'Justice' or: Colorless Daytona Diamonds and His Years of Pilgrimage

I. Seppuku (切腹)

“I dunno, Frankie. I’m thinkin’ I might just kill myself.”

Let’s set the scene. There I was in a hotel in the heart of Tokyo and it was just ‘bout the weirdest place I’d ever been. The room looked like a fuckin’ art installation with lanterns hangin’ from the ceilin’ and white flowers bloomin’ from the walls. Through the window, the world was a neon-soaked clusterfuck with giant billboards featurin’ anime gals dancin’ to distant war drums and animatronic Godzillas loomin' from the rooftops like an omen. Miles below, down on the streets, the people looked like nothin’ but a buncha ants, all scramblin’ 'round. It was a candy-colored nightmare that made Vegas look like a fuckin’ tourist trap; spectacle for the sake of spectacle, a fistfuck for the senses.

I was sittin’ in the bathtub.

On the rim of the toilet, there was a little platter holdin’ an overflowin’ ashtray next to a small pile of cocaine; we ain’t gonna talk ‘bout how I got that into Japan, but let’s just say Astroglide ain’t just for buttfuckin’. On the rim of the tub, there was a small vial of North Korean steroids sittin’ next to a packet of syringes.And next to the steroids? Well, there was a plugged in toaster just waitin’ to go skinnydippin’ with me.

I was on a long distance call back home to my brother, Frankie. I hadn’t talked to him much since that whole run-in with Hugo on the side of the road, but I figured if I was plannin’ on electrocutin’ myself, it might be a good idea to talk to someone ‘bout it. No guns blazin’, but at least someone would know I was closin’ my tab.

“...okay. Well, I don’t think you should do that,” Frankie said. “Where are you, Daytona? C’mon. Let’s meet up and talk this through.”

“Welp, ‘less you feel like flyin’ to Tokyo, reckon that little plan ain’t in the cards,” I said. “It ain’t no big deal. Just… turnin’ the lights out ‘fore the power company does, y’get me?”

Ever since I got on them steroids, I’d been feelin’ like I was ridin’ that razor’s edge ‘tween ecstatic bliss and brutal depression. The cocaine weren’t helpin’ like it usually did and the drinkin’ was just makin’ it worse. Now, a wise man’d cut out the steroids and be hunky dory, right? Problem was, second I stopped takin’ ‘em three times a day like clockwork, my bones would start achin’ and my skin would start itchin’ and my whole body’d start shakin’ like I had Parkinson’s.

‘Sides all that, when I took off my shirt, I was startin’ to look like a Greek god who’d just come back from a trip to Waikiki. So, y’know, maybe let’s not throw the baby out with the bathwater, huh?

“Daytona, this is a joke, right…?” Frankie asked, startin’ to sound a little more concerned. “We don’t talk in three months and, all of the sudden, you decide to call me up to let me know you’re killing yourself? C’mon, Daytona. Talk to me. What’s really going on? Are you high right now?”

“‘Course I am, but that ain’t neither here nor there,” I said. “Listen, Frankie. I’ve been circlin’ the drain for years. Treadin’ water while I’m bleedin’ to death. Way I figure it, whole world’s gonna be a lot better without me. Hell, just look at all the shit I’ve done gone and fucked up, Frankie! I’ve been ruinin’ livelihoods left and right! That ain’t normal!”

Silence. Weren’t like I was wrong, after all. When you lay it all out, what hadn’t I fucked all to hell? We ain’t just talkin’ ‘bout the gamblin’ debts or the drug abuse or the whorin’ ‘round, layin’ chum and danglin’ my dick like a worm on a hook. We’re talkin’ ‘bout a life of sin like you wouldn’t believe. Weren’t nothin’ for it but to cut it out like a cancer, rid the world of one more fuck-up so that somethin’ better might bloom in my wake.

Reckon my story’s always been a cautionary tale, ain’t it?

“Frankie, listen,” I said. “I just wanted to call and say I love you, alright? S’all it is, really. I love you, brother. You be good, y’hear me?”

“Daytona, wait a seco–”

Click.

There ain’t nothin’ in this world like good peace and quiet. Sittin’ there in that bathtub, toaster at the ready and a half-wet cigarette ‘tween my lips, everything was as still as still could be.Thought 'bout callin’ Cora for a half second, but y’know… her and Natalie ain’t deserve no more of my bullshit.

There’s a calmness that comes with finality, I reckon. Acceptance. The end of all wantin’. That sense that you’re ‘bout to drift into a white and soundless place where there ain’t no pain and the universe ain’t takin’ potshots at your mortal soul. Sellin’ yourself back to non-existence wholesale, ain’t it? For a split second, you might even get a glimpse of the future. Tributes in your honor. All them teary-eyed folks sayin’ how they never saw it comin’, how they wished they could’ve said somethin’. Culture Shock openin’ up with a ten bell salute, Ol’ Mother Troy standin’ there in the middle of the ring lookin’ like someone just killed her puppy. The camera pans to Kerry Kuroyama, relieved he’s got the night off. Most the roster’s wearin’ armbands ‘round their biceps with ‘DD’ written on ‘em in sharpie.

