Title: Master Of The Universe: Part III - Lost In America
Featuring: Hessian
Date: 10/03/2011
Location: @ ReV 241 vs. McKail

A hard rain battered the windscreen of the 1980 Ford Victoria rendering the wiper blades useless. Squinting through the barrage Drusilla cursed the downpour and out of sheer frustration put the pedal to the metal in the hope of outrunning the storm. The motor home jerked and swayed as gale force winds pounded it from one side of the road to the other, and she was on constant alert for the hazy beam from the headlights of oncoming traffic that forced her to crank the wheel hard to the left to avoid the collision.

Bobby Ginetti, the half-man, had asked to ride with her on this occasion knowing fully that the route to their next show from the last would steer them straight through tornado country. His brother Victor, for all his dangerous on-stage antics, was the world's most careful driver and insisted on either driving around the storm or waiting for it to pass before moving on. Bobby opted to buddy up with Drusilla and was glad for it.

There was something about the way her eyes glazed over once in a while as she navigated the treacherous blacktop that gave him reassurance. She had a steely disposition and he didn't care about the lack of conversation if it meant staying out of a ditch. What he didn't know was that that glazed look was one of hopelessness; she was as lost internally as they were now on the road to nowhere. The persistent pumping of the accelerator that the half-man had mistaken for confidence and concentration was in fact Drusilla's way of pushing fate, driving head first into whatever destiny God had planned for her. She wanted an answer as to why Cyril Salazar had left them in their time of need, told only that he was going to make things right.

Times had always been tough but seemed especially dire for the show now that the top draw had been sold off and the owner had left them in the lurch with no means of getting in touch with him. Maybe she expected him to suddenly appear before her with all the answers she sought, or even just for the weather to change so she could see where she was going. She needed some kind of reassurance that everything was okay. Spending a life in a sideshow was no prerequisite for re-absorption back into normal society, and if Drusilla didn't have this then she had nothing at all. Whether Cyril knew it or not her life was in his hands, wherever he was and whatever he was doing.

All at once the fat raindrops stopped splatting against the windscreen and just as quickly the dark clouds parted revealing a splash of sunshine across the blue sky. The smile was even quicker across her full red lips, and looking across at Bobby they shared a sigh of relief before Drusilla's gaze was drawn over the passenger side window at a sight that turned her stomach and spread horror across her face. She heard herself scream before everything suddenly went black.

---

Von Kelsig was mesmerized by the fizzing and popping of the effervescent tablet in the glass, swirling it around and around like a little tornado before throwing it back and downing the remedy in one foul tasting gulp. Slamming the glass on the counter he checked his bloodshot eyes and dried off his beard before joining Cyril once more on the balcony of his suite. The clear summer sky was betrayed by a chill that reminded them of the hard winter gone by but that didn't seem to bother Cyril as he quaffed room service-ordered OJ and gazed at the giant from behind the man's own sunglasses.

“You never used to party like that back in the day.”

“How about you tell me why you're here before we get into the back in the day,” Von Kelsig remarked dryly, easing himself into the chair opposite Cyril and reaching for a slice of toast and chewing through a mouthful, “Christ what are you even doing in Europe?”

The giant could see enough of Cyril's eyes to know that he wasn't squinting because of the sun. He looked out over the skyline of Turin for a moment, composing his thoughts before he offered a reply.

“Business,” he said, removing the sunglasses and cocking his head at the giant. “I knew you were in these parts on tour so I thought I'd drop in for a visit.”

He kept it vague enough that the first impression Von Kelsig got was that Cyril had found great success in his role as a manager outside of the wrestling industry. This was the same manager that used to paint himself purple and expose his genitals to the female talent. First impressions were often hard to shake.

“Drop in, huh. You just thought you'd randomly drop in on me while I'm in the middle of a world tour. Just like that?”

“Yeah,” Cyril mumbled with a shrug of his shoulders.

“What business you here on exactly?”

There was a pause where Von Kelsig watched his guest sigh nervously and scan the horizon again before looking at the floor and muttering, “you know what kind of business.”

