THE CRUISERWEIGHT
by
L. Anne Carrington
SMASHWORDS EDITION
PUBLISHED BY:
L. Anne Carrington on Smashwords
The Cruiserweight
Copyright © 2010 by L. Anne Carrington
All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.
Smashwords Edition License Notes
This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the author's work.
Acknowledgements
For Brian and Paul (aka The Hooliganz), who inspired the excellent adventures in my writing this book.
To every man and woman who risked their bodies and lives in the squared circle to entertain us each night—whether it is a local independent company or the world’s largest promotion.
To those aspiring wrestlers who dream of making it, and fans who love the sport and its stars, I thank you.
Special thanks to Tracey Washington (aka Irin) for designing The Cruiserweight’s front cover, Tim Hewston le Roux and his staff at Night Publishing, for all their hard work and believing in me.
chapter 1
Getting psyched was Brett's specialty, the kind of madness he needed for the championship. Tonight, he was wrestling Big Mac, one of the strongest contenders, and needed to be ready.
He was completing three hundred push-ups when the small locker room’s battered door swung open. “Five minutes, Kerrigan,” one of the assistants said. “You’re on in five.”
“Yeah!” Brett grunted from the floor on toes and fingers. “Thanks, Randy.”
The door slammed. He counted out three more pushups, “98…99…100!” He bounced to his feet. One of the smallest cruiserweights, Brett had an established reputation as the federation’s fastest wrestling superstar.
When his entrance music played, Brett sprinted with confidence past an excited crowd, his heart racing, ready to face the battle which lay ahead of him. The fans were on their feet, jeers ringing through the building as lights shone on his undersized physique.
“You suck!” a few fans yelled from the front row.
He picked up a microphone and taunted them in response. “Your mom sucks and swallows. I did her last night!”
“You’re an ass!”
“Thanks, I know I have a great ass!”
“Fuck you!”
“Sorry, I just dig chicks. Thanks for the offer, though.”
He was about to speak again when Big Mac’s music blared. Bodies leaned forward and attempted a closer look as the massive wrestler made his way to the ring, his eyes on Brett the entire time.
“Kick his ass, Big Mac!” a front row fan yelled.
“Not a problem, my friends,” he replied through his own microphone. “I’ll send Kerrigan crying all the way back to his mama.”
“Mac can send anyone away just by his body odor and showing his ugly face,” Brett spat from the ring. “You want a piece of me, Big Nose?”
“I’ll get more than just a piece, short ribs.”
Brett’s body tensed and his pulse soared, ready to fight. He flipped Mac the middle finger. “Come and get me, fat ass!”
The six-foot-six, two hundred and ninety-pound contender threw down his microphone, dove in the ring, and grabbed Brett. “You asked for it, boy! You‘ll live to regret running your big mouth, if I let you live that long!”
“Oh, you wanna play, huh? Try some of this, ape man.”
Scratching Mac's eyes, Brett returned blows, punches, and kicks. He felt considerable pain, but refused to show it. Furious, he gritted his teeth and attempted a high kick.
“Now, now,” Mac said with a mocking smile. “You must be this tall to kick the big man.”
Brett’s frustration with his opponent increased. “Enough of the short jokes, asshole!”
He went for a second high kick. Mac countered by grabbing Brett’s leg, causing him to lose his balance, and his nose smashed into the mat.
Mac wasn’t finished. He hoisted Brett above his head. “Time to go for a ride, but this isn’t the kiddy one!”
He smashed Brett into the center of the ring. The match was over in less than five minutes. The bell rang. Minutes later, he held his championship belt in the air as the fans stood and bayed their ovation.
Mac descended from the ropes and went over to Brett, who was sprawled on the mat. “Of all the little losers in this company, you’re by far the biggest! Not bad for someone who wanted to make a ‘big impact’!”
Once an exhausted Brett returned backstage and cleared his head after the bout, he came face to face with Mac, their eyes locking.
"Beer?"
"Does a bear shit in the woods?"
"Hope I wasn't too rough on you out there."
"Are you kidding? I've been roughed up more by my baby sister.”
Mac gave him a loud slap on the ass. “You’re the media’s star tonight. Everyone‘s wondering how the hell you managed to stand up to me without getting killed.”
Brett was the media’s main focus that night for his outstanding performance during the championship bout. He had achieved the unthinkable of lasting against Big Mac, despite losing the contest. Among the reporters watching from the sidelines was Karen Montgomery.
*****
After leaving the arena, Karen made her way to a nearby club. She managed to find a quiet corner and dialed her night editor, Eva Moore.
“Did you get any good quotes?” Moore asked, a code for wondering if Karen had met Brett.
“I did from a few of the people who competed tonight. If you’re wondering about Brett Kerrigan, the answer is no.”
