The highway whizzes past, nothing but open road and a world of promises for Ken. It is just weeks away until the NFL draft which would decide how the rest of Ken's life unfolds. Ken Shields was a star quarterback from the University of Texas, the hometown boy who made his home state proud. This chapter of his life he has left behind, as he sits behind the wheel of his new Hummer. Nothing can stop him now, he thinks as he twists the lid back on the bottle of Jack and tosses it onto the passenger seat. It'll be a long drive, he assures himself, and it was only a few swigs, his tolerance is way higher than that.
Ken cradles his head and stays down, tears welling up in his eyes. This wasn't how this is supposed to be. It was all easy from here, go home, get drafted, become a star. Killing a man was never in the plan. The drive from Austin to Galveston is a long four, maybe five hours depending on how long it takes to get through the city and it is getting late. Ken imagines how good his bed will feel and how no matter how much media attention is on him, no matter how much fame or how much money he makes, he always wants to be able to go home and just be himself. A set of high beams from up ahead catch Ken off guard as he holds his hand up to shields his eyes a bit.
"Assholes," he mutters.
* * *
Kevin "The Colossus" Peterson swore under his breath as he fumbled around in his rental car, snorting a quick line of coke to keep himself awake. It was a cycle, he admitted to himself, and fuck this having to drive shit, while he knew that kid with his belt was on a tour bus right now, driving to his next media round. The goldenboy, hah, he laughs to himself as he listens to Pretty Boy snoring away in the back. We've been around this business and Chuck knows it, there is no way we should be pulling a 3 hour drive like this in a fucking sedan. At least it will pay off, he says to himself, tomorrow night, live on pay-per-view, the Colossus becomes WGF World Champion.
Then, then, he tells himself, the ad deals start coming in, the endorsements start coming in. He'll be the one hitting up local CBS affiliates, appearing on Howard Stern to stretch out some fan while the crew cackle on. All of that money, he tells himself, all of that money and those child support checks, all of those alimony checks will come a lot easier. He won't have to be using his Thrifty reward card to get a discount. No, he and Pretty Boy will be taking those private jets once again. That is how this business works. They put over that twit Loder for the business. Hell, Colossus had his first loss since becoming champion to that twit.
Business had been down, that was the thought behind it. Chuck had worked up a whole big storyline, where Loder, this kid from upstate New York, just a regular guy with a freakish body and work ethic. You know the type, the type that the fans eat up, the normal guy who became a superhero and carved out his own piece of the American dream. Yeah, that type. Well, Chuck worked out this whole angle where he was the "new generation" of the sport, of the business. He was going to overthrow guys like Pretty Boy and Colossus, the "old guard" as the online dirt sheets and message board dweebs call them.
The kids weren't into them anymore, it was the twenty-somethings who grew up watching them bust their asses, and they sure as shit didn't like Loder. But kids did, families did, they all saw Loder as something new, fresh. It ate all the boys up when Loder pinned Colossus clean in the ring in front of twenty-thousand live fans, the biggest gate we'd seen in years. Chuck claimed it was in with the new, that Loder was the future of their business. Colossus knew better, knew that it was having fresh meat for him, that it was he and Pretty Boy who made this punk who he is. Now things are different, Colossus made Pete Loder, made WGF mainpage news again, got back those "family friendly" advertisers and now it was time to take things back.
Colossus freezes, his left arm has started to numb a bit. This wouldn't be first time, but something smells like it is on fire, it is becoming hard to move, the numbness is traveling now, all the way down his body and then it comes. It shoots into his chest. Kevin grabs at his chest, feeling the world starting to spin around, growing dark. The car, keeping control is the last thing on his mind. His chest feels like it is exploding.
"Pretty Boy!" He shouts out, clutching at his chest, doubled over the wheel. "Jesus fuck!" A set of headlights illuminates the inside of the car.
* * *
Ken honks the horn on his Hummer to get that asshole to turn down his high beams. Sure, when you have the road to yourself it is no big deal, but when you see somebody else coming, you turn them down. Christ, he thinks to himself. Calm down, he assures himself. He looks down at the radio to change the station, looking for any kind of sports talk radio, to see if there are any new draft day rumors. He hears the sound of the other car honking back at him, the asshole driver laying on the horn, not letting go.
"Asshole. Fuck 'em, let's see what they got to say 'bout me this week," he says out loud to himself, partially to help keep himself awake. The high beams are flooding into his Hummer now, as he looks up, a look of horror comes over his face as he tries to react. "Holy fucking shi--"
* * *
Michael "Pretty Boy" Boston awoke a groggy mess to see the car being lit up by a set of approaching headlights, only to hear Kevin shouting his name. The sound of the horn droning on into his head as he pulls himself up, only to see Kevin face first into the steering wheel and the car swerving down the road. He tries to spring forward to catch the wheel but quickly realizes that it is too late, the other set of headlights is upon them.
