slow-cookery of the finer cuts of meat.”

Tom shot him a befuddled look, not at the language. No, he was used to the anachronistic way Keyes spoke every day, like a PT Barnum who knew how to do chain a few holds together.

“You could have just asked me to show you the ropes.”

“I could have, but…”

Henry sheepishly trailed off. Tom grew impatient, maybe a bit more impatient than the situation called for to be quite honest. He straightened up in the chair and looked the Kraken dead in the eyes.

“But what? It’s just smoking meat!”

“Yes, but I would be dreadfully embarrassed if Helen found out that I was taking culinary advice from someone not in our little club.”

“Helen. The tiger.”

Tom knew he had a slightly embarrassing fixation on Keyes’ pet and Vae Victis’ de facto mascot, but he mentally drew the line at the tiger feeling shame for how her meat was prepared.

“Yes! She’s a smart cat, she is!”

“Yes, but she’s still a cat. Big or small, I think she’d be okay with meat no matter the circumstances.”

Tom sighed after he said those words, slumping back down into a more relaxed position before continuing.

“Look, I can show you the ropes, but you really came out here at a bad time. Nothing, and I mean nothing is going to happen with this hunk of meat for another three or four hours at least.”

“It’s alright. I actually find the wisps coming from the top of that thing quite soothing to watch.”

Tom had no answer, really. It was a good enough reason to stay out there.

🥩

“What the fuck, Dan.”

Tom slammed the door to Dan Ryan’s field office at the arena. The Ego Buster sat behind a folding table with a briefcase leaning against one of the legs. An office chair large enough to support his massive frame was the most expensive piece of furniture in the room. Otherwise, the setup was as spartan as one could expect from a wrestler-cum-promoter. The general consensus was that the only ones in the industry with bigger egos than the workers were the bookers, but Dan was always more interested in busting them anyway.

“And hello to you too, Tom. Sorry about the end of the show there.”

Tom tore off his mask and threw it on the ground, a cue that Dan knew meant he was, in a word, incensed.

“That’s not what I’m pissed about. IF that was it, I wouldn’t be here, and you know that.”

The boss kept his steely and discerning eye contact even through the peak of the initial outburst.

“Wrestling is a sport, sure, but it’s also a business. You know that, right?”

Tom gave no answer, but Dan wasn’t expecting one anyway.

“Right, so, you know more than anyone that when the rulebreakers attack the crowd favorite, there should be a match to settle the score down the line. It’s promoting 101. I know you’re new to that given what goes on up in the Minnesota office, but that’s how we run things here.”

Tom wanted to laugh at the potshot at A1E, but he was still too furious.

“I know that. I really do, but at some point, you gotta understand I’m tired of fighting these fuckin’ jabronis, right? I know you’re not going to bury your talent, but you know Benjamin and Dodd, these creeps are not on my level. I want to crack open the door. I want to fight the big names.”

Dan shook his head.

“You’re right. I’m not going to bury my talent. Especially not the angry kid from Philly in my office right now mad because the guys who kicked the shit out of him are getting a title match in what looks like a reward.”

Tom inhaled. His look softened just enough to see where the Ego Buster was about to go.

“There’s a big difference between the unfairness in the DNA of wrestling and the unfairness that led you from your last place of employment to here. I think you know that.”

“No shit. But you know that’s not why I’m here.”

Dan blinked slow and got up from his specially made office chair.

“Yeah, I do. I’m just trying to put all the cards on the table.”

Ryan turned around from the Luchador to face one of the only adornments that traveled with him from show to show, a map of Texas.

“You know what my home state is famous for, right Tom?”

He paused before he answered, fighting every urge to answer with a choice quote from Full Metal Jacket.

“Cowboys?”

Ryan shook his head.

“Yeah, but I was thinking more along the lines of food. Namely…”

The Ego Buster turned around to face Tom.

“Barbecue.”

🥩

“Damn, that smells good. Almost as good as the pit beef at Chap’s.”

