The Partner

(Obviously this is a joint venture between myself and the partner, but I won't say who it is here as it will ruin the surprise. Anyway, enjoy)

Part 1: Thoughts about Mark and my dire situation

I was feeling quite disheartened as I sat backstage at the press conference. I'd dressed especially in clothes mimicking my former garb whilst a member of the on-screen Illuminati of TXA; the main directors of the fed, at a cost. The sales clerk in John Anthony had raised a Rock-like eyebrow as I approached the desk with a deep royal blue trousers & jacket pair.

"Do you need shoes as well, sir?" he'd asked me, hoping to score another pretty penny for his employer.

"Got some already, thanks" I had replied and pointed down. I laughed to myself as his face had recoiled in horror at my 4 month old brown suede skate shoes, muddy and with mismatched laces. Regardless, I was looking to complete the look, the one I'd had all those years ago.

Unfortunately, the fine tailoring and comfort of the suit did little to make me feel better. The Reunion was just over a week away, and my two big hopes for finding a partner had been dashed. Well, my one big hope, really.

I'd taken poor Mark back to Chile with me. I'd quite enjoyed seeing his face as we dived deeper into the back o' beyond of the Chilean wilderness, deep in the heart of winemaking country. Just to keep an air of mystery about the place I hadn't revealed any details of our destination in advance.

"Chile!? What, the country?" was Mark's reply and when I told him where we were headed. The man didn't have much travelling experience past the UK, Europe and the States, but I didn't hold it against him. His face was a picture of wonder as we touched down in Comodoro Arturo Merino Benitez International Airport, and a picture of comedy as he tried to say the name. He lost his humour 5 hours into the journey out of the big city and into the sticks. Rynx must have thought he was getting kidnapped as we eventually left the comfort of paved roads and the bus battled valiantly through the underbrush.

I felt kind of uneasy at first bringing Mark back to the house I'd lived in for 3 years in luxury while he shuffled around the States on long distance buses and cheap motel rooms in pursuit of a honest living, picking up bad gambling and drinking habits. As we arrived in Ovalle, Mark looked bewildered at the attention we received as we stepped off the bus. I laughed, waved and hugged my way through the throng of people at the bus stop, stopping to chat to a couple of friends. Mark had looked even more confused as we headed out of Ovalle in an old taxi with no windscreen wipers or radio down another dirt track all the way to the farm.

Rynx had hardly believed the establishment I had put together when he saw it. I neglected to say it was funded by dirty money. He seemed impressed though. I showed him the gym complete with ring, the cinema room, the grounds and the rest of it. I could tell Mark will enjoy it here. I don't think he intends to leave anytime soon either. I don't mind. Having someone to speak English to will do me good back home. Not to mention someone to spar with, play video games with and hang out with. I'm definitely insular but a bit of company is nice every now and again. As long as he doesn't scare the fish away, drop the joint or fall out with the staff, step on the cats tail.

When I left Mark at the farm, he was surrounded by some of the fit local girls in my employment. They speak a little English and they said they're going to teach Mark Spanish. That should keep him busy for the next few months at least. I'd instructed some of the house minders to keep an eye on him and not to let him have any booze. Mark didn't know it but he was currently in detox from his addictions. Unfortunately though, a recovering alcoholic gambler isn't much use as a tag team partner regardless of how good he used to be.

Armageddonator had let me down too. I thought he'd be the one to help me out, but call me clairvoyant but as soon as I met him in the ring I knew what his answer would be. I'll be damned if there is a PPV that night besides the Reunion. Maybe Arm just didn't want to be associated with us? Or me? He didn't look the same as when I'd met him last, years ago. There were now definitive frown lines, his arms and torso were covered in scars. He looked like an English Sabu. All those Japanese tours must have rattled his brain a bit too much. His hair was different, probably as the result of it thinning out or going grey. I'd typed his name into Google a few times, seems he doesn't really do technical wrestling these days, just brawls and high flying spots. Can't blame him though. That's what some people like to see after all. Seems to be getting him a lot of gigs.

I've held fire on this press conference as much as possible but today's the deadline, so here I am, partnerless and stuck in a match against two jumped up gob-shite Americans. The whole day I've had to endure fans, photographers and staff asking me who the mytery partner is and I'm getting sick of it. How many times am I going to have to say, 'No it's not Armageddonator', 'No it's not Special Giznap', 'No it's not J Dub, Mark Rynx or Big Fucking D'.

