HIGHWAY TO HEAVEN SENT

Author's note: This piece was written by me during the period between April and September of 2023 as a guest CD for HEAVEN SENT. Any inconsistencies in timelines or portrayals of events and characters here and in the wider twitter/efed community are due to either time or my error. Thanks to Cassanova English for patience and continued support. Special thanks to the handlers of Johnny Bacchus and Lissie Hope for letting me comment on their great story in what follows. I hope you enjoy this introduction to Harvey Marx and the Big Ticket Entertainment crew.)

BTE Presents: Collateral Dreams




Conroe, Texas



April 30th 2023



The overgrown grass cut away from the edge of the stone is caught by a gentle breeze and settles within the carvings. The gardener’s gloves don't cover the sleeves of his silk shirt, but the young man kneeing here now doesn't mind. He cuts quickly, and the easy movement of his skilled hands mirror the calm in his mind. He pours water from an old milk jug only when the corners are perfect. The moss is swept away before he removes the gloves. He stands and takes in the way the sunlight catches the marble and the now pristine engravings.



Robert G. Hope III



1/11/1993-7/24/2020



Heavy footsteps behind, and a massive shadow blocks the light. The visitor smiles gently, still thinking the stone looks fine in the darkness. He doesn't look up or turn before he speaks.







Frank: I thought you might show up, Mr. Marx.



Marx: What are you doing here, Frank?



Frank: Whatever I have to.



Marx: Does that mean you don't know?



Frank: Not yet. You know how it goes.







Harvey Marx has known Frank Bellwood since his protegee was only six. Fifteen years later, he still has no idea how this goes.



Marx: I get it, kid. You can’t sleep.



Frank: I sleep just fine. It’s the others who can’t rest. But It would be nice if my dreams were my own every now and then. Not images from a grave.



Marx: But this isn't a grave, it's a warzone.







Harvey gestures at the deep ruts in the earth nearby and at the 9mm casings that gleam once he moves to Frank's side. Frank looks into Harvey's eyes







Frank: That's not Robbie’s fault, BT.



Marx: No it isn't. But there's something going down right now, and a lot of dangerous people are finding their way here. Collateral damage doesn’t matter to these people, and neither do you. I know you care about this kid, but do you want to end up like him?







Frank looks at Marx sharply. He doesn’t need to be reminded how Robbie Hope died. Hope’s last moments have been on a brutal loop in Frank’s brain every night since December. He looks the big man over. He's wearing a cream-colored suit with black shirt. To Frank's eye, the extra room in the shoulders is all the more obvious on Marx's massive frame.







Frank: You're dressed to throw a punch big man. Expecting trouble?







Marx: No.







Frank: Liar







Marx: The truth doesn't seem to be getting me very far with you anyway. I wouldn't have to expect trouble if you didn't go looking for it.







Frank: I don't look for trouble. Troubled people maybe, but they find their way to me







Marx: Dead ones...







Frank smiles at Marx







Frank: Not always, Mr. Marx.







Marx: Look there's a lot more than grief around Lissie hope...







Frank wasn't talking about Lissie, but he stays silent.







Marx: Philior Holdings, Carter Shaw, Casanova English, Cass Adler. Arcadia. Look at this place, Frank. There's not so much as police line anywhere. They're just waiting to see who shows up!







Frank laughs







Frank: You really shouldn't have driven yourself here in the production bus, then.







Marx is indignant.







Marx: The Big Ticket doesn't drive himself. AND I'm an eccentric fight promotor and television personality. Appearances are important!







Frank gestures at his own navy suit with pin-striped shirt and tie.







Frank: I made this and most of yours, so I have to give you that.







Harvey recovers and shakes his head. That's your takeaway? I don't think you're hearing me.







Frank's expression is serene, and a little sad. He turns his gaze back in the stone







Frank: This isn't about what I'm not hearing. It's probably about what lissie isn't hearing.







Marx: So…what then?



Frank: There might not be much I can do. I still have to try to give Robbie what I can. I think I’ll take some time off stay down here for a while.







Marx: My suits, voiceover work, And you’re the only one Boris actually listens to. You know I’m in your corner, Frank. I would need at least two people to fill your shoes.







Frank: Funny you should put it that way. I was thinking I would reach out to Helena Handbasket.



Marx: It’s hard to believe it took a few years and an announcement for fans to figure out they are a partner act.







Frank: You only change your accent and plenty of people think The Big Ticket is who you are







Marx: It’s not the same. Marx is part of me turned up to eleven. I don’t do the Batman thing. Those two aren’t built the same, they don’t even move the same.







Frank: It isn’t surprising they’re tired of doing the act full time.



Harvey smiles at Frank’s unspoken question.



Marx: Call me old fashioned if you want to. I love the game. Wouldn’t feel right of I let the people all the way in.



Frank: We’ve got some company.



Harvey turns and begins to close the distance between himself and a man moving across the grass near the cemetery gate.



He smiles his best infomercial smile and grabs the hand of the middle-aged man in jeans and a baseball cap. Harvey keeps his smile in place well his nostrils are assaulted by more than a splash of cheap perfume. There is a pale circle on the ring finger that is still resting at the stranger’s side.



The hard-hitting host of sucker punch live has spent years picking his own contestants out of the studio Audience. Most game show viewers want to see a winner. In Harvey’s world They prefer morons unconscious on the floor. Work has taught the big man to spot a sucker.



Life offstage and in the ring has taught him to spot a threat.



The man winces under the force of a hostile handshake and Harvey smile broadens just a little more.



