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    Wrestler 6: Wrestler, #6
    Wrestler 6: Wrestler, #6
    Wrestler 6: Wrestler, #6
    Ebook290 pages4 hours

    Wrestler 6: Wrestler, #6

    By charles fisher

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    About this ebook

    More adventures in pro wrestling with the most insane outlaw organization. Gooley takes things to a new level.

    LanguageEnglish
    Publishercharles fisher
    Release dateMay 23, 2018
    ISBN9781386451310
    Wrestler 6: Wrestler, #6

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      Book preview

      Wrestler 6 - charles fisher

      Table of Contents

      Wrestler 6 | Bad Girls and Pizza

      The End | Gooley and the gang will return in Wrestler 7; God, Guns, Guts, and Girls

      Wrestler 6

      Bad Girls and Pizza

      ––––––––

      World Wrestling Alliance Headquarters

      Bridgeport, Connecticut

      January, 2012

      ––––––––

      Beautiful, Gooley said as he looked around from his new office in the WWA Arena. This is the big time.

      This is Yid time, Lola said. Where’s my raise?

      See Murray, Gooley said as he went through some documents.

      Murray is The Ghost of Paychecks Past, Lola said. Every time I go in his office, he ain’t there. He’s like that old Hebe who went through Malibu Beach to get away from the He Gypped Me guys.

      That’s because he’s afraid of you. Do you blame him?

      Fuck him, I want my raise. This goes back almost a year.

      All right, Gooley sighed. He picked up his phone. Murray? Jim. Come into my office. Yes, she’s here. No, she won’t kill you. I said now. He slammed the phone down.

      Five minutes later, Murray Rosenstein poked his head through the door and looked at Lola.

      Get in here, Gooley said.

      Murray, who stood all of five foot six, came in. He was dressed in plaid wool slacks, an ancient black Ban-lon Polo shirt with an alligator over the pocket, and Penny Loafers. He wore thick black framed glasses and had thinning hair combed straight back. He wore a Mickey Mouse watch on his skinny white arm. He smelled of Ben-Gay and Jade East.

      Yes, boss? he said as he skillfully skirted Lola and sat down.

      Lola didn’t get her raise. It goes back almost a year. What’s the problem?

      I never got the memo, Murray said, eyeing Lola, who started unbuttoning her jeans.

      I sent it three times, Gooley said. I want this fixed, and now. You will go back to your office, calculate her new rate of pay, and cut her a check. Either that check will be in her hands by the end of business today, or you will. I don’t think you want that to happen.

      Yeah, Yid, Lola grinned. You like to eat it?

      I.... what do you mean, eat it? Murray said, his eyes darting around the room. I’m an accountant, not a porn star.

      You stupid or something? Lola laughed. You kikes are all the same. You got a big tongue when it comes to shoving it in a corned beef sandwich, but not a girl’s pussy or ass. If I don’t get my money, I’m going to introduce your Hebrew face to my Irish pussy. How would you like that?

      I’ll uh, go review your file. You’ll have your check by tonight. How much is she getting paid, Jim?

      Gooley leaned over and whispered into Murray’s ear.

      What? Murray exclaimed, clutching his chest. You can’t be serious.

      I am, Gooley said. Lola is top level talent, even though she hasn’t wrestled in so long we can’t remember.

      Fuck you, Jimmy the Jew, Lola snarled. Make me a match. I’ll fight.

      You’re on, Gooley grinned. Next Mayhem, the inaugural edition.

      I got no inaugural, Lola snapped. I got  a clean pussy.

      And I am sure Murray will be able to testify to that fact tomorrow if you don’t get your check.

      Hear that, Yid? Lola grinned. Murray Murray, suck what’s furry.

      Murray got up and bolted for his office, a look of abject terror on his face. Thirty minutes later, he presented Lola with a check for forty thousand dollars.

      You sure you didn’t fuck me, you Sheeny bastard? Lola squinted.

      No, Murray squeaked; he  ran for his office and locked the door.

      He’s been slacking off lately, Gooley mused. I think it’s time to teach him a little lesson. Like a wrestling match on Mayhem.

      He’ll croak in the ring, Lola giggled.

      Go buy some trashy underwear, Gooley sighed. Are you happy now?

      Yeah, Lola sighed. I got to go help somebody with this money. Thanks, Jim. You ain’t as cheap a Jew fuck as I thought you were.

      If that’s a compliment, I’ll take it. Who do you need to help?

      Just some girl I was in the joint with, Lola said. Don’t worry about it. We all learn to do the right thing in the end.

      I’ll help too, Gooley said as Lola left. You know I will.

      I know, Lola said. I’ll let you know. I think she can make the roster next year.

      More girls, Gooley said as he put his head in his hands. What did I ever do to deserve this.

