The date of: 02.07.2020 is a mainstay on the foot of the film. The time of: 15.23 is currently alongside the date but ticks along every second.
In a secluded room with nothing but a table and some technology equipment. There sits two police interrogators and of course Hughie Freeman. Meaning: Hughie has been brought into questioning surrounding the controversy of Lucian Santangel’s permanent third degree burns.
INTERROGATOR #1: You’re being recorded, ok?
HUGHIE: Oh no, captain. My hair isn’t fit for tele, now.
INTERROGATOR #1: Time is currently 15.25.. start recording.
The interrogator presses play on an old fashioned tape-recorder.
HUGHIE: Go easy lads, I’m too pretty for jail.
The interrogators choose to ignore Hughie’s jibes and go to their notes. One seems to be in charge of the interrogation whilst the other seemingly takes a back seat.
INTERROGATOR #1: Hughie Jacob Freeman.. you have the right to remain silent, anything you do say can and will be given in evidence in a court of law. You have the right to talk to a lawyer and have him or her present whilst you are being questioned. If you do not hire an attorney one will represent you if you wish one. If you decide to make a statement you can stop the interview at any time.
HUGHIE: No man will ever represent Hughie Freeman.
INTERROGATOR #1: Do you understand?
HUGHIE: ..Unless it’s our lord and saviour Jesus Christ then we’re golden, lads.
INTERROGATOR #1: (Sterner) Do you understand?
HUGHIE: Aye man, Dredd.
The interrogators go back to their notes and are starting to become increasingly frustrated with Hughie Freeman.
INTERROGATOR #1: Where were you last Saturday night? May 30th.
HUGHIE: Good question that, Billy. Probably where I am most days.
INTERROGATOR #1: Where are you most days?
HUGHIE: Up the stables.. shovelling horse shit and brushing fur. I don’t know.. changing hooves. Nothing overly glamorous, boys.
INTERROGATOR #1: Whereabouts are the stables?
HUGHIE: Ireland, I think. No.. England. Or was it the site of wherever Hughie-boy may chance to roam?
INTERROGATOR #1: So you’re saying you don’t know where you were?
HUGHIE: I’m saying: I’m a traveller. We get about. We could be in your back garden in ten minutes and there’s not a great deal you can do about it.
INTERROGATOR #1: Answer the question..
HUGHIE: What time, gaffer?
INTERROGATOR #1: (looks at document) Approximately 11.00PM on May 30th.
HUGHIE: Aye..aye, I heard you. I know exactly where I was, big man.
INTERROGATION #1: Well?
HUGHIE: At home. In the caravan. Not curling one out.. had it been 10:55PM or sooner then definitely curling one out.
A large sigh comes from the quiet interrogator who is setback from the interrogation. Meanwhile, interrogator #1 proceeds regardless.
INTERROGATION #1: What’s your association with HOW?
HUGHIE: Sorry Tony, not following..
INTERROGATION #1: High Octane Wrestling.
HUGHIE: Wrestling? No Freeman will ever wrestle.
INTERROGATION #1: Stop the act, Hughie.. games up.
HUGHIE: The act? You know my mother took me to see wrestling when I was just a little nipper. You writing this down? Make sure you are writing this down..
Interrogator #1 looks back at his colleague. His colleague nods. Interrogator #1 then puts pen to paper.
HUGHIE: Butlins.. it’s a low-budget holiday resort in England. There are loads of events for all the kiddies to keep them entertained. From archery all the way down to monkey-tennis. Anything that tickles your fancy really. But the one thing that tickled my fancy as a twinkled-eyed little tyke was those oversized men in leotards. Honestly fellas, it was like all of your superhero’s coming to life and I got a front row seat.
INTERROGATOR #1: So you’re a fan of wrestling?
HUGHIE: At Butlins it was only tribute acts. They pretended to be the real thing, but that’s not the point.. I was a fan. Hughie Freeman isn’t a fool.. I knew the score. I got sucked in from the very first bell. Hooked, lined and sinkered.
