Post by didgitz on Dec 16, 2018 20:57:02 GMT -5
Lesson #3: If a someone tells you she doesn't know how to play, she's probably hustling you.
Didgitz sat in the corner of the shop, a Fender Mustang in her hands. She plunked away at the strings, at first just getting a feel for it, letting the new guitar acquaint itself with her. She had won it in a game of darts at the bar some time ago.
She smiled, enjoying the rich tone, and trying to ignore the sounds of cutting metal and welding around her. Soon, she started into a song that she remembered from Lil Wayne.
"My leather so sof..." she sang to herself, barely eking out the first line of "Leather So Soft" when the shop phone rang. Didgitz sighed, putting the guitar on the ground in front of her and answering it.
”Phoenix Auto Body. Oh, hey, Aaron. The guitar's awesome, by the way. So, I--"
”Who the hell is it?" a gruff voice shouted from across the shop, as the grinding and sparking sounds abruptly stopped.
”Hold on, Aaron." Didgitz turned and nearly fell off the stool when she saw the man belonging to the voice behind her. ”Jesus, how did you get over here so fast, Blacktooth?"
The man was quite large, with long black stringy hair tied in a ponytail behind his head, a welding mask propped up like a visor. With a five o'clock shadow that seemed more like midnight and deeper creases in his face than a paper crane, Blacktooth was not a pretty man. It made Didgitz smile on the inside, and only on the inside, because if she smiled on the outside, Blacktooth would likely have punched her in the teeth.
”Who's on the phone?" Blacktooth was a no-nonsense type of guy, and he didn't like to be interrupted needlessly. He looked over non-existent glasses at Didgitz, in an attempt to shame a woman who had none.
”It's Aaron, I told him to call me at work when he--"
”Since when do you fucking work here, Bobbi? You sit around and play the guitar and maybe once in a while move a backseat or two. So why the hell are you getting phone calls at my shop?"
”Hey, I answer the phone for you!"
”That's because 90% of the calls are for you, jackass. Why don't you get a fuckin' cell phone already?"
”Because I don't have a permanent address, dick. What am I gonna do, tell Verizon, 'Yeah, just send the bill to the Tropicana?' I don't think that's gonna work."
” God dammit, esse!" A third voice called out in a heavy LA Spanish accent. ”You're like a married couple over there! How the hell am I supposed to get any work done if I have to listen to Ozzie and Harriet yell back and forth?" A young man, clean-shaven, walked over to the two, in a blue flannel shirt, sleeves rolled up, a blue bandanna wrapped around his head, his tan arms covered in thick black hair.
Coyote, I'm most definitely not in the mood for this shit right now," Blacktooth spit out with a snarl.
”Yeah, well, I'm not in the mood to not finish this bike before Thursday, Holmes. I'm not gonna get fucked out of 200 grand because you and your wife over there won't just kiss and make up like a good little couple. The longer you yell at her, the longer she's on the phone, and the higher your bill is, so just let her finish the fucking call already."
”That's not the point, Coyote, I--"
”So how's my Corvair coming, Blacktooth?"Didgitz interrupted the bossman, half smiling.
”It ain't your Corvair, douchebag," he growled back.
”Not yet, you mean." The other half of the smile crept onto Bobbi’s face. Blacktooth scowled, pushing the welding mask back over his face, and flipping Didgitz the bird, before going back to work on the '65 Corvair he had been piecing together. Bobbi uncovered the receiver and went back to her phone call.
”Sorry about that, Aaron. You know how Blacktooth gets when people interrupt his work.”
”Yeah, I know, the match was fantastic. So when's mine?”
”Yes, I was serious, asshole.”
”Of course I've fought before!”
”All of them! God, you're a dick!”
”I'm gonna get myself... I'll bet you I don't get myself killed, Aaron. Just get me the damn try-out. And next time I ask you to do something, don't assume I'm fucking joking. Toolbag." Didgitz slammed the phone down with a groan, standing up, and barely missing stepping on the guitar in a blind rage. She mumbled an obscenity to herself and walked toward the door.
