'The Hermit' or: Inland Empire, Outer Dark

I. Zzyzx

“Uh… pack’a Marlboros,” I said. “The special blends.”

The clerk didn't smile. “$12.55.”

“Fuckin’ California cigarette prices,” I said, fishin’ my wallet outta my back pocket. “Might as well be highway robbery, huh?”

Not a fuckin’ word. Just dead eyes starin’ at me from ‘cross the counter sunk real deep into a set of downright cavernous sockets on the sorta post-meth face one often sees in towns like Zzyzx; those dyin’ little places that don't amount to much more than an exit off the interstate. Fuckin’ sad. Could've been handsome if he were born somewhere different.

I gave ‘im the money and he shuffled the pack of smokes towards me with filthy fingers. I’d decided it was a good idea to do the drive ‘tween Vegas and LA 'stead of flyin’. Reckoned it was a good excuse to… I dunno, clear my mind? Eyes on the road, hands on the wheel, out in the desert where the world don’t move so fast. Even got Frankie to tag along; make up for lost time, harken back to them old days when we used to drive all over the Southwest, me wrasslin’ in indie shows and him makin’ sure I weren’t goin’ off the rails.

Some things don't change.

Other things, though… It’d been a topsy-turvy year, even if the past few weeks had settled into somethin’ resemblin’ stability. ‘Sides from me and Frankie rebuildin’ our brotherhood from the ground up, I’d told Jorgensen and Vera both to go shove it; stopped answerin’ their calls, didn’t return their emails, gave ‘em the silent treatment. Frankie was managin’ me again, far as I was concerned.

I was still off the coke, even if I was still thinkin’ ‘bout it every few hours. Figure that did a whole helluva lot to convince Cora to give me another chance. We weren’t fuckin’ or nothin’, but… well, her and Natalie were stayin’ with me in Vegas. I slept on the couch most nights, but every once in a while, Cora’d call me upstairs and I’d lay there next to her in bed, arm ‘round her waist, neither of us sayin’ nothin’. Natalie, me and her’d been makin’ up for lost time too. Y’know how folks’re always sayin’ havin’ kids will change you? Well, that always sounded like a buncha bullshit to me, but I’ll be damned if they weren’t right, even if I was startin’ a few years late.

Even me and Bambi were talkin’ again. Not as friends or nothin’, but just… it weren’t as heated no more. She accepted my apologies even if she didn’t outright forgive me and I can’t blame her for that. Made plans to come up to Jersey next year; meet our baby ‘fore he was outta diapers, try and do the right thing.

But goin' back to Zzyxzx. It was ‘round ‘bout 8:00PM and the desert’d done gone dark. On my way out, I stopped at one of ‘em little spinner racks they put right by the front door to catch your attention. Sunglasses, USB cords, junk and knick-knacks to separate your money from your wallet. I gave it one good spin and I’ll be damned if my eyes didn’t settle on somethin’ I weren’t expectin’ to see.

At first, I just ‘bout laughed and then I just grinned. Y’see, places like a gas station in Zzyzx, they don’t operate like the rest of the world. They only ever exist at the periphery. They get restocked once in a blue moon and just ‘bout never throw nothin’ away that might be worth somethin’ to somebody somewhere. On account of all that, you’re just ‘bout bound to find somethin’ weird, outta place, stolen from the past.

Expired food? Sure.

Outta print magazines from decades ago? Bet your ass.

The junk of yesteryear, still perfectly packaged and never sold? Of course.

Down on the bottom of the spinner rack, covered in dust and cobweb, were a few old classic PRIME action figures. There was a younger, but no less bald, Brandon Youngblood. There was Tsonda too with a dumb lookin’ face. But I didn't care ‘bout neither of ‘em. No, my eyes settled on the one starin’ back at me from its plastic window, face scowlin’ and eyes just as intense as they are nowadays. Little plastic Universal Title wrapped ‘round his waist, skin paler’n a ghost.