This man and the lipstick on his collar would feel right at home on sucker punch live.







The man’s voice is steady, but he’s spending through pain as both Marx’s hands close tighter around one of his.



Ronald James, Houston Chronicle…



A tinny ringtone from his back pocket makes the man blink before he goes on







Do you have any comment on last week’s Brawl results?



Marx finally let’s go of the throbbing hand. The voice that comes next is the booming New York growl he uses to pay the bills on Monday nights.



Marx: Great to meet you, Roger! It was a party like it is every night I step through those ropes. That’s what the WGWF pays me for, not my opinion. But I’ll give you one for free, my friend: that ringtone is fire!



Ronald pauses for a moment, silently pressing Marx with raised eyebrows before giving back the cane and starting to walk to Frank and the grave. The phone in Ronald’s pocket rings again and his stride wavers for a heartbeat. He reaches for it, ignoring the call and snaps a few pictures.



James: And what is your business here, Mr. Marx?



Marx: This isn’t business. My associate and I are here for a personal matter.



James: Are you aware of what happened here last night?



Marx plants his cane into a crater left by a sledgehammer and does a classic Hollywood song and dance lean that wouldn’t look natural for anyone else his size.



Marx: Kind of hard not to be aware of it, but I can’t say I know anything about it. I didn’t get into Houston until this morning.



James: You expect my readers to believe you and this kid just happened to show up at the grave of a champion wrester’s brother the day after it becomes a crime scene? You didn’t think that would draw attention?



At six feet seven inches and weighing 450 pounds, Harvey Marx can’t go anywhere without drawing attention. He’s turned this into a career in television and promotions. What he’s told the reporter is the truth. His presence here and last night’s probable beatdown/attempted murder/ possible grave robbing is entirely coincidental. But he’s been in the media long enough to know that the truth and the story of this day will be very different. Even for The Big Ticket, there’s such a thing as the wrong kind of attention. He makes a decision and reaches into the front pocket of his jacket.



Marx: Well, that’s what’s great about the great state of Texas, pal. Your readers can believe whatever they want.



He stands up straight and steps closer to the reporter. His grin doesn’t move, but his eyes are not smiling now. He throws an arm around the reporter. His voice is conspiratorial, but the hug has Ronald begging on the inside for another handshake.



Marx: I know what this looks like and it looks to me like I’m not the only one who's been somewhere he's not supposed to be today. Tell you what I’ll do Rufus. I’ll make you a deal. You don’t ask such personal questions, and I don’t ask you where your wedding ring and press credentials are, eh? You look like a man looking for a story not a problem.



He holds out an envelope.



Your story is right here. A VIP ticket to CULT’s Heaven Sent in Knoxville. You’ll be in my producer’s private box. Miss Albright will tell you things going down in the industry months before anyone else.



To Harvey’s enormous relief Ronald is smart enough to look suspicious.



James: All I have to do Is not print these pictures and I go to one of the hottest wrestling events in the country on your dime?



Marx: That’s right. And stop ignoring your wife’s calls. I pay off idiots on TV. I only make deals with gentlemen off camera. You are a gentleman aren’t you, Reggie?



James: Of course, sir.



Survey says: Ronald James is a terrible liar



How am I supposed to get to Knoxville by tonight?



The reporter flinches as Marx throws an arm around him again. The big man produces a smart phone from nowhere and playful replaces his left fist under Ronald ‘s jaw And snaps a picture.



Marx: You go to airport and show that to Kelly at the Kayfabe Airlines counter. My friends will do the rest. You’ll have a room at Sugarhold Suites Knoxville waiting for you.



The phone rings again and Ronald picks up. By the time James is 100 feet away, the breeze is still carrying the sound of a furious, screeching tirade on the other end of the line. Harvey watches Frank stand up slowly with a nervous look on his face.



Marx: What is it?



Frank: We’re being watched.



Marx: Yes, this is still a crime scene. I’ve already made three cops since I got here…



Frank: Not them. There’s a man standing behind the archangel statue over there.



Marx: That’s got to be 100 yards away.



Frank smiles and chuckles in spite of his distress



Frank: He can’t hide from me here. He’s wearing a corduroy jacket, worn, but a perfect fit.



Marx: You’re talking shop while we’ve got the invisible man over there doing whatever he’s doing?



Frank: That came from a child. He’s telling what he thinks I want to know.



Marx: Can you…You know, see his face?



Frank: Not unless I get closer, and I don’t think I should. The people resting here don’t know him. Look. One of the plots over there was a smoke jumper, and there’s a woman I can hardly feel through all the dark secrets she took to her grave. Whoever this guy is, he’s making THEM uneasy.



Marx: So let me see if I’ve got the picture. We’re at the scene of a violent crime, surrounded by second-rate undercover cops, and there’s some shadowy figure with bad intentions and killer fashion sense lurking behind a huge, gothic statue, and some sleezy reporter is going to make BTE the focus of some outlandish noir story in the morning? Are you SURE we’re not still in the Black Pyramid Universe?



Both men collapse in a heap on the grass, laughing hysterically. Some time later, Marx and Frank compose themselves.











Frank: I heard James mention WGWF. Do you ever wish it was you in the ring?



Marx: I’m in the ring at every show



Frank: You know what I mean. Do you ever see yourself in there fighting again?



Harvey Marx retired from boxing a long time ago. He’s never stopped fighting.



Marx: Are you asking about a match or a fight?



Frank: What’s the difference?



Marx: A match is a performance with rules and referees. A fight is something different.