”I'm going back to the Luxor, if anyone gives a shit, which I know they don't. Later."
~~~~~
(Bobbi Majors stands in a small, but luxurious room, with gambling tables taking up almost all the available space, save for the bar in the corner. She looks almost out of place here, with women in designer dresses and men in fine suits [despite the one guy in a polo shirt, jeans and baseball cap]. She pulls a silver dollar out of the back pocket of her pants, and starts to fiddle with it, flipping it over the fingers on her right hand, right across the word "LUCK". She smiles a cocky yet charming smile, raising her eyebrows a bit.)
Didgitz: This, right here, is what we call the "high rollers" room. The VIP, high stakes games all around. To give you an idea, the lowest denomination, and thus the minimum bet, in this room is $5000. Every now and then, I make enough scratch to get access. Today was one of those lucky days, so I figured I'd use it for all it's worth.
I'll probably lose it all by the end of the night, but hey, that's how the game goes, right? Easy come, easy go and all that.
And Ground Zero Wrestling Association, man? The big time. In the wrestling world, GZWA is the place to fuckin' be. Where all the high rollers and VIPs end up... and the stakes can't be higher than the Women’s Title, right?
(She flips the coin from her right hand to her left, rolling it over the word "FATE" on the knuckles.)
Needless to say, I'm going all in here. Because if I can make it here, I can make it anywhere, know what I mean? Some people think I'm foolish to try to dive into GZWA completely green, after years off, and expect to make it. Fuck them. No risk, no reward. It's just the way I play. Shit, I've wagered fifty large on whether an ant would move left or right when I put my hand in front of it. For the record? It went straight onto my hand. Totally a push.
But this week, at Dead Or Alive, I go up against a girl who wants more than anything to be in the VIP. She’s seen the room, but she's been stuck playin' nickel slots. Goes by the name of “The Guru” Danielle Bradley of the Bradley Clan. Now, I'm gonna be honest, I don't know too much about the girl outside of how much money she's won or lost me, but I know she's been around and she ain't ever really made it big, know what I mean? Always been in someone else's shadow, or just never really looked at as a contender. Just another girl on the other side trying to scrape her way through.
And now, it looks like she's on the fast track to the real Vegas, the Vegas drenched in gold, where the drinks are free and the players throw down bets more expensive than some people's cars. The big time. Because, Danielle? I gotta tell ya, if I were you, and I saw my name next to Didgitz on the card? I'd be thinking fuckin' blackjack, game over, take me upstairs. You're the odds-on favorite for this match, make no mistake. I know it, because I called my bookie just to check. It's like 25:1 against me.
You're a veteran, I'm a has been. You have experience, I have ring rust. You have a little bit of motivation right now, but that's a hell of a lot more than I do. I mean, people know me at the Luxor, the Tropicana, the Golden Nugget, fuck, even at Fiesta Rancho, but they certainly ain't heard of me at Hammerstein Ballroom, know what I'm sayin'? The odds are definitely on your side, amigo.
(Bobbi smiles as she flips the coin up, and catches it in her left hand.)
But then, look around me, Dani. Can I call you Dani? Danielle? Guru? Whatever, not important, look around me. I've built my life around defying the odds. It's just what I do. People think I'm the underdog? Awesome. I'm all about a longshot. I know I've got a minute chance at winning this one, but shit, a 99% chance of failure is still a 1% chance of success, and I'm bankin' on that.
'Cause I've seen the VIP too, Danielle. I've heard it calling my name. I've been entranced by the glitter of gold.
I know you want it, Danielle. I know you want it so bad you can taste it.
But I know I want it that much more. I have the drive and the will to succeed. And for that reason, Danielle Bradley, I'm gonna put you down.
And also for the three grand I put down on myself. I mean, 25:1 odds? I can't pass that up. That's 75 thousand dollars, y'know? That'd buy a lot of nickel slots.
See you in the ring, Dani. Maybe, when this is all over, and Didgitz is the next new GZWA Women’s Champion, I'll give you a pass to the VIP, and you and me can put on a show like no other.
(Bobbi opens her left hand to reveal it empty, before producing the coin from her right. She winks to the camera.)
