As soon as Jey was no longer in the line of sight of the crowd, the stoic, immortal stance he had assumed at the summit of the ramp was gone.
Backstage, Jey breathed out hard and shakily, promptly grabbing the back of his neck. His muscles were yelling. He had removed the neck bracing two weeks before schedule, in spite of medical warning. Now, the adrenaline he carried out on the ramp was swiftly washing over him, leaving a sharp and burning stiffness at the base of his skull.
He stood against a pile of black equipment crates, his eyes closed behind his mask. He had made his presence known. He had let Billy know that the Mexican Destroyer hadn’t finished the job.
"Well, you’ve got a lot of rocks, kid. I’ll give you that."
Jey opened his eyes and slowly turned his head being careful with his spine.
King was a tall, broad-chested figure, who moved slowly and stiffly, it was obvious he had spent 30 years pounding and fighting on unforgiving canvases all over the world. Though he looked better than Lee Ray did at that age.
His dress was sharp even though the wide shoulders barely contained him, his grayed hair was combed over perfectly. But the unmistakable marks of the industry were still there.
Jey’s face lost its expression and he straightened his back without a second thought, even as there was a flash of pain in his neck. He stretched out a courteous hand.
"It’s an honor to meet you, sir. My father talked about your tours in Mexico all the time."
King took Jey’s hand, his grip like a vise. He didn’t smile, but his eyes held a deep, knowing warmth. "Lee was a stubborn mule, who hit harder than a Mack truck. But he was a good man. The best of the old guard." King released his grip, looking Jey up and down. "You look like him in the shoulders, though you don’t move like him in the ring. I see you adopted his frog splash as well."
Jey was about feeling giddy.
"But taking off your neck brace to walk out and stare down a psychopath? You know you’re brother is a psycho right? That’s pure stupidity. Think, kid."
"It had to be done, I couldn’t miss that opportunity," Jey croaked.
King sighed, crossed his big arms over his chest, "I think I understand. The thing about this business, is that the stupid things are the necessary things."
There was a moment’s silence as the rest of the production crew broke down the equipment around them. The legend seemed to be carefully considering his next sentence, and was looking at the young luchador with a very analytic eye.
"So," King finally said, his voice now a full octave lower, and carrying a new weight to it. "How are you treating my little girl, Ana?"
Jey narrowed his eyes behind his mask, truly surprised. His brow furrowed in utter confusion. "Excuse me, sir?"
"My daughter," King said with a thick, scuffed eyebrow. "Gawd, I hope she’s not still calling herself ’Bambietta’ these days."
Jey felt his feet leave the ground. He stared at the giant of a man, pieces of a massive puzzle suddenly snapping into place.
The ferocious untouchable exterior.
Absence of intimidation towards wrestling promoters and wrestlers.
Her street-smart savvy that enabled her to maneuver backstage.
The way she said she laid a hard slap on a violent indie wrestler like Billy, without a care in the world.
She was wrestling royalty.
"Bambietta--Ana is---she’s your daughter?" Jey’s composure was shattered, his stuttering voice betraying the man who was usually unflappable.
"She is," King said, moving near as his eyes tightened into a paternal expression. "I did my best to keep her as far away from this meat-grinder of an industry as humanly possible, I spent my whole life breaking and bleeding in front of strangers, missing holidays so she could have food on the table. I enjoyed every bit of it, don’t get me wrong, but I didn’t want that for her."
King gave a dry, humorless laugh. "And what does she do? She takes up lessons, mends ring gear, and falls in love with Lee Ray’s boy."
"Sir--"
"You don’t have to tell me anything, Jey my boy," King interrupted with a large hand. "She’s a grown woman, and she’s twice as tough as I ever was. And with the way she talks about you, I know she loves you relentlessly."
King came closer, standing over Jey, the legend finally seeming real, and even more intimidating. "But know this, son, she has sacrificed a normal adrenaline-free life to keep your head above water, and she is going to wage war behind the scenes on your behalf..."
"...If you break her heart, or if your family drama puts her in any real physical danger, I don’t care if you or even your psycho brother is the damn Heavyweight Champion, I will put my boots back on and I will end you both. The only pity I’ll have is for dear Linda...if you two don’t kill her with whatever you’re doing. Are we clear?"
Jey didn’t flinch at that though. He glared and nodded his head. "Crystal clear. I would die before I let anything happen to her."
King looked at him for a long, cumbersome second, "Good. Say hello to her and put your fucking neck brace back on before you paralyze yourself."
King walked away. "Kids these days," barely audible to Jey.
Jey walked down the quiet corridors of the Saitama Super Arena’s executive wing 10 minutes later.
Jey knew that if he left the building without addressing the unscheduled appearance, the CEO would view it as an act of blatant disrespect. It was better to face the music immediately while the metrics of the pay-per-view were still fresh in the promoter’s mind.
Jey approached the temporary office assigned to the JW front office. He knocked twice, sharply, on the heavy wooden door.
"Enter."
Jey opened the door. The office was very clean and had nothing to do with the sweat and blood of the arena floor, only just a few hundred yards away but you’d never tell it was all one big industry.