Coltrane Anderson’s frame moved into Tom’s line of sight as he walked up from his driveshare towards the BNB.

“I don’t know whether to be honored or insulted, to be honest. I prefer seafood when I’m in Maryland.”

Tom got up from his Adirondack chair and stretched, trying to get a better look at the mass of humanity standing before him. Coltrane was the competitor in Survivor Tom was least acquainted with. And with the tribes compressing and the field getting smaller, he thought to remedy that situation as soon as he could.

“You oughtta try the pit beef sometimes. ‘Specially with horseradish. Gives it a nice kick.”

“I imagine it would. But bold of you to assume I’m a ‘hot peppers for the sake of heat’ white boy and not a ‘yellow mustard is too spicy, I need mayo’ one.”

Coltrane paused for a second before letting out a guffaw that might have woken any sleeping neighbors. Lucky for him, it was still 4 in the afternoon, so only the sick and the third-shifters might be sleeping now.

“Nah, I seen you put down way too much malort to think you couldn’t take a bit a’ horseradish. Plus, if you in this business? The heat probably comes natural to you.”

Tom chuckled as he nestled back down into his chair.

“When’s it gonna be ready?” Coltrane asked. “I know it’s more fat than I should have, but the protein should hit pretty good. Tough workout, y’know?”

Tom shook his head.

“Well, we just hit the wall right now. Kinda stuck at around 180, 182, and it’s been like that for an hour or so. Nothing you can do but wait for the breakthrough.”

“One-eighty? Damn, that shit’s ready now. I’m hungry.”

Tom shook his head again.

“It’s ready if you like chewing on rubber. But hey, if you’re still into them sick gains, you can eat what’s in there now and get a nice pump on your mandibles.”

Coltrane laughed again.

“If you want something good, then you just gotta wait until it hits like 205, 207, something like that.”

“That sounds overcooked.”

“Yeah, for steak it would be. But every cut of meat, every cooking method, everything in this life is different. You just gotta know what’s what.”

Coltrane furrowed his brow and nodded.

“Aight. Well, when it’s ready, lemme know before you let Rob know. I know he’ll hog that shit to himself if he get out here before anyone else.”

Tom laughed again as Coltrane walked through the door into the house.

🥩

“What the fuck does barbecue have to do with this?”

Dan shook his head before he started.

“Everything. Sit down. I need you to understand something.”

Tom took a seat in the folding chair in front of the table. Dan retook his seat in his office chair and leaned forward.

“Beef. What temperature do you eat it at?”

Tom furrowed his brow and contorted his face wondering what the question meant. He spent a few moments deciding whether to be sarcastic or earnest before deciding on the latter.

“Depends on whether it’s a steak or if it’s ground. Usually between medium rare and maybe the lower side of medium well if it’s a burger of questionable providence.”

“Good answer for the situation, but what about barbecue?”

“What, are we talkin’ a cookout or something? Burgers and dogs? Same answer.”

Ryan shook his head.

“Typical Yankee answer. What passes for barbecue in your backyards…”

He trailed off. Tom didn’t know it yet, but he’d about to get his first exposure to a Southerner Getting Mad About Barbecue. It would be the last time that was at his behest, because when a giant man gets mad about food, one tends to learn valuable lessons.

“Sorry, it’s just what you guys think barbecue is and what it really is as wide as the gap in talent you think exists between you and guys like Benjamin and Dodd. Not saying you’re right or wrong because again, I don’t bury my talent, ever.”

Tom rolled his eyes at the insistence, not realizing much later in his life that he’d appreciate that sentiment compared to the experiences he had in the A1E office.

“Anyway, barbecue, real barbecue is when you take a cut of beef like the ribs or the brisket and you cook it real slow, hours at a time.”

Tom furrowed his brow again as his boss continued.

“After a couple hours, it’s going to smell amazing. You’ll want to rip the smoker door open and tear at it, and maybe you could. You check the temperature, and it’s at 125, about where you want it if it’s a steak over an open flame. But if you take that meat out of the smoker and dig in, it’s going to be chewy and bland. You’re going to think that it’s the worst way to cook and eat meat.”

