Welcome Guest [Log In] [Register]
Add Reply
False Idols Fall: 005; vs. Johnny Napalm, Path of the Warrior
Topic Started: Jun 27 2016, 11:02 AM (15 Views)
Kharrion


Jennifer has spent nearly every night at Dietrich’s apartment since they met, and the overall cleanliness of it stands as proof of her influence. Where there was once a pile of empty beer cans there now sits a plastic recycling bin, emptied routinely. The various ash trays scattered about have been consolidated to one in the kitchen, one in his bedroom, and one in the living room. The old box television has been replaced with a modern HD set, resting on a second-hand entertainment center from Savers as opposed to an old beer cooler.

She, too, has changed. Her shoe-gazing, defeated face has morphed into something more radiant and optimistic. Her hair, once matted and knotted, has been cropped close and styled. Her fashion sense, too, has evolved from whatever she could put on her body to more seasonally appropriate attire, trading the leather jacket and ratty jeans for a floral print sundress.

Dietrich has, of course, noticed this. He’s even been caught looking at her from the corner of his eye, abruptly clearing his throat and changing the topic of conversation each time she’s started to inquire about his feelings on the matter.


“Like what you see?” is heard regularly, a half-joke if there ever was one. She’d smile and laugh and he, too, would find himself engaging in the act, overtly complimenting her and feeding into the façade.

“Always great ta see a cute chick in a dress.”

Through it all, though, physical contact was scarce, remaining on a strictly platonic level. A hug here, a pat on the back there, and never more than a second or two, lest he allow her to see who he really was.

And then came that fateful day.


Posted Image

[Dietrich stands in a parking lot, mid-day. The sun reflects off the lenses of his cheap sunglasses, its light getting lost and dying in his beard. Behind him stands the Worcester Palladium, the telltale advertisement for Miller Lite that reads “GREAT MUSIC, GREAT BEER” with an illustration of piano keys surrounding it a landmark for all familiar with the area.]

Dietrich:
“Lemme tell ya why theah ain’t a chance in hell a’ ya winnin’ out in Chicago, Johnny.”

[He takes a drag and ashes it as the camera pulls back, revealing that Dietrich is sporting a classic Johnny Napalm t-shirt, one out of print since the collapse of the NYSWF.]

Dietrich:
“It ain’t ‘cause a’ ya age uh how many times ya broken ya bones, it ain’t ‘cause a’ some desiah a’ mine ta kill an’ old hero, and it definitely ain’t ‘cause I’m toughah than ya ever was.

It’s all gotta do with puhspective.”

[Static cut.]

June 20th, 2016

Jennifer wakes up, alone for the first time in over a month, in Dietrich’s bed. She looks to her sides and realizes this as the fog of sleep dissipates, rubbing her eyes and yawning while she sits up. She looks down and sees that she’s not wearing one of her own shirts, but rather Dietrich’s classic Johnny Napalm NYSWF tee and a pair of basketball shorts. She rises out of bed and walks into the hall, listening for any other sign of life.


“Joey?”

No reply comes to her, prompting a quick investigation of the rest of the apartment. The domicile is empty, devoid of all life except for her, and she walks into the kitchen, spying a note scribbled on a small white board on the refrigerator.

JEN, WENT TO THE PACKIE. BE BACK SOON.

She turns to the clock, reading it’s time aloud.

“9 in the morning...and he’s grabbing beer?”

She shakes her head, wiping the sleep from the corners of her eyes as she laughs.

“God dammit, Joey...”

She jumps as a series of quick knocks hit the door, nearly falling against the stove. She stands in silence, contemplating what to do, and the knocks return.

Posted Image

Dietrich:
“See, brothah, I been doin’ moah shit all ‘round ya, in front an’ behind, than ya could evah even think a’. Cuttin’ deals with this guy, talkin’ business with that guy...all the shit that we all do but nevah mention, ya know? Theah’s some big guns comin’ ta the EWA, some tough mothafuckahs that ya know pretty well, and they got some scores ta settle with people that would rathah not see any a’ it happenin’ any time soon.