“Damn right I do. My business. So what brings you halfway around the world to me? No phone call, letter, text, e-mail or nothing for six years and then suddenly you show up out the blue. In Italy. On business. I'm not stupid Cyril.”

“Shit, chill out man. You fired me remember, I should be the grumpy one here.”

“And you wouldn't be able to ask me for a favour if you were being stubborn, would you?”

Cyril glanced away for a moment to let the awkwardness settle.

“You disappear for years while I continue to work my ass off. Then I become PRIME's Universal Champion and suddenly you're knocking on my door. Be it fame or money or whatever, either way you're here because of my status. Yes or no?”

“Yeah, alright shit,” Cyril spat, “goddamnit I need you. That what you want to hear? I need you because you made it to the top and now you're King Shit and I'm here on my knees to beg for a slice of the action.”

The giant guzzled down his orange juice, wiping his mouth and regarding Cyril with disdain.

“So where have you been for the last six years? Why do you need my help now?”

At this Cyril balled up a fist and thumped the table, annoyed that the giant seemed oblivious of the reason.

“Where the fuck else was I gonna find work? Jesus Christ who was gonna hire a purple fucking midget who specialized in dick jokes? Sure it's easy enough for you to take off your mask and drop the Dark Gimmick shtick and be the bad ass. The hell was I supposed to do? Midgets stopped being cool when Old School Wrestling went out of business.”

“You could have adapted just as easily.”

Cyril thumped the table, harder this time and staring Von Kelsig in the eye said, “You wanna know how I adapted? I took what money I had left when you fired me and I put it all into, get this, a travelling freak show. How's that for adaptation? I never got any offers from anyone anywhere so what's the closest thing to wrestling out there?”

“Circus?” Von Kelsig shrugged.

“I ain't no lion tamer and I damn sure ain't no trapeze artist. You know there's a certain nobility in the freak show. It's a tradition hundreds of years old, and truth be told I enjoyed it more than those years as Minion the Imp. There was no falseness or ego, no assholes out for themselves and no one else. When you're a freak you don't have that luxury, all you have is what you were born with and you have to make the best of it. The wrestling crowd is fickle, and the business has to change around them. When you took off your mask that was the final nail in the coffin of that great era where anything could and did happen. There wasn't room for me any more, not in that real world all of you were waking up in.”

“So you went in the opposite direction,” Von Kelsig said before his ringtone cut him off and when he checked the display to see it was his alarm reminding him

“Yeah. Problem is it's not a business anywhere on the scale of professional wrestling. It only took a couple of years before costs started adding up and crowd's started getting smaller. I mean, in this day and age who's going to pay money to see something that you can get for free on cable reality?”

Cyril sat in silence while the giant scanned his face, studying the vacant look in his eyes and searching for the slightest sign of bullshit.

“I need to get back into wrestling man, I need that money. You've made it to the top, you've got sway, you can help me out.”

The giant leaned back in his seat, picking at his teeth and looking Cyril over.

“So let me get this straight. I fired you from a business you're telling me you weren't happy with in the first place and then you went off and started up a travelling sideshow which you've continually lost money on over time. I on the other hand honed my craft and am the biggest thing in wrestling today. I have money, I have power and influence, and I have a heavyweight title. You want me to use my pull to get you back into the show so you can use the money to bail out your business. You came halfway around the world to ask me for help...”

There was little hesitation before, popping off of his seat, Cyril waddled around to Von Kelsig, placing both hands on his thick arm and staring straight into his eyes.

“Yes. It's the only other thing I know how to do and damn it if it doesn't always work for me, but I need this. Will you help me?”

Gazing into Cyril's eyes the giant thought back to the old days. He remembered the grandeur and theatrics of the business and how with Cyril he had made such an impact on the sport. With his smashmouth style in the ring and Minion the Imp's poisonous tongue and infectious sense of humour the fans loved them both, or hated them depending who his feud was with.

He was one of the most memorable managers wrestling had seen, and he certainly helped Hessian's profile in that fantastic time. He imagined the reaction when Cyril Salazar ambled through that curtain to a different generation of fans, taking his place at the side of the awesome Universal Champion, the brutal legend Hessian.