INTERROGATOR #1: So it’s something you pursued as a career?
HUGHIE: Christ no. My father wouldn’t allow that.
INTERROGATOR #1: Your father is not a fan?
INTERROGATOR #1: Sorry, that’s John Freeman, yeah?
The interrogator reverts back to his notes.
HUGHIE: Aye, my father. He was of the impression that it was all for weak-minded fairies. That it was like watching The Waltons; good old fashioned wholesome family entertainment. So I told him about Butlins, didn’t I? And that was that.. we never travelled there again. To my father, It didn’t exist on the map any more and boxing took over from there. Almost to where I forgot I had even liked that little thing you all adore called pro-wrestling.
INTERROGATOR #1: So you no longer even like wrestling?
HUGHIE: Bingo, Brett..! HATE it.
Interrogator #1 does no more than spin a laptop round and Hughie Freeman becomes privy to news reports via the HOW website.
HUGHIE: Ahhh, you got me. You got me. Brilliant police work, PC Plod.
INTERROGATOR #1: That is you, right?
Freeman squints his eyes as his head gets closer to the screen.
HUGHIE: Aye, that’s definitely the sexy bastard Hughie Freeman all right.
INTERROGATOR #1: So explain this to me. Why would you be on HOW’s official website, Hughie?
HUGHIE: Well read the thing. I bashed a few heads.. show me Benjamin Franklin and I’m walking into any arena to remove heads from shoulders. I mean, I’m hardly a pro-wrestler now am I?
Interrogator #2 has seemingly heard enough and breaks his silence by sliding a photo of Lucian Santangel across the table.
INTERROGATOR #2: Tell me who that is.
HUGHIE: Ah, Mr. Bad Cop. I was wondering when you were gunna pipe up.
INTERROGATOR #1: Hughie, it’s really important that we hear the truth.
HUGHIE: I’m honest. I don’t know any other way, mister. If it’s the truth you want then Hughie Freeman will honour all of your questions one hundred and fifty percent, now.
Suddenly, interrogator #2 lunges out of his seat and smashes down on the table with his fist.
INTERROGATOR #2: Answer the damn question!
HUGHIE: Ah, see. A fist against a table is far too easy, big man. Cos a table doesn’t fight back.. you seriously need to be careful with those deadly weapons.
Interrogator #2 turns away from Freeman and the police interrogation. He remains despondent with his hands on his hips with evident anger.
HUGHIE: But seeing how you’re finding it difficult to piece it altogether then let The Famous Gypsy Warrior go over it with a fine stone brush..
Interrogator #1 looks back again at his colleague. This time interrogator #2 does not even give the nod. Instead, the seated interrogator takes notes, reluctantly.
HUGHIE: Why not ask Chris Kostoff. I’d start there, boss. I mean, If you saw the show then your man there.. The Big Pumpkin Freak kicked the living shit out of Chris. And guess what that’s called? Yes.. go on. Little lightbulb going off yet..?
The faces of the interrogators sink. Presumably, through sheer impudence coming from the Irish traveller.
HUGHIE: That’s called motive, fellas.
Interrogator #2 slowly turns around without expression.
HUGHIE: Here’s a statement for you… ask Woody WoodPecker in his lovely pin-striped suit why it is that pumpkin-face has charcoal skin now. He was the one calling all of the shots around HOW when it happened. I’m just a pawn in his manipulative world of HATE, see.
P.S. No further comment, fellas.
Interrogator #2 then storms out of the room as Hughie has appeared to exercise his rights.
INTERROGATOR #1: Time is 15.42 and we’re ending the interview.
The last remaining police interrogator pushes stop on the cassette recorder. He resigningly gathers his belongings and leaves.
HUGHIE: Black, Nigel. No sugars.. Hughie is sweet enough, ya hear.