So ol’ Dietrich heah, ya know what he’s been doin’? Netwoahkin’. Takin’ calls from folks that I didn’t even know had my numbah, shootin’ off e-mails an’ shit...all that stupid suit kinda shit that none a’ us wanna deal with.

Johnny, I’m already lookin’ past ya, kid. I’m plannin’ fuh next week, next month...

...next yeah.

From wheah I’m standin’, brothah? Ain’t no way ya got a shot.”

[Drag. Inhale. Exhale.]

Dietrich:
“It’s all ‘bout ya puhspective, Johnny. See, I already won.

I won back in January when ya couldn’t keep me down fuh even a fuckin’ second.

I won down in Mexico when I took this from ya.”

[He reaches into his back pocket and produces the bloodied God of Violence mask, holding it up next to his face with a slight grin.]

Dietrich:
“Ya can talk ‘bout Price and Bossman Gates and how it wasn’t a fair fight, and maybe it wasn’t, but Johnny, brothah, ya gotta listen ta the words comin’ out ya mouth when ya speak that bullshit.

Would the real God a’ Violence have been as unpruhpaih’d as ya was that night? Wouldn’t the real God a’ Violence been able ta ovahcome that shit?

Shit, brothah, I been sayin’ this since day fuckin’ ONE! And ya still tryin’ ta play catch-up with it. It’s cool, though. All those shots ta the head ya got ovah ya careeah, all the times that E-Nuff and SmirtDogg got one ovah on ya...”

[A genuine smile makes its appearance as Dietrich recounts Napalm’s history, his memories dancing before his eyes. He hesitates to speak, making a brief grunt of a noise before clearing his throat.]

Dietrich:
“...what happened ta ya? When’d ya lose ya way?”

[The smile fades as his face muscles tense up, his voice fettered with an accusatory tone.]

Dietrich:
“When the fuck did ya lose ya fuckin’ balls?!”

[Static cut.]

June 20, 2016

Jennifer looks out the peephole of Dietrich’s apartment door and spies a shorter man with a mullet-style mohawk dyed several colors and a black acid washed kutte adorned with spikes, a few chains, patches galore, and a solitary football shoulder pad over the left arm. His head hangs low, removing his face from Jennifer’s view, and he knocks again, moving in a jerky and disjointed fashion.


“Who...who is it?”

The man slowly lifts his head, raising an eyebrow in confusion over a woman’s voice answering the door instead of Dietrich’s. He is of mixed ethnicity, predominantly Asian of some sort, and makes no noise, just tonguing the inside of his lower lip before knocking again.

“Um, who is it?”

The man shakes his head and rubs his eyes before sticking his fingers in his ears, “cleaning” them out briefly before another set of knocks.

“Look, I’m not asking again.”

He snickers to himself and looks both ways down the hall, growing more and more impatient. He lets out an annoyed grunt and goes to knock again, but Jennifer opens the door enough to peak out, the industrial deadbolt preventing the door from being forced in. The man holds his fist up still for a knock, completely disregarding Jennifer’s presence, and halts his motions.

“Who...the hell...is it?”

The man slowly turns his gaze to her, a smile creeping across his face, and then reaches into his kutte. Jennifer goes to slam the door but he sticks his foot in, keeping the small space open. She jumps back, out of range of any possible attack, and backs up down the hallway as the man slides a manila envelope through the space in the door.

“You must be Jen.”

She chokes on her words and rushes to the kitchen, grabbing the largest knife she can find and wields it as if it were a sword.

“You can put the knife down, my dear. I mean you no harm.”

She trembles, the blade shaking in her hands, and slowly makes her way to the door.

“I was just hoping that Jojo would be in. Are you expecting him back soon?”

She offers no answer, cautiously closing the gap between her and the door; between her and the stranger.

“Hello, my dear? Are you still there?”

Jennifer nearly drops the knife but manages to keep a grip on it, swallowing her fear and offering a response.

“H-he’s going to be back any...any s-second now...”

Glee comes over the man as he pulls the manila envelope back out to him, laughing.