"Shit!" He shouts as he throws himself down on the backseat and cradles his head, bracing for the impact.
* * *
It was a symphony of steel, rubber, glass and blood displayed on the road. The sound of the four door's horn still droning on while Ken pulls himself up and tries to pry open his driver side door. He shakily pulls the handle and thrusts his shoulder at the door, spilling out of his Hummer and onto the pavement, feeling his head pound and his neck ache. He hears the sound of spinning wheels, metal clanging and the distant sound of a voice by the other car.
"...well Chuck, yeah it is bad news. It is very bad fucking news," the voice sound shaken, slurred. It is coming from behind the other car, as Ken starts to drag himself in that direction.
"Hello?" He calls out, rubbing his neck and grimacing. "Who is out there? Are you alright?"
"Yeah, it's Kev! I know, I know.. Kev seized up at the wheel this time. No, no I'm not sure, but I am sure that he is fucking dead right now." The voice continues, panic-stricken. "You aren't hearing me, Kev is gone, man. No, no I haven't called anybody yet, you were the first person. Chuck -- Chuck there is shit all over this car man, if they get here we are all fucked. Chuck I am trying to remain calm, just get here, get here now!"
"Hello? I can hear somebody, is everybody alright?" Ken continues to limp, placing his hand on the car but pulling it back as it burns his hand. "Ah! Fuck!" He turns the corner to see Pretty Boy, bloodied but on the phone huddled next to the car.
"We need to get rid of this shit and, oh fuck, the other driver. Get here!" He slams his phone shut and attempts to collect himself as he looks over at Ken Shields, just a blonde kid, a little banged up but doesn't look like this accident hit him too hard. Mike wants to get up and rip this kid apart. Kevin, his best friend, the guy who helped bring him up and make him a star is gone, and this fucking kid is over here asking if everybody is alright.
"Are you alright?" Ken offers his hand to Mike, who swats it down and picks himself up.
"Oh, I'm just fucking fine. Everything is just great," he points into the car. "My best friend has a broken fucking neck and this piece of shit rental car is totaled from your behemoth of a monstrosity!"
"Whoa man, I don't... I mean, we don't even know what happened, I mean," Ken starts to back up, his hands up. The reality hits him hard as he looks back into the car to see the mass of a man blood and hair slumped against the wheel, the broken windshield splattered with blood. That man, whoever he is, is dead. Ken looks back to his Hummer to see it pretty much in tact, and looks back to this gruesome scene. He shrinks down onto the pavement. "Oh no, oh no. Oh man, this can't be happening, this can't be..."
"It is, now get up!" Michael slaps him across the back of the head. "You didn't call the cops or nothing, did you? Huh? Did you?" The kid won't answer, Micheal leans down and grabs the kid's face, holding it up to his own. "You didn't call nobody, right?"
"No... I mean, I just came to and," he points back to his Hummer. "I just came to and everything was --"
"Ok good, my boss is coming out here to take care of this. Don't fucking touch anything. Don't fucking do anything," he gets up and kicks the back window of the car in, his cowboy boot going through the glass and him stumbling into the car, pulling his leg out and swearing. "Fuck!"
* * *
"How the fuck did you let this happen," a voice booms out as Ken feels like he just woke up from a bad dream, only to find himself still at the site of the car crash, the man still dead at the wheel. "How the fuck did you let him drive like that?"
"I didn't know, Chuck! How am I supposed to know how many oxy he pops or how much shit he snorts to keep himself awake? I was taking a nap in the back, we were taking shifts driving! You know that! We aren't like your boy Loder taking the company bus with that big WGE logo on the side city by city to sign kids autographs and fuck every bitch that'll come aboard for a few hours! We got families, man. Kev had a family!" Pretty Boy is pacing, tears streaming down his weathered face as the stony Chuck Merriwether stands in his beige suit, sneer upon his face.
"Well it fucking happened, Billy!" He shouts as a middle-aged man, aged far past his age comes in behind him.
"Yeah Chuck?" He speaks up to the man as if he is speaking to his own father, although he probably has years on him.
"Get all that junk out of the car, I don't want a fucking trace, and get it the fuck out of here before the cops get here. You hear that? Not a trace! We've had two OD deaths in the past three fucking years, no way I'm letting another one slip by us!" The man nods and gets to work, pushing Ken aside, still in a daze. "Wheres the kid?" Chuck snarls at Pretty Boy, who points over to Ken slumped over next to the car.
"That is the kid?" Chuck looks over at him. Pretty Boy nods as Chuck swears under his breath and swaggers over to him. "Get up, kid. You might have cost me a lot of fucking money tonight." Ken looks up at him in disbelief. "I said get up."
Ken pulls himself up to stand face to face with Chuck, Chuck standing tall and sure of himself while Ken is a shrunken heap of a man. Ken is about to talk but Chuck simply purses his lips and raises an eyebrow and Ken chooses not to, he simply swallows hard and rubs his neck. Chuck stops and looks hard at him, then back over at Pretty Boy.
