"Drive" Part One

There is no way I can win the tournament.

Even if I win my last two matches and somehow the A Block leader Church slips on a pair of banana peels named Corey Bull and Remy Nakamura, he still is one loss ahead of me.

I could catch Blackwater since he’s got two losses (and we haven’t fought yet) but that’s the highest I can go. Zydeco Samurai Guy could lose out and still beat me via tie-breaker.

So AT BEST, if EVERYTHING goes my way, the highest I can place is the SHOW position.

And as of right now what third place is worth is diddly and squat.

Not really worth getting my brains beat in this week by an intergalactic badass who fights like a character from a video game, is it?

So why keep fighting? Is it for pride?

Tuxedo Max was a name known throughout Las Vegas before it turned into a walled-off city-state. Granted, it wasn’t recognized for being an in-ring tough guy. I was a glorified taxi driver with a history of bad investments and one operatic marriage and divorce (Wife #3 tried to killing me the way every dude THINKS he wants to go but speaking from experience you DO NOT).

Black Pyramid Wrestling was a Hail Mary; a last ditch attempt to save my struggling livery business. And like most Hail Marys do it slipped through the receivers hands.

So yeah, there’s a part of me that’s still fighting for pride. ‘My name is my name’ to quote Marlo Stansfield, and I keep fighting in part to protect my brand.

The other reason is, believe it or not, even as an eventual loser in BPW’s tournament my participation has brought in new business.

The Haves in this city decided it might be worth a few extra bucks to have their bachelorette party ferried about by the man who’s getting his shit pushed in on a bi-weekly basis live on the internet.

And then there’s Ramses itself.

Maybe they’ve decided to throw me a bone because they know I’m dead meat in the tourney but they don’t want me to dip out. But AAAPEX Livery Service has been picking up a few gigs shuttling either its employees or various VIPs here and there.

A lot of the time I’m requested specifically to be involved. Either as a driver or tour guide.

Easy gig for me. Show the rubes around, tell them a few tales about Old Las Vegas, and direct them to where they can get the best vices for the cheapest prices.

It’s what I’d be doing if the fucking Apocalypse hadn’t come to town, and it fits like a glove.

So yeah, that’s my story for right now. I’ll keep fighting, keep taking hits, keep losing years off my life staying in that ring until the tournament ends.

Am I going to fight to win? Hell, yeah. I ain’t no masochist. I don’t plan on bowing up to L-7 with the intention of just laying down and eating the pin.

Got to keep up appearances, right? Those Jabberrock boys and girls don’t want to be chaperoned around the city by a fuckin’ pussy, right? They’re going to want to share war stories. They’re going to want to give me shit for trying and failing to beat a girl half my size, never mind she’s got a frigging arsenal better suited for Boba Fett than Bruiser Brody.

So yeah, the million bucks is out of reach, but if I keep fighting, if I keep grinding, I may be able to snatch up a few golden crumbs along the way, until I figure out what I’m going to do next to keep my ‘empire’ running.

Because I do need to figure something out, before this situation swallows me up, and everyone I love up.