"Here you go Kid. Good match tonight. You had them eating out of your palm," said the old man and handed the youngster his check.
The Kid looked at it. "Thanks boss," he replied back in a disheartened tone. "See you next week."
The next man walked up. The old man handed him a check. "Dylan, Dylan, Dylan. You got to sell more. Remember, you're the good guy out there. Faces take beatings so the audience can empathize with them. Then the crowd's behind you when the fiery comeback happens. Sell the beating."
Dylan nodded in agreement. "Yes Mr. Erickson. Thank you."
A ripped, muscular man moved forward and waited. "Another fine job out there Crusher."
He grabbed the check from Mr. Erickson's hand and glanced at the amount written. "What the hell is this?" Crusher felt he'd been screwed again.
The wrinkled face gentlemen leaned back in his chair. His glasses hung on the edge of nose revealing steel blue eyes. "It's your payout."
The dance began as their eyes locked onto each other.
"It's light. We talked about a bump in salary." Crusher tried to keep control. The two men discussed the issue before. He thought a promise took place between them.
The old man’s voice remained calm and in control. "No. You talked about a bump in salary. I told you we'd see how the next house turns out. In case you didn't notice, there wasn't anymore seats filled than last week."
Anger rose in Crusher. He had carried the promotion for months now as the top wrestler. The fans came to see him. The seats filled up because of his name. "I'm the main event around here. I've been short changed by you too much in the last three years. Pay me more, tonight and here on out, or I walk. Got it!"
The threat loomed in the air between the two proud men.
Mr. Erickson's gaze never left his opponent's eye. Even at his age, the stare was intense as burning coals. "You may be one of the top guys in this promotion and you may be in one the top feuds we have going on right now, but don’t let it go to your head Crusher. I can make another star out of half the undercard guys. And none of them would give me as much shit as you do."
The door revolved often in the promotion. Erickson always picked a person with potential to take under his wing. Once he felt the person understood exactly all the nuisances of being the top guy, the push came. Then after awhile on top in the main event, the wrestler's ego would normally got the best of them and a falling out occurred. Then the process started all over again.
"I've been in the wrestling business for over fifty years,” he said. “And I've forgotten more about being in the ring than you will ever know. So do not make feeble threats toward me, Terrance."
No one ever used Crusher's real name. He loathed hearing it aloud.
"If you're salary is inadequate, then don't come back here next week."
"Fuck this. I can earn three times as much working for Calzone," Crusher said. His final card was thrown out on the table.
Mr. Erickson snickered. He now realized what the outcome would be. "And you'll drive four hours to do it too. And Calzone runs half as many shows as me. So go ahead a work there. In fact, call Wilson or Templeton or any other small, time flash in the pan promoter. It’s your career."
Of course, Crusher knew all this as the truth. Friends in the business told him Calzone possessed zero business sense and to never work for the guy. The other promotions in the area weren’t established enough and couldn’t afford to use a him on a regular basis. But pride got in his way and left him no alternative. "Fuck this. I'm gone." As he headed for the door, one last phrase was shouted. "Shove it you old prick!" The door slammed shut as the chiseled Adonis left the building.
Almost too quickly for man nearing eighty, Mr. Erickson jumped to his feet. A loud THUD echoed across the locker room as his cane smacked the table. "The rest of you listen up!" When he raised his voice, it always garnered attention. The remaining workers stopped and attentively listened. "If you have a problem with your individual payouts, then follow Crusher out the door. Each one you are adequately compensated for performances. I'm not getting rich from this promotion or from renting out this old building of mine. And I'll be damned if...oh hell." The explanation ceased. "Charlie, pay the rest of them. I'll be in my office." Erickson limped away, muttering underneath his breath.
The temporarily stunned locker room started its return to normalcy. Most of the vets had witnessed an outburst in some form or another before. Charlie, as usual, did exactly as asked and finished paying the workers.
Charlie entered the door to Mr. Erickson's office. He saw the old man in his usual place after a show; napping on the worn out couch located by the adjacent door which lead to the ticket office. An empty glass balanced on his lap. The drops of scotch pooled at the bottom. Charlie gently shook his mentor. "Gene. Wake up."
The old man awakened from his slumber. While yawning he asked, "Is it all cleared out?" The empty glass touched his lips immediately after the question.
"Yeah, boss."
"You know I was dreaming about the big match I had with Tino Brunto."
The tale had been told many times. It almost echoed with in the walls. "I enjoy the story," he said with the usual caring Charlie Sampson smile.
"But did I ever tell you that the Board was originally going to give me the World Title. Back in the day when a the World Title meant something."