He felt heat wash over his face and realized he was blushing, to which he rose from his seat and walked silently back into his room leaving Cyril alone on the balcony. A sinking feeling in his stomach forced him to follow the giant, and as he made his way in he found Von Kelsig changing into fresh clothes.

“It doesn't even have to be my old position, I can do other things I can work backstage or I-”

“What's in it for me?” Von Kelsig groaned as he buttoned his jeans around his gut.

“What do you mean?” Cyril asked, appearing confused.

“What do I get out of it?”

“I just want to-”

“How is it going to benefit me to help you? You just walked in here and expected a favour, no hey Hess how've you been all these years? Or, I'm happy for your success, you've done well for yourself. Nothing. Just walked in and expected a hand-out. I busted my ass year after year and put my body through hell to get to where I am. Nearly never got there in the first place. I fought and clawed my way up just like everyone else and finally I reached the top. I made it. I earned everything I deserve and I deserve everything I've earned. You had your shot, you had the chance to be where I am right now, but you-”

“But YOU took it away from me, remember??” Cyril snapped, “You decided I had no place in the quote unquote real world! You watched guys like Xavier Kannon, guys that came out of NTICW with you, getting all these plaudits and acclaim and you wanted to be more like them to succeed. That's why you dropped the mask and cape and that's why you stopped being the Mercenary of Satan. You stripped away everything that was unique about you so you could appeal to the same people that appealed to those other legends. Now you're up there with them and to hell with anyone that got left behind. Right? Because after all who's gonna buy a purple fucking midget waving his dick around clamouring for attention?”

“Like I said,” Von Kelsig growled, pulling on his jacket and grabbing his keys, “you could have adapted. I'm not some umbilical cord between you and professional wrestling. You had the brains to start up your own operation, you don't need me to get you back in.”

“Hey!” Cyril waved after the giant as he ambled out the door, “you can't just leave man I came all the way here to see you! Where you going?”

“I've got a meeting to get to, important Universal champ business.”

“So? What the fuck!” Cyril shouted after him.

“So you wanna waste more time or are you gonna come with?”

“You'll help?”

“No, you're on your own. Much as I couldn't give a crap I'd be a complete asshole if I left you stranded here without so much as a ride anywhere.”

“Then let's get this show on the road.”

The giant waited for Cyril to waddle out of the suite and locked the door behind him, accompanying his old partner in crime to the elevator and wondering why it wasn't in his destiny to spend the morning after the night before sponged out in bed with those two sluts and a cheeky whiskey.

“You know you're more of an asshole than I remember,” Cyril said as the elevator doors slid shut.

“I'm not an asshole, “Von Kelsig groaned, “I'm the Champion.”

---

She regained consciousness long enough the first time to register the blood smeared over what was left of the passenger seat and the dashboard. The second time she felt herself being manhandled and looked up to another sight that scared her, that of the kind old face of the sado-masochistic illusionist Victor Ginetti, upon which a look of horror unsettled her deeply. On stage Victor bugged his eyes out and strained every muscle in his face to appear as mentally unstable to the crowd as possible, but away from the spotlight he was a gentle man whose smouldering look could charm any dame or impart with comfort the paternal wisdom of a father, which Drusilla often thought of him as.

“You shouldn't have come this way...you should have gone around it.”

His voice was shaky and that confident gaze of his was bloodshot, reddened and weepy, and it was the thought of a strong-minded man like Victor dropping that stiff upper lip and being unable to handle any given situation that struck fear into Drusilla's heart.

She tried to look around, eyes rolling in her head, and it was obvious what had happened when she saw the RV torn up like a piece of tissue paper and trailing debris a hundred yards back up the road. Seeing the blood again she felt her stomach turn and felt herself fading back into unconsciousness. She managed to ask Victor about Bobby before she finally blacked out, the last image in her head being of his lip quivering.

The next time Drusilla awoke she found herself laid out on a hospital bed surrounded by familiar faces. Victor sat next to her holding her hand and smiling and next to him both the Klukke's stood either side of Jim Fatts, their little blonde tufts of hair waxed back and their chubby faces softened like melancholy marshmallow. Jim looked smart as ever in a checkered shirt and braces, smiling like a goof and getting a grin in return. To her right stood Vinnie, Sonny and Lem, the old boys of the road crew.

