Sutler stared ahead as the bluetooth in his ear erupted with Mike’s rant of the positives of performance enhancing drugs and how anyone who had half a brain would be using them if they knew how to get away with it. That was followed by a series of explanations for how High Octane Wrestling was capable of avoiding drug tests before matches due to not technically being registered as a sporting event. Or something like that, Sutler zoned out about half way through his overly wordy explanation.
“Okay but I don’t understand what that has to do with cluster matches?” the grandson of two surprisingly evil men complained. “And where am I supposed to find cocaine.. Maybe Aunt Elenore?”
His Uncle’s voice was back in his ear barking loud objections to Sutler’s plan followed by the rattling off of names and numbers.
“Woah, woah, I’m not going to remember any of that, just text it to me. Okay. So I get the cocaine and then what?” Another pause, Mike seemed to be silent for a moment before a simple reply. Sutler let out a bemused huff. “Alright, whatever you say, Uncle. Cool, I love ya, bye.”
Sutler hung up, the tension in his brow releasing as a rather unpleasant fart ripped through the room before the sound of a densely packed shit splashing down into the toilet water below could be heard.
“It’s a performance enhancer, dumbass, you just take it.” Sutler mimicked an overly nasally version of Mike Best’s voice with a roll of his eyes.
SRK – 3
Sutler Does Cocaine.
Sutler was often amazed by the random and colorful collection of people that his Uncle knew and unlike his Uncle when he used the term colorful he wasn’t referring to their skin tone. One of those characters was a man in his mid forties named Randall who somehow managed to smell exactly like his name.
He wore a black blazer with an eggshell white wide collar dress shirt that he wore popped up like some disco era Dracula. The thin strands of hair that desperately cling to his scalp in carefully coiled pools attempt to hide what is painfully evident, a considerable vacancy of hair actually rooted to the top of his head. A pot belly hangs over a thick gold plated skull belt buckle that struggles to keep up a pair of leather pants.
What a fucking Randall.
And where was this fine specimen of Mike Best’s associates to be found in the great city of Chicago?
Grits Lanes and Grille, where they spell the grill with an E on the end to make you think it’s fancy. A greasy little spoon splattered onto the side of six bowling lanes tucked on the back side of an industrial park, it was the kind of place you’d expect rats to avoid going for fear of becoming part of the menu. Still, it was nice to get out of the house or out of the gym for a change. Since joining HOW most of his time was spent either preparing for a match, at the arena or home enjoying the.. benefits.. Of being a winner.
“Kid.. can you even drink?”
Randall’s eyes were hidden behind a pair of aviator sunglasses, their mirrored finish reflecting Sutler’s dark brown eyes back at him.
“Bruh, I’m buying..” Sutler paused, his eyes flickering around before he leaned in, immediately regretting it as he caught a fresh nostril of eau de Randall. He continued in a hushed tone. “..buying a class one drug, what the fuck does it matter?”
Randall lifted his head and looked around the otherwise deserted bowling alley before he let out the kind of sigh that you’d expect a cheese burger to make.
“Yeah, listen kid, I’m all about selling some Colombian Marching Powder but you look like you’re twelve years old. What is this, did Johnny put you up to this? Hey! HEY JOHNNY!? You tryin’ to fucking prank me with your grandkid or something?!” Randall the Disco Dracula once again looked around the alley.
“What? No, my Uncle sent me here, Mike Best?”
Randall stopped, his attention zeroing in immediately on Sutler.
“Who the fuck?”
“Mike Best, you know, the Son of Chicago, Michael Best? Son of Lee Best?”
Randall shoved his way past Sutler with an annoyed expression on his face.
“I know who the fuck Mike is, that asshole helped put my niece through fucking college, hits me up with a 2k a month habit and boom, decides to go clean on him. You know how much sheef that asshole made me bring in before he’d go back on the wagon?!”he snorted as he waved off Sutler as he waddled away like such a fucking Randall.“So now that dingus sends his fucking kid to pick up cause he’s too cowardly to show up himself? Sorry, Kid, tell Mike to go fuck himself or come down here and suck my cock himself, mmkay?”
Color folks, the people Mike knows. Watching the man storm away Sutler’s brow knitted together as he began to wonder just what exactly his uncle got up to outside of wrestling.
“Dude I don’t know what my Uncle had you do but I’m here now, ready to pay, and it’s not for him, it’s for me.” Sutler followed, unwilling to give up. If this was the key to winning in his first PPV match then he needed to pursue it.
“Oh yeah? Fine, you want some coke, buy up everything that Mike had me buy then.” Randall sarcastically snorted in his most disgustingly Randall way.
“Twenty thousand, Kid.”
“Cool, you PayPal or I guess for that much, maybe Venmo?” the dark eyed heir to the High Octane Empire said as he pulled his phone out. Randall let out a real Randall of a laugh before he stopped, turning to stare the young man down with a look of surprise.
“Are you fucking serious?”
Sutler looked up, his dark eyes meeting evenly with Randall as his expression dared Miami Vice extra to call his bluff. Seeing no give in Sutler’s hardened expression Randall smirks a little.
“Wow, classy.” Sutler belittled Randall with a distilled level of contempt that seemed uncalled for when it came to something as mundane as a cash app.
“What the fuck ever, kid, I’m a god damn coke dealer, you think I care about what you think about my app choice? How the fuck do you have so much scratch anyway?”
The Son of Scions shrugged as he started downloading CashApp to his phone, smugness settling over his face.
“I’m a Trust Fund Baby.”