Fuckin’ magical, ain’t it?

I pressed the toaster lever.

I lifted it up above my head, cord stretchin’ from the outlet just enough.

I closed my eyes real tight.

Ride the lightnin’, baby. Go out like a sparkler on the Fourth of July.

And then…

Knock, knock, knock.

I opened up my eyes and looked ‘round the room. I was still holdin’ that toaster up, so it weren’t no knockin’ on heaven’s door that I was hearin’. “Shit,” I muttered ‘fore shoutin’ out. “I’m busy! Don’t need no towels! Room’s fine! Thanks!”

Knock, knock, knock!

“Goddangit…” I sighed, sittin’ the toaster down ‘fore pullin’ myself up from the bottom of the tub. “Just a minute! Fuckin’ hell…”

Steppin’ outta that tub felt a whole lot like steppin’ back from the edge of a cliff. I reached for the robe hangin’ on the back of the door and wrapped it ‘round myself, walked outta the bathroom and back into the bedroom just as the billboard ‘cross the street lit up with a picture of a panda lassoin’ the moon. Candy colored nightmare, just like I said.

“This better be good!” I shouted, tyin’ the robe ‘round at the waist. “Ain’t got no time for this! I’m a goddang busy man!”

I unlocked the door and pulled it open, ‘bout to start shoutin’ every cuss word under the sun at some poor, unsuspectin’ Japanese housekeeper. Snarlin’, sneerin’, foamin’ from the mouth, gnashin’ my teeth as them steroids coursin’ through my veins turned all that would-be depression into righteous fury.

“Now, what the fuck do you wan– oh.”

And there she was, the start of a smile twitchin’ at the corners of her lips. She was in a wheelchair, but she was just as goddang beautiful as the day I met her; all dolled up, the vision of beauty, tiltin’ her head and lookin’ up at me with one eyebrow cocked up high.

“Bonjour, mon ami,” Vera said. “How have you been?” ◇◆◇◆◇◆◇◆◇◆◇◆◇

II. Wabi-sabi (侘寂)

We was sittin’ in this bar-slash-cat-cafe down the street from my hotel. It was done up to look like an ol’ western saloon. All the cats were named things like Eastwood and Earp and most of ‘em were wearin’ cowboy hats or little vests with sheriff stars pinned to the front. They looked happy, in spite of all that. Vera said the place had real good matcha highballs and sake sangrias, but I figured a beer would suit me just fine.

“Let's start from the top,” I said. “How the hell’d you find me in all this mess?”

“That’s easy,” she said. “When we were still together, I had a tracker implanted into the base of your skull.”

I stared at her, all wide-eyed. She stared back, tryna keep a wayward smirk at bay. Suddenly, she started laughin’ and I just rolled my eyes.

“C’mon, Vera” I said. “Don’t get cute.”

“You aren’t so hard to find, Daytona,” she said. “PRIME is in town and so are you. From there, you only need to know who to ask. I’ve never been without connections. You know this.”

“Reckon that’s fair enough,” I said. “Alright, next question. The hell you doin’ here? You ain’t stalkin’ me or some shit, right?”

“Of course not,” she laughed. “After the… incident with Hugo, things changed. Mr. Jorgensen was dead, Tom Cat Talent was gone without him, and I was paralyzed from a bullet to my spine. With nowhere to go, what’s a girl to do but travel the world? It seems serendipity put us together once more, non?"

“How you dealin’ with all that…?” I asked. “The whole… legs not workin’ thing, I mean. I heard ‘bout it. Wanted to reach out, but…”

“I’m fine,” Vera said. “Acceptance is important, Daytona. One must always go where life’s river takes them lest they find themselves drowning.”

“Shit, that’s fuckin’ poetic,” I said, takin’ another sip from my beer just as a cat wearin’ an eyepatch jumped up on the table next to us. “Well, you’re still goddang gorgeous, in spite of everythin’. Bullet in your back can’t take that away, huh?”

“Mm, so kind of you to say, mon ami,” she said. “But what about you, hm? Tell me, how have you been? Is the world still your ashtray, Daytona?”

“Shit, I wish,” I said, hangin’ my head just a little and lookin’ away. “Things… ain’t been great, Vera. Ain’t gonna lie ‘bout that. Feels like the whole world done gone topsy-turvy when I weren’t payin’ attention. Hell, when you knocked on my door, I was… uh… I was just ‘bout to kill myself.”