The statement surprised Charlie. "Really? You've never mentioned that before." The match was still talked about amongst the all generations of wrestlers.
Erickson knew the Board screwed him over but he always still protected them. Very few people knew what went down that evening.
"We were doing a sixty minute broadway and it was close to end. I called for the finish and Tino simply said 'plans changed'. He tossed me on the canvas and locked in that damn elbow submission hold. He said 'tap or it breaks'. What choice did I have? Tino would've snapped it. He was a legit stretcher and all around mean son of a bitch. And he always did whatever the Board told him to. That's why he was champ so long."
Charlie stood in amazement with the new version of the tale. "Damn. You're one shot pulled out from under you."
"I got a little jaded with the business after the incident." The decision to open a promotion of his own steamed from the outcome of that evening. Erickson wasn't going to play by the Board's rules anymore. Also like many of the performers from his era, Erickson disliked how the wrestling business had changed over the years. The focus went away from wrestling skills and more towards flashy entertainment. But unlike many of the old promoters, he tweaked his company's style enough to keep the fans coming back. Erickson's promotion wasn't huge, but it had a name value, a reputation, and a regional TV deal. He never sold out to the big company, even after talent raids and some very lean years.
Erickson continued, "Hell, I'm far from perfect as a businessman. And I'll admit it, but this place has survived longer than just about all of the others around. A lot of good men and women have come through those doors".
Charlie knew his wrestling history. Only a handful of promotions could date themselves back as far as Elite Wrestling. Keeping a wrestling company out of the red always remained a very tough task.
Erickson continued. "In the past, a worker's salary might have gotten shortchanged a bit. Other times we all felt the crunch. But in the end, the risk and responsibility and decision remained with me. Nobody else. I will not apologize for the way business is done around here."
The man resided in a rare place tonight. Charlie asked, "Why are you telling me this Gene?"
"I don't know. Maybe because this business passed an old timer like me up years ago. It's time to move on. If Brenda was still alive it would've happened years ago."
Diagnosed with lung cancer at sixty-one, Brenda fought hard for 3 years. She battled like a warrior, but still lost the war. Her death crushed Erickson. The promotion became his only reason for going on each day. Since the couple had never been able to conceive a child of their own, the workers who surrounded him each day became the only family he had left.
"I'm leaving it all to you Charlie."
The surprise on Charlie's face said enough. "I don’t know what to say," still riddled by the offer.
It suddenly occurred to Erickson that Charlie might not be interested in assuming the day to day running of the promotion. He learned to be good booker, always possessed interesting ideas, and knew how to handle talent, but the financial part he needed to learn in for the Erickson legacy to remain afloat. "That is, if you want to own the promotion and the building."
The brief moment of hesitation never popped up. "I'd be honored." Charlie became the number two man behind the scenes for a reason. He knew how to handle situations and people trusted him.
Very pleased with the acceptance, Gene smiled. "You've always been like the son to us." Hell, I remember the day you walked in the gym and asked to be a wrestler. No more than sixteen years old."
"And you declined."
"But you became a persistent little son of gun because of it. After eight months of begging and pleading, I took you under my wing. You trained your ass off but the ring skills never translated. At least you found a niche and blossomed. Your duties behind the scenes are every bit as important as what takes place in front of the crowd."
The compliment meant everything to Charlie. His own father left his family at a young age. The Erickson's became his surrogate parents. The father figure who took a scrawny kid and taught him how to defend himself. The old man helped to guide him through difficult years. He was forever indebted to the man who trained him and turned his means of escape into a career.
"I know that you'll do fine with the promotion and put in the effort it takes to keep the doors open. With any luck, you can carry it on for as long I as have." Gene felt happy for the first time in many, many months.
"You know I will." Lots of hard work laid out on the road ahead. He owed Gene to give it his best shot. Failure was not an option.
Erickson stood up to hear the standard pops and creaks his old body made constantly. "I tell you what. Go on home. I'll lock up."
"Are you sure?" Erickson hadn't locked up the building in years.
"Yes. I'll stop by tomorrow and take you, Lilith, and the kids out for lunch. We can go over my will and talk about me sliding out of here in a couple of months." Erickson's mind was at peace.
"That's sounds fine by me," Charlie said. The two men embrace in a long hug. "Goodnight. And Gene, thanks. For everything."
Then the final words passed between them. "Goodbye Charlie."
The old man stood alone in his office. The photos hung on the wall revealing memories of another time. Many faces were no longer around. Many places which were torn down.
