Barrel of a Gun

Tom Battaglia left the Twin Cities as soon as the Flynn Cup concluded. He drove the whole way there in the Shitty Green Explorer, living ten-to-fifteen miles above the speed limit most of the way. Smooth sailing in Ohio and Indiana. No turbulence in Illinois or Wisconsin.

Pennsylvania, however…

Philly’s Finest pulled him over three times before he left the city limits. The reason? All about as trumped up as the President who bears that name, an extra chip on his shoulder as he trudged through matches on a weekend off subbing for Bash. Of all the people he’d met in his life, he was certain Roderick “McRatrick” Seger would be the first one to fall under the sway of a man who’d castrated himself because someone asked him to on a chat app. Not Sebastian Gold.

The weekend was so hectic that he didn’t even absorb how his matches turned out. Who the fuck knows who won the damn thing. All he could think about between body trauma, meals at dive bars, and seeing the Twins again was the police.

Harassment.

And as he crossed the city limits on a backstreet, trying to avoid major thoroughfares before he got home, he saw the flashing red and blue lights in his rearview mirror.

“The fuck. Does he have a bug in my car?”

The cop car pulled up slowly behind Tom and stood there, lights flashing in the hazy late summer twilight. Each second he waited to get his ass out of the cruiser felt like a year to Tom, his anger welling up and thrashing against his insides.

It didn’t get better when the cop finally got out of his cruiser and waddled over to the Explorer, tapping on the window with his nightstick.

“License and registration, please.”

Silence and stillness, broken only by an angry tic over Tom’s left eye.

“I said license and…”

“I heard you the first time, dickhead.”

“Watch your mouth.”

Tom scowled, saying a thousand words without uttering a single sound as he reached in the glove box for his registration. He handed the documents over to the cop, who shuffled them while looking through them.

“Do you know why I pulled you over?”

Tom snickered before answering.

“No, and I don’t think you do either.”

“You got a mouth on you. It’d be a shame if I broke your jaw so you couldn’t use it anymore.”

“It’d be a shame if you were turned into Internal Affairs after my lawyer, my employer’s lawyers, and the ACLU heard about what you were threatening to do.”

The officer gripped his nightstick tighter.

“You think you scare me?”

“No, but this is the hundredth time one of you slimy fucks have pulled me over for no reason other than my brother being big mad. And I’m kinda over being nice to you because you have a badge.”

The officer furrowed his brow and was about to say something until an epiphany loosened his tension ever so slightly.

“Actually, I do know why. Your taillight is out.”

“No it’s not. I checked it before…”

“Yes it is, I’ll show you.”

Just as soon as the officer turned to walk to the back of the SGE, Tom whipped out his cellphone.

“Sure, show me, and show my video camera what you’re about to do to back up what you just said.”

“HEY! PUT THAT PHONE DOWN! It’s illegal to record a police officer…”

“It’s very legal to do so in Philadelphia County, my good man. So maybe don’t break my taillight.”

“Turn that camera off or I’ll haul you in.”

“For what? Tell me.”

“Disturbing the peace. Resisting arrest. I swear to God, I’ll bring you in.”

Now it was Tom’s turn to have a bright idea. He turned the phone camera off and raised his hands.

“Maybe you should take me in.”

The officer startled back, surprised by the turn of events. He shrugged and advanced on the driver’s side door until Tom spoke up again.

“But not your precinct. I don’t want to go whatever piece of shit you report to here in West Philly.”

The officer looked at him confused for a moment. Tom continued.

“Take me to my brother in the Far Northeast.”

“I’m sorry, I don’t know who…”

“Yes, you do, or else you wouldn’t have pulled me, a white guy with a clean record, over for no reason. Take me to my brother’s precinct.”

The officer furrowed his brow again.

“Take me to Guido fuckin’ Battaglia.”

Tom stepped out of the car and started walking towards the back of the cruiser until he felt a forearm on the back of his neck. Before he knew it, his chest slammed against his beater of a car, and the officer cuffed him in full sight of a growing crowd.

“Did you have to do that?” Tom groaned with his face pressing against the top of his backseat door.

“No, but I can.”

Just like that, the fleeting good vibes he had from hatching a plan dissipated into the humid summer night, and his anger consumed his entire body to the point of physical pain once more.

If Kerry Kuroyama even had a challenger show up in Indianapolis for his Five Star Championship, he was going to be an angry, disjointed mess.