Jason Snow, hot off the presses of 2009. The packagin’ advertised Great American Nightmare.

“Heh. Well, shit,” I said, pluckin’ the action figure from its peg and holdin’ it up to get a better look at it. “Hey! How much for this, hoss?”

The clerk looked up and shrugged, “Uh… a dollar? Those don't sell.”

I pulled a wadded up dollar outta my pocket, walked back over to the counter, and slapped it down. “Welp, consider this one sold.”

The clerk weren't sharin’ my enthusiasm, but he took the dollar all the same. I went walkin’ outta that store, slappin’ that pack of Marlboros ‘gainst my thigh ‘fore I pulled one out. Frankie was up ahead at one of the pumps, leanin’ on my truck as the gas poured in. He looked up when he saw me comin’ and nodded silently towards an idlin’ car a few pumps over.

“How’s it hangin’, Frankie?” I asked. “Got‘er filled up?”

“Just about,” Frankie said. “See that car over there? It’s been following us since we left Vegas.”

“That right?” I asked, peekin’ over my shoulder. “Probably ain’t nothin’ to worry ‘bout. The interstate’s a lonely place. Probably just don’t wanna drive it alone.”

“Yeah,” Frankie said, still eyein’ the car. “Could be...”

“Don’t be gettin’ all freaked out on me now, Frankie,” I said. “Lookie what I found.”

I held up the Jason Snow action figure and, all at once, Frankie’s face lit up with a big ol’ grin. “Hah! Oh man! Is that from…?”

“Sure as shit is,” I said. “Reckon this town ain’t caught up with the times, huh?”

“No kidding,” Frankie said. “That was a good night, though.”

“Yeah,” I said. “I reckon it was…” ◇◆◇◆◇◆◇◆◇◆◇◆◇

II. Waco

The year’s 2009.

I’m twenty years old. A wrassler, just like my daddy wanted me to be. I ain’t makin’ no real money yet; just workin’ the gymnasiums and fairgrounds and all ‘em other sideshows. What little money I’ve got’s goin’ right up my nose.

I’m already up to my eyeballs in gamblin’ debt.

Already got an albatross named Larry Lawson wrapped ‘round my neck.

Already fumblin’ and fuckin’ up every chance that I get.

It’s October. Me and Frankie, we’re pilin’ up in my shitty old Honda and drivin’ all night to Waco, Texas; the last known stompin’ grounds of David Koresh, a shitheel little town that ain’t much more’n a suburb of Dallas, and most importantly, the place where PRIME’s hostin’ Great American Nightmare ‘09. I’d traded some weed for a couple cheap seats from an old buddy who wanted to get high more’n he wanted to go to Texas.

Can’t blame him for that.

It was a different time, different place, different life; a freewheelin’ calm ‘fore the inevitable storm. Few years later, PRIME’d go dormant, I’d be racin’ headlong towards rock bottom, and the whole world’d be turnin’ so goddang fast we’d all be feelin’ like we were ‘bout to fly off. But right then? Everything was fine and fun and nothin’ mattered.

Don’t remember most the night. Just the main event.

Kaiser Vashaun versus Jason Snow , right smack-dab in the middle of his Universal title run.

Different time. Different place. Different life.

Don’t remember the details. Don’t remember a single move. Don’t remember the color of the ring or what the audience was chantin’ or even what Kaiser Vashaun looked like. All’s I remember was sittin’ up in there in the nosebleeds and watchin’ Snow win another match and thinkin’ to myself, ‘Goddang, what a fuckin’ wrassler. What a fuckin’ champion.’

Sure is funny what a decade and some change can do, ain’t it?

Different place. Different time. Different life.

Walkin’ outta that arena, I was still feelin’ that spark, that realization that I’d just seen somethin’ special, lightnin’ in a bottle,the best wrassler on planet Earth… and I made a promise to myself.

One day, I was gonna stand in a PRIME ring.I was gonna be that somethin’ special.