A bottle of Dewar's sat on top of his desk. He poured two fingers worth and felt the light burn as the liquid slide down his throat. He poured, gulped the drink down, and repeated the action twice more.
The silence was broken by the sound of water hitting the floor in the showers. Erickson refused to believe a worker would leave it running. They all knew better. With his drink in one hand and his cane in the other, he stumbled towards the shower stalls.
Inside a young woman, no older than twenty-five, let the water run down her body. Erickson blushed at her bare backside. He said, "Sorry, I thought everyone already left. Let me know when you're finished." The lady turned around just in time for him to catch a glimpse of her face. She was beautiful. She looked just like… "Brenda?"
The youthful girl simply said, "Yes, Gene. It's me." She turned off the water and wrapped a towel around her damp figure.
Erickson felt lightheaded. He nearly fainted. "It can’t be...you died over eleven years ago." This moment had to be a dream. He got drunk, passed out in his couch. Yet it all felt real. "You look so young. Like the day we met." He fought back the tears of pain.
Brenda walked over to him.” This was exactly how I looked on the day we meet. Remember?"
Erickson remembered the day like it just happened. He was in St. Louis wrestling. They had a couple of girls on the card, Brenda and Francine. After the match, most of the guys were harassing them. Telling the girls they had to shower with the guys. The teasing started to turn malicious in nature when Gene and his buddy Moose stepped in.
"Moose and I stood in front of the showers."
She cut him off. "And turned your backs so no one could see us. You said if anyone has a problem with the girls showering in peace, they'd have to deal with the two of you. Two perfect gentlemen. I fell for you at that exact moment."
A tear streamed down his puffy, red eyes. "You're not real, honey. I'm drunk." The pain of losing her once nearly destroyed him. The man couldn't take it another time.
The two gazed at each other like first time lovers. All the passion and pain and love from being married for forty years burned between them. "I'm as real as you want me to be, darling." She reached out to touch him, but stopped.
"I miss you so much Brenda." This woman was his world for so long. Gene went into a full breakdown mode. The emotions poured from his soul. "Since you died, this damn place is all I have. It's all that keeps me going." He sank any devotion left into the wrestling. The only other choice was dying, which crossed his mind more than he cared to admit. "And I'm finally starting to hate the business."
"You always worried about others too much. The talent can wear you down with demands. But you are not a bad man, Gene."
She constantly told him that when she was alive. Brenda always believed in him far more than he did himself. "It doesn't matter anymore. I'm getting out. For good this time." The tears stood firm on his weathered face.
"Be careful my love," she said. "Don't let the past determine your future."
His tone rose slightly, "What does that mean? I don’t want any more of a future without you."
The message was sent. Her duty fulfilled. "I can’t say anymore. I have to leave."
Erickson pleaded, "NO! Stay with me a little longer." The look on her face revealed all Gene needed to know.
"Just remember, dwelling on the past will only haunt you to death." Brenda moved in for a kiss, one like they used to have long ago. Just before their lips touch, she vanished. The words I love you rang in his ears.
His eyes opened to a deserted locker room. With an empty glass in one hand and a cane in the other, he inspected the shower. It was dry. "I'm losing my damn mind," he mumbled. Part of him didn't believe that was true. Brenda seemed too authentic for a dream.
He shut off the lights and traveled back to his office. When he arrived at his desk, another drink poured into the glass.
A deep voice echoed in the room. "Hey partner."
Erickson knew the voice too well, but it had been years since it was last spoken. His vision focused on the mammoth body sitting on the couch. He stopped cold. "Moose?"
The voice chuckled, "What? You're not glad to see your old buddy."
"But...but you're dead." The situation was too much to handle. First his dead wife appeared and now his dead best friend. No matter how real this all appeared to be, the old man knew he was either drunk or senility had finally left its personal calling card.
'That's no excuse not to offer me some of that scotch. Besides Gene, I look damn good for a thirty year old corpse."
Another glass was found in the desk and a drink was issued. Erickson shuffled over to his longtime friend Moose. The man looked like he did back in '68, long before the heart attack took him down in '82. In his prime, Moose stood over six feet, seven inches and weighed around the four hundred pounds.
"I'm just fucking with you. I can’t grab that glass if I wanted to," he chuckled. "Besides, I'm at my peak physical condition here. Don’t want to ruin the temple." He patted his belly.
Erickson was intoxicated already. Another one wouldn't hurt him.” Cheers, old friend." He tipped the glass and let the alcohol slide once again.
"Friend." Moose's mood suddenly turned bitter. "A friend indeed." He rose up and towered over the frail old man. "A friend who stood idly by and watched as you fucked him over time and time again. The other numbskulls I could see. But me? The two of us were running buddies till the end. I'm not sure why you did it Gene. And I'm sure why I did nothing back then."