“Good! I’ll wait for him.”

Posted Image

Dietrich:
“Maybe it was when ya tried ta play nice ovah in SHOOT. Doin’ all that ‘real’ trainin’, leahnin’ the ahts a’ grapplin’ and tryin’ ta be the kinda guy that the company wanted ya ta be. Ya cut ya haih, ya trimmed ya beahd, ya stahted dressin’ nicah and speakin’ softah...”

[He searches for his words, placing his cigarette in his mouth as he holds the God of Violence mask in both hands, staring down at it. He lets go of it and rubs an eye under his sunglasses, tensing every muscle in his body as his emotions sweep through him.]

Dietrich:
“I already done told ya ‘bout my brothah Piotr. ‘Bout how we’d stay up late an’ catch a world a’ shit fuh it, just ta watch ya matches. The NYSWF came on late night ovah heah and we wouldn’t miss a second a’ it, all ta see Johnny fuckin’ Napalm.

I told ya ‘bout how we looked up ta ya, how I swore ta him aftah that cah took him away from me that I’d be standin’ in the ring with ya. ‘Bout the betrayal I felt when ya had ta get ya shit in when I was makin’ my debut and ya exposed yaself as the broken down piece a’ shit that most a’ the world already pegged ya as.”

[He crumples the mask in one fist and throws it to the ground, breathing heavily.]

Dietrich:
“Ya sold out, Johnny.”

[Beat.]

Dietrich:
“Ya spent so long doin’ it the way ya wanted ta do it, fightin’ the wars ya knew ya needed ta fight, and then ya took the extra paycheck and ya toned it down ‘cause a few promotahs didn’t want none a’ ya violence.

Ya got soft.”

[Dietrich laughs and shakes his head, letting out a relaxing sigh.]

Dietrich:
“That’s rich, ain’t it? A man like myself, who’s been open ‘bout doin’ this fuh a paycheck, callin’ somebody else a fuckin’ sell-out.

It’d be hi-fuckin’-larious if it wasn’t so goddamn true.”

[Static cut.]

June 20, 2016

Minutes creep along as Jennifer, now kneeling by the door, keeps the knife steady in her hand. She breathes shallowly, her pupils wide as the man whistles the melody from “The Andy Griffith Show.” Neither one speaks a word to the other, that is until...


“Rock, my brothah, how the hell ya been?”

Dietrich’s voice echoes in Jennifer’s mind as she dwells on it, quickly rushing to the door and slamming it shut. She works the industrial deadbolt open and rips the door wide, pointing the knife at the man as Dietrich and he embrace.

“I’ve been well, Jojo! I see your guest isn’t as accommodating as you’ve always been.”

Dietrich, a case of Keystone Light under one arm and a brown paper bag sticking out from under his kutte, turns his attention to Jennifer and her knife. He shakes his head, holding up a hand as he pats his apparent friend, whom he dwarfs in size and stature, on the back.

“Nah, Jen, he’s cool. Ol’ friend a’ mine.”

She breathes a sigh of relief and backs up, tossing the knife errantly into the kitchen sink as Dietrich walks in, pulling out the brown paper bag and tossing it onto the couch.

“What brings ya heah, brothah?”

“A potent blend of business...”

The man looks to Jennifer, eyeing her up and down, before offering her a kind smile.

“...and pleasure.”

Jennifer backs up the sink again, scrambling for the knife, and readies it as Dietrich closes the door behind them, offering a deep, belly laugh.

“Ah man, that’s hahsh. Go easy on her, would ya? She been through some shit.”

The man’s demeanor changes entirely, softening to Jennifer and no doubt influenced by the large knife in her hand.

“Please accept my apologies, my dear. I don’t exactly make the best first impressions.”

He offers her his hand, bowing and holding the other behind his back. Jennifer looks at the knife and at him and back again and again, unsure of what to do.

“Jenny, I told ya, he’s cool. Put the fuckin’ knife down.”

She does as is requested, dropping the knife back into the sink. Dietrich places the case of Keystone on the counter and is surprised by her embrace, her grip squeezing him tighter than expected.

