The Legend of Brigaard Book One
Horace Armstrong
Copyright © 2019 by Horace Armstrong
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping, or by any information storage retrieval system, without the written permission of the publisher except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.
Table of Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 1
I was flung towards the corner at breakneck speed. The breath was knocked out of me, and I let out a small yelp as my back smashed into the turnbuckle. I crumbled to the mat bruised and battered. It was a hell of a way to earn $120, even if I was doing what I loved to do, what I aspired to make a career of - Pro Wrestling.
Pretty Eddie was busy preening to his adoring crowd. Like spectators in a Roman gladiatorial arena, they were baying for blood, my blood to be precise.
‘You alright Jake?’ It was Jay Cipriano, the referee and he looked apprehensive.
‘What the hell is he doing?’ I managed in between small choking gasps, my hand massaging my lower back region.
‘He’s out of control kiddo,’ Jay said with a grim face. ‘Hang in there.’
We were 15 minutes into the Orlando Hardcore Wrestling (OHW) tag team championship taking place in Timber Creek high-school basketball court. A small but voracious crowd of die-hard wrestling fans were being hugely entertained by the mauling I was getting from the current tag-team champions, favorites and crowd darlings: Pretty Eddie Jones and Brice - wild-man - Sampson.
‘Christ here he comes!’ I was wedged in the ring corner clutching my belly as Pretty Eddie aka Brandon Smith stamped his size 13 on the floor time after time, a signal of more violence to come. He was in the opposite corner urging me to straighten so he could perform one of his patented moves…the rear smear.
I could have moved out of the way, I could have made it to my tag-team partner, Cool Jude, who was chomping at the bits to come in but I was nothing if not a gamer. I would take my beating like a man because that’s how the match was scripted.
I closed my eyes and muttered a short prayer as Pretty Eddie, all 6’4 and 220 pounds of rock-solid muscle, hurtled towards me like a runaway train. At the last moment he turned his back and smashed into me with his ample rock solid butt. I took the full force of the hit in my solar plexus. As usual Eddie’s technique was terrible and instead of pulling out, he had gone all in, winding me badly. Clutching my tummy, I crumbled to the floor in pain and crawled slowly to the centre of the ring.
‘Come on dude, tag me.’ Cool Jude, my tag-team wrestling partner, was reaching out with his long muscular arms from our corner. There was a look of rage on his face. Even if I wanted to tag Cool Jude in I couldn’t, all the air had been knocked out of me and all I wanted to do was curl up and die. Cool Jude had started the match and tagged me in early, since then I had been hit with several illegal closed fists, drop kicked flush in the jaw, body slammed with excessive force onto the hard mat and generally tossed about with impunity by a maniac who disregarded all the rules of pro wrestling.
‘He’s going to his finishing move now. The Jack Hammer.’ Jay Cipriano said a worried look on his broad face. He was lying down next to me, as he was only 3 foot 11 he didn’t have long to go to reach the floor.
‘After that, it’s a wrap. You get the three count, they win, and hopefully, you live.’ He had barely finished when I felt myself being dragged up by my hair.
‘Th - the jackhammer?’ I asked Pretty Eddie hopefully. It was a finishing move, made famous by WWE wrestler Kevin Owens and copied (very poorly) by Pretty Eddie in which I would be slung into the ropes rebounding to be lifted upwards and slammed on to my back with devastating force. At the best of times it was excruciatingly painful; performed by someone as technically inept and unhinged as Pretty Eddie it was downright dangerous, but at least if I survived it would be over and done with.
‘The Jack hammer? Naaa, not yet bud…the crowd’s loving it,’ Pretty Eddy said, shouting to make himself heard above the din of the crowd.
The Eddies, a section of the crowd made up of rabid fans (mostly teenage and pre-teen girls) who adored Pretty Eddie, were baying like a pack of hyenas. They didn’t call Eddie “pretty” for nothing. He was 6’4 with dark curls, blue eyes and a chiselled tanned face that wouldn’t be out of place on a cheesy romantic book cover.