Frank: Then what do you call the crucifixion match you just sent that guy to.



Marx: Just sick rich boys playing with human toys. The lions are the only thing missing and Casanova English might be one tantrum away from checking that box.



This conversation should be terrifying. Naked, dehumanizing brutality like this should have been left behind in ancient times. Two people who have held each others trust, bodies, fears, secrets, and victories as sacred should not sign a contract to paint each other’s nightmares in blood in front of 20,000 people. Harvey Marx is unsettled, but he is not terrified by this story. The worst of it hits a heartbeat later when he asks himself why not.



And realizes he’s already thinking about how to fill the stands.



Marx decides he prefers a teachable moment to a traumatic one.



Marx: Promotion 101, kid. We don’t have to like it, just have to convince the public they will. How do we do that?



Frank: We find the story.



Marx: Yes!



Marx launches into a promo, loud enough for the creep in the corduroy jacket to hear. If he can’t thrash the guy, he’ll damn sure mock him.







“CULT's trademark trainwreck takes on a personal flavor tonight. One of wrestling’s power couples serves up some star-crossed sadism with a belt on the line



First of our combatants is Johnny Bacchus







He was a theater kid from Oakland. He came to Vegas and found his spotlight wasn't on the strip but in the ring. A man walking his own path in red shoes had a legendary title reign. One day he found himself looking down. No matter how high and how fast his star was rising, he learned he couldn't elevate the world around him. It wasn't up to the ideals he's talking about so often.”







There's no way to know if it was experience, disillusionment or both that brought out the Man in Black, but something felt more real to me then. The bad boy look was good for the brand, but it wasn't the whole story. It is true he wasn't playing the star anymore. He's gotten so good at playing the loner that the crowd often misses the point.







That means he wants to be a hero on his own terms, folks! His mission to bring down philidor brought his AW run to a close. Surely some other crusade has brought him to CULT!”







Frank: “Johnny Bacchus is looking for a cause while the whole world is having no trouble Lissie Hope. From starting for the LFLs Toronto Frost and modeling contracts to reality TV and rumble matches, the face of action wrestling seems to be the face of the moment. She’s looking for more respect, more belts and more bookings! And she’s looking for herself.”



Marx nods



Marx: Good angle, kid. This story is about convictions and confusion. They’ll look like gods on the posters, but we need to keep them relatable in a match like this one. They’re people, and we can’t have the public forgetting that I’ve been on the business side long enough to know what Lissie hasn’t figured out. Confusing your worth as a commodity with your value as a person is easy in this industry. Love and loyalty don’t make a home in the same place as limelight and luxury.



Frank: What’s scary is that her struggles have hardly slowed Lissie down in the ring. Imagine the day she can give a name to what she’s really fighting for.



Marx: It would be best if we all got the hell out of the way when that day comes….



Frank: They’re trying so hard to rise, they can’t see the fall here.



Marx: Never put your ambitions over people, Frank. That’s the reason for this mess.



Frank: You put money above people all the time.



Marx: I wouldn’t be much of a promoter if I couldn’t do that. But I see your point. The booker deserves plenty of blame here too. English didn’t cause the friction between Lissie and Johnny, but he has no problem pouring gasoline over it to turn a profit.



Frank: Sounds like a real peach. Are you sure you know what you’re doing getting involved with CULT?



Marx: He’s got the pull I need to make the plan work. I have no problem getting my hands dirty, but don’t worry. I have a way to keep from crossing the wrong lines.



Frank: What’s that?



Marx: I have you











One hour later



Marx: That’s right. Ronald James. He says he works for the Chronicle. I don’t trust him, but I think we can use him.



Leo: What’s the play?



Marx laughs.



Marx: I don’t think you’ll have any trouble getting a read on this guy.



Marx finishes telling Leonora about the conversation with James. He can practically hear her eyes rolling.



Leo: You did the right thing. Whatever happened last night, reporters a lot better than our new friend will be asking questions soon. We can’t turn off the spotlight down there. We ride this out for a couple of news cycles and give it something else to shine on tonight.



Marx: That might be easier if I were in Knoxville…



It is Leo’s turn to be amused



Leo: The big ticket is not the only one in this company who knows how to make a splash, Harlan. Is Savage ready to go public with London Prizefight Promotions yet? That could be something to keep this creep busy.



Marx: I don’t think so. Tony’s a natural promoter though. I’ll give him a heads up you’re going to feed a reporter tonight. He’ll have him wrapped around his finger with some wild pitch about inferno matches and alligators on amphetamines. At least I THINK it’ll be bullshit.



Leo: One phone call would convince some pervert it’s his idea to eighty-six a few pictures. What’s the other problem?



Leonora is silent for a long moment after marks tells her about the man in the corduroy jacket.







Leo: Stay with Frank tonight, But I need you on a plane to the Maldives in 48 hours.



Marx: Can something still be called a trap when it's this obvious? The mechanics of this thing are brilliant, but the packaging? These people need a role model



Leo: That's why I'm sending you



Marx: I'm just a promoter.



Leo: Sure. And Nathaniel Dixon is just a businessman.







Marx: The press conference later will be bad. I’m sending you some backup.



Leo: You don’t mean…?







Marx: Yes. Yes I do. Tennesee is far enough from the Mexican border. We’ll be fine.







Big Ticket Studios



Chicago



Leo hangs up the phone and moves down a hallway into a spacious elevator She sends the elevator to the fourth floor, waiting a moment before hitting the emergency stop. She presses a button on her control box. Her wheelchair seating system begins to tilt slowly. Her shoulders ease back with the help of gravity. This is one of the few moments today her body won't have to fight it.







