Post by Thaddeus Duke on Oct 2, 2023 21:18:22 GMT -5
If I said I was patient over the course of the two plus hour wait for Welsh to arrive in Brooklyn, I’d be lying. I wasn’t, but I tried to be. No one saw it coming, apparently. That by itself boggles my mind. All these wrestlers that pride themselves on always being a step ahead, all these great minds and I’m the only one that saw it coming?
Marcus and I have had a complicated history. At one time, I was his prized recruit to OCW. I worked my ass off for him, I put OCW on the god damned map and everyone wanted in because of it. Some might dispute that but the proof was on full display. I was the one that convinced him to open up the company. I was the one that convinced him that by putting OCW on my back, we could leave the small time and turn it into a conglomerate. I was the one that convinced him to not be so afraid of growing.
He was never afraid to fail, he was afraid to succeed.
For months, I’d show up on piledriver and make his previous roster look absolutely silly. I’d make them feel like they no longer belonged in OCW but that was never my intent. All I was trying to do was push them to better themselves which in turn, bettered the OCW product.
Eventually, being a reigning champion in multiple places caught up to me and it reached a point where I was feeling burned out. I needed a little break. I did what I had to do for my own sanity and I did my job, I did the honors for a man that in all likelihood, would have lost to me. My intent was always to come back once I took a little time for myself.
My time off never did sit particularly well with him. We never really discussed it much at length, but I believe I know what he thought. That I was just like the rest, that I used him, that I used OCW to better my own standing within the business. Right after I began my time off, he must’ve suffered a sort of mental break. OCW imploded upon itself and everyone that trickled into OCW because I helped him make it famous, was unceremoniously fired.
We didn’t speak for months.
Despite the rhetoric that some fragile, tiny little egos might tell you, I loved OCW. I believed in OCW. I wanted to see it succeed. I wanted to enhance the roster, not diminish it. I wanted to build up the stars of that company, not bury them.
Round two has been discussed in public and in private at considerable length, so I won’t do that here. That story has been well documented but regardless, things were not what they seemed. I wished it could’ve ended differently. For all intents and purposes, OCW is dead. Killed by the one that professed to love it the most. Killed by the one that tried to “protect” it from me. Clearly, I was not the problem.
Sitting in a chair down on the ground floor of the warehouse with my feet propped up on a steel girder type of pillar, I dozed off several times as I reflected on my history with Mr. Welsh. Just past noon, one of the bay doors opens up and that panel van from Florida rolls up inside.
Wiping the sleep from my eyes, I jumped to my feet to greet my partners in literal crime.
“Joeyyyy,” I said warmly as he stepped from behind the wheel. Joey is a big man. Not a tall man, but a big man of Samoan descent.
Two men lept from the side doors and pulled a hooded and gagged Marcus Welsh from the van.
“What’d you want with this guy anyways?” Joey asked while throwing his thumb over his shoulder.
“Something’s goin’ on Joey,” I said to him. Welsh, through his hood, jerked his head in my direction as if he recognized my voice, or was trying to place it. “I need to get to the bottom of it.”
“What’d you have in mind?” he asked with a grin on his face.
To answer, I said nothing and only looked over my shoulder behind me. Behind me, laying on a table are different devices, in Joey’s line of work at least, they’re primarily used for torture.
“Sit him down over there,” I ordered. “Remove his hood.”
Welsh struggles but it’s all for naught as the big strong Italians are bigger and stronger than Marcus. Joey pulls the head off Welsh’s head and after taking one glance at him, I busted up laughing.
“What the fuck!?” I said as I tried to contain myself. As I laughed, Marcus’s face turned beet red with anger that I was behind his harrowing ordeal this morning.
“Joey,” I said as my laughter subdued. “A ball gag? Really?”
“It was in his pocket,” Joey answered with a chuckle. “We just used what we had available.”
“Take it off,” I instructed as I sat on the edge of the table.
“I should’ve fucking known!” Marcus began ranting. “I should’ve fucking known that I couldn’t trust you! Every Goddamn time I’ve tried, it’s bit me in the ass! I will fucking get you for this! I will fucking kill you, Thad!
“Your pets? DEAD!
“Your wife? DEAD!
“Your kids?...”
He never got the next word out. Throwing my combat boot clad right foot straight into his chest, he immediately gasped for air as he fell backward in the chair. Hopping down off the table, I drove my knee right into his sternum and in one smooth motion, drew my sidearm and shoved the barrel straight into his mouth. I shoved that fucker so deep that he gagged repeatedly on the barrel.
