PROMO: Road Trippin'

[Toxxic 0]

Twenty minutes after Ground Zero goes off the air

 

Parking Lot of the Gund Arena

 

 

Michael Stephens strides through the alternating patches of light and shade cast by the neon overhead. His black holdall is over his shoulder, once more securely containing the SWF World Heavyweight Title. JJ Johnson gave him a hard fight, but he came through it in the end. However, he's not taking much pleasure in the win. He has other things on his mind. He just wants to get out of here.

 

"Hey! Hey, wait up!"

 

The distinctive voice of Landon Maddix interrupts him as Stephens opens the boot of his car (and boot it is, and will always be to him, no matter how often the Americans around him call it a trunk), and the World Champion slings his bag in before slamming it shut. He doesn't look around, instead heading for the driver's door. Amy sometimes rides with him, but she'll have to find some other transportation tonight. He's not in the mood for company, especially since waiting around means he'll have to talk to Landon.

 

"Mike!"

 

Stephens opens the car door, but Landon reaches him and grabs him by the arm to stop him. For a moment Stephens considers swatting his tag team partner's hand away, then sighs and turns.

 

"What the bloody hell do you want?" he demands, not bothering to keep the tiredness and irritation out of his voice.

 

"I want to know what's going on," Landon replies, "who the hell was that back in the Gund earlier?"

 

"His name's Gabriel Drake," Stephens replies, turning to get into the car, "if you want to know more about him, go ask him."

 

"I'm asking you," Maddix says, not letting go, "because you know."

 

"Well, maybe I'm not in the mood for talking," Stephens retorts, removing Maddix's hand from his arm. He turns to get in the car again... then is suddenly hauled backwards, spun around and rammed against the side of the vehicle. He finds Landon with a hold of his shirt with both hands, face thrust forwards and clearly not in a mood to take no for an answer.

 

"You'd better be," Maddix snaps, "dammit Toxx, I'm your tag team partner now! Like it or not, we have to work together! How the hell am I meant to work with you if I don't know what's going on! Believe it or not, I will cover your back," he continues, staring Stephens straight in the eye, "but I can't do that if i don't know what I'm covering it from. This guy Drake; is he going to attack you? Am I going to be left without a partner? Is he going to attack me because I'm tagging with you?" He releases Stephens and steps back, regarding the Englishman with a steady gaze. "I think I'm owed that much, don't you?"

 

Michael Stephens, evidently taken aback by Landon's physicality, eases himself off the car and stares back at his former enemy, current tag team partner and general annoyance. His lips purse for a moment while he considers... then he nods towards the passenger door. "Get in."

 

"Huh?" Landon says, "hey, no way. I've seen the way you drive."

 

"Suit yourself," Stephens says, turning to get back into the car, "but if you want to know the deal, you get in. I'm not staying here." Landon watches him for a second, then sighs and runs up, slides across the car's hood to the other side before opening the door and clambering in. Stephens turns and looks at him.

 

"You sure you don't want me to wind the window down so you can swing in?" he asks levelly. Landon grins back at him.

 

"Down here in Hazzard County, we don't much hold with tag partners holdin' out on each other," the Dakotan drawls. Stephens rolls his eyes, throws the car into reverse and backs out of the parking bay. A few minutes later and they're on the open road.

 

 

* * *

 

 

"So, Drake," Landon prompts when Stephens shows no immediate sign of spilling the beans, "who is he?"

 

"He's a second generation wrestler," Stephens replies. "I used to train with him in Atlanta, four or five years ago."

 

"OK," Maddix says, "he said he'd been away for four years. Where was he?"

 

"In jail."

 

"...you know, of all the possible answers, that was probably the one I didn't want to hear," Landon mutters. "Why was he in jail? Please tell me it was for fraud, or something non-violent like that?"

 

"Manslaughter," Stephens replies shortly, not looking around. Maddix winces. "Right," La Cucaracha says, "and he hates you... why?"

 

"Believe it or not, we used to be best friends," Stephens says with a snort of humourless laughter. "But then we had... a bit of a falling out."

 

"And that made him hate you?"

 

"Possibly," Stephens shrugs, always a worrying manoeuvre when holding a steering wheel, "but mainly I think it was because I put him in jail."

 

"...you did WHAT?" Landon asks, incredulous, "what the hell were you, Federal Marshall at age 19 or something?"

 

"No," Mike says. "No, I testified against him. I testified against my best friend and he got sent down on a charge of manslaughter. Now he’s out. He’s been hitting the weights while inside, it looks like he’s got three sixes tattooed on the back of his neck, and although I can’t prove it I know that he broke the leg of a guy called Karl that we knew while we were training, having assaulted another wrestler to get his costume and mask so that Karl wouldn’t know it was him. He’s coming for me.” He turns to look at Landon for a moment, and the look in his steel-grey eyes stops Maddix from demanding that he look at the damn road.

 

“I can’t tell you what he’s going to do Landon,” Stephens says soberly, “because I don’t know the man anymore.” He looks back in front of him, causing La Cucaracha to breathe a little easier- there’s no traffic around, but still. “This isn’t something that came from wrestling, either. Sure, we trained together but…” he shakes his head, agitated, “this isn’t about wrestling, this is about his life. He’s lost four years and God knows what else due to me. He seems to have picked the wrestling ring as the way to get his revenge, to embarrass me in the arena I’m best known, but I don’t know if he’ll lose patience, or maybe he’s just planning to jump me when I’m not looking.”

 

“You sure do pick ‘em,” Landon says, sighing and turning to look at the road ahead. A few seconds later he feels his tag team partner’s eyes on him. “What?”

 

“You were trying to break my neck six weeks ago,” Stephens says levelly.

 

“It’s not like I succeeded,” Maddix protests, “c’mon, can’t you ever let things go?”

 

“I swear,” Stephens mutters, “I’d crash this bloody car if I wasn’t worried that I’d be stuck for eternity with you.”

 

“But it means you won’t crash!” Landon beams. “At least,” he adds, “hopefully not on purpose…?”