I was gonna be the best wrassler in the fuckin’ world.

Reckon the next few years didn’t do me no favors in realizin’ all them lofty dreams. Becomin’ my own worst enemy, gnashin’ my teeth and flailin’. Hell, Jason Snow retirin’ and PRIME goin’ outta business ‘fore I even got a chance to get there didn’t help none neither.

Different place. Different time. Different life.

Fifteen years and fate found a way to make sure it all worked out the way it was ‘sposed to. Hell, already beat ol’ Snow once, so already surpassed all that mess. Myswell do it all over again just to hammer that point home.

The year’s 2024.

I’m thirty-five years old and I’m ‘bout to take the fuckin’ crown. ◇◆◇◆◇◆◇◆◇◆◇◆◇

III. Dunn

The ashes from my cigarette were flyin’ out the passenger side window, Frankie behind the wheel, both of us laughin’ our asses off while we was reminiscin’ ‘bout the old times. Ain’t fair to call ‘em the good old days, but they were close.

“...and then… heh… you just went fuckin’ runnin’!” I said. “Cops were comin’ at us and there you were, fuckin’ bookin’ it!”

“What’d you expect me to do?!” He said. “I was just tagging along! I wasn’t about to get arrested for you two dumbasses!”

“We weren’t gettin’ arrested! Johnny’s daddy was a cop!” I said. “Wonder how that sonuvabitch is doin’...”

“He’s a lawyer,” Frankie said. “Still living in Carson City, last I heard. Wife, kids. He’s living the good life.”

“If you call that livin’,” I said. “Johnny Thunder, a fuckin’ lawyer. The years ain’t kind, Frankie. No, they ain’t.”

“So, how you feeling about this Jason Snow match?” Frankie asked. “Ready for round two?”

“Shit, I ain’t worried,” I said, holdin’ up that action figure I’d bought. “I’m more scared of this Jason Snow than the one I’m fightin’ at Colossus. Already beat him once.”

Frankie smirked at that, but ‘fore he could reply, he looked up towards the rearview mirror and squinted his eyes. “That car’s still right behind us,” He said. “And they’re flashing their high beams…”

“Huh?” I asked, lookin’ over my shoulder out the back window. “Talkin’ ‘bout that car from the gas station?” “Yeah,” Frankie said. “Same one that’s been following us since Vegas.”

“Reckon they’re tryna get us to pull over…?” I said.

“Sure seems that way,” Frankie said. “Well, hell, I ain’t wantin’ to do the rest of this drive with high beams flashin’ at us,” I said. “Probably just want an autograph or somethin’. Got too nervous to ask me at the gas station and finally gathered up the gumption. Ain’t no big deal, pull on over.”

“I’m not pulling over,” He said. “Not a chance.”

“C’mon!” I said. “Got me curious now! You ain’t even gotta get outta the car!”

Frankie sighed out loud and put on the hazard lights, pullin’ off to the shoulder of the highway as the car pulled in behind us. By then, weren’t too many other cars on the road no more. We was a couple dozen miles from Barstow in some place called Dunn, on the outskirts of civilization.

I got outta the car, one hand in my pocket and the other liftin’ up to shield my eyes from the car’s headlights. I started walkin’ towards it when the driver’s side door opened up wide.

“Well, howdy!” I called out above the hum of the engines. “How you doin’, pardner? You a fan or somethin’? I ain’t got no pen on me, but if’n you’re wantin’ me to sig–”

Stop.

Freeze.

Let them eyes go wide and that breath catch in your chest.

Feel your heart poundin’ ‘gainst your sternum like it’s wantin’ to break free and run for the hills.

The silhouette of a man climbed outta the car, his presence punctuated by the familiar click-clack of a gun gettin’ racked. When he spoke, I would’ve known that voice from anywhere.

“Well, hey there, Daytona.”

Hugo Alvarez.

