Greg Gifune - Night Work

"Jesus," Gus said, fumbling for a cigarette.

"Luther knew a few of the guys on that tour. They told him Shaw was beaten to a fucking pulp, and you wanna know the best part? Nobody saw a goddamn thing."

Apparently entertained by the story, Vincent smiled. "Grease enough palms, everybody goes blind, huh?"

"They never caught that guy either." Charlie rolled his eyes. "Supposedly Turano arranged the hit through friends he had in the mob in Philly."

Frank turned to Vincent. "Turano's connected?"

"Easy enough to find out."

"Then do it."

The sky rumbled, followed by a deafening clanging sound as a heavy rain began to fall against the tin awning that ran the length of the motel.

"Then negotiating with this guy is definitely out," Gus said above the sudden din.

"Not necessarily," Vincent said.

"Vin," Charlie said through a heavy sigh, "Turano's got a temper on him that makes you look like fucking Gandhi."

Vincent leaned against the desk. "I just find it hard to believe that he'd refuse to meet with us."

"Maybe he would," Frank said, "but how would our asking for a meeting make us look at this point?"

"How do you mean?"

Frank crushed his cigarette in an ashtray on the desk and moved to the window. "Turano's already made a move on us. If we respond by asking for a sit-down we'll look weak."

"That's a good point," Vincent conceded. "We'd be coming to the table at a disadvantage. But maybe if we showed him we were willing to bend a little, so would he."

"I got to tell you, it's real fucking surreal seeing you in the role of peacemaker," Charlie said, smiling with his eyes.

"Fuck that," Vincent quipped. "I'm just saying we better look at this from every possible angle, Charlie. If we decide to use muscle on this guy we better be prepared. Anything could happen."

Charlie stood up, his expression dark. "I didn't say anything about using muscle."

Frank watched the parking lot through the rain-blurred window. The urge to crawl back into bed and go to sleep was an appealing fantasy he allowed himself to briefly entertain before he faced the others. "What do you think, Gus?"

The expression on his face amply revealed the degree of his surprise in having been asked. He pushed his eyeglasses in tighter against the bridge of his nose and glanced self-consciously around the room. "I don't see that we have any choice but to make a move on him."

Frank nodded. "Charlie?"

"I abstain."

"What the hell does that mean?"

"There's this thing called a dictionary, kid. Find out about it."

"There's a time and place for fucking around," Frank said, staring at him decidedly. "This isn't one of them."

Charlie scratched the back of his head. "We all knew it was only a matter of time before this happened. I trust you guys to handle it in a way that's in our best interest."

Thunder rolled, and Frank's eyes shifted to Vincent. "Vin?"

"If nobody else thinks – "

"I'm only concerned with what you think at the moment."

Vincent loosened his tie. "We should probably move on him," he said in an uncharacteristically soft voice. "Otherwise we not only run the risk of looking weak, but we might make Turano feel more confident about coming after us later. Either way, things could and probably will get real ugly. Going this route will change everything for a long time."

"I say we hit back," Frank told the others. "Hard."

Charlie headed for the door. "This is where I step out."

"Maybe you should stay," Vincent suggested.

"I don't want nothing to do with the muscle end of things," he said firmly. "I made that clear from the beginning. I'm with you guys a hundred percent in whatever you decide only I don't want a hand in it. The less I know the better."

"How can you expect to be safe if you're ignorant of what's happening?" Vincent pressed.

"Tell me only what I need to know," Charlie said, then he looked at Frank for his approval. "Okay, chief?"

The rain seemed to increase in intensity, and in that split-second power shifted even further in Frank's favor. "Head on over to the venue. We'll meet you there in a while."

Charlie left without hesitation.

Gus moved to the window and watched him cross the parking lot in an awkward, almost comical sprint, his feet splashing puddles as he went. "What a pussy."

Probably smarter than the rest of us, Frank thought.

Vincent sighed. "Let's get to it."

"Close the blinds," Frank told him.

The things they were about to discuss were better suited to the dark.

The foul weather only helped to bring more people to the event. The auditorium was packed to the rafters, and Benny Dunn's security crew was on their toes from the opening bell. The show itself was one of the best Frank had ever seen the boys do. Of course, the bouts were identical to those staged throughout the course of the tour, but there was an additional element of excitement on this particular afternoon – generated mostly by an aggressive, boisterous crowd that seemed to inspire the wrestlers to bring the level of their performance up a notch.

Luther defended his world title successfully, coming back from the brink of defeat at the hands of The Lariat at least half a dozen times. With the flair of a seasoned professional, the Dark Train would stare into the crowd with pleading eyes; hands reaching out as if to touch the fans while his opponent increased the pressure on a submission hold that appeared to drive him to the very edge of consciousness. And the crowd responded, chanting Luther's name again and again, each chorus louder and more desperate until their hero struggled to his feet, absorbing the power of his fans' support and transforming it into a tangible energy capable of allowing him to finally turn the tables. After pinning The Lariat in dramatic fashion, Luther staggered from the ring, his championship belt held high above his head as he embraced the crowd at ringside, making sure to stop for a quick photograph with a local retarded youth who was to receive a percentage of the profits generated by the fund-raiser. Sensing the power of the moment, Luther slung his arm around the boy and encouraged him to wear the belt. Again, the crowd began to chant Luther's name.

Benny Dunn moved up the main aisle to ringside and lifted the boy over the metal barricade that separated the front row from the ring area and stood him next to the champion. The young man, star-struck and unable to believe that one of his idols had actually involved him in the show, looked up at Luther in awe. With the fans cheering him on, Luther secured the strap around the boy's waist and began parading him through the crowd.

"The official time!" Charlie's voice boomed over Luther's exit music as he watched from the center of the ring. "Twenty minutes, fourteen seconds. The winner by pin-fall and still ECPWL Heavyweight Champion of the World… Luther Dark Train Jefferson!"

Luther and the boy were still at ringside exchanging high-fives and dancing to the music as the frenzied crowd cheered uproariously.

"And let's hear it for the real champ!" Charlie said. "Corey Walters, folks! Let's hear it for Corey!"

The crowd now began to chant Corey's name, and the boy started to laugh, finally grabbing Luther around the waist with a hug that looked as if it might never end.

Frank, Vincent, and Gus watched from the rear of the auditorium. As the music continued to blare and Luther did his best to prolong his time in the spotlight, a woman moved through the crowd and approached them. She was attractive, dressed in plain, inexpensive clothes, and her hair was pulled back and fastened with an elastic. Her eyes were moist and she dabbed at them with a tattered tissue.

"I'm Jean Walters," she said, offering a shaking hand. "Corey's mother. I can't thank you gentlemen enough for this."