“You really shouldn’t have said that, Welsh,” I said in my subdued anger through a clenched jaw and grit teeth. “I don’t take those threats lightly.”
“Boss!” Joey said as he stepped forward and grabbed my arm.
Looking at him for just a moment, I pulled my arm from him and shrugged him away.
“The next thing out of your mouth, Marcus,” I began before pausing. “You better think about it very carefully. Because there’s no one here that can stop me from pulling this trigger. There’s no one here that can stop me from snuffing you out once and for all.
“I know how to dispose of the undesirable, Marcus… and no one will ever even know you were here.
“So my first question, Marcus,” I began as I changed the subject. “Are you fucking me?”
“Boss, he can’t fuckin’ answer ya if you got a gun in his mouth,” Joey protested.
“Joey,” I said as I looked in his direction. Joey Bats backs away with his hands up.
“Why… would I… fuck you!?” Welsh asked through coughs after I pulled my gun from his mouth.
“Because I needed a break!” I yelled. “Because you talked me out of firing that stupid fucking cunt when I was trying to save your fucking company!”
“That’s in the past!” Marcus cried out. “I said this was a fresh start and I meant it!”
“You have nothing to do with the Triumvirate!?”
“I swear to God, Thad!” he pleaded. “I have nothing to do with it!”
“Really!? Because it seems pretty fucking convenient that you were so high on working with me that you took Stratford before you took me!” I yelled. For clarity’s sake, I don’t care where I was drafted. I’m just testing him.
“I knew you’d be available later!” Marcus cried out. “TLS and PIC trusted you even less than I did! If I took you first, there was no way Stratford would have been available to me second!”
For a moment or two, I considered his explanation. It’s actually very plausible.
“Please!” he yelled out. “Please! You gotta believe me!”
“Marcus! You really expect me to believe that those three fucks were maneuvering behind your back and NONE OF YOU FUCKING SAW THIS COMING!?”
“I know how it looks, Thad!” he began. “But I swear to GOD I HAD NO IDEA!”
For a time, I decided to ease up on him. Lifting myself from the cement floor, I brushed myself off and holstered my pistol before taking a walk toward the opened roll up bay door. Stopping just inside, I leaned against the frame and stared out at the falling rain.
“Nope, don’t you move,” Joey said to Marcus with his gun drawn.
Looking back over my shoulder, Marcus froze in his tracks as he started to get to his feet.
“Let him up,” I said quietly.
Seconds later, Marcus strolls up beside me, but at a distance.
“I’m not an especially smart man, Marcus,” I began as I watched the raindrops. “I am, however, very observant. For the life of me, I don’t understand how all these supposedly great minds never saw any of this coming. I can’t be alone in this.”
“I know how it looks,” he said quietly. “But you gotta believe me, man. I had nothing to do with it. I didn’t see it coming.”
“If I didn’t believe you, you wouldn’t be standing here,” I lied before walking back inside. To be sure, nothing's for sure. He had not one, but two of them drafted to his team. How can I believe he's being honest when it looks that fucking bad?
“What do we do?” he called out.
“What?” I asked from a distance.
“What do we do? How do we stop it before the Ghost Ship?” he asked as he hurried to catch up to me.
“We don’t,” I replied.
“What do you mean?” he asked. “Now we know something’s going on! We have to stop it!”
“It’s too late for that now,” I said to him as I plopped myself down in a chair. Marcus sat beside me.
“But we…”
“It’s too late,” I interrupted him. “I mean, I’m gonna try to avoid them getting the piece the best I can, but whatever’s gonna happen is just gonna happen now.”
“They can’t be allowed…”
“Stop thinking of this as a sprint,” I cut him off again. “It’s a marathon. One piece means nothing without the other two.”
“Where do we go from here?” Marcus asked.
“You stay in my guest house until this trial is over,” I answered. “Greg is on a flight here as we speak. When it’s over, you two go on a nice little vacation wherever you want and when you get back… we get to work.”
To be perfectly clear, I never cared where I was drafted. Hell, I never gave a damn if I was drafted at all. Whether I win or lose a match doesn’t affect my life one iota. What I don’t like is being screwed. I don’t like placing my trust in someone only to get betrayed. This business isn’t that serious to fuck over people you profess to care about. It’s just wrestling. The titles aren’t important in the grand scheme.
Loyalty matters.
Love matters.
Friends matter.
Family matters… not that one.
I love the spirit of competition. I love conquest. I love pushing people until they have nothing left. Conversely, I love being pushed until I have nothing left. I don’t like to win due to outside forces and I sure as shit don’t like losing because of them. That trio has made a mockery of what Triad was meant to be.
Kind of on brand, really.