“Whoa, ya okay? What happened? Bad dreams again?”

“Sorry...you were gone, he came over, and...I’m just sorry.”

“Hey, dude, it’s cool. Ol’ Rock heah? We go back a ways. He ain’t evah done nothin’ ta nobody that ain’t brought in on they selves.”

”Rock” keeps his hand extended and his head bowed, waiting for Jennifer’s reply. She trepidatiously accepts his hand and shakes it, set back when he quickly kisses her knuckles and releases her.

“So Rock, what kind a’ business and what kind a’ pleasuah?”

Posted Image

[Dietrich regains his composure, clearing his throat once more, and crosses his arms over his chest.]

Dietrich:
“See, brothah, that’s what I mean when I tell ya ‘bout havin’ the right puhspective. Ya can talk ta me ‘bout bein’ a hypahcrite fuh yellin’ at ya fuh takin’ some money and changin’ the way ya do things when I’m admittin’ I do this fuh cash, but theah’s a fine line between havin’ a job ta do and sacruhficin’ ya morals, and me? I ain’t evah sacruhficed a single shred a’ what makes me who I am.

Fuh stahtahs? I ain’t ever told ya a single thing that wasn’t the truth.

I was paid by Gates ta take ya down a notch uh two. I did it fuh my own satisfaction. Neithah one a’ those statements is a lie. Gates told me he’d give me a nice bonus fuh puttin’ ya on the shelf and he stuck ta his word. I told ya that I’d put ya down and I did.

Not a single fuckin’ thing I told ya has been a lie, Johnny, so I want ya ta pay attention ta the next few words that come outta my mouth. Don’t reply, don’t block ya eahs and rabble on ‘bout what I did ta Isaac uh how the guy negotiatin’ my deals don’t duhserve ta be on the payroll. Just listen to ‘em, chew on ‘em, and open ya eyes.”

[Johan takes a deep, calming breath, and then leans in closer to the camera.]

Dietrich:
“I already won the war.”

[Static cut.]

June 20, 2016

Over an hour has passed since “Rock” first made his existence known to Jennifer, and she laughs at how frightened she was while getting dressed after a shower. She exits the bathroom and walks to the living room, stealing a cigarette from Dietrich’s freshly opened pack. “Rock” hands her a lighter, a silver Zippo nearly identical to Dietrich’s save for a cross etched into the top, and she sparks it, taking a drag.


“Thank you.”

“You are very, very welcome.”

Jennifer can’t help herself from laughing at his eccentric delivery, her eyes roaming from his face to Dietrich’s to a dozen 8x10s scattered across the living room table.

“What are these?”

She picks one up...

“Uh, ya prob’ly shouldn’t be lookin’ at that.”

...and nearly drops her cigarette as she realizes what she’s seeing.

An older man, late 30s/early 40s, bloodied and battered and looking, for all intents and purposes, as though he were dead. Beside him lies Dietrich, a sick smile on his face, giving an enthusiastic “thumbs up” in approval.

Jennifer steps back and drops the photograph, staring at both Dietrich and “Rock” in disbelief.


“You...you fucking...”

“It ain’t what ya think it is, Jen.”

“Do you not enjoy my art?”

She drops the cigarette and backs away, hitting the wall.

“Trust me when I say that he deserved it, my dear.”

Quickly, her eyes well up with tears, and she rushes to the door, fumbling with the industrial deadbolt as Dietrich darts from the couch and shoves the door shut.

“L-let me go...LET ME GO!!”

“Would ya calm the fuck down, Jen? Rock just came by ‘cause...”

“I DON’T CARE WHY HE CAME BY!! YOU TWO ARE SICK!! I WANT TO GO HOME!! I WANT TO GO HOOOOME...!!!”

She slaps Dietrich across the face and rushes over to the kitchen sink, picking up the same large knife as earlier. She brandishes it about as Dietrich and “Rock” hold their hands up, backing away.

“You should really listen to Jojo, my dear. There is more to this than there appears to be at a first glance.”