"I know you," Chuck says, finally cutting the tension. "I know who this kid is!" He lets out a loud laugh that pierces through Ken like a knife, partially playful and partially sinister, like something out of an old noir movie villain. He pats Ken on the back hard and calls Pretty Boy over. "Mike, get over here. This isn't just a kid, no! This is Ken Shields, star quarterback from the University of, what was it, Texas?"
"Yeah," Ken nods as he strains to get a good look at this man, still not able to figure out if he should know who he is, if he is missing something. "That is me, or I guess was me... I don't even know what happened out here..."
"Well kid, I'll tell you what," he starts, an evil smirk coming over his face. "I can smell it on your breath, and I'm pretty damned sure what you did was destroy my main event for tomorrow night -- the rematch of the century between my champion, Pete Loder and the Colossus here." He points back at the car, at the man heaped over the steering wheel. "You gotta know who I am, kid, I am Chuck Merriwether, owner of the World Gladiator Federation. You just killed my main event because you wanted to hit the bottle while you drove. You swerved--"
"No I didn't!" Ken interjects, feeling his heart race. "I swear, I didn't!"
"You have a concussion, what do you remember? Bright lights? A horn? The sound of your truck hitting Kevin's car?" He moves towards the Hummer and looks inside, laughing as he reaches in and pulls out a bottle. He remains icy as he presents it. "A half finished bottle of booze, you expect me to believe that Kevin, the man who was going to have his dream come true again in just a matter of hours throw his life away while you were taking hits from this?" His smile melts away as he starts to shake. "Well I don't fucking buy it! You killed him," he snarls, getting in Ken's face, Ken shrinking back.
"I... I didn't mean to--" Ken starts, being cut off.
"Ohhh you didn't mean to kill him? You didn't think you'd come across another car on this road? You boys all think that you are the same, unstoppable, untouchable. Well you aren't! When the cops get here you'll have your ass handed to you and all of those dreams you have will be just that -- dreams, never to come true!"
"Well fuck," Ken says, choking back the tears. "I didn't mean it, I mean, I never meant for this to happen, I only had a few sips, I promise, I... I don't know what to do!"
"I can cover this up," Chuck looks down at him, face expressionless.
"What?" Ken loses the color in his face.
"I can cover it up, you heard me. But I don't think you deserve it."
"No, no, please," Ken grabs Chuck's hand, pleading as he can feel his heart racing. "Please, I'll do anything, I didn't mean to kill him!"
"Like hell you didn't," Chuck jerks his hand away and turns his back to him, only for Ken to keep pulling him back.
"Please, please, I mean it I'll do anything!"
"Anything?" Chuck turns around, slapping his hands away. "Don't touch my suit with those grubby hands. Did you say anything?" Ken nods. "You understand that if I do this for you, that you owe me, that you owe the WGF big time."
"I do, I do, I'll do anything for you," Ken nods.
"Billy," Chuck snaps. "Get me that contract from my limo." Billy rushes to the car, coming back with a contract. Chuck pulls a pen out of his pocket and fills in Ken's name in a few places before presenting it to him, he points down to the end of it. "Sign it."
"Well shouldn't I have a chance to read it, I mean I was always told--"
"Sign it," he says again. "You said anything, it isn't a big deal, just a few appearances, a little merchandise sales, then you'll be on your way."
"Ok," Ken nods as he takes the pen and scratches his name out slowly, like he has to think about every letter of his name, K-E-N S-H-I-E-L-D-S. Chuck pulls the pen out of his hand, folds the contract and stuffs it inside his suit jacket, a smile coming across his face.
"No you turn back around, head back to Austin, head for the arena. Look for our production trucks, they'll fix you up," he points down the road. "Do not go to a hospital, our people take care of you now. They'll set you up with a hotel room, everything." He clasps his hands on Ken's shoulders, rubbing them. "The WGF," he says, looking into Ken's eyes. "The WGF takes care of its own, Ken, and for now, you are one of us.
"This?" He points to the scene. "This was an unfortunate hit and run accident, the SUV that hit him went off that way," he points East, where Ken was heading. "We didn't get a good look at the plates, the driver, but damnit we'll get that bastard. You? You forgot something and just so happened to run into us back in Austin and when you heard about Colossus, one of your heroes, well you were broken up and called me. You knew you had to say a few words for the cameras."
"Ok," Ken nods, still in disbelief as he climbs into his Hummer and turns the ignition.
"So you head or the arena, alright?" Chuck slaps the door shut behind him. Ken swallows and nods as he drives away, Chuck laughing as Pretty Boy comes up behind him.
"You think this'll pay off?" He asks.
"One of the hometown heroes, a top draft pick choosing to come to the WGF as opposed to the NFL?" He nods to himself. "I think we've just found ourselves a new superstar."