Pressure management is important for long days in the chair. Sponsors and VIPs expect strong eye contact and some find the changing of her seat angle distracting. There's no room for struggle to hold herself up when she is holding up Big Ticket Entertainment. April began with the success of Dead City Wrestling’s Nightmares and Dreamscapes. Then came weeks of negotiations with The Arcadia Consortium. The big interview is days away. That mystery will have to wait. There is another one in a graveyard in Texas. She takes a deep breath and looks at a large, framed photo of some other Seattle skyline.







Seattle, WA



Black Pyramid Universe



Fourteen years ago



Leonora pursued her the goal of becoming an actor with drive and dedication. She was talented beautiful, and charismatic.



And the audiences she dreamed of performing for would never know.



Dreams were worth nothing in this dark world she came from. It is best to burn them for warmth. This is not a story about inspiration or conquering obstacles.



Power cannot be earned or even taken in a world that refuses to respect it in the hands of a cripple.



Power by proxy would have to be enough and the Emerald City Casino had plenty of it.



She started as a blackjack dealer. Fast hands and a faster smile made Leonora a favorite of high rollers and highwaymen alike. She listened intently to the misadventures of moguls and movie stars, taking their stories for herself and their chips for the house. After three months she was overseeing an entire gaming floor.



Within a year her reach Extended throughout the casino in the hotel and onto the surrounding streets. There were rivals of course. Even a few of Seattle’s finest were still doing what they could to avoid becoming the next Las Vegas.



Information was usually the answer to these problems. Everyone had a story, and digging up secrets was always cheaper than burying bodies. The very few who had no shame at least had a price. Even the giant standing in the outer office.



Leo watches the exchange on a hidden feed. Her man slides a piece of paper across the desk to Marx.



Redmond: I think you’ll find our offer more than generous, Mr. Marx.



Marx: Your offer? The number looks about right coming from the office bitch. I thought I was here to see the boss.



Office bitch: this comes straight from the old man.



Marx decides to go fishing



Marx: I don’t think there’s been much coming from him for a while now.



Office bitch: I don’t know what you mean…







And it looks to Marx like he doesn’t.







Harvey spends most of his time fighting in the basement, but has heard as many rumors as anyone else about what is happening here above Emerald City Casino. He’s not sure if the man sitting before him is cunning or clueless, but he wasn’t expecting the offer to be refused. The man's face goes from confused to concerned. They always take the money.







Some of the more colorful stories Marx has heard in bars and on the docks are coming to him now.



Office bitch: You want my advice, big guy? Take the money, bet it all on red and then head to your usual hangout. You’ll feel better after you hit something.







Marx stays away from the tables. One look at the paintings hanging around the room would be enough to remind anyone where the money ends up. He thinks about the odds of leaving here employed and in one piece. The wheel is looking like a better bet. He stands with his back to Redmond







Marx’s reputation as a brawler is well known and well earned. He started fighting for safety and survival on the streets of a city an ocean away. He found the ring a short time later, and he's thrown every punch for prestige and profit ever since.







This meeting is way off script and both men know it. Harvey shrugs, knowing the game he came to Seattle to play has caught up with him. He waits for the fear and desperation, but it doesn’t come. He knows he's just a pawn here, and he is only curious.







Curiosity is a good reason to clobber someone.



An uppercut lifted Redmond off the ground and left him sprawled unconscious across the gawdy antique desk.



Marx: It’s just us now. Let’s have a little chat.



He looks into the camera on the ceiling and winks.



I’ll wait.



Marx picks up the wing back chair from its place behind the desk and moves it to the middle of the room.



The big ticket looks relaxed and settles into the chair as best he can. It looks to Leonora as if it belongs in a dollhouse.



He steeples his hands. Leonora zooms in on his face and decides it’s best for the bottom line that he doesn’t play poker. She knew he would never take the money. Instead he did something unexpected and bizarrely entertaining. The smile on his face is tentative, but Leo knows that’s the best any sane person can do when facing a firing squad.



Very few people live up to their reputation, but the man calling himself Harvey Marx has a gift for growing into big moments.



I like a good standoff as much as the next guy, but I’ve got a fight tonight. So where is she?



Leonora smiles herself as she studies Marx for another three minutes making a new plan.



There is no hurry.



She has her own reputation to protect



Leo: Showtime.



Many scenes played out in Harvey’s mind in the long silence. From the foolishly heroic to the unspeakably horrific. His favorite had been a little of both. Reality would likely be different. He’d like to go down fighting, but there would be armed men. He’d just go down. This wasn’t a movie.



And then the bookcase to his left split down the middle on hinges.



Harvey spoke without turning.



Marx: A secret passage in a bookcase? Seems a little dramatic



Leo: I’d rather not quote Shakespeare, Mr. Markov.



Marx: Holy Shit.



He stands and turns to face the woman. She is young and willowy. Her red hair is short and slicked back. The heavy makeup Harvey is used to seeing is gone, replaced by a more natural look. Earlier today he had greeted this woman in an elevator. Her eyes were downcast and she appeared nervous, outshined by the green sequins of a dealer’s uniform. Now her eyes are meeting his, and he notices for the first time they are the same color as the casino vest. She holds the big man’s gaze while working the tilt controls for the seat of her power wheelchair to look at him more comfortably. She is wearing a navy pantsuit with gray pinstripes. Marx notices the suit might be a little long on her if she were standing, that it’s been made for a seated position.