“Mon Dieu!” Vera exclaimed, throwin’ a hand over her mouth as her jaw hung agape. “Were you truly…? Please tell me you’re joking, Daytona!”

“Ain’t no joke ‘bout it,” I said. “Reckon you accidentally saved my life”

Vera shook her head before lettin’ it fall into a slight tilt, taking a long draw from her cigarette as she gazed across the table at me. “Tell me, Daytona,” she said, voice fallin’ real low. “Why would you do such a thing?”

“I… guess the weight of it all finally started wearin’ me down, y’know?” I said. "Dad dyin’. Fuckin’ things up with Bambi, with Cora, with you. Just the drizzlin' shits, y'know? I’m half a world away from home and ain’t nothin’ for me out here other than sittin' with my thoughts. Hell, I ain’t even wrasslin’ like I used to. Feels like the shine wore off... Ever since I lost that fuckin’ belt, Vera…”

“Mm, all loss is tragic, but not all loss is permanent,” Vera said. “You have a match this weekend, non?”

“Up 'gaisnt ol' Kerry Kuroyama,” I said, shruggin’ my shoulders. “You ‘member him, right? Asian fella, got a big ass dragon drawn on his back like that’s ‘sposed to be intimidatin’.”

“Mm… You don’t sound excited to face him,” Vera said. “Are you worried that you won’t beat him?"

“Hell, that’s the thing,” I said. “I don’t give a good goddamn if I beat him or not. Now, what’s that say ‘bout me? I’ve been… tryna capture that feelin’, y’know? He kicked me in the goddang head, I threw a ladder at his fuckin’ face, even stole a koala off him so we got somethin’ to fight over, but…”

Slowly, Vera reached ‘cross the table, puttin' her hand on top of mine. “...but I’m just goin’ through the motions, Vera. Actin’ like an asshole on TV, dancin’ like a fuckin’ performin' monkey ‘cause that’s what keeps my bills paid. And what’s the point? So I can go out there and fight ol’ Kuroyama? Toss him off a ladder and flex for a bunch of booin’ peckerwoods out in the stands? I ain’t worth jack shit no more. I even started shootin’ up steroids to get that edge back and, fuck me, that ain’t helpin’ none neither!”

We both got real quiet. Vera squeezed my hand, I just downed the rest of my beer in lieu of lettin’ my heart bleed out anymore than it already was. There was some little tickle in the back of my throat, though. A question perchin’ itself on the tip of my tongue.

“Lemme ask you somethin',” I said. “All that time we spent together… y’know, before shit went sideways… was that real or was it some sorta act?”

There was a pause there; some hesitation. I looked up and saw her bitin’ at her lower lip, tryna keep measure her words for what they were worth. “It was… as real as it was allowed to be."

“Yeah,” I said. “ I reckon that sounds ‘bout right…”

Silence again. I thought ‘bout orderin’ up another beer  or at least steppin’ outside to light up a cigarette, but before I could do either, Vera started wheelin’ herself towards the exit. “Come,” she said. “I want to show you something.”

“Huh…?” I stood up and followed after her, through the cafe’s door and out onto them bright light streets. “What’s up? Where we goin’?”

She was already rollin’ down the sidewalk, a secret smile on them red lips as she looked over her shoulder at me. “Tell me, Daytona. Have you ever heard of kintsugi?” ◇◆◇◆◇◆◇◆◇◆◇◆◇

III. Kintsugi (金継ぎ)

We went side by side down the sidewalk, no stars in the sky above and a million people or more all ‘round us, walkin’ with their own lives, their own fears, their own vices; each one no less complex than mine. There was the chitter-chatter of a thousand voices all speakin’ at once in languages that sounded like birdsong and the only thing keepin’ me grounded in all that mess was Vera’s voice speakin’ to my ears alone.

“Kintsugi is the Japanese art of repairing broken pottery with gold,” she said. “There is no attempt to hide the damage, non? It is only highlighted, emphasized, made beautiful once more.”

“What’s that gotta do with us…?” I asked. “You ain’t takin’ me to some Japanese pottery class, right?”

“Non,” she said. “I’m taking you to a shrine. You’ll understand in time.”

We kept walkin’, turnin’ off the streets full of towerin’ billboards and makin’ our way through narrow little tributaries where crowds gathered in shoebox-sized bars and wires criss-crossed ‘tween the buildings ‘til they made their own sorta ceilin’. Eventually, we turned off and walked ‘neath one of them big, red archways; looked like a doorway to somewhere else. The second we walked through it, allll of a sudden, the city felt like it was a million miles away.

There were lanterns strung up all through the trees, candle light flickerin’ inside’ each and every one like they’d been lit just for us. Little waterways ran alongside the path where fish swam, their scales glowin’ in the lowlight. There were these big statues of maned dogs flankin’ a bridge up ahead, their mouths parted to bare their teeth. We passed by ‘em in silence.

