Post by theravenmattknox on Jun 5, 2021 2:27:02 GMT -5
It all felt like a dream.
As 2019 turned into 2020, he was in a warm heroin filled haze, laid up in that big, angry house in Monterey. His mind lost to the waves of the ocean, grasping desperately at the chemical lie to numb the pain he had inflicted upon himself. The failure, a whole career thrown away. Failing as a Husband to a woman he never should have married. And finally, the wound that he never thought could heal, the distance between him and his children.
He traced an idle finger over the rim of the glass in front of him, glasz eyes staring at the way the sun was caught within the Arnold Palmer, deftly spiked with vodka. The diner was off the beaten path, somewhere near the Nevada-California border. He eyes raise to the window as a nondescript white Crown Victoria pulled into the tiny parking lot. The inhabitant, a nondescript elderly white gentleman carrying a beaten briefcase and dressed in a grey polo and khakis, shuffled into the establishment.
His stride doesn’t break as the chime of the bell brings a waitress’ attention to him. He grumbles a drink order, and immediately begins toward Knox’s table, sitting across from him.
“You’re a real son of a bitch.” A voice that sounded like gravel in a blender, “And you owe me two tanks of gas.”
“Could be one if you’d give up the boat.”
“Says the guy in the V12 Jag.”
At this, a self aware smirk broke across Matthew’s face as he glanced up at his companion.
“Hello Walter, I’ve missed you.”
“Eat shit.”
“I’d much more recommend the Key-Lime Pie.” came Knox’s snark as the elderly gentleman, his face weathered and clinging tighter to the skull beneath than it did in his youth but still somehow drooping but with the steel blue eyes of a younger more virile man sat access from him.
“Two tanks of gas, that’s a hundred and forty. Plus my mileage. Plus the fee we discussed, plus 10%.” Walter lifted the briefcase he carried onto the table, opening it deftly and grabbed a manilla folder, and a large envelope. Knox scooped a bit of the aforementioned key lime pie into his mouth, processing the math silently as he chewed.
“Okay. But why?”
“Because, whoever this is? They wanted it buried, and when you drop it on them I'm going to be a target by the big son of a bitch if I'm ever found out.” At this sentiment, Knox motions in agreement with the fork.
“Know that I am appreciative of your risk, Walter and if you needed to disappear I'd liquidate everything to make it happen for you.”
A snort from the man who shook his head, “It ain’t worth all that. Much as I ‘d hate to go out being balled up like tin foil, at my age? How much time is he really going to steal?” a smirk from Walter and a grim smile from Knox, the moment shattered instantly as Walter continued “Now, pay me so I can get on the road back. I don’t want to witness anything in the silver state.”
Matthew reached into his leather jacket, an oddity for the desert but, he was an oddity in life. He produces a checkbook and a cheap bic pin. He sets to filling it out before answering him.
“And the other thing?”
“It’s there. Don’t know for the love of god why, but.it’s there.” The man plucks the outstretched check from Knox’s slender fingers before sliding right back out of the booth. He shuffles a few steps away before stopping, and looking over his shoulder.
“I don’t know what you’ve gotten into, kid. I don’t want to either. But just remember, before you go doin somethin stupid as you’re apt to, that you got kids who need their dad,” a pause “Now that they got them.”
Knox didn’t answer or show even one card in his hand, lifting the arnold palmer to his lips and taking a long drink while staring blankly ahead. Walter let out an exasperated sigh and shook his head, before shuffling away and out the door. Soon lost to the ether as quickly as he sprung out of it. No doubt, deleting Knox’s number from his phone after blocking it.
And so, Matthew reached out, retrieving the first of the documents. Birth Certificates, buried contracts to dead promotions...and lo and behold. Thomas Rivers. He smirked, eyes gleaming with satisfaction.
“Well...there’s 30 pieces of silver from the universe, eh Tom?” he stares at SuMa’s scarless face, quietly wondering about the man he used to be. A childish part of him wanted to find a way to help, but it was quickly driven under by the logic that to be able to do the things he had done now? Not something formed overnight. He was always Evil...just great at lying to everyone. Maybe even himself.
And if not? Well..Dogs aren’t born rabid either, but when they turn it...they die.
Deftly, he slid the papers back into their envelope before turning his attention to the other decidedly expensive gift Walter had brought him. He feels that cold at the nape of his neck, his muscles suddenly cramping and weighted as he swore the air evaporated from his lungs. With a sneer he pushed through, and opened the envelope, pouring its contents onto the table.
First was a polaroid, one that stilled his heart and froze his core further.
Those big eyes, perpetually lined in the darkest of eyeshadow. Green as emeralds and as piercing as a knife to his heart. Long, cascading locks of raven black hair that spilled past her toned shoulders.
Charlotte Knight….or as she was known to the wrestling world, Charlie James.
He let out a shaky exhale as he picked the photo up gently between thumb and forefinger, taking a moment to stare at her as he shoves the forming lump in his throat down into his stomach. He turned the photo face down, setting it upon the table. He noticed a note jotted but paid it no mind as he read through the Monterey County Coroner’s Report.
It was unspectacular and brought a sense of relief to him. August the 20th, 2007. Cause of Death: Suicide by Jumping. The autopsy photos had all been blacked out. No doubt a mercy by Walter that amounted to little more than a nice gesture. Her twisted, broken body was forever imprinted on his mind.
He flipped another page, finding simply a blank piece of paper with “READ THE BACK OF THE PHOTO” scrawled on it. He scoffed and shook his head at it, before picking the photo up and reading the back.
A task of one second suddenly brought his entire world to a screeching halt. The cold had spread from his neck to the bottom of his feet and the air left him. His heart froze and the world ceased to exist, except for the note written by a hand unfamiliar to him.