His physique was nothing short of perfection. Superbly muscled and perfectly tanned, he looked like he had been created as a limited edition prototype in a Greek god making factory. The girls loved him, and that’s why he was top billing in our second rate wrestling show despite the fact he had no wrestling skills whatsoever.
‘Whatdayamean?’ I blurted out in alarm. ‘The match’s to end now….owwwww!!’
He hurled me by my hair to the centre of the ring, tucked my head in the crook of his elbow, and drove it down into the mat with a sickening thud.
For a few minutes, I saw stars. I moaned in misery as I realized that he meant to prolong the match and my agony. Pretty Eddie turned towards the Eddies, posing and flexing his bulging muscles, sending his fans crazy.
‘Eddie’s gonna kill you - Eddie’s gonna kill you,’ they chanted.
I honestly feared for my life so while Eddie was preoccupied with his adoring and bloodthirsty fans, I crawled slowly to my corner and reached out to tag Cool Jude.
He slapped my hand and skipped over the ropes nimbly into ring. Lifting me up he said, ‘You alright dude? He was laying into you real good.’ I nodded barely able to talk.
‘I can’t do it anymore Jude - he’s nuts! You finish the match. Make it good and don’t mess up.’ There was a look in his eyes that I had never seen before as he stared at the broad, brown back of Pretty Eddie who was flexing, to his adoring fans, blissfully oblivious to the fact that I had tagged Jude in.
‘Don’t do anything crazy, Jude,’ I croaked as he strode purposely towards Eddie.
I should tell you at this point that Cool Jude is a behemoth. 6’7 255 pounds of rippling ebony muscle. He was a wrestling high school all American and a proud owner of a black belt in jiu-jitsu…Pretty Eddie was no slouch, but cool Jude was on another level of badness.
At this time Eddie turned, and his eyes widened as he saw Jude had tagged in. There must have been something in Jude’s eyes that warned of the impending danger because he yelped and tried to exit the ring as Jude crossed over in two graceful bounds. Jude grabbed a chunk of neon green pants and dragged him back into the ring, then quickly and expertly put him in one of those Brazilian jiu-jitsu arm-locks that could promptly snap a limb. ‘Shit…holy shit….holy shit…JUDE…quit it!’
Jay Cipriano was desperately trying to pry pretty Eddies arm from the arm-lock, but he might have well have been trying to move a mountain.
Pretty Eddie was tapping frantically now, his handsome face turning purple as he yelled in pain. Finally Jude came to his senses and released Eddie. I rushed into the ring and screeched to a halt in front of Cool Jude.
‘That will teach him,’ he muttered. There was a crazed look on his face.
Pretty Eddie was whimpering on the mat being attended to by the Jay Cipriano and a doctor.
Th
ere was a hush in the crowd, and most of them were on their feet, unsure if breaking the star man’s arm was part of the script.
‘You guys are in trouble now.’ The words were muttered by Pretty Eddie’s tag team partner, Brice who was in the centre of the ring, a worried look on his stupid broad features. ‘Biiiig trouble,’ he said, before crouching to check how many pieces Pretty Eddie’s arm had been broken into. Jay Cipriano turned to us with a grim face. ‘Well boys,’ he said, handing us the championsip belts, ‘I guess you are the new tag team champions.’
Jerry Cipriano, CEO Orlando Hardcore Wrestling (OHW) was unhappy, no, scratch that, Jerry Cipriano CEO Orlando Hardcore Wrestling (OHW) was incandescent with rage. ‘What the hell do you two morons think you were doing out there? Are you trying to ruin my business? Are you two douche-bags crazy?’
We were in the locker room dressing up after a quick shower. I slammed a locker door shut and turned around.
‘The crazy one is your poster boy Pretty Eddie. He’s a sociopath in tights. Just look at my face.’ He peered at my face, thick stubby fingers wrapped around a smoldering cigar. ‘Okay, so he’s not the best technician in the world,’ he said with a grimace as he noted my bruised multi-colored face. ‘But he’s our major draw. In our industry, charisma and swagger trumps technique.’