The door is shut behind him. This then leaves Hughie Freeman to gather his thoughts. But not for long.. he takes a look at the corner of the ceiling. His face is fully visible as he’s worked out where the police camera is stationed.
HUGHIE: You listening Chris? Hey-you, Chris Kostoff.. you watching? I hope you are. I hope you are watching an innocent man be questioned like some guilty-fool. Cos Chris, you should be under the microscope and not Hughie Freeman, ya hear.
I’ve never been questioned in my whole life, and whoever disposed of that bonus footage really needs a knighthood. That’s Lee Best’s trusted work. It has his fingerprints all over it and that’s why he will always out-smart any second-hand car salesman trying to sit in his chair. Something like this would burn the whole of HOW down to the ground and that’s without any struck match. All of this… it’s to cover people’s backs. What’s that word… a formality? Yeah, one of them. I’ll be out of here in no time. No sweat. Cos that’s what us pikey’s do.. we’re chameleons. Never to be caught, and back to dropping haters on Refueled by the evening.
But you Chris.. you’ll want to blame me. Just like everybody else. I didn’t strike you over the head with a chair and make you taste your own blood. No fella, I’m actually on your side here. You’re getting that all confused. Your brain is all scrambled-egg that when you look at me you only see pumpkin. Well wake up, Chris.. I am not your enemy. Aye, no friend either. I’m really fucking done with those. But you Chris really are ungrateful. I was the one that burnt Michael Myers and you should be.. thankful.
Thankful that I did that boy in so good that you don’t need to even lift a damn bastard finger. Your man Hughie has done the donkey work and whilst you won’t admit to playing your part.. I’m sitting here. When you’re the prime suspect. Hardly the eGG bandits now.. cos that would be fucking unusual. You’re in the firing line cos these pigs can’t get to Woodson. So you’re right to go into hiding. If push comes to shove.. change your name and have a whole new identity whilst you’re at it. Why not just become Lucian Santangel himself and just burn in hell, fella.
Freeman stands up from off his chair and starts pacing the interrogation room.
HUGHIE: This was not done out of.. HATE. Naw lad, this was done out of total respect. Respect for everything you’ve achieved here in HOW. I sat back and watched as Edward Scissorprick took liberties with The One Christopher Kostoff. And to Hughie Freeman, I don’t know about you.. that can never be done. You could say I was even disrespected by that total cowardly display. I went into business for myself and I did what was fucking right, Chris. I’m not guilty. The only thing these cocksuckers and everyone else should know what I’m guilty of is.. displacing my respect.
Listen, I can respect everything you’ve done for this business, and for HOW. Yeah, honestly now. The blood-wars, the titles, the accolades.. but there’s just one thing. One thing that I can’t respect. One thing that bugs the life out of me. One thing that should not be respected, and that’s… you. What you represent and what you stand for.
Chris, you’ve proved quite the chameleon yourself. The Big Chris Kostoff who should be feared and will beat you to an inch of your life if you’re not careful.. and the man that will let a hero like Hughie Freeman potentially rot in jail for the rest of his days. I don’t fear you, Chris.. I’m disappointed by you. You are without a doubt a man to be feared but here’s the thing, mate.. fear and excitement run side-by-side in my very bloodstream, and I’ve got a hard-on to set this story straight. That can only be done with a fatality at Refueled XXIX. A fatality from the most feared four knuckles in this whole entire business.
June 6th may be important to you Yanks. But let me tell you, fellas.. when your man Hughie Freeman collides with Chris Kostoff it’ll be history rewrote. The biggest battle in Normandy will be a classic HOW war. Chris Kostoff will never wave the white-flag but once it’s over.. start flapping your bedsheet, Woody.
Light the fucking cannons.
Hughie Freeman then flips the table in rage. He’s becoming stir-crazy. The door of the police interrogation room flings open but the footage goes to blackout.
Date: 02.07.2020 Time: 16: 04 (rolling).