The Cruiserweight Read online

  “What do you mean, man?”

  “Mac told me about the fight you had with some dude the other night. Big fucker. Is it true you kicked his ass?”

  “Hell yeah. I’m still a bit sore from both that and the match with Mac a few hours before that happened, but you know me. I’d have to be dead not to compete.”

  “Isn’t that the truth,” Mac joined in. “I think Kerrigan’s the hardest guy on the roster to kill. Hey, Brett, think we can go for some brewskis tonight without being evicted from the bar?”

  “I promise to behave, Mac. No more hitting on skinny chicks. Chances are good they belong to some guy bigger than I am. Care to join us, Oscar?”

  “Love to, mi amigos, but my wife is with me tonight. I promised quality time with her.”

  “One of the advantages of being single. Have a good time. Mac, I’ll meet you outside. Don’t forget to put on deodorant. Nobody wants to wait twenty minutes just to get our first beer because the waitresses are avoiding your funkyness.”

  “Another comment from you, smart ass, and I’ll be the one throwing you out this time,” Mac replied, just hiding a grin.

  CHAPTER 2

  “Hey, lady, need a ticket?” a scalper asked when Karen arrived one November evening to cover another wrestling event.

  She smiled and shook her head. “No thank you. I have one.” She carried a press pass, but neither made him nor anyone else aware of the fact.

  “Need a date?”

  “Sorry. I’m meeting someone.”

  As Karen made her way to the media area, she couldn’t help but notice the excitement in the air as children dressed in costumes and replica championship belts stood in line with their parents. The youngsters became restless and impatient waiting for the arena doors to open. Mothers and fathers put forward efforts to keep their offspring entertained while attempting conversations with other adults. Several other fans were packed near the talent entrance, hoping for glimpses of their favorite stars.

  “All of those people standing outside on such a cold night. Talk about dedication.”

  “Good evening, Miss Montgomery,” a security guard greeted her. Karen was well-known. Unless she encountered a new employee, her credentials often weren't requested.

  “Hi, Ernie. I’m supposed to meet three other writers from the paper. Are they here?”

  “You’re the first person, miss. I can have Stephen take you to the press box if you like.”

  “All right, I’ll meet everyone there.”

  Ernie beckoned Stephen, who led Karen upstairs. She noticed that the arena was quiet with the exception of a few people doing a final run-through in the ring. One person in particular caught her eye.

  “Is that Brett?” She came out of the press box for a closer look. He stood several feet from her, perfecting his moves for a match placed on the final card. “I should go down and introduce myself.”

  A male voice stopped her. “There you are!”

  She turned around and found sports editor Terry Jackson standing with two other co-workers, veteran sports writer Lou Hobbs, and humorist Eddie Romano. “Where have the three of you been? You were supposed to meet me an hour ago.”

  “Stuck in traffic,” Eddie said. “Did we miss anything?”

  “No.“ Thanks to your timing, I missed Brett again, though.

  *****

  Brett had an anxiety attack, gasping for breath. His heart felt like it was about to jump out of his chest. He sensed impending doom, as if the locker room was closing in around him.

  I have to get out of here!

  He hurried outside without stopping to talk to anyone. There was only one thing that calmed him in frightening situations—from encountering women to participating in high-profile wrestling matches—the joint in his hand.

  From a hidden spot behind the arena, he took several deep drags off the joint and held smoke in his lungs. “Oh, yeah…”

  He continued to smoke while watching fans enter the arena. “Little do people know one of the guys they spent hard-earned money to see tonight is toking on a fat one. Shit, who am I kidding? Most fans know I’ve been in the bosses’ doghouses for failing twelve THC tests. Piss on management! I bust my ass every night, so I’ve earned a joint. The fans don‘t give a fuck, why should I?”

  Brett extinguished the roach with a stubby finger and thumb, then dug a Kleenex out of his pocket, wrapped up, and hid the tissue-swaddled roach in a nearby trash can. He liked to refer to such disposing practices as “hiding the evidence.”