Marx: The rumors are true.



Leo: Mostly. Who do you think started them?



Marx: Pleased to meet you, your majesty



Leo: Don’t be cute. She’s a tool I created for men who aren’t evolved enough to know they should be afraid of someone like me. I’m not The Queen.







Marx: That doesn’t track. You’re hardly old enough to drink and you have every player up and down the west coast trying to figure just what the hell is happening here. You really think some campfire story is enough to keep thieves and hardened killers awake at night? What do I call you, then? Is your name even Leonora?







Yes. Use it in the casino. Up here and anywhere else Miss Albright will do. Sit down, Mr Markov. He won’t be out for long.



Marx: Sorry about that



Leo: Bullshit. He had that coming anyway. He’s an informant.



Marx: Cops? Feds?



Leo: Manny Ballesteros



Marx: The loan shark?



Leo: He prefers “capitalist”. He’s one of my more volatile friends, but he’s useful. Speaking of friends, tell me about the gentleman you left downstairs, Mr…?







Marx: Boris



Leo: Boris what?







Marx: Just Boris



And what does Boris do?



Marx: Goes where I go as long as it isn’t before noon.



Leo: Do you know why you’re here?



Marx: You’re trying to buy me out, get me to retire.



Leo: I’m afraid You’ve misunderstood.



She gestures to a piece of paper in pieces on the floor



Leo: That wasn’t a bribe. It was a bill. And I’m being generous. Your antics last weekend cost me a lot more. I’ll tolerate certain things, even if the people say a fighter doing ring introductions at his own fights is the most ridiculous thing they've ever seen.



Harvey grins.



Marx: I agree with them. The point is they’re talking about The Big Ticket. I’ve always been able to sell myself better than anyone else. He fills the seats. That’s my job.



Leo: You sell tickets. Probably a lot more than my other fighters. My other fighters go down when I tell them to. That’s your job.



Marx: I’ll never throw a fight.



You’re the best I have, but you know as well as I do you’ve never been in a fight down there. It’s just performance. I use the betting line to make certain…transactions between parties. You were supposed to lose and you’ve upset some powerful people.



Marx: As powerful as you?



Leo: Not for long. And they’re not nearly as patient with the talent as I am.



Marx: Talent? I’m a boxer. I didn’t come all the way to the states to lay down in a ring.



Leo: We’re all many things, Mr. Markov. Are you telling me you made your way here just to Take a paycheck in a casino basement and go unchallenged until this city forgets your name?



Marx: If I can’t fight, I can’t pay back the debt you just saddled me with.



Leo: You did that to yourself. But the terms of your new contract should take care the problem. I’m starting a TV studio soon. You’re going to be the star.



Marx: What are you talking about? The big ticket is just a stupid shtick I do before a fight.



Leo: You said it yourself. They eat him up.



Marx: What do you get out of this, getting into TV?



Leo: I have a PR problem. My organization runs just fine fleecing the tycoons and socialites whose money keeps this casino and society afloat. But you only have to look to Las Vegas to know that won't last forever. It might take 10 years, but I need to Likable when everything comes crashing down.



Marx: The people throw everyone else in jail and leave you to keep giving them soap operas ? That sounds absurd.



Leo: I was thinking game shows. Odds, prizes, not so different from business downstairs. People have been ignored for decades, felt invisible. You might be surprised what happens when we speak to them.



Marx: What if I refused to go along with this charade?



Leo: This meeting might be a bit of a show, but it was never a negotiation. I have an agenda much bigger than your in-ring aspirations. You’ve done what you could for yourself, but you work for me. Your career ends tonight.



Marx: Or you’ll kill me?



Leo: I don’t waste my breath talking to dead men, Mr. Markov. You can walk out of here on my terms or you can walk out alone into my city.



Harvey Marx is many things. The fighter in him wants to walk out the door and take his chances. The showman in him could make it look easy. Then the survivor in him makes a choice, and the pitchman smiles to seal the deal.



Marx: When do we start?







Marx's popularity and the legend and reach of the Queen would grow over the next ten years. She stayed in the production truck, making calls on set and in the streets, and he was at his best under the lights. The lights were different in the studio and in the casino parking garage, but Harvey’s job was never all that different. On the air he punched out arrogant game show contestants to help the masses vent their frustration with the greed and graft all around them. Off camera, he tested the Queen’s men, keeping the best of them sharp and putting the worst in their place. The Big Ticket made a name for himself as a party-hard teddy bear who cracked jokes and played a fighter on TV. Markov worked the gimmick in the underground. Men often laughed about autographs and moonwalks when he showed up at the clubs and on the docks. They would be ready for their fifteen minutes with the host of sucker punch live. A good story to impress friends. Most people in Seattle got exactly that. Rival gangsters struggled the next morning to remember 3 minutes of thudding blows, cracked ribs and looking up through swelling eyes at a brawler who played a promoter on TV. Harlan Markov is not an actor. He’s a carnival barker. His goal is not to make sure others never see the man behind The Big Ticket. It's to make sure those who do see him too late.