-

The officer gave Tom a long time to think some things over, a long route through the ugliest parts of the city. Urban blight dotted with sterile minimalist seeds of gentrification giving way to prefab houses with no personality replacing the stately homes once proudly maintained by the city’s residents. He didn’t want to look outside when all the pressing matters were inward anyway. His brother, his mother, his sister-in-law, Bash the Lasagna Boy, and most importantly, at least with his professional eyes, Kerry and the Five Star. There was an ugly five-body problem manifesting inside of his head, and the thing that ate at him the most was the idea that once again, his rash, id-driven psyche thrust him, Leroy Jenkins-style, towards losing everything he’d worked for.

A recurring theme in the life and times of Thomas Francis Xavier Battaglia.

Now was not the time to feel sorry for himself, he thought. There was a succession of battles looming, and even though on the horizon they appeared to be a grotesque hydra threatening to incinerate everything he held dear, he remembered none of the grease-stained pigs at the precinct knew or gave a fuck who Vae Victis was. If his mother was behind this round of harassment like she was a year ago, she was still not a cop, and if she were there, she’d have made her choice. Each one of these battles could be fought one at a time.

Oddly enough, even walking into that pigsty down in numbers, Tom thought the easiest battle would be against Guido.

“We’re here, dickhead.”

Tom was so lost in himself that he didn’t notice the car slowing down and backing into the spot in front of the precinct. The officer opened the door and led him out of the back of the cruiser. Before he turned to walk in, Tom stopped him.

“Hey, since I’m not technically under arrest, can you take the fuckin’ cuffs off me?”

“What if I don’t wanna?”

“You’re gonna have to explain to people why you put a celebrity in cuffs for no charge.”

No response.

“You had your fun. Let me go.”

The officer shook his head and sighed.

“You’re lucky this ain’t my shop and I need these in case I come across a real criminal.”

The cop undid the cuffs and then drove off into the Philly night. Tom rubbed his wrists, checked his phone, deeply exhaled, and looked straight into the front door of the precinct.

“Fuck,” he muttered as he ascended the stairs.

-

“Man, I’m actually jealous of those ICE guys. They don’t have to show their faces.”

The officer who ran into the bathroom after Sheryl Mooney spoke with a mouthful of donut and vanilla buttercream smeared on the corners of his mouth.

“I mean, yeah, but I heard there was dudes just maskin’ up and doin’ this shit for the hell of it. Like, them, uh, HEY GUIDO,” the other officer turned towards another desk, “What’s that gang called, y’know, the one Jankowski’s kid joined? The Trump dudes?”

“Proud Boys,” said the middle Battaglia child, not even looking away from his computer monitor.

“Thanks,” he replied before turning back towards the conversation. “Proud Boys. Gay-ass name.”

“Yeah, but they do good shit. Makes our job easier for sure.”

“OF course it does, Epstein, but don’t you think they need to do the academy like we did? There’s a right way to do this shit, y’know?”

“Stop bein’ a pussy, McGuire. There’s too many of these fuckin’ illegals around anyway, and they gotta…”

CRASH

The door flung open. In walked a pissed off middle-aged man with a mission in his eyes.

“Where’s my brother?”

Guido shrunk behind his monitor at hearing the familiar voice.

“He’s right over there,” said Epstein, pointing.

“What the fuck, you dickhead?” Guido replied with rank indignance.

“What? He ain’t got that hayseed with him this time.”

Guido sighed deeply as he rose from his creaky office chair to face his brother.

“What the fuck you doin’ here? I thought you was out in the Midwest gallavantin’ with your gay-ass friends.”

“I was, no thanks to three of your colleagues who pulled me over on the way out and another who got me right as I got back. You wanna tell me what the fuck is up?”

Guido groaned as he shook his head.

“Yeah, you’re a fuckin’ lousy driver. I bet you were speedin’ and swervin’ in and out of lanes. Always in a hurry to get places, ya fuckin’ dickhead.”

“Wrong answer.”

Tom advanced from the foyer into the desk area. McGuire and Epstein both shot up from their chairs, but Guido motioned for them to calm down.

“Easy, easy, you’re right. I put an APB out for your vehicle, but I had a good reason.”

Tom didn’t answer. He stared daggers through his brother.

“What, you ain’t got nothin’ to say now? You was real wordy when you ran into the bathroom to stop this officer of the law here from keepin’ the place clean.”

“Not his jurisdiction, and there was nothin’ wrong going on in that bathroom until he barreled his ass in there.”

“YOU CALLIN’ ME FAT, MOTHERFUCKER?” Epstein shouted, crumbs and spittle flying from his mouth.