But, then, what are the odds?
(Cut to black.)
Didgitz sat in the corner of the shop, a Fender Mustang in her hands. She plunked away at the strings, at first just getting a feel for it, letting the new guitar acquaint itself with her. She had won it in a game of darts at the bar some time ago.
She smiled, enjoying the rich tone, and trying to ignore the sounds of cutting metal and welding around her. Soon, she started into a song that she remembered from Lil Wayne.
"My leather so sof..." she sang to herself, barely eking out the first line of "Leather So Soft" when the shop phone rang. Didgitz sighed, putting the guitar on the ground in front of her and answering it.
”Phoenix Auto Body. Oh, hey, Aaron. The guitar's awesome, by the way. So, I--"
”Who the hell is it?" a gruff voice shouted from across the shop, as the grinding and sparking sounds abruptly stopped.
”Hold on, Aaron." Didgitz turned and nearly fell off the stool when she saw the man belonging to the voice behind her. ”Jesus, how did you get over here so fast, Blacktooth?"
The man was quite large, with long black stringy hair tied in a ponytail behind his head, a welding mask propped up like a visor. With a five o'clock shadow that seemed more like midnight and deeper creases in his face than a paper crane, Blacktooth was not a pretty man. It made Didgitz smile on the inside, and only on the inside, because if she smiled on the outside, Blacktooth would likely have punched her in the teeth.
”Who's on the phone?" Blacktooth was a no-nonsense type of guy, and he didn't like to be interrupted needlessly. He looked over non-existent glasses at Didgitz, in an attempt to shame a woman who had none.
”It's Aaron, I told him to call me at work when he--"
”Since when do you fucking work here, Bobbi? You sit around and play the guitar and maybe once in a while move a backseat or two. So why the hell are you getting phone calls at my shop?"
”Hey, I answer the phone for you!"
”That's because 90% of the calls are for you, jackass. Why don't you get a fuckin' cell phone already?"
”Because I don't have a permanent address, dick. What am I gonna do, tell Verizon, 'Yeah, just send the bill to the Tropicana?' I don't think that's gonna work."
” God dammit, esse!" A third voice called out in a heavy LA Spanish accent. ”You're like a married couple over there! How the hell am I supposed to get any work done if I have to listen to Ozzie and Harriet yell back and forth?" A young man, clean-shaven, walked over to the two, in a blue flannel shirt, sleeves rolled up, a blue bandanna wrapped around his head, his tan arms covered in thick black hair.
Coyote, I'm most definitely not in the mood for this shit right now," Blacktooth spit out with a snarl.
”Yeah, well, I'm not in the mood to not finish this bike before Thursday, Holmes. I'm not gonna get fucked out of 200 grand because you and your wife over there won't just kiss and make up like a good little couple. The longer you yell at her, the longer she's on the phone, and the higher your bill is, so just let her finish the fucking call already."
”That's not the point, Coyote, I--"
”So how's my Corvair coming, Blacktooth?"Didgitz interrupted the bossman, half smiling.
”It ain't your Corvair, douchebag," he growled back.
”Not yet, you mean." The other half of the smile crept onto Bobbi’s face. Blacktooth scowled, pushing the welding mask back over his face, and flipping Didgitz the bird, before going back to work on the '65 Corvair he had been piecing together. Bobbi uncovered the receiver and went back to her phone call.
”Sorry about that, Aaron. You know how Blacktooth gets when people interrupt his work.”
”Yeah, I know, the match was fantastic. So when's mine?”
”Yes, I was serious, asshole.”
”Of course I've fought before!”
”All of them! God, you're a dick!”
”I'm gonna get myself... I'll bet you I don't get myself killed, Aaron. Just get me the damn try-out. And next time I ask you to do something, don't assume I'm fucking joking. Toolbag." Didgitz slammed the phone down with a groan, standing up, and barely missing stepping on the guitar in a blind rage. She mumbled an obscenity to herself and walked toward the door.
”I'm going back to the Luxor, if anyone gives a shit, which I know they don't. Later."