There are ways in which he can screw me even if he's literally sitting in my own backyard. But I know how to hurt him without ever laying a finger on him. In about an hour, what I'd use to hurt him is literally walking through my front door.
Marcus and I have had a complicated history. At one time, I was his prized recruit to OCW. I worked my ass off for him, I put OCW on the god damned map and everyone wanted in because of it. Some might dispute that but the proof was on full display. I was the one that convinced him to open up the company. I was the one that convinced him that by putting OCW on my back, we could leave the small time and turn it into a conglomerate. I was the one that convinced him to not be so afraid of growing.
He was never afraid to fail, he was afraid to succeed.
For months, I’d show up on piledriver and make his previous roster look absolutely silly. I’d make them feel like they no longer belonged in OCW but that was never my intent. All I was trying to do was push them to better themselves which in turn, bettered the OCW product.
Eventually, being a reigning champion in multiple places caught up to me and it reached a point where I was feeling burned out. I needed a little break. I did what I had to do for my own sanity and I did my job, I did the honors for a man that in all likelihood, would have lost to me. My intent was always to come back once I took a little time for myself.
My time off never did sit particularly well with him. We never really discussed it much at length, but I believe I know what he thought. That I was just like the rest, that I used him, that I used OCW to better my own standing within the business. Right after I began my time off, he must’ve suffered a sort of mental break. OCW imploded upon itself and everyone that trickled into OCW because I helped him make it famous, was unceremoniously fired.
We didn’t speak for months.
Despite the rhetoric that some fragile, tiny little egos might tell you, I loved OCW. I believed in OCW. I wanted to see it succeed. I wanted to enhance the roster, not diminish it. I wanted to build up the stars of that company, not bury them.
Round two has been discussed in public and in private at considerable length, so I won’t do that here. That story has been well documented but regardless, things were not what they seemed. I wished it could’ve ended differently. For all intents and purposes, OCW is dead. Killed by the one that professed to love it the most. Killed by the one that tried to “protect” it from me. Clearly, I was not the problem.
Sitting in a chair down on the ground floor of the warehouse with my feet propped up on a steel girder type of pillar, I dozed off several times as I reflected on my history with Mr. Welsh. Just past noon, one of the bay doors opens up and that panel van from Florida rolls up inside.
Wiping the sleep from my eyes, I jumped to my feet to greet my partners in literal crime.
“Joeyyyy,” I said warmly as he stepped from behind the wheel. Joey is a big man. Not a tall man, but a big man of Samoan descent.
Two men lept from the side doors and pulled a hooded and gagged Marcus Welsh from the van.
“What’d you want with this guy anyways?” Joey asked while throwing his thumb over his shoulder.
“Something’s goin’ on Joey,” I said to him. Welsh, through his hood, jerked his head in my direction as if he recognized my voice, or was trying to place it. “I need to get to the bottom of it.”
“What’d you have in mind?” he asked with a grin on his face.
To answer, I said nothing and only looked over my shoulder behind me. Behind me, laying on a table are different devices, in Joey’s line of work at least, they’re primarily used for torture.
“Sit him down over there,” I ordered. “Remove his hood.”
Welsh struggles but it’s all for naught as the big strong Italians are bigger and stronger than Marcus. Joey pulls the head off Welsh’s head and after taking one glance at him, I busted up laughing.
“What the fuck!?” I said as I tried to contain myself. As I laughed, Marcus’s face turned beet red with anger that I was behind his harrowing ordeal this morning.
“Joey,” I said as my laughter subdued. “A ball gag? Really?”
“It was in his pocket,” Joey answered with a chuckle. “We just used what we had available.”
“Take it off,” I instructed as I sat on the edge of the table.
“I should’ve fucking known!” Marcus began ranting. “I should’ve fucking known that I couldn’t trust you! Every Goddamn time I’ve tried, it’s bit me in the ass! I will fucking get you for this! I will fucking kill you, Thad!
“Your pets? DEAD!
“Your wife? DEAD!
“Your kids?...”
He never got the next word out. Throwing my combat boot clad right foot straight into his chest, he immediately gasped for air as he fell backward in the chair. Hopping down off the table, I drove my knee right into his sternum and in one smooth motion, drew my sidearm and shoved the barrel straight into his mouth. I shoved that fucker so deep that he gagged repeatedly on the barrel.
“You really shouldn’t have said that, Welsh,” I said in my subdued anger through a clenched jaw and grit teeth. “I don’t take those threats lightly.”
“Boss!” Joey said as he stepped forward and grabbed my arm.
Looking at him for just a moment, I pulled my arm from him and shrugged him away.