Guido motioned for his colleague to calm down again to diminishing returns before turning to his brother.

“Of course you’d defend that sick brother-in-law of yours and his perversion. You’re lucky there’s no laws on the books yet, or else...”

“Shut the fuck up, Guido,” Tom interrupted. “That’s twice you abused your position to harass me.”

“Oh no, don’t do that. It was Mom’s idea the first time.”

“One you didn’t stop from implementing. Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t backhand you where you stand?”

“Well, first, you’d be assaultin’ an officer of the law. Second, it’s because you know within seconds of hittin’ me, you’d be validatin’ everything I ever said about you.”

Tom furrowed his brow and stared harder at his brother.

“Don’t give me that hard look, Mister Wrestler. Resortin’ to violence whenever someone has you down with logic ‘n facts ‘n shit. But you just keep playin’ hero in front of the worst people in the world and enable your cunt wife and two miscreant children to be just as bad as you.”

Tom’s fuse was short, and Guido found the spark. He cocked his fist back to slug his brother in the face, but he stopped well short.

Because he also heard the hammer on a gun click back. He turned his head.

Epstein drew his gun and pointed it straight at Tom’s head.

“WHAT THE FUCK? ARE YOU LETTING THIS HAPPEN?”

“Maybe, Thomas, you shouldn’t have tried to assault an officer of the law.”

Guido’s weaselly little laugh played out in excruciatingly slow motion to Tom’s ears. Sweat beaded on his forehead as he thought that he was going to go from Five Star Championship contender to pre-show memorial fodder in a matter of seconds. He dropped his fist to his side and threw his hands in the air.

“ALRIGHT! ALRIGHT, you win you fuckin’ dickhead. Tell him to lower his gun!”

“I will be doing no such thing, brother,” Guido said as he nodded to Epstein to keep pointing.

“Hey, Guids, maybe this is a bit of an overreaction…”

“Man, Epstein’s right. Stop being a pussy, McGuire.”

“Man, fuck this,” McGuire said as he pulled a pack of smokes out of his front pocket and walked towards the door out.

“So what, you’re going to have him murder me because I made you flinch?” Tom said, breaking the tension.

“Maybe I am, maybe I’m not. Or maybe I’ll just have you charged for disorderly conduct and trespassing. I haven’t decided yet.”

Tom sighed as Epstein’s aim didn’t seem to waver, not one bit. He exhaled deeply and flopped into McGuire’s open chair, seemingly defeated, until he had another epiphany.

“Hey, before you decide to fuck my life up for standing up for my sister-in-law, can I at least make a call?”

“First off, it’s a culmination of more than just that, and second, I’m not sure I like that.”

“What, do you think I’m going to call the cops? While being held hostage by the cops?”

“Fine. But any false move, and I’m letting Epstein fire.”

Tom gulped at the threat before pulling his phone out. He scrolled his contacts and pressed “call.”

…

…

“Hey, uh, you got a second?

“Nothin’, I just thought I’d let you know where I was.

“Just at the precinct.

“Yes, Guido’s precinct.

“It’s complicated. But I will need a ride outta here.

“Okay. I’ll see you then.”

He hung up.

“She’ll be here in like 20 minutes.”

“Good. Your cunt wife can see all the trouble you got yourself into.”

Tom shook his head and slumped into the seat even further, Epstein still pointing the gun at him.

-

About 20 minutes elapsed, and Epstein’s aim with the gun had grown lax. He kept it aimed at Tom, even as he himself sat down and had to jolt himself back to attention every time the target made a move other than shifting in his seat. The tension broke at the slight creak of the door opening.

“Ah, it’s your bitch wife here to…”

Guido stopped dead in his tracks when he saw that the person who came through was not Tamara Mooney-Battaglia.

It was Joelle Battaglia.

“…MOM?!?!? What are you doin’ here?”

He turned to his brother.

“I thought you called your wife?!?!”

Tom shook his head with a grin, the first smile he cracked since Minneapolis.

“No, he called me, and I figured since he was here with you he was in trouble.”

She looked over at Epstein holding the gun.

“Judging by the looks of things, I was correct. Daniels, put that gun down.”

“Uh, no, I’m a cop you’re not I…”

“Daniels, I said put the gun down or else I’m going to talk to Judge Huber and let him know why they all call you Epstein.”

Tom looked over at the nameplate on his shirt, which said “Daniels.” The disgust on his face grew palpable.

“Your father’s total inattention to his family has some benefits. Now, what the hell is going on here?”

Guido stammered and stuttered as Tom’s grin returned.

