I’ve been in Goiania for a few days now and I’ve yet to find any sign of Christopher America. It’s like chasing shadows in this sweaty armpit they call Brazil. But I can’t stop now, all of my instincts tell me that the old man had a method to his madness when he put this road schedule together. I’ve got this feeling that he knows a little more than he’s letting on. Even in his old age, Lee Best is still as crafty and sharp as they come, so I wouldn’t doubt it for one second. He’s always been one step ahead of everyone else, why should the cartel be any different? Just ask Lindsay Troy and those PRIME fucks how far ahead of everyone else he is.
After a few drinks at the bar last night and a couple of aggressive elbow nudges, I got this asshat Brazilian; some wannabe tough guy, to cough up some info about a gang in Rio De Janeiro. He said they might know something in regards to the whereabouts of Christopher America, but he never gave me a way to get in contact with them directly. Instead he gave me the name of a source and the name of the gang.
He referred to the gang as Serpentes Do Rio, or in English, The Snakes of Rio.
The source is a woman named Carmen. He referred to her as a black-haired bombshell that runs the underground drug trade in Goiana through the front of a Brazilian Jiu Jitsu gym a few blocks from the bar.
So, since HOW we’ll conveniently be in Rio De Janeiro next week, I figure I’ll put feet to pavement and follow up on this potential lead. Worst case scenario, I’ll get in some mattime while I’m there. Best case scenario, she gives me the point of contact I need to find Christopher America.
These streets are oddly familiar; I feel like I’m back in Afghanistan. And right now…I don’t know if that’s a good or bad thing. Since I’ve embraced Kutter, I’ve noticed more balance in my life. My focus is as sharp as its been in years and my confidence is through the fucking roof. I’m more aggressive but also far more calculated in my approach to everything. It only took a year of badgering and the development of four other personalities for me to give in to the unrelenting prick, but I’m glad I did. The improvements were immediately apparent and everyone got to see it last week when I defended the HOTv Championship against that cherry-fuck.
And now what? Next week, I’ve got to do it all over again against McKlayn’s partner, Raziel Reynolds. Look, I said it last week and I’ll say it again: I get the idea. You give them a shot at the HOTv championship and see if there worth a fuck. But the reality is, these guys aren’t worth the shit off my heel, let alone an HOTv title match against The Last Man in Wrestling.
Send these guys to Five Time Academy, Ten-X or whatever bullshit minor league Mike Best is conjuring up now that he’s back in the full swing of things. These guys need help and putting them in the ring with me isn’t making them any better. All this is doing is drawing a line through a couple of calendar weeks of training and replacing it with recovery time from the man sized ass whoopings these babynuts, greenhorn motherfuckers are getting.
These guys need to be in training, but hey…I’ll do what I’m told. I’ll follow the orders I’m given and much like last week, this week’s orders are about the same: fuck up the new guy.
Roger. Check. Got it. Too fuckin’ easy.
I’ve been the gatekeeper before and I’ll gladly play gatekeeper again. It’s what’s best for the Final Alliance, but it’s definitely not what’s best for business. How is anyone supposed to ever rise through the ranks of HOW if I’m the one that’s here to stop them before they ever even get started?
Dan Ryan will be ranked number one for the rest of his life.
STRONK! will be the forever World Champion.
John Sektor will never have to put a cigar down again.
Jatt Starr will…well, Jatt’s gonna Jatt.
You get the fuckin’ point.
And to top it all off, I’ve got a special guest this week. One Thomas “Tom Cat” Edwards…a fuckin’ hard chargin’, Purple Heart recipient of the Vietnam War. This guy is a fuckin’ hero. Reynolds, do you actually think that in a million years, I will ever let you beat me in front of a fuckin’ legend like that? I will literally put a bullet between my teeth before I let that happen.
Look man, good luck this week. Good luck not getting murdered in front of fifteen-thousand rabid Brazillians all chanting: Uh Vai Morrer
Or, in American: You’re Going to Die!
June 28, 2023
1225hrs Local Time
[Insert Gym Name]
Solex stands in the middle of the busy street staring down at the business card held firmly in his hand. The card reads [Insert Gym Name], mirroring the sign that hangs on the building in front of him. Solex’s eyes scan the building and its immediate surroundings as he meticulously analyzes every square. The constant flow of cars and bicycle riders whip by, coming within inches of Solex, but his focus is unwavering as he formulates an exit plan, in the event that things in the gym get out of hand. The blaring horn of a yellow cab pierces through the air, breaking Solex’s concentration and quickly snapping him back to reality.