Tom sat up in the chair.

“So you keep waiting, waiting,” Dan continued. “You’re going to wait for this piece of meat to be done for hours. You’ll wait until it feels like torture, asking yourself how can something be on the heat for so long and still not be ready to eat?”

Tom narrowed his eyes, starting to get where the Ego Buster was taking him.

“But then, it finally hits an internal temperature of 207. And if it’s your first time, you think there’s no way this meat is going to be anything but sawdust. But then you cut into it, and the juices just cascade out of the face of the meat. You eat a slice, and it’s the best fucking thing you’ve ever tasted.”

Tom nodded.

“I think I know what you’re saying, but I need to hear it from you. Put two and two together.”

Ryan shook his head and laughed.

“Hey, my ribs still hurt, and I’m pretty sure I landed on my head wrong at least once out there. You gotta spell it out for me,” Tom added.

Dan shook his head again as he continued.

“You wrestlers are all the same,” he said fully aware that he too was a wrestler everywhere but the company he was presently booking. “Anyway, wrestling is like barbecue. Right now, you feel like you’re ready to serve out there on the biggest stage, but you’re not a piece of steak. You’re not a guy I can just throw out on the grill right away for quick consumption. You’re a piece of brisket. It was always going to be a process, slow and steady. IF you think this is it for you, I can’t stop you.”

Dan nodded at Tom and stood up. The Luchador followed on cue.

“But you gotta trust me when I say that your time here is going to take some patience. As long as you realize you’re in it for the long run, then nothing’s going to stop you from getting to where you want to be. And you’ll know it when you’re there. Trust me.”

Tom sighed.

“Okay. I get it, I think.”

Tom turned around towards the mask he threw down in his anger earlier. Before he bent to get it, he turned back to his boss.

“And sorry for coming in here like this. I just let a bad day get to me.”

Dan laughed.

“It’s alright. I’ve been there before.”

🥩

Nightfall in Kansas City. It had been a few hours since Tom took the hunk of meat off the Egg and put it, wrapped in butcher paper, into a cooler to rest. Maybe it was pitmaster’s intuition. Maybe it was the rumble in his stomach. Either way, he grabbed the finished product out of the cooler and put it onto a table he had brought out onto the porch. With greedy fingers, he tore open the paper to find it in its finished glory.

The bark was black and speckled with the individual dots of spices from the rub he carefully pressed onto the meat before putting it on the smoke. It was as beautiful as any piece of food he’d ever seen with the exception of the cake on his wedding day. He reached his open palm back and slapped the brisket flush on the pellicle.

Boiiiiing

It jiggled with all the seduction of a stripper’s bosom still contained within its top after rising from the floor in an energetic dance routine. His patience paid off, and he knew this would be the best piece of meat any of the people inside would have had all week long. He grabbed the platter and opened the door gingerly so as not to drop it.

“ALRIGHT BOYS, meat’s ready. Hope you are too.”

All he could hear was the rustle of grown men from whatever resting position they were in to dig for dinner.

🥩

There he stood, ready to challenge “Triple X” Sean Stevens for the Empire Pro World Championship. Tom knew he could get there, but the journey felt impossible at times. There was losing the Intercontinental Championship a week after throwing a tantrum about having to face off against the wrestlers he’d be facing off against. He was sure he’d be ready to face people like Joey Melton and Troy Windham, but he lost in those matches.

But from the struggles came hope. He started stacking wins on top of each other and drove his way up the rankings. Men like Troy Douglas and Rocko Daymon were once above him, and over time, he got on their level and even passed them.

And now, he was about to wrestle for the biggest prize in the company. Maybe the biggest prize in the entire confederation of companies, given how the Greensboro territory was in yet another one of their hiatuses.

He thought back to that night in Dan Ryan’s office. And he smiled.

He finally knew the time was right. He made it. Win or lose… he made it.