“The next thing out of your mouth, Marcus,” I began before pausing. “You better think about it very carefully. Because there’s no one here that can stop me from pulling this trigger. There’s no one here that can stop me from snuffing you out once and for all.
“I know how to dispose of the undesirable, Marcus… and no one will ever even know you were here.
“So my first question, Marcus,” I began as I changed the subject. “Are you fucking me?”
“Boss, he can’t fuckin’ answer ya if you got a gun in his mouth,” Joey protested.
“Joey,” I said as I looked in his direction. Joey Bats backs away with his hands up.
“Why… would I… fuck you!?” Welsh asked through coughs after I pulled my gun from his mouth.
“Because I needed a break!” I yelled. “Because you talked me out of firing that stupid fucking cunt when I was trying to save your fucking company!”
“That’s in the past!” Marcus cried out. “I said this was a fresh start and I meant it!”
“You have nothing to do with the Triumvirate!?”
“I swear to God, Thad!” he pleaded. “I have nothing to do with it!”
“Really!? Because it seems pretty fucking convenient that you were so high on working with me that you took Stratford before you took me!” I yelled. For clarity’s sake, I don’t care where I was drafted. I’m just testing him.
“I knew you’d be available later!” Marcus cried out. “TLS and PIC trusted you even less than I did! If I took you first, there was no way Stratford would have been available to me second!”
For a moment or two, I considered his explanation. It’s actually very plausible.
“Please!” he yelled out. “Please! You gotta believe me!”
“Marcus! You really expect me to believe that those three fucks were maneuvering behind your back and NONE OF YOU FUCKING SAW THIS COMING!?”
“I know how it looks, Thad!” he began. “But I swear to GOD I HAD NO IDEA!”
For a time, I decided to ease up on him. Lifting myself from the cement floor, I brushed myself off and holstered my pistol before taking a walk toward the opened roll up bay door. Stopping just inside, I leaned against the frame and stared out at the falling rain.
“Nope, don’t you move,” Joey said to Marcus with his gun drawn.
Looking back over my shoulder, Marcus froze in his tracks as he started to get to his feet.
“Let him up,” I said quietly.
Seconds later, Marcus strolls up beside me, but at a distance.
“I’m not an especially smart man, Marcus,” I began as I watched the raindrops. “I am, however, very observant. For the life of me, I don’t understand how all these supposedly great minds never saw any of this coming. I can’t be alone in this.”
“I know how it looks,” he said quietly. “But you gotta believe me, man. I had nothing to do with it. I didn’t see it coming.”
“If I didn’t believe you, you wouldn’t be standing here,” I lied before walking back inside. To be sure, nothing's for sure. He had not one, but two of them drafted to his team. How can I believe he's being honest when it looks that fucking bad?
“What do we do?” he called out.
“What?” I asked from a distance.
“What do we do? How do we stop it before the Ghost Ship?” he asked as he hurried to catch up to me.
“We don’t,” I replied.
“What do you mean?” he asked. “Now we know something’s going on! We have to stop it!”
“It’s too late for that now,” I said to him as I plopped myself down in a chair. Marcus sat beside me.
“But we…”
“It’s too late,” I interrupted him. “I mean, I’m gonna try to avoid them getting the piece the best I can, but whatever’s gonna happen is just gonna happen now.”
“They can’t be allowed…”
“Stop thinking of this as a sprint,” I cut him off again. “It’s a marathon. One piece means nothing without the other two.”
“Where do we go from here?” Marcus asked.
“You stay in my guest house until this trial is over,” I answered. “Greg is on a flight here as we speak. When it’s over, you two go on a nice little vacation wherever you want and when you get back… we get to work.”
To be perfectly clear, I never cared where I was drafted. Hell, I never gave a damn if I was drafted at all. Whether I win or lose a match doesn’t affect my life one iota. What I don’t like is being screwed. I don’t like placing my trust in someone only to get betrayed. This business isn’t that serious to fuck over people you profess to care about. It’s just wrestling. The titles aren’t important in the grand scheme.
Loyalty matters.
Love matters.
Friends matter.
Family matters… not that one.
I love the spirit of competition. I love conquest. I love pushing people until they have nothing left. Conversely, I love being pushed until I have nothing left. I don’t like to win due to outside forces and I sure as shit don’t like losing because of them. That trio has made a mockery of what Triad was meant to be.
Kind of on brand, really.
There are ways in which he can screw me even if he's literally sitting in my own backyard. But I know how to hurt him without ever laying a finger on him. In about an hour, what I'd use to hurt him is literally walking through my front door.