  He snickered, “Pity the dude who finds that thing. Then again, someone may figure out who smoked the roach, try to get the piece of shit autographed to sell on eBay. ‘Genuine Roach, Smoked and Autographed by Brett Kerrigan.’ I can almost vision the auction.”

  Returning inside to prepare for his scheduled practice run, he became incensed after being informed the dark match he was to wrestle was scrapped at the last minute. “This is bullshit! People need to either give me a damn match or just send me home! I didn’t come here to either hang around backstage and count floor tiles or sit in the stands with a finger up my ass!”

  At the pre-show meeting backstage, an announcement was made that Bones Malloy was pulled from one of the featured matches after a death in his family.

  “Can this night get any worse? Poor Donnie. He would’ve been great. I hope he and the rest of his family are going to be okay,” Brett said.

  One of the managers glanced in his direction. “Kerrigan, you‘re going to be Malloy‘s replacement.”

  Brett‘s prior anger dissipated. “Me?”

  “You see anyone else here with the last name of Kerrigan?”

  “Hell no! Count me in!”

  Getting on the card—even under such sad circumstances—was a huge chance for Brett. As much as he felt terrible for Malloy, he was elated to be chosen. Plus there would be the ever-sought bonus for participating in a PPV event.

  He approached the ring, dancing in time with his theme as it blared through the arena. “Take a good look, bitches! Your boy Malloy isn‘t around tonight. They replaced him with a better man!”

  The crowd responded with displeasure, boos, and jeers.

  “Think I care? I never have and never will give a shit about any of you or what you think.”

  Three teenage boys threw items at Brett before security escorted them from the building.

  “Have a nice night, kids!” Brett called after them.

  The match was changed from the planned six-way tag team match to a gauntlet. The last man standing at the conclusion of the contest would be declared the winner. Kamsaki was eliminated by Brett when Slimy Shane Smith interfered.

  “Didn’t need any help from you, asshole!”

  Brett charged him. Smith blocked the move and grabbed him by the throat. Mel Moore hit a forearm and body drop.

  Moore performed a series of skilled moves. Smith blocked all of them and slammed Moore over the ropes. He and Moore were both eliminated by Brett with Slice of Kerrigan, his special finishing move that consisted of combining back flips with face locks.

  “So long, suckers!” he yelled with an evil laugh.

  Brett knocked down Pedro Gonzalez from behind as Kai Fong came to the ring. Fong attempted to whip Brett into the ropes, but he reversed it. Fong kicked him in the head for a near fall. Brett came back with punches and forearms. Fong attempted to whip him into the corner. Brett reversed with a sling shot. The move resulted in a double knock-out and Brett got up at the count of nine, defeating Fong.

  “Sayonara, Kai Fong!”

  Gonzalez hit a Run for the Border on Brett, but the smaller man refused to back down.

  “Not going to happen, Pedro, my boy.”

  Brett came back, delivering a perfect beat down on Gonzalez before blocking him in the corner several times. Soon, he had his opponent on the mat. “Don’t mess with me!”

  He almost had the win before Gonzalez pulled a ‘cheating’ move by putting a foot on the ropes when the refer
ee’s back was turned. As a result, the referee hadn’t noticed. Pedro pinned Brett for the victory.

  Oh, great. If I suggested a heel move, it would have been shot down in the creative meetings, but Gonzalez cheating can be written into the script and no one blinks and eye? Disgusted, he headed toward the locker room. He just wanted to have a shower and be alone for awhile.

  He stared at Malloy‘s empty locker. “Sorry I couldn’t do you proud, Donnie.”

  For the first time in seven years, he was considering handing in his resignation to the company. Maybe he would ride it out for a few more months before making a final decision. Jobbing to less talented—yet bigger stars—was not the goal Brett had in mind when he dreamed of becoming a wrestler.

