Post by harvey on Dec 8, 2023 19:09:17 GMT -5
These docks aren’t the ideal stage for The Big Ticket, and this flashlight is worth a fraction of a percent of the lighting budget for a TRIAD event. There’s no audience and this guy won’t rush out the buy tickets for Night 8 after we’re done here. He might not be walking anywhere at all. I always dress for whatever business needs doing. Tonight is just a simple blazer and slacks kind of night. I left the powder blue tuxedo with the embroidered mandalas that I plan to wear in my next match in the same place where I left the Brooklyn accent.
I’m not here to fight. I’m not even here to perform.
I’m here to work.
Marx: For what it’s worth, I’m sorry I had to punch you.
Conveniently Available Moron: What’s messed up is that I believe you
Marx: You should. I don’t do any of this for sport.
CAM: Why do you do it?
It was a serious question. And a very stupid one. I was glad I went a little light on the drugs with this guy after all. I didn’t think he could afford to lose the few brain cells left to him.
Marx: Why do any of us do anything? For the money.
CAM: I know people with money. Maybe my boss can pay you more.
I had to laugh at that.
Marx: Your boss? The guy who runs a few gambling dens and the social club with an iron first? Who do you think put you in this chair? Frenchman, obnoxious, bad taste in knock off jewelry and even worse taste in booze?
That fool is probably the worst of all the guests I’ve entertained since May in my apartment at the top of the Capital Hotel in Phnom Penh. The best guest had nothing to do with the job. Of course Shazzah is using me. I’d be offended if she wasn’t. Now isn’t the time for my mind to wander.
CAM: If I talk, he’ll kill me!
Marx: Do I have to spell it out? I paid him back everything you stole from him. And now you’re here. It’s your day job I’m interested in.
The fear was gone. He was smiling now.
CAM: I work in the kitchen at the Westmore-Bradley estate. What would you want with Mr. Bradley?
Marx: Now we’re cooking with gas, son. You’re going to answer all of my questions and we’re going to do this my way.
CAM: Or what?
Marx: Or you’ll deal with my boss.
CAM: Are you the good cop? Is this the part where you talk about someone even bigger, stronger, and scarier than you.
Marx: She’s not bigger than I am. Stronger depending on how you look at it. She’s definitely scarier than me, though. I’ll still be the one doing the work if we do this her way. It just won’t be as quick or as clean.
The foghorn ruined my best intimidating silence. Why there's a foghorn on a clear night or an old man floating out there in a dingy I don't know or care. I have a job to do.
**
Illusionist: How many men are we talking about?
Marx: Dozens of staff and eighteen men. Professionals, not just guys who look the part.
Illusionist: That sounds like a real problem. What about security systems? Number of cameras, coverage, response time…You never know when you might run into anything hinky.
He was talking as if sitting across a table from a carbon copy of himself wasn’t at all hinky. I suppose there isn’t much that seems weird after you accept the fact that you have a doppelganger from another reality
Marx: My source didn’t know about those things.
Illusionist: How reliable is this source.
Marx: I’m not the interrogator Miss Albright is, but I got what I was going to get.
Illusionist: She knows how to work a crowd forty weeks a year in Vegas. But I can’t imagine Leo interrogating anyone.
Marx: I can’t imagine anyone calling Miss Albright “Leo” and being allowed to walk away. She’s very serious about respect. You have to be in certain circles.
This man knows just what I mean. He is a great illusionist, but the tools of his trade were imparted to him through a well-hidden, years long relationship with a master thief. Mr. Monday Night Magic has never used those skills to steal anything but the hearts of his audience. He’s a better man than I am, but he wasn’t born where I was.
Illusionist: I have to say I’m surprised at your attitude here. You tie some kid to a chair who just happens to speak perfect English, and to work for both the mobster you thought you took for a ride and the man you want to bring down. He starts telling you everything you want to know. And before he’s done, he feeds you a line about an unbreakable safe full of incriminating whatever. My shows wouldn’t be much fun if the world were full of people so eager to believe what they see and hear. I have to be honest here, uh, Mr Marx. Frank stopped falling for misdirection this sloppy when he was fourteen.
A man whose mustache was the only thing stiffer than his posture or more impeccable than his Royal Navy dress uniform interrupted us.
Captain Sterling: Cuban sandwiches for both gentlemen!
The other Harvey saluted him smartly after he set the sandwiches in front of us on silver trays.
Marx: Frank is really a Vegas headliner where you came from?