With Harvey Marx doing the heavy lifting for the hearts and minds of his audience, Leonora turned her attention to the suits signing their checks. The black pyramid universe is a violent place with very little law. Golf courses and boardrooms are even dirtier than back allies. There is no law in these circles either, but there is order. The same order keeping Leonora Jane Albright in her proper place at the blackjack table became the Queen’s weapon. A world that refused see or hear Leonora didn’t notice how much she watched and listened. Hits on CEOs and made men are quick and common. The Queen rarely employed such messy, short-term solutions to gain ground. She is patient and persistent. She is a player in a long game, and she never saw sense in taking any useful pieces off the board. Puppet masters and power brokers were a dime a dozen in this world, and Leonora got to the top from behind the curtain and camera as The Queen of the Emerald City, a whisper in the minds of people busy pulling strings.



**



The chime of the elevator door Brings Leo back to the present. The reach and resources the picture represents might have made today’s problems easier. But the place is history and she won’t find solutions in the past.







At least not the past of that place.







The doors open up to the penthouse of Big Ticket Studios and a view of the Chicago skyline. Much was sacrificed to bring her and her people to a new universe and new challenges, but this place has plenty to appreciate.







Chicago was chosen as the site of Big Ticket Studios in a fan poll last summer. Leonora can’t help but see a certain poetry in that. Destroyed by fire in 1871, the city was reborn stronger. It was the scene of both wonder and horror during the world’s fair in 1893 with great promise and darkness on full display in the press. Leonora is no stranger to dark places, and she is poised to sell the people a better future.







The city will forever be associated with the mobster who brought it to its knees and a media mogul who smashed expectations and barriers, finding success and redefining the possible. Born where light and darkness never separated, Leonora will help write Chicago’s next chapter in the shades of gray it has always known.







The chapter of the story that began with BTE’s arrival in a new universe has been a low-key production on a tight budget. The company has gone from an international brand supported by a massive casino and more than a few pliable government officials to a dark horse player short on cash and connections.



Leonora can't comprehend the science behind interdimensional travel, but the economics and logistics are simple enough. Her crew, in every sense of the word, is smaller. So is the studio. The building is respectable but modest in a city with a long history of architectural marvels. Navigating the business and TV markets in this gentler universe has been surprisingly stormy. The hacker known as Cypher nearly ruined the company by hacking the all digital game show wheel she used, costing thousands of dollars at a time before major sponsors were behind them. That little shit hacked the last cloud as well. Cypher is now in prison and there’s only one reason Leo and most of her people aren’t there, too.



He underestimated her. Thinking of Big Ticket Entertainment as a fragile, upstart company that could be smashed by equipment failures and a few leaked documents is mistake, but it is something they can use. People love an underdog story in any universe. Leonora couldn’t script this one better if she tried.



She looks across the penthouse at a large photo of herself holding Atticus the pig on set and is reminded of her greatest gain from coming to this universe. She may not have her fortune or the armor of the Queen’s reputation but she has one thing she never had back home.



Her name.



A fan vote last year put her in the spotlight After more than a decade as the big tickets faceless producer. She has been embraced by the public in her roles as game show model and consulting psychologist on Sucker Punch Live. She’s had success working with the press in the open as Big Ticket Entertainment’s sharp, young CEO. There’s one role she didn’t expect or prepare for. She has become an advocate for disability rights and has been made into a symbol of empowerment in the media. It’s true BTE’s workforce is one of the most diverse and inclusive in the country, and big ticket studios was built to a standard of accessibility that far exceeds ADA requirements. There have been a few magazine profiles since the studio opened last year. The publicity has helped the company recover from the hacking scandal and opened doors with a wide range of potential sponsors. All these things are nice, but they aren’t the reason Leo has gone to such lengths to make her building and her product accessible to as many people as possible.



She does it because no one had done it for her.



Leo has worked on her empowerment narrative, sharing her life story with interviewers and, when it makes sense, audiences.



Her life story minus the bribery and blackmail, sans espionage and extortion, without the manipulation and murder. Not everything goes under the rug. She sprinkles in just enough sex and scandal to make it worthwhile.



So much visibility always draws critics. Some say striking a sales pose with a vibrator during last year’s live audition for the World series of wrestling at Velvet Rabbit NYC is not acceptable in a role model for children and teens with ability differences. Leo can laugh that off. Articles like that are usually written by the sorts of patrons she bosses around down in Pandora’s Box at The Velvet Rabbit.



Those she visits in children’s hospitals need support and she sees no hypocrisy in being someone to provide it. Leonora Jane Albright spent most of her life in shadows, her accomplishments projected onto the spectre of The Queen. She sleeps well with the skeletons in her closet these days.



She lied about who she is for fourteen years.



Simple lies about what she is doing off camera at BTE are nothing after that.



There hasn’t been much to lie about in Chicago so far. Most people know the games on Sucker Punch Live are heavily weighted in BTE’s favor. Regulators don’t care how long the odds are as long as those odds are disclosed. Contestants are fully informed.







At least they would be if they ever read the waver they sign. The college students making up the contestant pool are smart enough to know Harvey’s game show is more Jackass than Jeopardy. That’s not saying much. These same people believe that fifteen minutes of fame and an autographed t shirt will be fair compensation for taking The Sexy Southpaw’s best shot.







The combat sports world has embraced The Big Ticket as a top promoter in spite of his having no professional record in this reality. His contract as ring announcer for the WGWF is private, but BTE gets plenty of buzz from his appearances there. Chris Page’s company is large and near the top of the industry. That’s no surprise. There are reasons Marx chose to sign there. There is something about the company very strange to Leonora. The WGWF is clean. It doesn’t just look that way on paper. Leonora’s best effort and strong instinct have found nothing but a few dustups from page’s days as a full time wrestler. He doesn’t work in back rooms because he doesn’t have to.