There was this big buildin’ just past the bridge, all lit up by firelight; it was one of them ornate lookin’ buildings you see on postcards from Japan. Y’know the ones, with the big wooden beams and the roof so jagged it looks like a goddang bird of prey loomin’ above the world? Yeah, one of them. There weren’t nobody else around; no tourists, no worshippers, no priests. It was just empty and quiet, a power emanatin’ from all of it that just felt… shit, I dunno, sacred?

“This was built in the 17th century,” Vera said. “It burnt down during World War 2 and they rebuilt it, as you can see. Now, it’s one of the most visited shrines in all of Japan.”

“Well shit,” I muttered, still not too sure what the hell we were doin’ there. “Really… uh… puts things into perspective, don’t it?”

“Mm. Yes,” Vera said. “Daytona, do you believe in miracles?”

“Uh… naw?” I sputtered out, lookin’ down at her as she stared back at me. “I mean, not really? Ain’t no miracles ever happened to me, far as I can tell.”

“Would you like to see one?” she asked.

‘Fore I could say somethin’ one way or another, I watched wide-eyed as Vera took hold of either arm of her wheelchair and slowly pushed herself up to her feet. Slowly, she let go of her wheelchair and stood up fully, just as tall as she had ‘fore she got shot. On timid, baby deer legs, she took those two or three steps forward to wrap her everlovin’ arms ‘round my neck, lean in real close, and kiss me smackdab on the lips.

Now, I weren’t ‘bout to not kiss her back, but that ain’t neither here nor there.

When the kiss broke, I was standin’ there shellshocked as she pulled away and looked me right in the eyes. “Vera, I, uh,” I tried to talk, but all my words were comin’ out in vowels. “What, uh… what the fuck’s happenin’ here…? Ain’t you ‘sposed to be paralyzed…?”

“I told you it was a miracle,” she said with a smile. “I’ve been… mm… working with a company in China called Mingliang Initiative. They specialize in… improving human capabilities, non? Far beyond conventional treatments, Daytona.”

“What, we talkin’ like… stem cells?” I asked, still goddang flabbergasted. “Shady hormone treatments and shit?”

“All this and more,” Vera said. “They’re miracle workers, Daytona. True révolutionnaires.”

When she let go of me, she stumbled and started to fall ‘fore catchin’ herself. I offered my arm and helped her back to her wheelchair. She smiled up at me and muttered a half-spoken ‘merci beaucoup’.

“So, uh… I’m real happy for you, Vera,” I said. “But… what’s this gotta do with me?”

“Well, given the nature of their work, I’m sure you can imagine Mingliang have contacts within the Chinese government,” she said. “And… certain officials recently caught wind of your little sojourn in North Korea. In short, they’d like to offer you a spot within their program, Daytona. A chance to do more than simple black market steroids could possibly achieve. To take what’s broken and replace it with gold.”

“That’s… uh… mighty white of ‘em,” I muttered. “But I’m thinkin’ this all feels a bit too… cloak-and-dagger for me?”

"Mon ami,” Vera spoke in that voice that didn’t even need to try to sound seductive. “You said yourself how lost you felt, non? On the verge of suicide? Set to drift on a sunless sea? This is your chance to become something so much greater. Do you not still want to be the greatest wrestler in the world? You used to speak so often of that goal, as if it was a bygone conclusion. Is that not the case anymore?”

“I mean, yeah,” I said, shruggin’ my shoulders. “But I… just… all this…”

“You asked if what we had before was real, non?” she said. “And I can tell you now that it most certainly was, even if it was clouded by money and power. This time is not that, Daytona. I am asking for you to let me be your light. Let me help you, mon ami.”

“Look, Vera, this is real sweet of you, tryna help me and all, but I just…” I paused, bitin’ my lower lip. “I… lemme think ‘bout it, alright? I gotta… I gotta go. Gotta start trainin’ for that match with Kuroyama, right? Hah… Yeah, gotta… gotta go do that…”

I started to turn, started to walk away, started to leave her sittin’ there in the middle of that temple square with every intention of walkin’ right back outta her life, never to return, but then there was that voice, that fuckin’ voice, callin’ out like a siren song.

“Daytona,” she said. “Don’t you love me?”

And there it was, the killshot. I turned ‘round to look at her and, goddammit, even in that wheelchair, she was still the prettiest thing I’d ever seen; all lantern-lit and wide of eye. I felt a spider’s web weavin’ its way back ‘round my heart, wrappin’ it up real tight. I tried thinkin’ of the right words to say, some easy way to deflect whatever I was feelin’, an excuse to scurry myself back to my little hotel room where a toaster still sat next to a full bathtub and depression was so thick you could cut it with a butter knife, but when the words left my lips?

Well, they went like this.

“Alright, Vera,” I said. “What do we gotta do…?”