“I don’t care...I DON’T CARE! You guys are...you guys are FUCKED!!”

Dietrich walks over the door and the knife becomes aimed in his direction. He unlatches the industrial deadbolt and slowly opens the door before backing away again, sitting back down on the couch.

“Ya look like ya’d rathah be anywheah else but heah, so ya free ta go whenevah ya want. I’d rathah ya stick around, though, ‘cause this shit...well, looks like ya might need ta get filled in a li’l bit on what exactly I do fuh a livin’.”

Jennifer’s tears escape her eyes and stream down her cheeks, her grip on the knife failing her before it drops to the floor. Neither Dietrich nor “Rock” move a muscle as Jennifer sits down in the corner, curling into a seated fetal position.

“Jojo, I’m beginning to think that you and her need to have a nice conversation. I’ll be in touch.”

“Where ya headin’ off ta, dude? I thought we had plans taday.”

“Plans change, my friend. You seem to have bigger issues to deal with today than spending time with me. Jojo...”

”Rock” looks to Jennifer and shrugs his shoulders, sticking his hands in his pockets and offering his best Ricky Ricardo impression.

“...you got some ‘splainin’ to do.”

He offers Dietrich a wink and then starts to whistle the melody of “Green Acres,” strutting his way into the hallway and closing the door behind him. Minutes of silence pass as Dietrich lights another cigarette, examining the photographs, and Jennifer calms down. She whimpers, shaking her head and holding herself tight.

“Jen...ya ready ta talk?”

She sniffles, hysterical, and barely forces the words out.

“...about what...”

“Guy’s name...nah, guess it don’t mattah what his name is, huh? Used ta be a tough sonuva bitch, too. Guy I used ta look up ta...befoah I evah met him.”

Beat. Dietrich takes another drag from his cigarette and blows the smoke out slowly, his eyes never leaving Jennifer.

“Trust me when I say that the fuckah duhserved it. Looks like we got a bit ta talk ‘bout.”

Posted Image

Dietrich:
“Let that sink in, Johnny. Take a minute and just let it happen.”

[He smirks, lifting his head up high again and savoring the moment.]

Dietrich:
“Whethah ya get that one-two-three on me in Chicago uh not, whethah I send ya ta the retiahment home uh the morgue, I already did what I said I was gonna do.

I told all a’ ya’s that I’d put Johnny Napalm on the shelf and I did.

I told all a’ ya’s I’d be the Atlantic Coast champ and I was.

Most a’ all, Johnny? I told ya that I’d bring the God a’ Violence back from the fuckin’ dead, and heah we fuckin’ ah!”

[He laughs to himself, the smug sense of self-satisfaction washing over him.]

Dietrich:
“Shit, Johnny, that puhspective thing I was talkin’ ‘bout a minute ago? From mine, theah ain’t a single fuckin’ thing that can happen in Chicago that ain’t provin’ me right ‘bout all a’ this shit, and theah ain’t a single fuckin’ outcome that’s gonna make me second-guess if the last five months was worth it.

Ya beat me? My hero’s back.

I beat ya ass like I already done a few times ovah? Folks realize that ya was just anothah false idol, fallin’ down inta the depths a’ obscurity like all the othahs.

So what’s it gonna be, brothah? Ah ya gonna make me the happiest fan on the fuckin’ planet and kick my teeth in, uh ah ya gonna roll ovah and fade away like all the othah old dogs that ya used ta run with? I can’t wait ta find out what kinda ‘god’ ya gonna be.

Oh, and Johnny?”

[Dietrich rips his sunglasses off and stares directly into the camera. Directly at Johnny Napalm.]

Dietrich:
“Be seein’ ya real fuckin’ soon, kid.”

[END.]
Posted Image
Offline Profile Quote Post Goto Top
 
1 user reading this topic (1 Guest and 0 Anonymous)
ZetaBoards - Free Forum Hosting
Join the millions that use us for their forum communities. Create your own forum today.
« Previous Topic · The Warrior's Den · Next Topic »
Add Reply