Action Wrestling is another industry giant. The heaviest fighting there seems to be between ambitious general managers, but the financial side of the promotion is mostly above board. Leonora has no idea how that’s possible Las Vegas is a gangster’s fun house under martial law where she came from.







And then there’s Vince Russo. He’s got balls and the people are watching. Still, he’s more frat boy than bad boy. Leo laughs at the kids table corruption in his new WCW. It is the exception that proves the rule that most promotions in this world are very far and very different from what she knows.







Tonight in Knoxville, CULT will bring her closer to home than she’s been in a long time. One last glance at herself petting Atticus and giving the studio audience an artfully unguarded smile before she turns her chair and moves down a wide hallway











All of the doors in the penthouse are sliding doors. These are much more accommodating for large wheelchairs, used easily with one hand and providing extra clearance once they slide into the wall.







There is only one door on hinges at the back of the apartment. A blast door. It’s heavy and would be hard to open even without three locks.







When the door opens, Leo moves to a small table with an ornate, green and white marble chess set. It is under a single light bulb, and Leo moves into the harsh shadows. Checkmate for the white king after a few moves. Leonora is bathed in a hash electronic glow from a sprawling array of curved monitors, then overhead lights kick on







Leo: Hello Oz







Good morning miss Albright. I took the liberty of Finishing the dossier you and I start of last night.







The Wartime Information Security/Autonomous Recon Drive The AI takes plenty of liberties. That’s a concern, but keeping it on a leash is not an option. The only thing worse than unchecked military grade spy software would be bored military grade spy software. It has kept Leo on her toes since she won it in a poker game with the spoiled daughter of a dictator.







Leo: Thank you, Oz.







Oz: Nearly a decade together and you still don’t trust me.







Leo: Would you trust you?







If the machine could smile, it would smile now.







Leo: What do we have on the sideshow in the cemetery?







Oz: I can confirm Johnny Bacchus was present.







Leo: Shocking he’d ride his horse to his lover’s brother’s grave just in time to be chivalrous. What can you tell me that I didn’t know the instant you played the police dispatch for me?







Oz: His cell phone audio is inconclusive to identify the second subject. The second set of footprints was left by someone smaller than Mr. Backus. Probably a woman.



Leo: Another crazy bitch attacked Johnny?







Oz: This couldn’t keep happening to a nicer guy







Leonora notes the total lack of sarcasm in the machine voice as crime scene photos from a hotel bathroom spring up to frame Johnny’s headshot.







Leo: I can think of a few people who’d throw him a parade for taking out Mr Ed. But someone has to be pissed at our boy. What do you have on the one Marx told me about today? A professional just randomly comes sniffing around Chimp Mode weeks after the kid whacks a major player with ties to CULT? No way.







Oz: Our “Mr Corduroy”? Nothing. He’s a ghost. Might Mr Bellwood's talents be better suited to dig something up?







Great. The machine is into wordplay now…







Leo: I’m sure he knows something. And I’m sure he lied to Marx about it. BT has always been protective of Frank, and he’d be in jail right now if he was told anything. I’m less worried about Frank’s safety than he is.







Oz: Why?







Leo: The kid is the only one of our people no one has ever wanted dead.







The mystery of Mr. Corduroy is intriguing to Leo, but it is a tricky one to solve. Mining information from law enforcement agencies is risky in a universe where they still actually do their job. WISARD is content (for now) to be her eyes and ears in this building. Data and dirt on local politicians, media personalities, tourists, the studio guests and audience and a wide variety of wealthy, boozy party guests. This could all useful one day. It’s far from ethical, but it’s safe as long as people continue to sign and click yes any time a document is put in front of them. That won’t change anytime soon. Big Ticket studios is an older kind of studio where television is about glamor and simple escape. Games and chit-chat with the lovely Miss Leonora and The Big Ticket help people feel normal. Leonora prides herself on creating this aura here. Big Ticket studios feels like its own safe, nostalgic world. The demand for mindless violence is part of the nostalgia.



It is a golden world running in the red. Even with the Arcadia Consortium deal finalized, BTE needs another big payday. Tonight will be the first step.



Leo: Show me the mark, Oz.



The face of Johnny Bacchus is replaced by that of Casanova English. Several official looking files neatly cascade around the head shot.



Leo: How reliable are these documents?



Oz: These are the official Financials and athletic commission filings for CULT



Leo chuckles



Leo: That’s what I thought. He’s good. Or at least his legal team is. I can see why Markov sees promise here. They’ve got slick marketing and a carefully set standard of production value. You can pull off gritty and stay just far enough away from back alleys to sell tickets. These aren’t your daddy’s death matches. He’s gone for the people, but with a premium spin for whatever seedy sponsors will go for this shit.



CULT will never be AW or the WGWF, but it has a growing following. English seems to understand something that Page and Torture never will. Popularity, profit and prestige are good for the public, but real power is something different. It is a dangerous and visceral thing, born in a part of the brain that knows nothing about stock prices and focus groups.



He was a promising talent rejected by the mainstream of the wrestling industry. He’s channeled his own anger into the creation of a fringe promotion that cashes in on the fears and frustrations of a loyal audience. He has blazed a new path after old hopes crumbled. Shut out of mainstream for the threat he represented to pro wrestling, the Unprofessional has become the king of one dark corner. He takes revenge one show at a time.



She is not flattered to see any of herself in someone like Casanova English, but she has to be honest. Being the woman she needs to be tonight is about understanding how her audience sees her and knowing what they expect. The more she knows about herself, the less she’ll have to hide.