And now I can hear that bellend Renard out there now, warming up the press and lapping up the attention like a little wanker. Well, fuck. I guess I'm up soon. A handicap match it is. Hopefully I won't be flying back to Chile handicapped...


Part 2: A familiar face

This building is unlike any of those I’d pottered around in lately. It’s huge, lavishly decorated and full of paintings by artists I’ve never even heard of. Normally they wouldn’t let someone like me in, but today’s different. I have a pass that says I’m welcome. It does help having connections, even if they don’t associate with me much these days.

My old trenchcoat, just recently washed under the insistence of a friend, trails behind me as I navigate through this seemingly endless hallway, garnering looks from formally-dressed types and sweating reporters alike. I always did stand out in a crowd, regardless of whether I wanted to.

I find a doorway that’s manned by a worried-looking lad clad in a collared shirt that’s a size too big for him, who carries a thick scent of aftershave that I doubt he even needs. I flash my pass to him, and he takes a full minute to realise that it is in fact mine. He lets out a weary sigh and waves me in, and I oblige by shoving past him into the backstage area.

On what must be an unnecessarily expensive sofa I see a man in a blue suit, and though he may appear confident on the outside, I can tell just from his body language that he’s overcome with concern. Seems I’ve found the man I came here for.

“Tough situation you’ve found yourself in, eh Jox?”

He looks up, apparently not too lost in his thoughts to hear my voice, and he looks at me quizzically.

“Do I know you?”

I let out a laugh, and it’s a rough one. All my laughs are with my throat as ravaged as it is.

“I s’pose I don’t look quite the same as I used to,” I admit, rubbing my face, “But I’d have thought the old coat would’ve been a giveaway.”

He continues to look at me, and I can soon see the penny’s dropped.

“Or the mask,” he chips in, a smile forming on his face, “Orland Zacconi. Fucking hell.”

I put out a hand, and this surprises him, but he still takes it in a firm shake.

“Mister Joxide,” I greet him with a chuckle, “Been a few years, has it not?”

“Been ages, mate,” he confirms, shaking his head in disbelief.

He and I were friends. I’m not blessed with many, least of all genuine ones, but Joxide was indeed a member of that very exclusive group. I think it started when I first appeared for the Central Wrestling Alliance, and he assisted me in becoming the champion in my very first match there. It shook the entire company and pissed off a lot of people. He didn’t care; in fact, I’d swear he enjoyed doing it. What made it all the more incredible was the fact that he was a part of the staff at that time.

Joxide’s the type of person who does whatever he wants and couldn’t give a single toss what anybody else thinks of him. I think that’s what drew me to him. I respected that shameless, uninhibited honesty. In a world where people put on facades and masculine airs and pretended to be somebody they weren’t, Joxide was just Joxide.

Some would say, ‘if he’s so proud of himself, why go by an assumed name’? And those people just didn’t get it; everybody called him Joxide, from his closest friends to the bank clerks. That was who he was. He wore his true self on display, and its name just happened to be Joxide. We had a lot in common in that respect.

“What you been up to?”

“Oh, just been knocking about in the States. Seems a few of us former CWA guys have ended up there, where the business is still strong. Got to find work after all,” I motion towards him, “Though word going around is you’ve had no need for any of that.”

“Ha, and yet here I am, right?” Joxide smirks, “Going back into the ring.”

I turn towards the curtains, which seem to lead into the hall where the press conference is being held.

“Wrestling isn’t easy to escape from, no matter what you try to do,” I tell him, “It really gets its hooks in you. Even if you’ve got the cushiest life imaginable, nothing matches that feeling of being out there.”

Joxide doesn’t say anything, and simply nods. I wonder how much he really agrees with me. It’s strange to see him so reserved.

“It’s a high you never truly come down from,” I go on, “You feel incapable of truly investing yourself in anything else. At least, that’s how it is for me.”

Joxide looks up, and the look on his face isn’t the cocksure one he’s known for. It’s preoccupied.

“Why are you here, Orland?”

It seems the pleasantries have come to an abrupt end. Too much on the man’s mind. I’d heard that he had no luck in finding a partner for this upcoming match – even asking old friends garnered no result – so it’s no wonder he’s in the state he is.

“Yeah, I hate this small-talk bollocks as well,” I shrug, and turn back to face him, “You need a tag partner, right?”