  CHAPTER 3

  The entire show lasted a little over three hours. Karen’s press pass allowed her backstage access, and she had conducted several interviews with wrestlers. “I’d like to hang out a little longer in case Brett shows up.”

  The men were tired and ready to leave. “K, give it up. Dude may have gone back to the hotel and packed it in for the night,” Eddie said.

  She didn’t intend to walk away empty-handed. “I’d like to stay. There’s nothing but an empty house waiting for me, so I’m no hurry to leave.”

  Lou admired her determination and handed her money for cab fare. “The boys and I will head home and you can get a taxi when you’re finished. Sound like a deal?”

  “Are you serious?”

  “We all know how much getting a good story means to you, Karen. Now go make us proud. Be careful.”

  “Thanks, Lou. I’ll give you a call when I get home so you’ll know I made it.”

  “That’s our girl. Have fun.”

  One year earlier, Karen wrote a feature that made the front page of the sports journal where she was a wrestling correspondent. The story also received the attention of a top sports press association, who presented her with one of their prestigious awards.

  It hadn’t been a common wrestling story. She traced Brett’s roots as a shy, skinny kid from Olympia, Washington. He worked in a pizza parlor as a dishwasher to earn money for wrestling school before moving to San Antonio, Texas, and trained by wrestling legend Michael Sloane. He had a small movie role in 2001 and signed his first developmental wrestling deal a year later. Four months before his twenty-fourth birthday in 2003, Brett received his big break as a wrestler. He achieved something few in the business did before him—he overcame incredible odds by becoming successful in an industry once limited to much larger men.

  She planned to present him a copy, but meeting Brett didn’t happen. A determined woman when it came to getting a story, Karen made her way to the parking lot and hoped to catch a glimpse of him.

  *****

  When Brett discovered he was alone in the locker room, he grabbed a bag out of his locker. “Time for a special smoke.” Weed never killed anyone. I don’t know why anyone makes a big stink over something almost harmless. I have yet to hear of something called “weed rage.”

  The joint relaxed him right away and he didn’t hear Kamsaki, a Japanese cruiserweight who worked as a jobber and announcer for the past twelve years, enter the room.

  “Little man, what are you doing? You could have some serious trouble on your hands if you get caught.”

  “Saki, what’s your problem? Marijuana is used to treat glaucoma and cancer. There’s guys in this company that shoot speed, pop pills, and God knows what else. What's this going to do besides relax and calm me? Nobody died from smoking a joint.”

  “There’s legal and better ways to deal with those things.”

  “I tried those and none worked, which is why I resorted to weed."

  “You need to be careful, especially with management cracking down on the wellness issue. Now you should put that out before someone else comes in here and catches you. They won’t be as nice as I am.”

  "Management can kiss my ass." Brett put out the roach. He was starving and ready for the ubiquitous post-show dinner and subsequent activity of encountering fans.

  *****

  Karen waited in the parking lot a few minutes longer with some other fans who also watched several roster members emerge. “Well, looks like Brett isn’t showing, and I’m not standing in the cold any longer.”

  She went to a hotel across from the arena and found a small restaurant/lounge off near the main entrance.

  A waitress welcomed her, “What can I get you?”

  “A diet soda, please.” Focusing her eyes as best she could in the dim room, Karen realized there were other wrestlers present, doing everything from signing autographs from other customers to entertaining women. She guessed that they picked up the ladies somewhere else and brought them along. She wasn’t naïve to what men in the wrestling industry did with female fans while spending long periods of time on the road. It was probable that the young women would end up in a room or two upstairs with them before the night was over. “I remember doing the same thing when I was eighteen.”

  Taking in the room’s atmosphere, decorated with retro sports memorabilia and a 1950’s-style jukebox, there was no sign of Brett. Part of her didn’t expect a meeting to happen in the lounge either. When it came to being in the same room, the closest she had been to such an opportunity was from the press box watching him wrestle.

