And now, THE STAR OF OUR SHOW... (season 2 prologue)
Sept 5, 2021 17:28:36 GMT -6
Church, thegoldenidol, and 1 more like this
Post by Harvey Marx on Sept 5, 2021 17:28:36 GMT -6
The scene opens with a tight shot of a young man's terrified face, mingled with the sound of canned applause and saxophone solo both brilliant and cringe worthy. The applause dies and we hear a booming voice off camera
Marx: And welcome back to the show ladies and gentlemen. I'm here with Steve.
Contestant: My name is Mike
Marx: Sure it is, man. Here we are folks, tonight's final question. Will Steve double his winnings…
The crowd Boos mercilessly.
Or will he get nothing?
Wild cheers
I will repeat the question. Who won this year's Golden Globe for best actor?
Let's see his answer, folks!
Contestant: “Tom cruise?” is written on the podium screen as we go wide. There is a drum roll. The camera turns to a close up.
Marx: That is…..WRONG!
There is a loud buzzer and a massive fist comes into the shot and collides with Mike's face. He's sent flying and his mangled glasses sail in the opposite direction.
The correct answer is Michael Bolton! I love that guy!
The saxophone kicks up again and we see a shot looking up from the floor of a huge man in an electric blue pinstriped suit
We're just about out of time for tonight. This week my show is being brought to you by Apocalypse Cola, who reminds you…
Armageddon is more fun if you're drunk!
I’m Harvey Marx, and I’ll see you tomorrow night for another painful episode of Sucker Punch!
Mike crawls out and extends a shaky thumbs up from behind the podium, and we fade out to more sexy sax.
Director: And we're clear!
The shot goes wide and we see the entire studio set of Sucker Punch
As usual There is no one in the rows of theatre style seating to the side of the stage. Harvey Marx hasn't had an audience for three years. As soon as he knows the feed has been cut, he slumps under the weight of performing for no one. He gestures dismissively at the contestant still in a heap on the floor.
Marx: Get him out of here, Boris. I’ll be in my trailer.
Marx turns and walks for the door.
Boris: yes, boss!
A small man jumps into action. He sets down his saxophone and starts dragging mike away. Harvey throws a t shirt over his shoulder and it lands just right, covering Mike's face. Marx has had plenty of practice. He leaves the building. We hear a shout as a shaky camera takes us into an office
Osbourne: HAVE YOU LOST YOUR MIND?
Leonora: You brought me in to save the show, Oz. Are you going to let me do that or not?
Osbourne's face is a mask
Why not do this, Oz? The camera loves the guy. He's perfect for BPW. And you're not using his best asset. He can still fight.
Oz: You can't handle him, Leo.
Leonora laughs out loud. An almost obscene full body laugh. She would fall out of her wheelchair if she wasn't belted in.
Leo: I handled you well enough.
Osbourne shakes with familiar rage, but doesn't take the bait (this time) He needs to save his sinking Emerald City Television Network. He's out of options, and he knows better than to doubt the instincts and genius of his new producer, but hates to give her the satisfaction.
Oz: Fine. I'll call Black Pyramid Wrestling.
One week later
Harvey Marx looks at his pocket watch and curses to himself. He's been in Las Vegas less than three hours, and he's been robbed twice. First when he had to pay for the miserable excuse for a Cuban sandwich he ate, and again while he watched the hubcaps, radio, and hood emblem be stripped from his Jaguar.
We all know which one was the bigger crime.
But this was no time to debate the finer points of crime and punishment in what could only loosely be called a city these days. Marx was running late for a meeting. He whistled for a cab and was startled when one came to a screeching halt not eighteen inches from his back.
Marx quickly ate his rage, glancing back at what was left of his own vehicle. Osbourne had offered to fly Harvey to Vegas. With Sheldon Osbourne there were always strings attached. It was a lesson that had taken the big man far too many years to learn. It was better to lose the Jag than lose any more of himself to that snake.
Sounds of sitars and meditative mantras wash over Marx as he ducks into the cab. It seems strange but at least it helped Marx calm down after being nearly run over.
Marx: Nice soundtrack.
Driver: Thanks big guy. I'm big into self-improvement. Got to reach a full potential you know?
Harvey Shrugged
I'd like to consider myself enlightened. You never know when the universe will give you an opportunity. Gotta stay on the path bro. So Where are we going, man?
There was a sparkle in the eyes looking at Marx in the rear view mirror. The driver was dressed in a shirt and slacks that were pristine. He looked almost absurd in this cab. Marx definitely looked absurd, jammed into the tiny back seat.