Solex’s eyes dart over to the cab and he shoots the driver a smirk. Solex crumples the business card in his hand, as he tightly clenches his hand into a fist. He shakes his head before he hurls the balled up business card at the yellow cab like a paper grenade. As the ball of paper flies through the air, Solex turns his hand and flicks up his middle finger in the direction of the cab driver as he perfectly locks with the driver. The driver slams his open hands on steering wheel out of frustration as Solex calmly walks toward the building’s entrance.
“Dickhead,” Solex mutters to himself under his breath through gritted teeth.
He adjusts the three-day bag that’s slung across his right shoulder, takes a deep breath and pauses momentarily. He runs through his exit strategy one more time before he pulls the glass entrance door open. As he steps across the threshold, the bell hanging above the door frame rings out, echoing throughout the gym. The pungent smell of sweat hits him in the face like a bulldozer, but he keeps his cool and marches in with a confident swagger.
“Can I help you?” A woman’s voice asks, laced with a thick Brazilian accent.
The sound of bodies thudding against one another provides the perfect soundtrack as Solex walks up to the counter where the woman stands.
“English?” Solex asks as he squints his eyes and tilts his head.
The woman lets the words hang in the air for a beat, before she rolls her eyes and answers, “Yes.”
She exudes a confidence that isn’t typical of your normal gym assistant and immediately Solex senses that this may be the woman he’s looking for. Solex gives her a quick once over, taking in every detail that he can as quickly as he can:
Her sun-kissed skin, torched by the unrelenting Brazilian sun.
Waves of beautiful black hair, hanging down to her shoulders.
Her form fitting workout clothes perfectly hugged against her petite, yet curvy, figure.
“Yeah, I’m here to train,” Solex says, his voice steady and confident.
The woman sarcastically bats her big brown eyes at Solex and takes her turn to look him up and down.
“Muscles won’t help you here, sweetheart,” she says, her tone dripping with mockery.
Solex bursts out with a laugh and shakes his head drawing a quick look of irritation from the woman.
“What’s funny?” She asks, in a piercing tone tinged with irritation.
“Sweetheart,” he says as he leans an elbow on the counter top and locks eyes with her.
He pulls his bag in front of him and rips out a black belt and slams it on the wooden countertop, the resounding impact cuts through the dense, humid air and reverberates off the walls in the lobby catching the attention of some of the gym’s patrons in the gym.
“I’m a Machado black belt!” He exclaims with a toothy, white grin.
“Is that right?” She asks, her voice thick with skepticism.
Solex’s smile grows wide as he slowly pulls the belt off the counter. His eyes stay locked on hers as he tucks the belt into his bag.
“But, that’s not why I’m here…Carmen,” he says, his tone completely serious as the smile on his face disappears.
A moment of palpable tension hangs in the air as the playful banter is suddenly flipped on its head. Carmen’s eyebrows narrow as she squints her eyes, as she suddenly becomes curious of Solex.
“Who are you?” She asks as she folds her arms across her chest, taking up a defensive posture.
Solex plants both hands flat on the countertop and stares into her eyes.
“Let’s just say….I’m a friend,” Solex says.
Carmen, her posture becoming increasingly defensively as she purses her lips and tilts her head back in a sign of growing annoyance. Without a word, she reaches under the table and pulls out a notepad and pen. She quickly scribbles something on the paper, folds it and slides it across the counter and over to Solex.
Solex glances down at the paper, then back up at her. Her big brown eyes grow suggestively wide as she urges him to grab the paper. He quickly snatches it out from under her fingers and in one motion, slides it into his shorts pocket.
“Get out,” she says in a firm voice as she points to the exit.
Instead of saying anything at all, Solex nods his head in a thankful gesture and with a purposeful stride he turns from the counter and heads for the exit, never looking back. He shoves the door open and steps back out into the bustling streets of Goiana. He quickly reaches into his pocket and retrieves the folded paper. With a steady hand, he unfolds the paper and reads it quickly to himself.
“Go to Rio De Janeiro. See Carlos Vargas. They call him, Falcão Negro or The Black Falcon. He will know where he is.”