"I never screwed you Moose," Erickson said defensively. He was confused about the allegations. Moose was never one of those people who received light payouts. "I help make you a star. No other promoter would've taken that risk. You moved from carnival attraction to a contender."
“It's not about money." He poked at Erickson's chest.
He shouted back, "Then what exactly is this about!"
"Brenda," he stated with a heavy heart.
"Brenda?" Erickson's temper fizzled. He scanned his memory for anything to do with Moose and his wife. He came up empty. "She has nothing to do with this conversation."
"Really?" The big hearted giant sighed. Even with all his fame, the man never found a woman to love him. "I met Brenda three months before you did. I told you I liked her. It was my idea to shield the ladies from the boys in the locker room. But you came out looking like the hero. You got the girl."
Erickson realized how stupid he had been. He had forgotten about Moose revealing the secret to him. After the shower incident, Brenda asked him out for a walk. The couple remained together until her death. "I am sorry Moose, but the choice was Brenda's to make. Don’t blame me for the way your life turned out."
The big man was getting angry again. His deep voiced raised, "Do you mean dead at age forty-seven of a heartache or me alone and miserable?"
The tension grew between the two men. "I'm not at fault for how you chose to live your life," Gene said. "Take responsibility!"
Moose stepped back. Nothing could change his mind.” You were always a selfish prick! And tonight, you are going to get what you got coming to you. Finally"
"I don’t think so, old buddy," Erickson protested in heated voice. "You are simply not real. The scotch is messing with me." He tossed the empty glass on the couch.
Moose laugh bellowed, "You can’t possibly believe that nonsense. We have other plans in store for you."
"To hell with your plans," Erickson said while pointing his cane at Moose. "This is not happening. Now, I'm going home." He turned around and froze in place.
"You're not going anywhere Erickson," Moose replied.
Erickson scanned the room. All he saw where faces from the past. The wrestlers who had come and gone through his promotion over the years.
"I've brought some of the boys back with me. It seems a lot people had a grudge with you." The deep laugh echoed once again.
The angry faces stared back at Erickson. He looked at each and every one of them. Austin Goldman, age fifty-five. Always a fan favorite, he broke his back in 1977 leaving him paralyzed. A few months later, he committed suicide. If he couldn’t have the roar of the crowd then he didn’t want to live. Jason Renegade, age twenty-two. He broke his neck while practicing a high impact move. He died instantly. Gino Moretti, age thirty-six. He one of the best heels around and got stabbed in the gut by a crazed fan in 1961. He died in surgery that night. Donnie D, age twenty-nine. An innovator of high flying moves. He was found dead in a car wreck back in 1988. His blood alcohol level was over twice the legal limit. Calvin Mahon, age forty. His heart stopped in the middle of a match in 1995. Autopsy showed a large amount of pain killers in his system. They all had the look of revenge.
Erickson’s voice cracked. "What are you all doing here? I've never done a thing to any you. What could have against me?" There was no reply. “Well speak up Goldman. Come on Gino.” Silence remained. “This has gone on long enough.”
As the ring leader, Moose spoke for the group. "The problem is you never did enough. We all busted our asses for you. And what did we get in return. A fraction of what we should have been paid and an early grave."
Erickson's blood began to boil. He would not take the men's wrath without a fight. "None of this is my fault. Donnie you died in a car crash while working down in Florida for another promoter."
"And I know that you pocketed off the top," Moose added.
The comment was the final straw. "You can all go to Hell! I was the man who started the promotion. I had all the risks involved so I deserved to reap what rewards there were. You could have gone to a hundred different territories and worked if you wanted to leave here. But instead you wanted to grumble and bitch about it behind my back. We'll fuck each and every one of you. Have you all forgotten that I was one of the guys? I was in that ring too. I risked my health every single damn night too."
"You haven't been one of the boys for a long, long time."
"This is enough! I'm going home," Erickson shouted.
The dead wrestlers reached out to grab at the old man. Leaving the building was not an option.
Erickson screamed in terror. The only thought of defense came by swinging his cane at the apparitions. The only chance he had was to fight. Suddenly the cane dropped to the floor.
The crowd of deceased men backed away from the old man as he clinched his chest. The words “My heart…” barely spilled from his lips as he collapsed.
The room was empty. No ghosts remained. The old man’s body lay on cold, wooden floor.
On the desk, an empty bottle of Dewar’s was turned on its side.
copyright 2010
by Sean Kimmel