I was hoping to see his face light up at the news, but he seems taken aback.

“You want to tag with me against the Cydes?”

“That was the idea, yeah,” I inform him, and honestly I was hoping for more enthusiasm out of him, “Is there something wrong with that?”

“Sorry man,” he replies, shaking his head, “I just didn’t think you of all people would come out here offering your services. Thought it was a joke for a second.”

“Come on, Jox,” I say with a sigh, “You should know that I’m not one for jokes.”

“So you’re serious?” he asks, for clarification’s sake, “You want to team with me?”

“Yeah. Do you really need a reason why?”

“Nah mate,” he smiles, and this smile is a lot bigger, “Let’s just get out there and let everyone know. Deadly Alliance all over again, bruv!”

He lets out an excited howl and hoists himself up from the sofa. As he walks to the curtains, I can see that old Joxide swagger back in full force.

Seeing him like that, this whole trip back to England was worth it. That’s the second friend I’ve helped out since I’ve made my new beginning. Redemption is slowly but surely on its way.

Still got to follow through on this one, though, so I walk after Joxide, and I can’t help but smile myself.


Part 3: Some brief thoughts about The Dragon

This was an unexpected turn-up for the books. I'd gone from a hopeless beat-down situation to a promising match that we stood a pretty good chance of winning. On the way back to Chile I'd got the low-down on what Orland, Chio and Brummy had been doing at that little American promotion from Mark. While he hadn't seen Chio or Brummy for that long, Mark said that Orland's match was a classic. The unfortunate opponent had taken a typical Dragon beating and he had a very business-as-usual approach. Sounds like Orland. The mask was new though. Apparently his face is perfectly fine now. He was a bit of a state before but hey, shit happens. I'm sure The Dragon realises this. I would have thought he'd have something better to do actually, but I'm not complaining.

This is actually perfect. Mark Rynx, although a good wrestler and well-rounded in his knowledge of fighting styles, I always felt Mark never really had that outstanding factor. I've always felt it with The Dragon though. It was one of the reasons I was first drawn to him in CWA. I knew this man would hold the title, I just helped speed the process along. To be honest I think Orland was more than capable of winning it himself, but hey, it was probably lucky I did help him in retrospect. The man's intensity and pure athletic ability was almost unrivalled, and when he turned up it was probably one of the few times I thought "Right, I'm getting on this guy's team". What goes around comes around, as they say. Ha! More than worth all the shit I got off of the powers that be back in the CWA.

I feel like I've got that natural swing in my step back. I haven't knowingly walked like this since the TXA days, when I could walk around and say what I wanted to whoever I wanted and laugh in their face if they got funny. I was untouchable. Well, I still fucking am. The swagger has started to come naturally. I'd managed to perfect this cocky swagger early in my twenties. Like a 'not-so-stuck-up' Vince McMahon kind of swagger. A 'better-than-you-but-don't-take-it-seriously' kind of swagger as opposed to Vince's 'better-and-way-richer-than-you' swagger. That's how I saw it anyhow.

But enough of this, it's time to go.


Part 4: A few words from the Mouth and an unexpected appearance from The Dragon

Although this grand introduction was most definitely to garner a bit of a pop for the man, the throng of press reporters just pushed and shoved harder and mumbled louder amongst themselves.
 
The curtain drew back and out stepped the man himself.
 
On one hand you could say the man had changed. This much was evident, as the old Joxide would have had posters up, photos, replicas of belts held on tables and entrance music. This Joxide had no such build-up. He did however, like the Joxide of old, seem a bit bored or pre-occupied. As he stepped through the curtained area and onto the stage he carried a small paper plate with some assorted savoury snacks on it. Joxide looked out into the crowd, waved at no one in particular and smiled in what appeared to be a genuine fashion.
 
Joxide squinted as he sat down at the chair provided, putting his plate of food on his knee. He wasn't used to all this flashing and he soon held his hands up.
 
"That's enough flashes now, thanks."
 
The press stopped quickly, careful not to provoke the sharp-tongued wrath of the former TXA Illuminati member, or put him in a grump so he walked out, presumably. Once stopped, he picked a sandwich off the paper plate and took a large bite out of it.
 
"So ladies and gentlemen, this is how it will work. You will all raise your hands and when you selected..."
 
Joxide butted in as he swallowed the last bit of his sandwich.
 