“Well, uh, um, he, uh, I, uh… you see, yeah, he reached for my gun! He was gonna try to attack me with my own weapon until Daniels intervened!”

She grabbed her temples with her right hand and shook her head.

“I don’t even need to hear Tom’s side of the story to know that’s bullshit.”

“AND WHY NOT?”

“Because he’s never needed anything but his hands to settle a score. And for whatever reason, he still thinks of you as a brother.”

Tom wanted to shake his head but didn’t to protect the person who was risking her hide to help him.

“You’re going to end this and let him go this instant.”

“And why would I do that?”

She tilted her head and stared directly into Guido’s eyes.

“You’ll be disinherited if you don’t.”

Guido sighed with disgust as he motioned for Daniels to holster his issue. Guido fell back into his chair as Tom turned to Daniels.

“Sick, dude. I hope you’re happy with yourself.”

Daniels motioned to get up, but his gut bounced against the desk. He decided not to chase mother and son as they walked out of the precinct.

-

Tom exited the front door of the precinct and immediately and limply dropped to sit on the stone stairs. His mother stood over his shoulder, looking down at him with concern.

“Son, why did you call me? When the last time we spoke, you gave me an ultimatum that I still haven’t answered?”

Tom closed his eyes and paused before looking up.

“It was a Hail Mary, really. You’re the only one who could’ve done something. Figured either you’d bury me or save me. Either way, the shit would’ve been over.”

Joelle shook her head before sitting down next to her oldest.

“I would never bury you. I still don’t approve of your work, but, you’re my son.”

“Can’t have it all, I guess.”

They both laughed.

“You know,” she started, “I wanted to call you when I heard about what happened at the Walmart with your brother-in-law…”

“Sister-in-law.”

“Yes, sorry.” She cleared her throat and continued. “But I realized maybe I had it wrong. Your father never would have stood up for one of us, or even himself. We’d be much better off if he stood up to Spandex or those promoters in any way.”

She scooched over closer to her son.

“I’m curious. How did you end up not like us? How’d you end up so…”

She paused.

“…perfect?”

Tom recoiled a bit.

“Perfect? Me? I almost got myself killed after driving 18 hours straight! I’m the furthest thing from perfect.”

“But you’re not like your father.”

“Of course not! Because when I tried talking to him, he didn’t give advice or have a dialogue. He lectured me. When I went to Pedro at the school, or Tam whenever, or Angus or even people I’ve known for only a hot minute like Crash and Bash, they listened. They talked to me, not at me.”

Tom threw his head back and looked up at the sky.

“And what good is that going to do? I’m walking into a bear trap on Friday against a wrestler who’s gonna use my mental state against me.”

Joelle turned herself and looked directly at her son, who was still arched back looking at the sky.

“For what it’s worth, I think you’ll be successful.”

Tom looked inquisitively at his mother.

“Maybe it doesn’t mean you’ll win every match, but whatever you do, you’ll ultimately be great at it. Because you listen.”

She looked more deeply into her son’s eyes.

“Because you care.”

She threw her arm around her son’s shoulder.

“I… I’m sorry, son.”

“It’s alright, Mom. I love you.”

They embraced, months of grief and tension and aggravation dissipating with the month of August as the clock turned slowly to midnight and the dawning of a new month, a new season. They finally broke, and Tom stood up.

“Well, it’s late and I’ve been on the road forever. Can you drop me off at Belmont and Conshohocken so I can get my car?”

“Your car ain’t there, man.”

McGuire approached, flicking his butt into the street.

“You’ve been there the whole time?”

“Yeah, but I wasn’t prying. I needed to smoke, get my head clear. But yeah, your car ain’t there no more. While you were en route here, Guido had impound pick it up. Even fast-tracked it to be junked and cubed.”

“WHAT?!?! I’m gonna…”

“Son, do you really want to go back in there?”

“Yeah, and besides, once that process starts…”

“FUCK!”

Tom slumped back down onto the stairs.

“Son, don’t you and your wife make more money than God combined?”

“Yeah.”

“So just get a new car,” she said, lending a hand to help him up. “Can’t be that hard.”

“Yeah, but you don’t understand…”

“I do, but sometimes, you just have to start over.”

Tom looked in his mom’s eyes and nodded.

“Okay, then can you give me a lift home?”

“Of course.”

Tom and his mother walked down the steps to get into her car. This RP is dedicated to the memory of the Shitty Green Explorer “It’s been a long day without you my friend. Tell you all about it when I see you again.”