      Monday Night Mayhem TV Show

      Bridgeport, Connecticut

      January, 2012

      ––––––––

      Okay, okay, get into your seats, you filthy diseased  arseholes, Creighton sighed. You too, Miss Coleman.

      Why don’t you shut up and go fuck yourself? Ann yelled.

      Because I cannot, and no one could accomplish that evil feat with you, considering that you are never in the proper position. You are always eating.

      I got something you can eat, Ann leered, holding up a Salami and Provolone grinder. You can stick your little Limey tongue between the cheese and the meat, and slurp away.

      That grinder  does resemble your poisonous loins, although the smell of the cheese is not quite the same, Creighton grinned. Limburger would be more appropriate.

      Why you creep, Ann huffed as the audience roared. Tyler, help me.

      Nobody can help you, Miss Coleman, Tyler sighed. Mr. Creighton is correct. Your nether region has been  infested by bums and homeless people, and stinks of a rot no human has ever experienced before.

      You bastard, Ann laughed. You’re always on their side. Ann stood up on her chair. Who’s on my side! she yelled. "I’m from Bridgeport. I own The National Informant!"

      "Dirty fucking rag! Dirty fucking rag! Dirty fucking rag!" the audience chanted.

      Bastards, Ann  grumbled as she sat down. My newspaper is of the highest quality.

      Like that hole between your legs that anybody can rent for forty dollars, Tyler sighed.

      Sixty, Ann snapped. I don’t come cheap.

      Face down, ass up, fifty bucks, Shannon grinned. It’s on your paper’s website.

      That was a joke! Ann yelled. I’m a good girl.

      You haven’t been a good girl since 1960, Tyler laughed.

      I wasn’t even born yet in 1960, Ann huffed. Look at me. I’m hot. Where would you ever see a woman as beautiful as me?

      The Monkey House? Shannon giggled.

      Don’t bring that up, Ann warned. Zippy and I were just friends. He was my Grandma’s pet. Shut up and watch the matches.

      Creighton looked down at his clip board and burst out laughing. This can’t be, he said. Although it promises to  be most entertaining. Introducing first, weighing.......... never mind, she’ll beat me up if I tell you; from lovely Bridgeport, Connecticut, a girl who is cheaper than Mr. Gooley bargain hunting at a fifty percent off sale at Wal-Mart, the Maven of Makeup, Miss Lola Avon.

      Lola came down the ramp to the strains of Beautiful Dreamer as she whacked away at her gum.

      "The theme from Mighty Joe Young?" Tyler laughed.

      Well, Lola has been known to monkey around, Ann said. Nobody laughed. Fuck all of you, she snapped. That was funny.

      And her unfortunate opponent, from nearby Fairfield, Connecticut, weighing 129 pounds, he is Mr. Gooley’s personal accountant and hasn’t left a tip since high school, Mr. Murray Rosenstein.

      Murray, who had to be hunted down and captured by Billy Jo and Denise when he found out what Gooley had planned for him, was brought out by Tracy. He was strapped to a hand truck as the them from Fiddler On The Roof played. The crowd hooted as Tracy undid the restraints and threw Murray into the ring. He was wearing pink wrestling tights and boots; the Star of David graced his skinny backside. He stared at Lola in utter horror as Murdoch gave the instructions.

      Jim the Anvil Neidhart you ain’t, Lola grinned. He could get away with wearing pink. You can’t, you Yid nerd.

      You got your check and your raise, Murray squeaked. Tracy sat down in a chair on the ramp to make sure Murray couldn’t get away.

      Yeah, and it only took a year, Lola said. Did I get interest on my money?

      Interest? Murray gasped, clutching his chest.

      I guess not, Lola said. We’ll go over that later, Hebe. Right now you gotta fight me. Get to it.

      I......... I can’t, Murray squealed. I don’t know how. I don’t hit girls, either.

      Good, Lola grinned. That means I can beat your ass and you won’t do anything to stop me.

      Murdoch called for the bell, and Lola grabbed Murray in a side headlock. She slowly pushed his face closer and closer to her groin as the audience howled. Murray thrashed around, but he couldn’t get away. Lola ground her crotch into his face for a minute, then threw him into a corner. She gave him the rodeo face ride, then dragged him to the center of the ring by his feet.

      Time to fly, Yid, Lola laughed, and gave Murray a Giant Swing. After about ten revolutions, she dropped him. He tried to stand up, but couldn’t. Lola met Tracy at the ropes; Tracy handed over a pair of scissors. Lola proceeded to cut away Murray’s tights; she yanked them free, leaving him stark naked in the middle of the ring.

      Good God, Gooley laughed in the back. You better find me another accountant, he said to Billy Jo as the cameras pulled back and avoided showing Murray’s junk. He’ll probably quit after this.

      He got a putz like a baby hamster, Billy Jo giggled as she ate pizza.