Illusionist: Frank and Leo have been selling out a Vegas residence for over a year. He was always better than me. He’s just to humble to really accept that. He will someday. That’s when I’ll see the best of him.
Marx: I taught my Frank to make clothes so he wouldn’t follow me into the ring. It sounds like I’ve been holding him back.
Illusionist: You know that’s nonsense. He’s young, sure. He’s been his own man for a while now if he’s anything like the Frank I know. He didn’t follow you into the ring. That was your promise. You’ll never stop him following you into danger. If he’s still with you, he’s got his reasons.
Marx: He still needs me, then?
He just grinned at me.
Illusionist: Oh yeah. Yeah, that’s gotta be it. How’re things in the ring?
Marx: I’ve always answered the bell. I’m not as over as you were and you had a better record. You pushed Johnny Bacchus as hard as anyone has. I hardly touched him.
Illusionist: He was a lot more arrogant back then, and he didn’t know how much I really had to fight for. Don’t feel too bad. Handcuffs tend to make things difficult in there.
Marx: You would have at least gotten out of them.
Illusionist: Very quickly. I was an escape artist for years by the time you were out of prison. But that’s not the point. I got over doing what I already knew how to do. I put on a show because I was already a star. The ring was only a stage with turnbuckles instead of curtains. I knew how to sell, but I had to figure out how to fight to protect my people from my mistakes. You don’t have that problem. Do what you know how to do.
Marx: I’m just a legbreaker.
Illusionist: Why don’t you start acting like it? I sell people magic and dreams because that’s who I am.
Marx: What should I sell them?
Illusionist: Finally, you ask a good question. It probably wouldn’t have hurt to ask why this boat we’re on isn’t at the bottom of the ocean where it belongs or how long our distinguished host over there has been dead. But it’s a good start. You may not be in your universe anymore, but this one isn't as morally upright as it likes to think. That ARCADIA show you went out and sold this spring, the one with all the kidnapping and torture? It set records without even performative outrage from anyone. You don’t want to bring the showman into the match? I get that. But why leave the enforcer at ringside? Nobody watches NASCAR for left turns. The difference between you and I is that you can perform without having to hide. They want violence here, too. Give it to them.
**
Frank Bellwood’s eyes open with a start and he makes his way down the winding staircase of The Big Ticket’s luxurious, landlocked beach house in Phom Penh. Harvey Marx is wide awake and staring at a huge array of maps, photos, and documents linked by many colors of thread. Jameison Westmore Bradley III is at the center of the web.
Frank: Don’t do it.
Marx: Don’t do what?
Frank: Any of this. You’re being played.
Marx: How do you know? And DON’T SAY some hard luck DEAD GUY told you in a DREAM!
Frank: Two dreams, actually. And the Captain’s luck has been better in the next life.
**
Astaire and Rogers
Lucy and Ethel
James and Atara
Taylor Swift and whoever she’s dating
So many duos have left their mark on the history of entertainment, and now TRIAD’s illustrious booking team gives you the next phenomenon! The Big Ticket joins forces with The Big Bickett for ONE NIGHT ONLY!
This week there are at least eleven other wrestlers asking themselves if Team Triumvirate can be trusted. I can understand that. The last time I teamed up with them I got a tropical vacation, a new laptop and an obscene amount of money. That wasn’t a great night for the guys in the other corner, and this match won’t be either. My partner is a crooked, backstabbing backwoods biker Barbie who would throw me under the bus inside 2 minutes. At least I know how long we have to get rid of the other two.
Dickie Watson has rediscovered how to fight and now he's trying to forget everything else. He’s burning bridges and booting down doors. He’s lashing out at old allies and putting the entire industry on notice. He’s his own man again.
I wrote the book on the hard sell, kid. You obviously skipped chapter four.
That one is about the difference between confidence and bravado. You’ve got the latter down, but you’ll never find the former and stop trading one master for another until you find yourself. This won’t just be a match. It will be a job interview. When you’re tired of being a lapdog for your Japanese friends, one of your countrymen is ready to give you a home, Dimitri.
Matt Knox says some pretty stupid things. That’s not surprising. He’s got nine kids so far, so we all know what part of his anatomy he’s used to thinking with. He said I’d have to "take him out" to win this match. Practically dared me to do it in a promo. Normally, there’s only one way a guy like me can respond to that. That’s not something I would do in a ring. More like something I’d do in a warehouse with a wrench, a couple of bungee cords and a can of gasoline. Matty knows that. He also knows I'm a gentleman and that I'll forgive him this time.