I started to move, to run, but ‘fore I could, Hugo slammed his car door closed and lifted his arm, pistol pointin’ straight at me. I put my hands up in the air outta instinct. “Now, slow down, Hugo,” I said. “What’re we doin’ here? I ain’t wantin’ to go through this song and dance again.”

“Well, that’s too bad,” Hugo said. “‘Cause it sure looks like we’re dancing, don’t it?”

He was still just a silhouette even as he moved to stand in the headlights, cigarette hangin’ ‘tween his lips and the glow of the embers revealin’ the same dirty, disheveled face I’d seen just a few months prior in a hotel room in Lisbon. He was stark-ravin’ mad, foamin’ from the mouth, all wild-eyed and tremblin’ with somethin’ like excitement, but it was more evil’n that. It was downright vicious.

Bloodthirsty.

Eager.

“Alright,” I said. “Let’s jus–”

“How’s about you just shut the fuck up, Daytona?” He said. “I’ve been listening to other people for months now and you know what it’s got me? Jack-shit! Jorgensen and that French bitch of yours, I’ve been waiting and waiting for them to give me something to do, but no! No! They just told me to keep an eye on you! Didn’t even want me near you! Clandestine, they said! Like I’m some sorta pussy! Do I look like a pussy to you, Daytona?!”

“No, Hugo,” I said, real slow. “No, you ain’t no pussy. Ain’t got a fuckin’ ounce of puss in you, buddy. Alright? So, how’s ‘bout we put that gun down? Jorgensen and Vera, I ain’t even got nothin’ to do with ‘em anymore. Already asked outta my contra–”

“Outta your contract? Oh, I know,” He was seethin’. “That was the last straw. Can’t you see?! They told me they were gonna cut you loose and that they wouldn’t be employing me no more! Cutting from the payroll! Firing my ass! Ain’t that a bitch, Daytona? Ain’t that just the fucking worst?! But I showed them what you get when you mess with Hugo fucking Alvarez!”

“...what’d you do, Hugo?” I asked.

“Well, that’s easy,” He said. “I walked into that Vegas suite they were staying in, I acted real coy, and then I pulled out this here gun and blasted Jorgensen right in the fucking head. Bang! Dead! You should’ve seen the way that fat fuck fell to the floor. And when Little Miss French Cunt started running away screaming? Pow! Shot her in the back! When I left, she was still crawling around on the floor whimpering! Hah!”

“Holy shit, Hugo,” I muttered. “That’s… that’s fuckin’ crazy.”

“Oh no, cowboy. I ain’t crazy. I’m just doing exactly what needs to be done,” Hugo said. “Cutting out the cancer in my life. It’s a cleansing of the soul, Daytona! A goddamn revival of the spirit! And now… well, now’s the part where I do what I should’ve done back in Lisbon…”

“Hugo, you ain’t gotta do this,” I said. “We can just get in our cars, drive off. Alright? Let’s just drive away.”

“No, Daytona,” Hugo said. “Jorgensen and Vera, they were just symptoms. You’re the cause, buddy. Always have been. The root of all evil. You get me? Don’t worry. Go to hell.”

Y’know how folks’re always sayin’, right ‘fore you die, you’re gonna see your whole life flash ‘fore your eyes? Well, it’s true. I saw it all. Comin’ outta the womb. Watchin’ my daddy wrassle, sittin’ on my mama’s lap. Gettin’ in the ring for the first time myself. First time I ever saw Frankie, right after he was born. First kiss, first cigarette, first time gettin’ laid, first line of cocaine, first after first after first, all these lonely, lingerin’ moments from birth all the way up to there and then, the present, a flash of light spewin’ from the muzzle, that loud ‘pop’ echoin’ into the endless desert night, and then…

Somethin’ hit me hard from the left and send me fallin’. It was bigger’n a bullet. Everything went sorta slow-motion for a second. I heard Hugo shout out somethin’ just as my body hit with the asphalt and then there was Frankie layin’ beside me, havin’ pushed me to the ground. I ran my hands over my body, makin’ sure there weren’t no new holes, but then I saw Frankie grippin’ at his side, grittin’ his teeth as a slow trickle of blood seeped its way ‘tween his fingers.

