Rock Bottom

At a dive bar someplace, you can find Gabriel Tuck. He sits at the bar, a shot glass in front of him and a bottle of whiskey. That is, his second bottle of whiskey. He pours himself a shot, lifts the shotglass to peer into the brown liquid as if trying to see something in it’s swirls, and then shoots it. He slams the empty glass down onto the bar with a sigh.

The bartender is nearby serving other customers when he hears the shotglass being slammed down. He scowls at Gabriel.

Bartender: Break the glass or the bar and it’ll cost you.

Gabriel growls, tossing a hundred dollar bill onto the bar as a tip.

Tuck: There. Fuck you.

The bartender makes the hundred dollar bill vanish into his pocket before sneering at Gabriel.

Bartender: Fuck you too.

This brings a half-smile to Gabriel’s face as he pours himself another shot and downs it.

Tuck: That’s the fucking spirit. Fucking break ole Gabriel Tuck down. Everyfuckingbody else does.

Gabriel pours himself another shot, brings it to his lips to shoot it when he hears a familiar voice.

?: The great Gabriel Tuck is drunk again. I guess I shouldn’t be shocked.

Gabriel swivels in his barstool to see Eddie Havok standing there. Gabriel chuckles, downing the shot, and setting it down on the bar.

Tuck: If it isn’t my future tag team partner and opponent. The fuck do you want? You come to fucking gloat? How the great Gabriel Tuck has fallen?

Gabriel pours himself another shot, but Havok grabs it away from him and downs it, setting the empty glass down on the bar.

Havok: I came here to check on you. Where’s the remainder of your clown gang?

Gabriel grabs his shotglass back, filling it and downing it.

Tuck: I sent Hehehe and Hahaha down to Baton Rouge to see about getting Sticky out of jail. That’s all that remains of my crew. That’s fucking it! Three out of over fucking twenty! I don’t even know how the guys died while IN THE HOSPITAL!

Havok awkwardly places a hand on Gabriel’s shoulder.

Havok: I’m sure that you’ll be able to shore up your numbers in time.

Gabriel flings Havok’s hand away with a snarl.

Tuck: It doesn’t fucking matter! None of it does! It'll be up to Sticky how to rebuild. I won’t be fucking shit up anymore.

Havok: What? How?

Gabriel pulls out his heavy revolver and places the barrel of the gun against his temple.

Tuck: Fuck this fucking shit.

People around Gabriel and Havok scream and recoil away. Havok just sighs.

Havok: Do it.

Tuck: What?

Havok grabs the shotglass, fills himself a shot, downs it, and slams the empty glass down on the bar.

Havok: Do you think we’re friends or something? You think maybe I forgot that you and your gang hunted me and mine down like animals with every intention of killing us? Just do it and end the threat that you represent. I can go a match without a dance partner.

Gabriel blinks.

Tuck: And you made a daring escape with your fucking lives. Maybe I finish the job that Armand von Krauss wanted me to start.

Gabriel shifts his aim from himself to Havok’s chest, but Havok doesn’t flinch.

Havok: Then shoot me. Looks like this is the only way that you’re going to win a match in OPW is over a dead body. It’ll be what your third win out of how many losses?

Gabriel sneers like he’s going to snap off a biting comment before shooting Havok, but puts the gun away.

Tuck: Fuck! I’m going to kick your ass in the middle of the ring, Havok. Just you fucking wait and see.

Havok: Bring it, Tuck.

Gabriel motions to the bottle, pouring himself one more shot.

Tuck: You can finish the bottle. It’s paid for. I need to see Johnny if I’m going to bother continuing with this. He fucking owes me.

Havok: You should have known better than to deal with Johnny.

Gabriel hops off the barstool and begins walking, he raises a hand to flip off Havok as he walks away.

Tuck: Johnny will learn to not fuck with me!

Hours later, Johnny Stylez is at his office when his door is kicked in. Gabriel Tuck walks in through the door, looking exactly as if someone had dropped a deuce in his Cheerios in the morning. He’s also still a little drunk. He draws his heavy revolver and taps it on the desk.

Tuck: You fucking owe me, Stylez. I did what you asked with Chamber and it cost me my men!

Johnny Stylez calmly places his own piece on the desk, to where he can grab it, and shoot Gabriel if needed.

Stylez: I have your money.

Tuck: I’ve taken a lot of casualties on my side. My price just fucking doubled.

Johnny’s eyebrows go up in shock.

Stylez: What? You did a job. Why do I care if you lost phuckin’ clowns?

Gabriel reaches across the desk, grabbing Johnny’s gun, and tossing it across the room. He points the heavy revolver at Johnny’s head. Far from being afraid, Johnny just chuckles.

Stylez: It’s fine, dawg. I already took that into consideration.

Johnny reaches down next to him and brings up a briefcase that he sets on the desk. Gabriel narrows his eyes, but puts the gun away, and sits down. He pops open the briefcase to see stacks of cash. More than double the agreed upon amount. There’s also a card on the top of the money. Gabriel picks the card up and examines it.

Tuck: What the fuck is this?

Stylez: More on that later. It’s going to change your wrestling world.

Gabriel nods, putting the card back and closing the briefcase. He cracks a smile.

Tuck: Pleasure doing business with you. This shit won’t happen again.

Gabriel Tuck leaves the office with his money. Johnny just leans back in his chair with a wide grin.

Stylez: I own you, phucker.