      Murray finally regained his feet; somebody at ringside threw him a towel. He covered himself, ran up the ramp, and disappeared. Lola showered up and went back to Gooley’s office.

      Bet you don’t see Murray  no more, she said.

      That was a bit more than required, Gooley said. I may have to replace him.

      I know one of them accountables, Billy Jo said. He’s not a Hebe, though. He’s Russian.

      And how, pray tell, did you determine that? Gooley said.

      "I was talking to him and he said My name is Gary. I drive a Nova."

      Why me, Gooley said as he put his head in his hands.

      What? Lola said. That ain’t a Russky name? My ass, it isn’t.

      Your ass notwithstanding, I think he was telling you what kind of car he has.

      How the fuck would you know? Billy Jo said, eyeing Gooley up and down. You weren’t there.

      Yeah, Lola said. You ain’t no genius your own self. You want to go back to Woodbury? she squinted. I’ll show you where all the Polacks live. They even got a sign. It says Ski Area.

      Just go find Murray before he kills himself, Gooley sighed. We need him.

      How about a spook? Billy Jo giggled. I know one of them, too. He studied that business crap. He did five years, something about a cook book. He could do Murray’s job.

      You mean he cooked the books for somebody? Gooley exclaimed.

      You can’t eat a book, asshole, Billy Jo said. Shows how much you know.

      He’d eat a book before he’d eat a pussy, Lola giggled. As long as it was one of them Hebe books like the Fedora.

      That’s the Torah. A fedora is a hat.

      Whatever, Lola said. I bet you wouldn’t eat one of those, either.

      Are you ever going to wrestle, or are you just going to sit on your ass and eat all day? Gooley said to Billy Jo.

      Sit on my ass and eat all day.

      You have to wrestle. It’s in your contract.

      Not any more, Billy Jo giggled. The Kid changed it. It’s optical now. I can do it if I feel like it.

      See? Lola said. Always with the Hebe tricks. He asks you if you want to wrestle or eat, then he pisses and moans when you pick the answer he don’t like.

      This is a wrestling company, not a restaurant. When is your contract up? Gooley smirked.

      Two hundred years from now, Billy Jo smiled. And you signed it, so don’t complain.

      Under duress, Gooley said.

      Nobody wants to see you in no dress, Billy Jo said. You got bad legs.

      I want you in that ring next Monday, Gooley said.

      I’m busy next Monday, Billy Jo said.

      Doing what?

      I don’t know, but I’ll find something.

      No match, no paycheck, Gooley grinned.

      Who I gotta fight? You and Connors keep bringing in all these psychos. I could get hurt, then you ain’t got nobody to not do whatever it is I’m supposed to do around here.

      Carol Barnes is back, her ribs are all healed up. You can do a match with her. She has ring rust. Take it easy on each other. I know; we’ll hang a pizza over the ring and you can have a ladder match.

      Pepperoni? Billy Jo said quickly.

      Yeah, anything you want.

      It better be real pizza from Collici’s, too, Billy Jo warned. Not some ripoff imitation Jew pie with ketchup and grated cheese on that unlevel bread you assholes eat.

      You can order it yourself, Gooley said in exasperation. There are no Jewish pizza parlors around here that I know of. What do you care? You’re not Italian. What the hell are you, anyway?

      I’m a Redneck, Billy Jo said. Southern girl from Tennessee. Can’t you remember anything? You got Old Timer’s Disease?

      I meant your name; Sikes. What is it? It’s not Italian or Polish.

      English, Billy Jo said. But I’m married now, so my name is Randall. Does that mean I’m not English any more? Now you got me confused.

      Randall is an English name too, Gooley said. Maybe you’re related to Creighton, he grinned.

      Oh no you don’t, Billy Jo said. If I was related to that creep I’d shoot myself.

      Why ain’t there any Jew pizza parlors here? Lola said, eyeing Gooley suspiciously. They get caught putting shit in people’s food?

      There’s one in Waterbury and one in Hartford. It’s something about Kosher law. Miss Piggy over here wants pepperoni and sausage, and pork is a no-no for Jews. No booze at these places, either. That kind of limits your market. There aren’t enough customers around here to make it worthwhile. Not many Jews follow that rabbinical Kosher crap any more expect for in Brooklyn. Jews ain’t what they used to be, he grinned.

      They’re still cheap, Lola grumbled. I asked Murray if I got interest on all that dough you owed me and he almost had a heart attack.

      Murray is frugal, Gooley said.

      He’s fucking cheap, Billy Jo laughed. He trained himself to shit just before he showers so he won’t have to buy toilet paper.

      Well, he is not a spendthrift, I’ll give you that much. Are you going to go look for him?

      All right, already, Lola scowled. If Billy Jo ain’t here to fight Barnes, I’ll do it. She got up and left. Twenty minutes later, she dragged Murray into the office and shoved him into a chair. Bastard was hiding in the laundry room, she giggled.