“Where's Bobby?” she asked, her last memory still burning in the back of her head.

“He's not doing so well,” Victor said softly, stroking her hand. “They think when the tornado hit you it sucked him right out the window. Found him quite a distance from the wreckage. His seatbelt was still buckled.”

“Well how's he doing?” Drusilla croaked before taking a sip of the water offered by Vinnie.

Victor was silent for a moment, glancing at the floor before saying, “they think he might never walk again.”

The urge to laugh came quite violently, forced out through the pain and confusion and dejection that everyone felt. To his credit Victor let out the first chuckle, and for a minute or two everyone was allowed to share the laugh before things quietened down again.

“By all accounts it's a miracle he survived in the first place. He suffered a few breaks and took a nasty bump to the head but he'll live.”

“Thank God...”

“You on the other hand were even luckier. Fracture in your wrist there and another on your femur bone, but apart from that and a few scratches and bruises you're okay.”

She had already noticed the cast on her wrist and around her leg but now that she knew why they were there she felt more at ease, content to let the last of the shock tingling in her nerves dissipate now that everything seemed to be fine.

“There is one thing, however...” Victor continued, his kind eyes hiding any worry he had. “It seems Cyril wasn't being totally truthful with us before his departure.”

“What? What do you mean?” Drusilla asked, her heart racing suddenly at the thought that their ringleader had somehow betrayed them. The shock was almost greater than that of the accident.

“Well, by the grace of God we had enough left in the funds to pay for the hospital bills. Unfortunately that's all we had. I checked the books and we're more than double in the black than Cyril had us believe. I can neither contemplate nor calculate how he's kept us on the road for the last six months but as of right now we're penniless.”

“We can't be,” Drusilla gasped, looking around her at all the drawn faces looking at the floor unable to meet her eye. “Cyril wouldn't do that to us. Not him.”

“He did it babe,” Vinnie said, “we've been running the trucks on gum and tape the last thousand miles. I had 'em all booked in for a service but there ain't even enough to cover the repairs.”

“New prop! New prop!” cried the Klukke's in broken English, reminding everyone that stage costs too were mounting with time.

“But he said he was going to fix it. Wherever he is now he's getting the money for us to get back on our feet again,” said Drusilla, the wavering in her voice a sign that maybe Cyril wasn't the kingpin he made himself out to be.

“If he's half the man he thinks he is he'll be working tooth and nail to get help,” Lem added gruffly. No one laughed at his short joke.

“He wouldn't just leave us would he?” Drusilla asked, her eyes glazing over as she fought back the urge to cry.

“No, not Cyril,” Victor replied sternly, addressing not just her but everyone around her who appeared ready to fall apart at the thought of being abandoned. “This show, it's his life. We're his family, he wouldn't abandon us.”

“Wait, have you tried calling him? To let him know what happened?”

Victor began fumbling through his pockets as Drusilla rattled off idea after idea to somehow resolve their situation.

“We can just go to the next town and set up there. We don't need the trucks.”

“Drew.”

“If we just hold up in one place for a while until we make enough to get the trucks repaired-”

“Drew.”

“Victor I can help you with your act until Bobby gets better, I can still-”

“Drew!” Victor shouted at last, pulling Cyril's cell phone from his pocket and showing it to her so that she stopped suddenly, shaking slightly. “He left his phone behind. We have no way of getting in touch with him.”

“But...he must have told someone where he was going? He didn't just leave without telling someone something did he?”

Each man around her slowly shook their head side to side, shrugging and sighing in response.

“So, we're stuck here with no money and no way to get in touch with Cyril...and wherever he is the only way he can get in touch with us is with the cell phone that he doesn't have on him or by following the tour schedule which we are no longer on.”

“Basically,” Victor said, trying his hardest not to let his composure slip, but even his superior hardiness couldn't overcome the sheer hopelessness they faced.

“Basically, we're lost. Until Cyril gets that money and comes back to us that's it...show's over.”
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