“Charlie, Stoke on Kent. New Years Eve 2009.”
As 2019 turned into 2020, he was in a warm heroin filled haze, laid up in that big, angry house in Monterey. His mind lost to the waves of the ocean, grasping desperately at the chemical lie to numb the pain he had inflicted upon himself. The failure, a whole career thrown away. Failing as a Husband to a woman he never should have married. And finally, the wound that he never thought could heal, the distance between him and his children.
He traced an idle finger over the rim of the glass in front of him, glasz eyes staring at the way the sun was caught within the Arnold Palmer, deftly spiked with vodka. The diner was off the beaten path, somewhere near the Nevada-California border. He eyes raise to the window as a nondescript white Crown Victoria pulled into the tiny parking lot. The inhabitant, a nondescript elderly white gentleman carrying a beaten briefcase and dressed in a grey polo and khakis, shuffled into the establishment.
His stride doesn’t break as the chime of the bell brings a waitress’ attention to him. He grumbles a drink order, and immediately begins toward Knox’s table, sitting across from him.
“You’re a real son of a bitch.” A voice that sounded like gravel in a blender, “And you owe me two tanks of gas.”
“Could be one if you’d give up the boat.”
“Says the guy in the V12 Jag.”
At this, a self aware smirk broke across Matthew’s face as he glanced up at his companion.
“Hello Walter, I’ve missed you.”
“Eat shit.”
“I’d much more recommend the Key-Lime Pie.” came Knox’s snark as the elderly gentleman, his face weathered and clinging tighter to the skull beneath than it did in his youth but still somehow drooping but with the steel blue eyes of a younger more virile man sat access from him.
“Two tanks of gas, that’s a hundred and forty. Plus my mileage. Plus the fee we discussed, plus 10%.” Walter lifted the briefcase he carried onto the table, opening it deftly and grabbed a manilla folder, and a large envelope. Knox scooped a bit of the aforementioned key lime pie into his mouth, processing the math silently as he chewed.
“Okay. But why?”
“Because, whoever this is? They wanted it buried, and when you drop it on them I'm going to be a target by the big son of a bitch if I'm ever found out.” At this sentiment, Knox motions in agreement with the fork.
“Know that I am appreciative of your risk, Walter and if you needed to disappear I'd liquidate everything to make it happen for you.”
A snort from the man who shook his head, “It ain’t worth all that. Much as I ‘d hate to go out being balled up like tin foil, at my age? How much time is he really going to steal?” a smirk from Walter and a grim smile from Knox, the moment shattered instantly as Walter continued “Now, pay me so I can get on the road back. I don’t want to witness anything in the silver state.”
Matthew reached into his leather jacket, an oddity for the desert but, he was an oddity in life. He produces a checkbook and a cheap bic pin. He sets to filling it out before answering him.
“And the other thing?”
“It’s there. Don’t know for the love of god why, but.it’s there.” The man plucks the outstretched check from Knox’s slender fingers before sliding right back out of the booth. He shuffles a few steps away before stopping, and looking over his shoulder.
“I don’t know what you’ve gotten into, kid. I don’t want to either. But just remember, before you go doin somethin stupid as you’re apt to, that you got kids who need their dad,” a pause “Now that they got them.”
Knox didn’t answer or show even one card in his hand, lifting the arnold palmer to his lips and taking a long drink while staring blankly ahead. Walter let out an exasperated sigh and shook his head, before shuffling away and out the door. Soon lost to the ether as quickly as he sprung out of it. No doubt, deleting Knox’s number from his phone after blocking it.
And so, Matthew reached out, retrieving the first of the documents. Birth Certificates, buried contracts to dead promotions...and lo and behold. Thomas Rivers. He smirked, eyes gleaming with satisfaction.
“Well...there’s 30 pieces of silver from the universe, eh Tom?” he stares at SuMa’s scarless face, quietly wondering about the man he used to be. A childish part of him wanted to find a way to help, but it was quickly driven under by the logic that to be able to do the things he had done now? Not something formed overnight. He was always Evil...just great at lying to everyone. Maybe even himself.
And if not? Well..Dogs aren’t born rabid either, but when they turn it...they die.
Deftly, he slid the papers back into their envelope before turning his attention to the other decidedly expensive gift Walter had brought him. He feels that cold at the nape of his neck, his muscles suddenly cramping and weighted as he swore the air evaporated from his lungs. With a sneer he pushed through, and opened the envelope, pouring its contents onto the table.
First was a polaroid, one that stilled his heart and froze his core further.
Those big eyes, perpetually lined in the darkest of eyeshadow. Green as emeralds and as piercing as a knife to his heart. Long, cascading locks of raven black hair that spilled past her toned shoulders.
Charlotte Knight….or as she was known to the wrestling world, Charlie James.
He let out a shaky exhale as he picked the photo up gently between thumb and forefinger, taking a moment to stare at her as he shoves the forming lump in his throat down into his stomach. He turned the photo face down, setting it upon the table. He noticed a note jotted but paid it no mind as he read through the Monterey County Coroner’s Report.
It was unspectacular and brought a sense of relief to him. August the 20th, 2007. Cause of Death: Suicide by Jumping. The autopsy photos had all been blacked out. No doubt a mercy by Walter that amounted to little more than a nice gesture. Her twisted, broken body was forever imprinted on his mind.
He flipped another page, finding simply a blank piece of paper with “READ THE BACK OF THE PHOTO” scrawled on it. He scoffed and shook his head at it, before picking the photo up and reading the back.
A task of one second suddenly brought his entire world to a screeching halt. The cold had spread from his neck to the bottom of his feet and the air left him. His heart froze and the world ceased to exist, except for the note written by a hand unfamiliar to him.
“Charlie, Stoke on Kent. New Years Eve 2009.”