I like you, Matty. I shouldn’t get too worked up about what you think of my skills or my character. Three of your children, Xander, Halsey, and Knox Jr, all happily signed a Big Ticket Entertainment contract. I had you moving my furniture without one.
I’ll have no trouble moving you out of my way tonight
I’m not here to fight. I’m not even here to perform.
I’m here to work.
Marx: For what it’s worth, I’m sorry I had to punch you.
Conveniently Available Moron: What’s messed up is that I believe you
Marx: You should. I don’t do any of this for sport.
CAM: Why do you do it?
It was a serious question. And a very stupid one. I was glad I went a little light on the drugs with this guy after all. I didn’t think he could afford to lose the few brain cells left to him.
Marx: Why do any of us do anything? For the money.
CAM: I know people with money. Maybe my boss can pay you more.
I had to laugh at that.
Marx: Your boss? The guy who runs a few gambling dens and the social club with an iron first? Who do you think put you in this chair? Frenchman, obnoxious, bad taste in knock off jewelry and even worse taste in booze?
That fool is probably the worst of all the guests I’ve entertained since May in my apartment at the top of the Capital Hotel in Phnom Penh. The best guest had nothing to do with the job. Of course Shazzah is using me. I’d be offended if she wasn’t. Now isn’t the time for my mind to wander.
CAM: If I talk, he’ll kill me!
Marx: Do I have to spell it out? I paid him back everything you stole from him. And now you’re here. It’s your day job I’m interested in.
The fear was gone. He was smiling now.
CAM: I work in the kitchen at the Westmore-Bradley estate. What would you want with Mr. Bradley?
Marx: Now we’re cooking with gas, son. You’re going to answer all of my questions and we’re going to do this my way.
CAM: Or what?
Marx: Or you’ll deal with my boss.
CAM: Are you the good cop? Is this the part where you talk about someone even bigger, stronger, and scarier than you.
Marx: She’s not bigger than I am. Stronger depending on how you look at it. She’s definitely scarier than me, though. I’ll still be the one doing the work if we do this her way. It just won’t be as quick or as clean.
The foghorn ruined my best intimidating silence. Why there's a foghorn on a clear night or an old man floating out there in a dingy I don't know or care. I have a job to do.
**
Illusionist: How many men are we talking about?
Marx: Dozens of staff and eighteen men. Professionals, not just guys who look the part.
Illusionist: That sounds like a real problem. What about security systems? Number of cameras, coverage, response time…You never know when you might run into anything hinky.
He was talking as if sitting across a table from a carbon copy of himself wasn’t at all hinky. I suppose there isn’t much that seems weird after you accept the fact that you have a doppelganger from another reality
Marx: My source didn’t know about those things.
Illusionist: How reliable is this source.
Marx: I’m not the interrogator Miss Albright is, but I got what I was going to get.
Illusionist: She knows how to work a crowd forty weeks a year in Vegas. But I can’t imagine Leo interrogating anyone.
Marx: I can’t imagine anyone calling Miss Albright “Leo” and being allowed to walk away. She’s very serious about respect. You have to be in certain circles.
This man knows just what I mean. He is a great illusionist, but the tools of his trade were imparted to him through a well-hidden, years long relationship with a master thief. Mr. Monday Night Magic has never used those skills to steal anything but the hearts of his audience. He’s a better man than I am, but he wasn’t born where I was.
Illusionist: I have to say I’m surprised at your attitude here. You tie some kid to a chair who just happens to speak perfect English, and to work for both the mobster you thought you took for a ride and the man you want to bring down. He starts telling you everything you want to know. And before he’s done, he feeds you a line about an unbreakable safe full of incriminating whatever. My shows wouldn’t be much fun if the world were full of people so eager to believe what they see and hear. I have to be honest here, uh, Mr Marx. Frank stopped falling for misdirection this sloppy when he was fourteen.
A man whose mustache was the only thing stiffer than his posture or more impeccable than his Royal Navy dress uniform interrupted us.
Captain Sterling: Cuban sandwiches for both gentlemen!
The other Harvey saluted him smartly after he set the sandwiches in front of us on silver trays.
Marx: Frank is really a Vegas headliner where you came from?
Illusionist: Frank and Leo have been selling out a Vegas residence for over a year. He was always better than me. He’s just to humble to really accept that. He will someday. That’s when I’ll see the best of him.
Marx: I taught my Frank to make clothes so he wouldn’t follow me into the ring. It sounds like I’ve been holding him back.