Having never purchased illegal drugs before Sutler wasn’t exactly sure what to expect, let alone what twenty thousand dollars worth of drugs should look like.
In the case of Coke, the going rate in 2020 rounded up was roughly 100 dollars a gram meaning Sutler had received a small paper bag which contained a smaller plastic bag that held about half a pound of coke in it. It seemed so… small.
Nothing like Sutler had imagined to be sure.
The trip back to Six Time Academy had been quiet as he contemplated what taking coke was going to be like. He could definitely feel an element of excitement starting to well up inside of himself. His first illegal drug in his entire life and it was going to be coke and then, with any hope, he’d ride that high all the way to defeating whoever else was throwing their hat into the ICONIC Battle Royal.
This was the kind of thing that his dead father, Max Kael, would never have allowed.
And now that he was thinking about it, it was probably best that Elenore never found out as well.
Reaching Six Time Academy Sutler quickly escaped the cold Chicago air and moved swiftly toward the back lockers, this little brown bag tucked carefully under his arm. He was nearly across the gym floor when he heard a voice that froze him dead in his tracks.
Elenore’s voice was colder than the wind outside and likely was linked to far more deaths. He turned slowly to stare in the direction of his statuesque Aunt who was flanked by two familiar individuals, the lawyers Shitemoore and Fartharder, his Father’s previous legal representatives.
“Where have you been?” Elenore asked as her crystal blue eyes narrowed as he glided across the floor toward her nephew. The two lawyers each followed in their own way, the corpulent Shitemoore waddling behind while the tall and gaunt Fartharder lumbered forward like some bureaucratic Slender Man.
“I had to run an errand before I started training today.” Sutler quickly replied. It wasn’t a lie, just a careful manipulation of the truth, a trick he had learned from Mike.
“I see.” Elenore purred as he crept toward him. The young man’s butthole tensed as he felt her grow closer feeling very much like a fly trapped in a spider’s web. “Have you spoken with your Uncle today?”
By now she had reached him and begun circling him, her blue eyes studying him carefully.
“I did call him earlier. I needed advice for the Battle Royal. He’s managed to win several big time cluster style matches so I figured if anyone had a good idea on how to win, it’d be him.”
Elenore paused for a moment as he regarded Sutler with a suspicious glare. The moment seemed to drag on as she digested what he said before a slender hand reached out, the back of her fingers gently caressing Sutler’s chin.
“Such a smart boy. Well, continue with your training then. I’ll be busy the next few days with a few.. Legal matters. If you speak with your Uncle again please be sure to pass on my condolences.” Elenore said in a coy manner, her eyes lighting up with a cruel mirth. Sutler nodded and while he was curious what she meant he felt it best he didn’t further engage.
Elenore turned and continued to walk toward the back offices of the Academy as the two other lawyers glomped after her. As she slowly passed beyond view Sutler let out an audible sigh, his body relaxing slightly as he shook his head.
“That was fucking close.”
Shaking off the experience Sutler remembered the paper bag he clutched in his hand, a smile stretching across his mouth. He lifted the bag up and nodded to himself now that he was once again able to continue with his mission.
“Well Sutler.. time for the next level.”
ICONIC Battle Royal, boys!
You know what that means right?
Oh yeah, baby, it’s a big old Cluster Match and everybody who didn’t make it onto the card is otherwise invited to join in and do your best to get a big win. On the line?
The winner gets to name their own HOFC Group.
Now I don’t know if any of you even care about that kind of advantage but I’m certainly not turning up my nose to that.
I’m thus far UNDEFEATED in High Octane Wrestling having rolled over Darin Zion and Kevin Capone, the later of which had his ass stone cold fired after I was done with him. I would be THREE and zero if my Grandpa’s Dickholster, Doozer, hadn’t made the best decision of his life and disappeared before our match. I don’t plan on letting any of you other incredible twiddle dicks get in the way of continuing that streak.
More to the point I don’t intend to let anything get in the way of me walking into 2021 with all the advantages I can muster to win that tournament. Do you know why I need to do this?
Cause Max Kael never did.
That’s right, already just a few months into my career and I am already setting myself up to do something that my dickhead father never could, dominate the HOFC Division and put my name in the history books under that title. See, it took Max Kael over half his life to achieve the kind of success that made him a name across the world, I’m going to do it in less than a year.
And I’m going to do it by doing what I have done my entire life.
Outlasting everyone else.
I have outlasted my real father, Shane Reynolds.
I have outlasted my adopted father, Max Kael.
I have outlasted my mother.
I have outlasted my cousin.
I have outlasted my aunt and uncle.
When the bell rings and we’re all in that ring together fighting for the right to name out HOFC Group tell me what you are willing to sacrifice? What are you going to be willing to do to stay inside those four ropes, to keep yourself from being tossed over the top, to stop your feet from hitting the ground?
What are you going to sacrifice?
I hope it’s enough because I will take everything you have to give, boys. I may not be the one to throw you over the top rope, but I’ll be the one who’ll be looking down at you, laughing. I might not be the asshole who takes advantage of your situation and shoves you screaming to the ground, but I’ll definitely be the one pointing and laughing. Hell, I probably won’t be the first one to score first blood but I’ll promise you this..
I’ll be the one who scores that last casualty.
And hey, maybe if you scratch my back I’ll put you in my Group for the DeNucci. I’m thinking of calling it the SRK Group.. Just rolls off the tongue doesn’t it?
Well anyway, boys, I can’t wait to see you at ICONIC and remember..
I’m the Son of Scions, Sutler Reynolds-Kael, and I can’t wait to teach you the Sutler Method.