Mr Shin was in the background behind a glass desk, carefully putting legal papers and a shiny grey tablet into a briefcase.
Shin didn’t look up as Jey walked in. "I specifically instructed Mr. Bones to let you know this meeting was of immediate urgency."
Jey stood near the door, keeping his distance, "he didn’t let me know, I came on my own."
Shin ceased packing. He closed the briefcase, a loud click resonating in the emptiness of the quiet room. Slowly he lifted his head, his calculating eyes fixed on Jey’s mask.
The CEO didn’t yell about it. Shin’s voice turned to a whisper when he truly got angry, and it was infinitely more terrifying.
"Mr. Ray, you took my time tonight," Shin said in a smooth, icy tone. "When you choose to step out onto that ramp without my permission, without my written permission, you’re stealing from me."
"But The crowd loved it," replied Jey, who would not back down easily. "You told me that they were concerned about the feud, that it brings viewership. Mr. Shin, I just handed them the next Chapter."
"You ignored medical protocol, you ignored my production team, you ignored me."
Shin circled the glass desk, coming to a halt a few feet from Jey. The promoter fine-tuned his silk tie with dazzling fingers.
"I’m giving you this one," Shin said in a tone that showed no emotion. "But know your place. You are a very valuable asset, but an asset nonetheless, do not attempt that again. Ever. Is that understood?"
Jey humbled himself. "Understood."
"Excellent," Shin responded and turned around and walked back toward his briefcase. "You are dismissed."
Jey turned, his hand grasping the cold brass of the doorknob...
"Mr. Ray," Shin called out softly.
Jey stood in the doorway, gazing over his shoulder.
Shin was sliding his cuff of his perfectly clean suit, "Before you leave... do you think your brother is OK?"
The strange and inopportune question left Jey bedazzled. "I’d guess he’s bruised to hell with Okada. Why do you ask?"
Shin took a slow breath and slowly lifted his eyes, a shadow of manipulation playing across them almost imperceptible. He knew what was in Billy’s bag. He knew his older brother was in trouble, and that the pills he was taking were illegal drugs. He knew just how to get a seed of anxiety in his top babyface’s mind.
Shin said smoothly, "No reason. Just an observation, drive safe, Jey." Then he gave a small smile.
The parking lot was largely empty of, with the exception of tall streetlights...and a bunch of parked cars. The distant, lingering chants of fans echoed faintly from the surrounding city blocks, but within the confines of the fenced-in lot, it was eerily quiet.
Jey was strolling slowly over the asphalt, his boots lightly clicking the loose gravel. He only wanted to get to his car, turn on the air conditioning and listen to nothing.
He pressed the unlock button on his car key, the headlights of his sedan flashing in the distance.
While strolling down the aisle of parked cars, he spied a dark gray Nissan parked awkwardly across two lines with its engine running. The headlights were not on, but the dim yellow light of the dash panel lit the inside.
Jey stopped walking.
There was a silhouette, sitting down, completely still in the driver’s seat. The man’s head was leaning on the steering wheel, his arms hanging down by his sides.
It was Billy.
This was the man who had driven him, head-first into the canvas, with a Mexican Destroyer. This was the man who verbally assaulted their sick mother. This was the man who despised him for just being alive.
Jey should have continued to walk. He should have entered his car and driven back to his apartment, back to Bambietta and the serenity.
However, Shin’s enigmatic question remained in his mind. Do you believe your brother is alright?
The guy in that car was a broken and desperate human being, and that was despite all the hate and violence.
Reluctantly, moving against every rational instinct he possessed, Jey altered his path.
He walked slowly toward the idling Nissan, his boots making soft, cautious scuffing sounds on the pavement. As he drew closer, he could see the severe details through the driver’s side window.
Billy was a wreck. His white dress shirt was completely soaked through with sweat and stained with dried blood, he didn’t even bother to bath. His chest was rising and falling in shallow bursts. He looked like he had entirely given up.
Jey reached out a hesitant hand, lightly tapping his knuckles against the cool glass of the window.
Inside the car, Billy flinched.
Slowly and agonizingly, the older brother peeled his forehead off the steering wheel. He turned his head toward the window. The harsh yellow light of the parking lot illuminated his bare, bruised face.
Billy’s eyes were completely glazed over, swimming in a thick haze. His pupils were pinned to tiny, unnatural dots. In truth, he looked utterly pathetic, a ghost haunting his own body.
Billy blinked, the fog parting just enough for him to recognize the man standing outside his car. The adopted son.
The deep, unresolved sadness in Billy’s eyes instantly vanished, swallowed whole by a surge of venomous spite.
Billy didn’t roll down the window. He simply raised his trembling, raw right hand, looked Jey dead in the eye, and slowly extended his middle finger against the glass.
Before Jey could even react, Billy dropped his hand, slammed the gear shift into drive, and stomped on the gas pedal.
The Nissan’s tires screeched violently against the asphalt, kicking up a cloud of dust and gravel. Jey was forced to take a step back as the rental car tore out of the parking space, speeding recklessly toward the exit gates and vanishing into the rest of Osaka.