All at once, I was back up on my feet.

The whole world was dyed red and I was chargin’ towards Hugo and then I was tacklin’ him to the ground, that gun slippin’ outta his hand and slidin’ halfway ‘cross the interstate. I was over top of him and he was strugglin’, but it weren’t no use.

I started punchin’ that sonuvabitch and I kept punchin’ him ‘til he stopped strugglin’, ‘til my knuckles went raw, ‘til all all them useless words of his were replaced by gurgles and sputters and heaving breaths.

Then I punched him some more. ◇◆◇◆◇◆◇◆◇◆◇◆◇

IV. Barstow

The whole world turned into a flurry of ambulance lights and police sirens, all red and blue and louder’n the voice of God.

When the cops pulled up, they found me sittin’ with on the ground next to Frankie. Eyes all full of tears, tellin’ him it was all gonna be alright. He was still breathin’, but it was a ragged, sputterin’ thing; all consciousness gone, eyes rolled into the back of his head, wheezin’ and shudderin’.

Hugo was right where I left him, all splayed out on the concrete.

Took the cops a little bit to figurin’ to work out what happened, but they didn’t waste no time haulin’ all three of us off to Barstow Community Hospital. Frankie and Hugo were rushed into the ER and they found an empty room to ask me a few questions.

Reckon that went on for a couple hours. I kept it straight and told ‘em exactly how it all went down; they even reached out to Vegas PD and confirmed Jorgensen was dead and Vera was in the hospital. They must’ve figured I’d been through enough for one night ‘cause they didn’t detain me or nothin’. Said they found all sorts of wild shit in Hugo’s car talkin’ ‘bout his plans. Even had a dashcam set up they was hopin’ to pull video from.

Frankie weren’t dead. Doctors called it a miracle. Bullet missed all his major organs, hit him at just the right angle. Didn’t mean he was gonna have an easy time with it, though. Nerve damage, internal bleedin’, a gapin’ hole in his hip… By the time they got him outta the ER, the sun was comin’ up and he was still sleepin’ it off.

And Hugo? Well, fuck Hugo. He weren’t dead neither, but it weren’t for my lack of tryin’.

When it was all said and done, there weren't nothin' left but the two of us sittin' there in a hospital room, Frankie pumped full-a all sorts of drugs and me feelin' jealous that I didn't have nothin' to take the edge off. I sat there right by his bed, wringin' my hands and bowin' my head and watchin' him fade in and out of consciousness. Every once in a while, he'd look at me with some sorta recognition on his face and say somethin', gibberish mostly with the occasional glint that he was still in there, wadin' 'neath a round of pain killers.

"You're... uh... you're still going to LA, right?" He asked me, lips droopin' and eyes all glassy.

"Yeah," I said. "Yeah, I'm still goin' to LA, buddy. Ain't goin' nowhere yet, though."

"Good," He said. "Can't miss that match. S'important."

"Ain't gonna miss it," I muttered. "Still gonna win it, too. Doin' it for you."

He smiled, but it was all crooked.

"Thanks, brooooother," He said, words goin' slurred. "I'm sooo... proud of you."

Reckon that plucked right on my heartstrings. I bowed my head and shook it, wipin' at somethin' stuck in my eyes. "You ain't had to do all that," I said. "Saved my fuckin' life, you sonuvabitch..."

The sun was just comin' up outside, bleedin' in through the window shades. The desert looked like it was on fire, all orange and yellow.. I stood up and stumbled my way over, sittin' down in the most uncomfortable recliner I'd ever sat in. I kicked up my feet, pulled my cowboy hat over my eyes, and then shut 'em real tight. With racin' thoughts and a head full-a demons, I fell kickin' and screamin' into a restless sleep.