Leo: I have what I need. Now be a dear and open the door me, Oz.



Oz: Certainly. I received an alert from the watchdog you placed on Max Daemon’s credit card. He destroyed another hotel room last night. Shall I pay the bill as usual?



Of course. We wouldn’t want Harlan’s BFF getting in hot water, would we?



WISARD closes the door after Leo exits, and she moves through the halls into a large closet.



The walls are lined with everything from casual looks to power suits. Years of working with Harvey Marx has been proof of the power of the right look. The suits and ties are for closing deals. That will be Markov’s job later on. Leo looks over the glitzy party dresses she wears for game shows and decides against that approach. A few wealthy backers will be at tonight’s show. If she dresses like a plaything, she’ll be treated like one. She smiles at the thought of suspenders and a fedora, thinking of the Rabbit. That’s a little too much power, and Casanova English hasn’t paid for the privilege. Markov’s words explode into her mind then. She decides there’s only one way to enter the halls of power at CULT.







She drives across her old casino uniforms to an intercom.







Leo: Jess, get Amanda and I on the next flight to Knoxville and send her up to the penthouse.







Yes Miss Albright.







Leonora takes a garment bag off of a low mounted shelf and places it on a table in the middle of the room. Amanda is standing behind her moments later.







Leo: That’s going with me, and so are you.







The studio’s head stylist doesn’t usually leave Chicago. She looks at the numbered tag on the bag and nods with understanding. She knows Leonora can’t get into this getup alone.







Looking to attract attention?







Leo: No. I’m looking to command attention.







Amanda smiles







Will someone be helping you out of this later?







Leo: Tonight’s all business.







Amanda’s smile gets bigger.







That doesn’t change my question.



Leo: You have a very active imagination.







That’s a good quality in a makeup artist.







Leo: True. It might have a little to do with your previous employer?







Maybe. Jade was good to me.







The former adult film star owns the mansion where Chicago’s own Chelsea Skye shoots most of her work.



Leo: A trip will be good for you, too. I’ll meet you downstairs. I need to get out of my chair for a while before we head to the airport.



Outside Thompson-Boling Arena



Knoxville, TN



Twelve minutes to Heaven Sent undercard



The days preparations have been almost as draining as the flight to Tennessee. Leonora is sore and stiff from all of the transfers from her wheelchair, to isle chairs, into first class and back again. She doesn’t have the luxury of listening to her body now. Instead, she draws energy from the rest of the buzzing crowd moving toward the area. She lets the hum of a thousand eager conversations quiet her own thoughts. She drives up a ramp to a small group of reporters near the entrance. The glare of the first flash bulb burns away her fatigue as she waves to the crowd.



Miss Albright, what are you doing here?



Leo: Just taking In a little show.



Where’s Harvey Marx?



Leo: Mr. Marx is in Texas taking personal time.



Can you elaborate?



Leo: I suspect it has to do with a Cuban sandwich.



CULT seems off brand for BTE. This isn’t exactly known for the red carpet treatment.



She gestures to the red carpet they are standing on.







Leo: Don’t worry, I brought my own. We just went to hell with Dead City Wrestling, and this Knoxville crowd is electric. What could be more on brand for us?



Leonora waits out a cheer from the crowd that has stopped filing in to watch her show outside She knows the softball questions are almost over.



Are you here to talk booking with Casanova English?



Leo: You should know better than to use the "B" word before you buy a lady dinner, Stan.



Vanessa Rivers: Is there any truth to the rumor that you have been seeing Brennan Devlin?



It is not true, but Leo hasn’t had this much fun with a lie in years. She pouts. Do I look old enough to be a MILF, Ms. Rivers?







Ronald James: Miss Leonora…



Leo: Does this look like the set of Sucker Punch Live? “Miss Albright” will do.



Rivers: In his defense, you don’t look…well, like yourself.







Leonora’s eyes sparkle. She is wearing a leather bodysuit baring her shoulders with green makeup and a generous amount of glitter. She is a fairy tale. They are not all for children. I feel more like myself than I have in a long time, Steve. You know I play a lot of roles in my company. Producer, director, CEO…



What’s your role tonight?



Leonora smiles. It is a true and dangerous thing, like she used in front of her mirror when she dreamed of stage and stardom.



Tonight I’m just a campfire story. Did you have a question, Mr. James?



Ronald: Any comment about why Marx visited Robbie Hope's grave hours after a violent altercation today?



A hush falls over the crowd and the media. As tension builds, a grin teases the corners of Leo's mouth. The golden, emerald-studded spider web pendant around her neck catches the lights.







And the moment is shattered by the first sleezy, brassy note. The man with the saxophone is standing still on the other side of the line of reporters. Skinny jeans, blue suede shoes, and a glorious perm are all he needs to hold court.







Leo: Ladies and Gentleman, Boris and the Babymakers!



Boris begins to play, and Leo playfully shrugs in the face of a few questions, unable to speak above the music. Before long, even the most dedicated journalist is tapping their feet for BTEs most over act. He rushes to Leo, and the reporters step aside. He is thrusting his hips from behind the chair. Leo feigns shock as the crowd noise brings an end to the presser. Boris plays on, dodging various undergarments and being hit by a few more.



The Queen of some other emerald city has had her moment in the spotlight, but she doesn't wait for flowers. She moves the new lane into the arena unnoticed, back into warm, waiting shadows, to the business at hand.



END







Dedicated to the outstanding admins and contributing writers of Black Pyramid Wrestling. The Sexy Southpaw would not exist without you.