  She signaled the waitress for a second soda and called to order a taxi. The cab company had a backlog, which meant her earliest pick up time would be around one-thirty AM.

  “Just my rotten luck. The way things are going, maybe I should have ridden home with the guys.”

  Karen put the phone back in her bag. She pulled out a netbook, organized her notes, and started her feature on the show. Half an hour later, she was about to leave and go to the lobby when movement caught the corner of her eye.

  She adjusted her glasses. “Holy hell. Is that who I think it is?”

  Brett had walked in with some of his friends. They gathered at a table to her right and ordered drinks from the waitress who served Karen.

  Talk about a story just dropping into my lap! Looks like I won’t have to ask Mr. Sullivan a favor after all.

  Brett caught her eye. It’s that woman from the club where I was in a fight! He never forgot faces.

  Before she could speak, he smiled and asked if she was at the show. She nodded. “I’m a wrestling reporter. Congratulations on a job well done.”

  “Did you like it that much?”

  “Yes. The majority of writers and I gave positive feedback on your performance."

  “Most people show up to see the bigger stars.”

  “They’re all right, but I admit to finding the Cruiserweight Division more fascinating.”

  “While on the subject of confessions, I also have one to make.”

  “What?”

  “Remember being at another club this past summer when a fight broke out?”

  “I recall something of that nature. Why do you ask?”

  “Because the dude that fell in front of you afterward was me.”

  Her eyes widened. “I thought so! It was dark in the club. I couldn't get a better look to make sure. I'm sorry for being rude and rushing to get away.”

  “Don‘t worry about it,” he said with a laugh. “If I was in your position, I'd taken off after some strange guy landed at my feet too. But what were the odds you and I would cross paths again?”

  “Maybe meeting again tonight was an indication we were supposed to.”

  “As you can see, I survived before being ejected from the club. So how long have you been into wrestling?”

  “I’ve followed it since I was sixteen, but remember all your matches.”

  “Let me guess, either the singing telegram episode or the one where I was ‘streaking’.”

  “In fact, the first I remember was your initial Beat the Clock against Kris Arnell. Aside from when you lost by two seconds, the match was some of your best work.”

  “I didn’t think anyone r
emembered.” Brett was amazed anyone bothered to watch his early matches. Above all, a woman.

  The two of them talked awhile longer. They discussed wrestling and Brett’s career more in depth. Karen asked for a picture of them together. He agreed without hesitation and put an arm around her while one of the patrons at the next table took the photo. A few more followed before Brett gave Karen a personalized autograph.

  At one AM, he and his group were ready to leave. He stopped to shake her hand before going upstairs to his hotel room. "Nice to meet you.”

  Karen watched him leave before heading outside. “Mr. Sullivan‘s going to love this piece.” She stepped into a waiting cab and smiled all the way home.

  I did it. I just interviewed the Brett Kerrigan…

  CHAPTER 4

  The next morning, Brett tossed his bags in a corner of his hotel room. He managed to luck out again, as it was across the street from the venue where that night’s house show would be held.

  I wish my matches worked out as well.

  A woman who appeared to be in her late twenties accompanied him. They met at the airport when she approached Brett for a photo. He was attracted to her right away. Rachel was short in height with near-black hair cut in a pixie style. She had smooth skin, wide blue eyes, and a big, sexy butt. When he invited her to come to the hotel—his nerve worked up by both drinks he had consumed on the plane and a joint he’d smoked behind the airport terminal—she accepted right away.

  He had brought Rachel with the intention of spending time together in a platonic fashion, but it was clear chilling out in the room wasn’t what she had in mind. Brett was a little put off–at first. Unlike the other guys, he didn’t bring women to his room just to get laid. He forgot to pack condoms, so sex was out of the question. Even though his mind was a bit clouded, Brett figured he was off the hook.