"Excuse me, Renard."
 
Cut off, Renard turned around in surprise.
 
"You won't be necessary."
 
Renard gave him 'what-are-you-doing?' look from across the stage. Joxide returned it with a blank stare.
 
"Please vacate the stage, Renard. Your presence ain't required for this interview."
 
Renard gave him a look of extreme distaste and slowly exited the stage.
 
"Could you fetch me a cup of tea as well please, mate?"
 
Renard scowled as he pushed the curtain aside and disappeared behind it. Joxide chuckled and turned to face the press before him and cleared his throat.
 
"Okay guys, I'll do my best to answer each question to your liking, so fire away."
 
Joxide pointed at the quickest one off the mark with his hand in the air.

"Joxide, one of the most asked questions regarding you at the moment is, where have you been all this time? After the collapse of TXA I don't know of anyone who has heard a peep from you."

"Oh really?"

"There was a rumour going around you wrestled in Japan for a while, behind a mask? We've also heard you ended up living in the States. In fact just a few weeks before you showed up in the UK again we heard you had bought a share in a casino in Las Vegas and were operating from there?"

Joxide paused for a second, his face carefully blank.

"All true."

A loud collective murmur arose from the crowd. The original questioner didn't seem so convinced.

"We also heard a rumour you'd died… ?"

"Also true."

The confused crowd don't really know how to act. They search his blank face for any hint of a clue, but he wasn't giving away a thing. The journalist, clearly confused himself, decided to try another approach.

"So, you're not going to impart this knowledge with us?"

For the first time since questions began, Joxide grinned broadly.

"I'm afraid not, mate. My whereabouts has been undocumented for a good reason. I live alone in my own little world, in a distant land far, far away. And should you ever happen to come across any information on where I maybe after the Reunion, I advise you to keep this information to yourself."

He smirked cockily again.

"Next question please?"

A man close to the front ejaculated into the interview.

"So Joxide, if you're quite happy living alone, why return to the ring?"

"A good question, my friend, and something I believe I should clarify. I believe you all saw yesterday's press conference by my old CWA alumni Rob and Chio? Well, I happen to agree with Mr. Reto on this point: wrestling never truly leaves you. Where I live, wrestling ain't a big deal. No one's interested in it. I myself believed that I'd lost interest in it, but, like a recovered drug addict, I got a whiff of the business from a little birdie and that was it. I was back."

"And what are your thoughts on Chio Reto and Rob Arnold's press conference?"

For the second time in the interview, Joxide stopped, seemingly to mentally prepare his answer.

"Standard kind of content I suppose. I must admit I was kind of surprised the way Chio praised David Shand like he did. I'd like to see how much of that he says after the match."

Joxide chuckled slightly to himself.

"In fact I don't know if he'll be saying much at all. Speaking is hard work when your jaw has been wired shut."

Joxide burst into a short fit of laughter at his own joke.

"So do you think David Shand will win?"

"Actually, I'm not so sure. I'm aware that Chio has been training hard for this. He's got the right mentality for it, no doubt. And like David said, his potential far exceeds his achievements. That's not to say, however, that David Shand won't have his say in the matter."

"As a wrestler who has faced David Shand one-on-one in the past, do you have any advice for Chio?"

Joxide, after thinking for a second, broke out a small grin.

"Yup. Run. Tuck that tail between those legs and run like a bastard!"

The lively crowd kicked up another loud murmur, but a new voice, someone in the thick of the crowd, piped up.

"So you think Chio doesn't have a chance?"

"What? I never said that. I just told you what my advice to Chio would be, not whether I thought he would win or not. I believe Chio has the capability to do it. Moreso than I did. But Shand is still Shand. I hardly need to tell you all about him, do I?"

"Have you spoken to Chio or David since returning to the CXA?"

"No, I haven't. I've heard of Chio's various escapades in his pursuit of hitting the big time. David I hadn't heard a lot of. As the whole world and his dog knows, if David Shand didn't want you know something, you wouldn't know it. Besides, I'm in no hurry speak to David."

The crowd became alive at the last statement. Cameras were raised and microphones outstretched. A few different people shouted out the same question: why?

"If anybody here remembers, my last match in TXA, and public appearance too, was with David Shand himself. After he dragged me around the ring and gave me a good pasting I was in no mood or condition to speak to or wrestle anyone. That was it, I was done. Not long after that. the TXA went down. To answer your question, well, I don't really know what I'd say to the man. I kind of have to thank him too, for giving me the idea to flee to my new life and get away from wrestling. I must admit, I haven't looked back since."