‘Not the best technician,’ Jay Cipriano scoffed. ‘That boy can’t wrestle for shit. He’s going to kill somebody one of these days and then where will your precious company be?’
Jerry Cipriano glared down at his younger brother who drew himself up to his full 3’11 inches height.
‘Technique,’ he boomed, ‘can be learned. Swagger can’t be. The cardinal rule of wrestling is that you stick to the script and the script,’ he turned to Jude and me, ‘was not for you two chumps to be tag-team champions.’
‘Look, Jerry,’ I said bristling, ‘that dude was hitting me with closed fists. Not just love taps, I’m talking Deontay Wilder like hay-makers. I tried to stick to the script, but the nut-job was enjoying maiming me so much he forgot that he had to win.’
Jerry Cipriano hopped from foot to foot and made a sound that sounded like a pregnant elephant in labor.
‘You are the experienced wrestler. You are the dude who's been wrestling for 6 years.’
He closed the gap between me and tapped my chest with his thick stubby finger. ‘You control the fight. You don’t tap in the psycho,’ he jerked his head in Jude’s direction, ‘who proceeds almost to rip our star attractions arm out. Do you know that girls were bawling their eyes out when he was stretchered off?’
‘Oh lay off them,’ Jay Cipriano said, coming in-between Jerry and I. ‘It’s a good thing he’s out of commission because that boy is only good for looking at. He can’t wrestle, he has only one functioning brain cell, and he is totally unable to follow the simplest instruction and is a general danger to anybody who gets in the ring with him.’
The two brothers glared at each other, the elder Cipriano was only 5’4, but he towered above his brother.
‘Why don’t you give real wrestlers a chance? When last did I get a match?’ Jay Cipriano continued. ‘Look, Jay, you don’t exactly get midget - sorry small people - wrestlers knocking down on my door, besides, you are the best referee we have.’
He turned to me. ‘Where are the belts?’ We were handed the belts by a confused Jay when Eddie had tapped out. We gave them to Jerry who draped them on his broad shoulders.
‘This is how it goes. Eddie’s the star draw. 50% of the fans come to see him. Okay, I admit his wrestling skills aren’t the best, but it just means that we will all have to help him along. From next week, if he’s up to it, Jake gives him extra lessons.’
‘I don’t have time for that moron,’ I said through gritted teeth.
‘You make time, or you are out. You are all lucky I don’t fire you for this mess.’
He pulled his trousers up to as his pouch would allow.
‘In 3 weeks, we are going to have Hardcore Gore 4. I have a lot on the line and you three,’ he pointed to us, in turn, a glower on his face, ‘are not going to ruin it for me.’
With that, he left, muttering curse words as he faded from view.
‘What a jerk,’ Jay said glaring after him. I groaned. The last thing I wanted to do was tutor Pretty Eddie on ring-craft. Jude, who had said, and generally says little, shrugged and buttoned up his shirt.
We trudged out to the parking lot and got into my battered 2001 Ford F-150 jalopy. We were all downcast and frustrated. As the most experienced wrestler in the ring, I knew I should have managed the match better and was now stuck with the prospect of spending valuable time with a certified mad-man. Jay was mad because he hadn’t had a proper match in years and Jude was fuming because he had missed an opportunity to break Eddie's arm.
After 20 minutes of steady driving, I pulled over beside the Orange Cavern bar. ‘Sure you guys don’t want a drink?’ Jay said, carefully exiting the car.
‘No thanks Jay,’ I said. Jude shook his head glumly. ‘Suit yourself. I’m going to get drunk and chat up some ladies.’ With that, he left for the bar, his tiny legs moving quickly.
Jude lived a couple of blocks from me. I drove in silence until we got to the house he shared with Mama Irene, his grandma. He got out. ‘Look, man,’ Jude said, lowering his bulk, so we were eye level. ‘I’m really sorry. I shouldn’t have done what I did. I know how much this wrestling thing means to you.’ I smiled. ‘Don’t sweat it, man. It was fun to watch him turning purple. Jude smiled back, thrust his massive hands in his trouser pockets and walked away.