“You need to be a little more aggressive, Karen. Try showing a little more cleavage while you’re in the press box.”
“I don’t think Brett is the type who cares about women flashing. Even if he did, I doubt he would bother with some random woman from the media showing her boobs. Anyone who has to resort to such tricks for attention isn’t taken seriously.”
“I was kidding. Keep on trying, honey. Maybe you’ll get lucky someday.”
“Eva, I’ve attended shows where Brett appeared and they ended with the same results. I don’t expect upcoming ones to be any different aside from doing my job. I may have to break down and ask the big boss to arrange a one-on-one interview. My own system doesn't seem to be working.”
“Why don't you talk to Sullivan? I'm sure he'd arrange something instead of you going through so much trouble alone to get an interview."
"I wouldn't be comfortable asking such a favor, especially with me being a fan of Brett's."
"You have no idea what the chief would do for his writers. Meanwhile, I look forward to seeing your story. Don‘t for
get the midnight deadline.”
“I’ll have it to you before. Thanks for everything."
*****
“Damn, check out the rack on that redhead, Pete!” one wrestler called out to another as the group looked over women who were patronizing Metropolitan, an upscale club often frequented by visiting athletes and celebrities in addition to the local regulars.
“You should hook up with her, Billy. You always did like babes with big tits.”
“Yeah, I’ve never bagged a redhead. Hey, Mac, see that group of blondes over there?”
“What about them?”
“Which one do you think would be a good lay?”
“Don’t know, man, but the tall one is sexy as fuck. Think you can get her number for me? There’s free beer in it for you.”
“Now there’s an offer I won’t turn down! Be right back, big guy.”
Brett was turned off by their behavior, but said nothing. He wasn’t in the mood for “little gentleman” jokes from Mac. Shy around women, he still had standards. From the time he was twelve, Brett preferred zaftig females. He figured his tastes were a result of having some resounding fear of gorgeous, skinny, upper class women. He couldn’t even ask one the time of day.
Now loosened by a few beers, he attempted to flirt with a pair of twins with killer figures. “Hello, hello, hello."
“Ugh,” the first twin replied, leaning away from him.
“Relax, I‘m not here to cause any trouble. Let’s be friends.”
“Get lost, loser.”
“Come on, play nice. I’d like to buy you a drink.”
“No. Leave us alone.”
A man stormed over and confronted Brett before he could proceed further. “Is there a problem?” he asked, glaring at Brett.
“We think this creep is hitting on us, Nathan,” the second twin answered.
“I was just being friendly,” Brett said.
“I suggest that you take your ‘being friendly’ somewhere else,” the man said. “These ladies don’t want you here.”
Brett heard his heart thumping and felt his skin prickle. The hairs rose on the back of his neck. He was driven into peak confrontation mode, as if he was preparing for another match.
“Oh yeah?” he asked in a sarcastic tone. “Apparently you don’t know who I am or you wouldn’t be acting like a big shot.”
The man laughed, “Is that a threat? You think I‘m scared of you? You‘re nobody!”
“I don’t threaten without following through, asshole. Maybe we can take care of business outside.”
“Outside?” the man asked, removing his jacket. “I can mop a loser like you up right here, right now.”
“Brett!” Mac called. “Get over here; he isn’t worth it.”
The stranger laughed louder. “Brett? What kind of name is that?”
“Let me show you, asshole.”
"You threatening me, boy?"
"Boy? I happen to be a real man, as you're about to find out." Brett jabbed him with his finger.
The man took a step forward, making an attempt to be intimidating. “You looking for a fight, boy?”
The man’s feat didn‘t have the desired effect. In addition to making an impact inside a wrestling ring, Brett proved to a gathering crowd he held his own battling men larger than he was outside of a professional setting.
Brett threw the first punch, connecting. His attacker staggered back, surprised by the force of the blow, before he came back and bore down on Brett like a missile. A bolt of energy pulsed out from the other man’s hands and the swing missed Brett, who expected it. The crowd whistled, hollered, and even tried to pull the two men apart. Brett flew toward his adversary with a well-executed kick.
His assailant was quick, ducking his counter-attack. Brett attempted several more swings and kicks. His shin connected with the back of the man’s ankles and swept his legs clean out from underneath him. With a grunt of annoyance, the man lost his balance and fell. Not giving in to his smaller nemesis, he rose back. With a rapid move, the man ducked right before Brett’s fist flew towards his chin.
Turning his head in a swift motion to one side, the responding blow shot past close enough for him to feel the wind of its passing. Brett grabbed his aggressor’s forearm in one hand. He powered out his other hand in an open-palmed blow. His palm landed with a satisfying thump high on his attacker’s chest, eliciting a rush of exhalation.