Illusionist: You know that’s nonsense. He’s young, sure. He’s been his own man for a while now if he’s anything like the Frank I know. He didn’t follow you into the ring. That was your promise. You’ll never stop him following you into danger. If he’s still with you, he’s got his reasons.
Marx: He still needs me, then?
He just grinned at me.
Illusionist: Oh yeah. Yeah, that’s gotta be it. How’re things in the ring?
Marx: I’ve always answered the bell. I’m not as over as you were and you had a better record. You pushed Johnny Bacchus as hard as anyone has. I hardly touched him.
Illusionist: He was a lot more arrogant back then, and he didn’t know how much I really had to fight for. Don’t feel too bad. Handcuffs tend to make things difficult in there.
Marx: You would have at least gotten out of them.
Illusionist: Very quickly. I was an escape artist for years by the time you were out of prison. But that’s not the point. I got over doing what I already knew how to do. I put on a show because I was already a star. The ring was only a stage with turnbuckles instead of curtains. I knew how to sell, but I had to figure out how to fight to protect my people from my mistakes. You don’t have that problem. Do what you know how to do.
Marx: I’m just a legbreaker.
Illusionist: Why don’t you start acting like it? I sell people magic and dreams because that’s who I am.
Marx: What should I sell them?
Illusionist: Finally, you ask a good question. It probably wouldn’t have hurt to ask why this boat we’re on isn’t at the bottom of the ocean where it belongs or how long our distinguished host over there has been dead. But it’s a good start. You may not be in your universe anymore, but this one isn't as morally upright as it likes to think. That ARCADIA show you went out and sold this spring, the one with all the kidnapping and torture? It set records without even performative outrage from anyone. You don’t want to bring the showman into the match? I get that. But why leave the enforcer at ringside? Nobody watches NASCAR for left turns. The difference between you and I is that you can perform without having to hide. They want violence here, too. Give it to them.
**
Frank Bellwood’s eyes open with a start and he makes his way down the winding staircase of The Big Ticket’s luxurious, landlocked beach house in Phom Penh. Harvey Marx is wide awake and staring at a huge array of maps, photos, and documents linked by many colors of thread. Jameison Westmore Bradley III is at the center of the web.
Frank: Don’t do it.
Marx: Don’t do what?
Frank: Any of this. You’re being played.
Marx: How do you know? And DON’T SAY some hard luck DEAD GUY told you in a DREAM!
Frank: Two dreams, actually. And the Captain’s luck has been better in the next life.
**
Astaire and Rogers
Lucy and Ethel
James and Atara
Taylor Swift and whoever she’s dating
So many duos have left their mark on the history of entertainment, and now TRIAD’s illustrious booking team gives you the next phenomenon! The Big Ticket joins forces with The Big Bickett for ONE NIGHT ONLY!
This week there are at least eleven other wrestlers asking themselves if Team Triumvirate can be trusted. I can understand that. The last time I teamed up with them I got a tropical vacation, a new laptop and an obscene amount of money. That wasn’t a great night for the guys in the other corner, and this match won’t be either. My partner is a crooked, backstabbing backwoods biker Barbie who would throw me under the bus inside 2 minutes. At least I know how long we have to get rid of the other two.
Dickie Watson has rediscovered how to fight and now he's trying to forget everything else. He’s burning bridges and booting down doors. He’s lashing out at old allies and putting the entire industry on notice. He’s his own man again.
I wrote the book on the hard sell, kid. You obviously skipped chapter four.
That one is about the difference between confidence and bravado. You’ve got the latter down, but you’ll never find the former and stop trading one master for another until you find yourself. This won’t just be a match. It will be a job interview. When you’re tired of being a lapdog for your Japanese friends, one of your countrymen is ready to give you a home, Dimitri.
Matt Knox says some pretty stupid things. That’s not surprising. He’s got nine kids so far, so we all know what part of his anatomy he’s used to thinking with. He said I’d have to "take him out" to win this match. Practically dared me to do it in a promo. Normally, there’s only one way a guy like me can respond to that. That’s not something I would do in a ring. More like something I’d do in a warehouse with a wrench, a couple of bungee cords and a can of gasoline. Matty knows that. He also knows I'm a gentleman and that I'll forgive him this time.
I like you, Matty. I shouldn’t get too worked up about what you think of my skills or my character. Three of your children, Xander, Halsey, and Knox Jr, all happily signed a Big Ticket Entertainment contract. I had you moving my furniture without one.
I’ll have no trouble moving you out of my way tonight