~~~~~
(Bobbi Majors stands in a small, but luxurious room, with gambling tables taking up almost all the available space, save for the bar in the corner. She looks almost out of place here, with women in designer dresses and men in fine suits [despite the one guy in a polo shirt, jeans and baseball cap]. She pulls a silver dollar out of the back pocket of her pants, and starts to fiddle with it, flipping it over the fingers on her right hand, right across the word "LUCK". She smiles a cocky yet charming smile, raising her eyebrows a bit.)
Didgitz: This, right here, is what we call the "high rollers" room. The VIP, high stakes games all around. To give you an idea, the lowest denomination, and thus the minimum bet, in this room is $5000. Every now and then, I make enough scratch to get access. Today was one of those lucky days, so I figured I'd use it for all it's worth.
I'll probably lose it all by the end of the night, but hey, that's how the game goes, right? Easy come, easy go and all that.
And Ground Zero Wrestling Association, man? The big time. In the wrestling world, GZWA is the place to fuckin' be. Where all the high rollers and VIPs end up... and the stakes can't be higher than the Women’s Title, right?
(She flips the coin from her right hand to her left, rolling it over the word "FATE" on the knuckles.)
Needless to say, I'm going all in here. Because if I can make it here, I can make it anywhere, know what I mean? Some people think I'm foolish to try to dive into GZWA completely green, after years off, and expect to make it. Fuck them. No risk, no reward. It's just the way I play. Shit, I've wagered fifty large on whether an ant would move left or right when I put my hand in front of it. For the record? It went straight onto my hand. Totally a push.
But this week, at Dead Or Alive, I go up against a girl who wants more than anything to be in the VIP. She’s seen the room, but she's been stuck playin' nickel slots. Goes by the name of “The Guru” Danielle Bradley of the Bradley Clan. Now, I'm gonna be honest, I don't know too much about the girl outside of how much money she's won or lost me, but I know she's been around and she ain't ever really made it big, know what I mean? Always been in someone else's shadow, or just never really looked at as a contender. Just another girl on the other side trying to scrape her way through.
And now, it looks like she's on the fast track to the real Vegas, the Vegas drenched in gold, where the drinks are free and the players throw down bets more expensive than some people's cars. The big time. Because, Danielle? I gotta tell ya, if I were you, and I saw my name next to Didgitz on the card? I'd be thinking fuckin' blackjack, game over, take me upstairs. You're the odds-on favorite for this match, make no mistake. I know it, because I called my bookie just to check. It's like 25:1 against me.
You're a veteran, I'm a has been. You have experience, I have ring rust. You have a little bit of motivation right now, but that's a hell of a lot more than I do. I mean, people know me at the Luxor, the Tropicana, the Golden Nugget, fuck, even at Fiesta Rancho, but they certainly ain't heard of me at Hammerstein Ballroom, know what I'm sayin'? The odds are definitely on your side, amigo.
(Bobbi smiles as she flips the coin up, and catches it in her left hand.)
But then, look around me, Dani. Can I call you Dani? Danielle? Guru? Whatever, not important, look around me. I've built my life around defying the odds. It's just what I do. People think I'm the underdog? Awesome. I'm all about a longshot. I know I've got a minute chance at winning this one, but shit, a 99% chance of failure is still a 1% chance of success, and I'm bankin' on that.
'Cause I've seen the VIP too, Danielle. I've heard it calling my name. I've been entranced by the glitter of gold.
I know you want it, Danielle. I know you want it so bad you can taste it.
But I know I want it that much more. I have the drive and the will to succeed. And for that reason, Danielle Bradley, I'm gonna put you down.
And also for the three grand I put down on myself. I mean, 25:1 odds? I can't pass that up. That's 75 thousand dollars, y'know? That'd buy a lot of nickel slots.
See you in the ring, Dani. Maybe, when this is all over, and Didgitz is the next new GZWA Women’s Champion, I'll give you a pass to the VIP, and you and me can put on a show like no other.
(Bobbi opens her left hand to reveal it empty, before producing the coin from her right. She winks to the camera.)
But, then, what are the odds?
(Cut to black.)