Someone else quickly piped up.

"Another match on the card is Rob Arnold versus My-Ron Novaar. What are your thoughts on these two?"

Joxide, ever the neutral party, simply shrugged.

"It should be a good match. I'd be interested to see what Rob brings to the table after all this time away from the ring. However, you could apply the same phrase to me, Chio or most of the others appearing on the show. My-Ron as well. Both are legitimately tough guys, and I don't doubt that both men have more than a few tricks up their sleeves."

"Care to make a prediction?"

"And risk the razor-sharp wit of Rob, or risk My-Ron turning up trick-or-treating me?"

He stifled a small laugh.

"Why hasn't anyone asked me the big question yet?"

Wasting little time, one of the men in the front row shouted out:

"Have you found a partner yet for your match against Homer & Reggie Cyde?"

"As a matter of fact, I have! Only recently though. Unfortunately, I've had a few problems. Ol' Joxide isn't as popular as he thought, huh?"

Joxide laughed again.

"But, just as sure as the sun rises in the morning, I pulled through. My partner, most of you may recognise. In fact, who better to help me deliver a nice UK-style beating to those loud-mouthed American gob-shites than a man who's been doing it every day for the last three years, the former CWA champion, Orland "The Dragon" Zacconi?"

The surge in noise and activity was enough to overwhelm most but Joxide had been expecting it, of course. He grinned like a Cheshire cat and outstretched his arm towards the curtain and on queue, The Dragon steps out. He looks out before him and observes the media circus, then takes his place on the stage.

"As you can see, Mr. Zacconi is all business. Mr Zacconi doesn't have time to sell grills or low-budget action flicks, he's too busy kicking ass. You won't catch him bitching and moaning about the price of fish. My man Orland is a man whose actions speak louder than words."

Orland nodded slowly in agreement.

"And he doesn't speak much so there's gonna be a lot of action!"

Orland grinned slightly.

"The Cydes clearly don't know what they're in for here. After The Dragon and the Mouth of the South-West finish kicking their all-American arses around the arena, they'll be flying back to America licking their wounds and no doubt drawing up plans for a new bummer flick or branded cooking utensil to make themselves feel better."

Orland nodded again.

"Orland," a reporter chimed in.

"How's the American independent circuit being playing out for you?"

"Not bad."

An awkward silence followed. Orland didn't seem too phased, probably being used to awkward silences. To say Orland had been blessed with the social skills of Nelson's Column would be a fairly accurate assessment. The reporter decided to try a different path.

"Joxide, you haven't really addressed the Cydes personally much since Homer powerbombed you through one of those tables. Is there anything else you'd like to add?"

Joxide instinctively rubbed the back of his neck upon mention of the powerbomb.

"Hm, yeah there is actually. Since you guys like to fight dirty, how about we make it official? I wouldn't like you cheating Americans to get DQ'd and pussy out of an old school ass kicking, would I? Bring your chairs and tables with you at Reunion. Bring Moppy. Bring the kitchen sink. How about we spice things up ands make this match no-holds barred? Anything goes. Falls count anywhere. I'd like to see how well your training regime and lean chicken prepares for you a kendo stick kidney shot or a stop sign round the face!"

Joxide laughed again.

"Of course, if you want to stick to a standard, boring tag team match with a referee you can throw the towel into at any time, well, be my guest!"

It was at this time that the normally quiet Orland decided to contribute vocally, apparently invigorated by the idea of a no-holds-barred contest.

"I'd just like to clarify," he noted with a yellow-toothed smile, "That I fully support my partner's idea of this match being anything goes. That way I can really let loose."

The reporters jumped all over this.

"Orland, is this your way of saying you wish to hurt Homer and Reggie Cyde?"

Orland's smile didn't budge an inch.

"Obviously."

"What can I say?" Joxide chuckled, "Mr. Zacconi is the perfect man for this job."

"What grudge do you hold against the Cydes, though?"

"Nothing really," Orland shrugged, "Hurting people is just what I do."

Another awkward silence. Joxide seemed to just find it amusing.

"So how about it, boys? Think you can handle the rulebook being thrown out of the window AND facing my dangerous associate here? I think it's time we had an answer!"