I found my girlfriend drinking iced-tea and watching some chick flick on cable TV when I got home. ‘Hello kitten,’ I said and kissed her on the forehead, before plunking down next to her on the sofa. ‘Shit Jake Briggs, what the hell happened to you. Looks like you went a couple of rounds with Connor Mcgregor.’ She got up and brightened the light to get a better look. ‘Jesus, I thought wrestling was fake?’
‘Well it isn’t fake really, but we aren’t exactly meant to bash peoples face in like the MMA, but Eddie never got that memo.’
‘Eddie? You mean that total hottie?’ The look I gave her wiped the hypergamous smile off her face.
‘Oh dear I’m sorry, but you have to admit he is smoking. Not that he’s my type though. I prefer my men lean with just the hint of nerdy cool.’
‘Owww!!’ she had made to kiss me and touched my bruise making me wince.
‘Sorry.’ I shifted on the couch. I wasn't exactly the jealous type, but it stung that my girlfriend, the soon to be mother of my child, thought my mortal enemy was a “total hottie.”’
‘Oh cheer up and tell me what happened.’
I gave her an abridged version.
‘Well at least you are on record as being tag team champions,’ she said brightly. I gave her a, that’s-no-consolation-look and said, ‘We have to give that up next month. We don’t even get to keep our belts.’
‘So sowwey baby,’ she said in her fake baby voice which never failed to cheer me up. She was super cute in a Kirsten Stewart kind of way. Nice bright intelligent brown eyes in a heart-shaped face. The chin was a bit too prominent for her to be a classic beauty, but I was a sucker for her pouty lips and lean athletic frame.
‘Want a beer?’ She was already getting up and heading for the kitchen. Sure I said reaching for the remote control. I channel surfed until I found a soccer game then I heard her scream.
I got up and soon was with her in the kitchen.
‘What?’ I said, finding her staring out of the window.
‘He was there. My stalker…he was downstairs staring up at me.’ Her face was white as chalk and she shook as she spoke.
The first time Sally saw him was 3 weeks ago. She was home alone doing some washing up when she had sighted a tall, lean man, around 60 years of age, dressed in a grey coat and wearing a Minnesota Wild cap staring up at her from across the street. Sally was
so spooked she had called me at work, and I had to rush home to calm her down. The next time she saw him, she was driving into the street, and he was walking past; their eyes met, and she described them as “cold and dead.” The third time was 6 days ago, again she was in the kitchen, and he was on the street below, staring up at her impassively. That was the last straw, I had called the Police and made a report. There wasn’t a whole lot they could do but, they had given us good solid security advice and told us to make detailed notes of the sightings. From then on, whenever she wanted to leave the house, I accompanied Sally to her car, and she always had a co-worker from her work drive down with her and make sure she entered our apartment block safely.
I held Sally close to me. ‘Where the hell is he now?’ I asked.
‘He’s gone. But he was there alright…staring at me. I’m so scared Jake.’
‘Listen kitten, I’m going home to Miami and getting my gun.’
She looked up at me. ‘No Jake. I hate guns.’ I made an exasperated sound. ‘But this guy could be a psycho. I’m not going to wait and not do anything. I could never live with myself if anything happened to you.’
She smiled. ‘That’s cute Jake,’ and leaned in to give me a kiss. She sighed. ‘Okay Jake, but keep it away from me…somewhere safe.’ ‘Sure. How about that beer?’
Chapter 2
‘So that’s how I sold two paintings and a pot. Isn’t that great?’
I loved my Mum. Susan Briggs had her faults, but her quirky ways, infectious enthusiasm, and big heart always made me smile. She had just made 90 dollars selling some of her artwork which she conjured up in her basement and sold in a small craft shop in Aventura Miami, you would have thought she had won a million dollars in a lottery.
‘So,’ she said breathlessly. ‘What’s happening with you?’
I puffed on a cigarette and tapped ash on the street. Lunchtime was almost over at the Pizzeria where I worked at, but there was just enough time to fill her in on what was going on in my life. ‘Nothing much. I almost got concussed in my last wrestling match, and Sally has a stalker.’
The Legend of Brigaard Page 1