      Did you enjoy your match? Gooley grinned.

      No, I did not, Murray snapped. That isn’t in my contract.

      The Kid rewrote all the contracts last year. Everybody is subject to being put in the ring. Even me.

      Then change it, Murray said. I have to have this big goon pounding on me? he said, eyeing Lola.

      Watch it, Yid, we could have a rematch, Lola said.

      I’ll quit before I do that again. I may quit anyway. You have no right to humiliate me like that.

      Boo hoo, Billy Jo said. You didn’t get hurt, so cut the shit. You tried to fuck Lola’s paycheck over, so you got called out. Live with it.

      That was a legitimate mistake, Murray said.

      Bullshit, Lola said. You knew about my raise last year. What is this crap, only the Hebes get raises around here? I bet you got yours.

      And I want another one, Murray said. I’m not being paid to wrestle.

      We’ll discuss that later, Gooley said. Just do your job, and I’ll keep you out of the ring.

      The National Informant

      Bridgeport, Connecticut

      February, 2012

      ––––––––

      Holy shit, Shannon laughed when she saw the front page article Ann had ready to go on Senator John Kincaid. I forgot about this. You better buy some lead underwear if you run this story.

      I spent a year researching this, and it cost me a shit load of money. You bet your ass I’m running it.

      Jesus, Shannon said as she went through the six page expose. He’s a coke freak, too?

      Yup. I got a signed affidavit from the dealer he used to use. The guy gave him up to the D.A. for a better deal. Check out the girl he’s porking on page three, Ann giggled. She’s fourteen. I had to pixilate her face because she’s underage. She’s going to the D.A., too.

      How much did that cost you? Shannon laughed.

      Ten grand, but it’s legal because she’s got all the evidence. I’m not law enforcement, so I can pay off anybody I want to get information.

      He’ll fucking kill you, Shannon laughed. That dude has a reputation, you know. A couple of guys that were going to testify against him in some bribery case wound up in a landfill.

      I don’t sweat that old Preppie, Ann said. Now he can spend the rest of his life taking it up the ass from convicts.

      You’d better sweat him, Shannon said. He isn’t going to take this lying down.

      Screw him, Ann said. Betty will take his ass out if he tries any shit.

      All right, it’s your paper, you do what you want. Me, I’d think twice about ruining this jerk’s life.

      He’s the one that ruined it, Ann said. Fucking underage girls and snorting coke? Come on, Shann-O. The guy is a phony and he deserves whatever happens to him. He’s not the first politician I buried, and he won’t be the last.

      Just make sure you aren’t the one who gets buried, Shannon said.

      I’ve been screwing with people for twenty years, Ann said. I’m still here.

      Better stay with me for a while, Shannon said. That way if your house goes boom in the night, you won’t go with it.

      I already planned for that, Ann said. I put it up for sale. All my shit is in storage.

      You’re going to part with the Cockroach Hacienda? Shannon laughed.

      Yeah. I guess it’s time to buy something a little nicer, in a better neighborhood.

      Mars is nice this time of year, Shannon said.

      Kincaid Re-election Headquarters

      Boston, Massachusetts

      February, 2012

      ––––––––

      What the fuck is this? Kincaid yelled when he saw The Informant a staffer had just handed to him.  It’s a filthy rag sheet, Senator, the staffer said. It has zero credibility. Shall I have someone sue them?

      Who owns this fucking piece of shit paper? Kincaid hissed.

      Ann Coleman is her name.

      "Was her name, Kincaid sneered. I’ll take care of her. He looked outside as two police cars and a plain clothes car pulled into the parking lot. What the hell is this?" he said.

      I don’t know, the staffer said as two big Detectives headed for the door, backed by four uniformed cops. One of the Detectives pointed at Kincaid.

      John Kincaid, you are under arrest for statutory rape and impairing the morals of a minor. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say....

      I know the fucking Miranda Warning! Kincaid yelled. What the hell is the meaning of this?

      You have the right to an attorney, the Detective said as he cuffed Kincaid. If you cannot afford one, an attorney will be provided for you.

      Asshole, I’ll have your job for this.

      I’ll call your lawyers! the staffer called out as Kincaid was rudely shoved into the cruiser.

      This is an outrage! Kincaid yelled. Arresting a United States Senator based upon some smear job run in a  rag sheet newspaper?

      Tell it to the District Attorney, the Detective said. He signed the arrest warrant, not me.

      Suffolk County Superior Court

      Three Pemberton Square

      Boston, Massachusetts

      February, 2012

      ––––––––

      State of Massachusetts versus John Franklin Kincaid, the bailiff intoned. Statutory rape, impairing the morals of a minor, sexual  assault against a minor, possession of a controlled substance,  and promoting prostitution.

      The judge’s head snapped up.

      Senator? he said incredulously. "How

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