He felt the stranger’s arm and hand twist against his thumb, not one of his strongest grip areas. Brett‘s grip, however, was anything but weak. When the stranger broke free, he clamped Brett’s wrists and landed behind him. His forearm went across Brett’s throat. The other man’s knee slammed into Brett’s spine. He grunted in surprise and pain.
People from both sides tried to break up the fight without success. Brett broke free of the man’s viselike grip, leaped onto his nemesis in one swift motion, and sent both of them to the floor. Brett yanked him up and threw additional punches to the man’s face. One sharp blow landed on his nose. Brett finished by kicking his adversary in his right knee. The attacker landed on the table with a thundering crash. Splinters stabbed into the other man’s slightly muscled arms. Blood flowed from his nose.
While his rival lay in a crumpled heap being attended to by the twins and a few other friends, Brett hooted in victory and jumped up on another table to thunderous applause of other customers. He danced in time to the thumping techno music and reveled in the newfound attention several females began to lavish on him.
The triumph was short-lived. Brett lost his balance and fell off the table. He landed near a woman’s feet. He looked up and saw a lovely brunette with a voluptuous body.
Before he could catch up to her and apologize, Brett and the other man were ejected from the club. Bruised and stiff, he was accompanied by Big Mac back to their hotel, where he helped clean up Brett.
“You check out how I fucked up that dude? All bloody and his fancy clothes torn up! I kicked major ass!”
“Yeah, and you’re lucky to only have been thrown out of the place and not carted off to jail for breaking the guy’s nose.”
“He should’ve shut up while he was ahead. You know what? I wish I’d met the lady I almost knocked down before getting kicked out. Guess I’m meant to be alone.”
“No way, bro. A real babe is going to come along when you least expect it.”
“Face it, Mac, the steady love in my life is wrestling.”
“Shit. Tell me that in a year. Meanwhile, just stick with the chubby chasing you dig so much.”
*****
Brett was still stiff and bruised from the nightclub altercation when he arrived in Portland for a show three days later. Not one to opt out of the ring unless he had a major injury, he was ready to face Oscar Cortez, a Mexican cruiserweight known for the bright-colored masks he often wore.
He did his usual backstage preparation of push-ups on the concrete floor, pull-ups on water pipes outside of the locker room, jogged in place, and sneaked outside to smoke a joint before getting dressed.
Instead of arriving to his music, Brett was waiting in the ring while Cortez arrived to a thundering, enthusiastic crowd, lights shining, signs waving, cheers and claps almost drowning out his theme.
The match began with the two circling the ring before locking up. Brett shoved Cortez away and taunted him. They circled each other again and Cortez kicked him. He had a move reversed on him by Brett. Cortez countered by jumping over him. Brett’s next action was so quick, a whoosh sound could be heard by those seated in the first two rows. Cortez flew over the top rope, but missed his target when Brett dove outside.
Cortez threw Brett back into the ring. He leaped up and kicked Cortez in the back. Brett knocked his masked opponent down before pinning him for a one count.
“I’m going to beat you for that one,” Brett muttered in Cortez’s ear, trying not to laugh.
“Bring it on, white boy.” Cortez too was making an effort not to grin.
> “You getting smart with me?”
"No. Just going to kick your ass.”
"Don't get smart with me, boy.”
“I promise I won’t be too rough with you, Kerrigan.”
“Better not. Otherwise, I’ll have Mac turn you into a burrito when we get backstage.”
Wrestlers often shared such banter when they were facing away from the crowd. It both eased the tension of the match in progress and kept both contenders focused.
He sat Cortez on the top rope and attempted to flip him to the mat, but as if he had invisible wings, Cortez flew over Brett, ducking a forearm swing and landing on Brett for a near fall. Brett cut him off with a kick and tried to flip him. Cortez knocked Brett down and rolled onto him for another near fall.
“I should rip off your mask right now and show everyone your freak face,” he joked in Cortez’s ear.
“Why? They’re too busy laughing at yours.”
Cortez performed one of his famous aerial moves to thunderous applause. Brett responded with his own high-flying style, landing on his opponent. Cortez tried to get to the ropes, but Brett dragged him back to the center of the ring.
“Shit, dude, I didn’t hurt you, did I?”
“No, blondie, I’m cool. Just go for trying to take me down like the script read.”
Cortez shifted his weight and Brett lifted him, but Cortez rolled down, pulling Brett into position with him. Cortez performed his successful Crash Landing finishing move for the win.
After the match, Brett was pissed. He glared at the fans and shoved the referee. Big Mac started walking toward him. He approached Brett with a brief glare. Brett shrugged Mac off before making his exit.
“I swear to Christ, you have to be the toughest cruiserweight to beat,” Brett said when they were backstage. “Good match, Oscar.”
“Thanks, holmes. I should be surprised you lasted as long as you did tonight, but I’m not.”
The Cruiserweight Page 1