Marx didn't have to reach very far to hand him an address.
You're not from around here
The driver gestured at the husk of the Jaguar as he pulled away from the curb.
Marx: Neither are you.
Marx was drawing attention to the drivers Boston accent. Marx was impressed with the man's ability to hide it. He knew something about that himself.
Driver You got me!
The driver squints at Harvey, then puts a smile in his voice.
Hey, I know you. You're on TV!
Marx: Really? You must be thinking of that OTHER 400 pound game show host.
The words were just on the edge of insulting, but Harvey's smile pulled them back from the cliff. The host of Sucker Punch is in his element, schmoozing another frat boy into submission.
Driver: What kind of ring name is the big ticket? Why not something more intimidating like big murder?
Marx: Do I look like I need help to intimidate people? I didn't choose the name for my opponents. I did it for the people. Marketing is more important than intimidation. I was never selling a fighter to anyone. I've always been a performer, in the ring or on my game show.
Driver: Yeah I suppose it's good for retirement, too. What did you have, 7 fights?
Marx: 7 official fights.
“fight” would be a very charitable description of the brutal work that Harvey did for Sheldon Osborne on the docks or in dark parking garages all around Seattle just after his retirement.. He decided to keep that to himself. It was a time he'd like to forget and knew he never would.
I'm impressed, kid. Not too many people have researched my record. I was a ring announcer after I retired and I still do that on occasion. That'll be part of my pitch to Black Pyramid wrestling.
Driver: I'm a Fighter too. 4 and 1 in MMA. I don't have a catchy nickname yet. Someday I'll earn it .
Marx: What happened in the Loss?
Driver: A judge didn't like me sleeping with his sister.
Marx: As much as I’m enjoying this conversation, I’m late for a meeting. Can't this thing go any faster?
The sparkle in the driver's eye was joined by something else Harvey couldn't label.
Driver: I thought you'd never ask….
The driver pulled into a clear straight ally and reached for the gear shift
The cab picked up speed through it and turned onto a road on the other side. The gas petal hit the floor with a dull thud just as the traffic lights up ahead went yellow. Traffic up ahead stopped by the cabbie didn't. He jerked the wheel violently and the cab was on a sidewalk, narrowly avoiding disaster at the stoplight. The cab thundered across two intersections this way before Marx could realize he was still alive. Harvey had never set foot inside a place of worship in his life, and he had not prayed in the ring as many fighters did. Now, as his fingers dug for dear life, ripping the already torn vinyl seat under him, Harvey Marx found the gods.
He closed his eyes and prayed, pinned to the seat. He hoped he could be heard over the roaring engine the chorus of horns, screaming tires and crashes that surrounded him.
The cab shook under the strain of the speed. The driver was muttering curses all the way, a willing avatar for the demon Prince of road rage.
Vegas was a blur The world was all burnt tires, twisted metal and breaking glass. Suddenly the cab turned. It was on two wheels for a blink, only Harvey's weight on the other side keeping the thing from rolling.
FUCK YOUR MOTHER! I'VE GOT A VIP IN HERE!
Marx's terror reached a new level as the kid let go of the wheel to flip someone off out the window. Then everything was spinning as the cab whipped around and came to a stop. The parking lot was fairly empty in the afternoon but there were plenty of people on the busy street.
We're here!
Marx exits the cab and turns toward the building. The driver starts to pull away then slams his breaks, rushing after Harvey.
Driver: Train me.
Marx stops.
Marx: You want to host a game show kid?
Driver: train me to fight!
Marx: Cute. What's your angle? Fame, money? There are easier ways to impress women than getting punched in the face a few hundred times.
Driver: Power.
Marx was struck by the gravity of the word.
I know how to hustle and I know how to work. I want what I deserve, and I don't care if I have to take it.
There was an edge and an honesty in his voice that stopped bystanders in their tracks. The truth was very rarely spoken in this world, and he was attracting attention.
Marx: I like you. But I'm not interested.
Marx started walking away from the cab, which was now parked across the path into the building.
Driver: Here he is, people. The Big Ticket himself. Not a real fighter. He just plays one on TV.
Marx stopped cold. He gets taunted every day. Usually some fool making a joke or acting on a dare in a bar. It was part of the job, and he never took the bait.
This was something different. Something that hasn't happened in years. Harvey Marx was being challenged, and there was only one way to respond.
Marx turned around and step closer to the driver. Both were conscious of the crowd beginning to gather around them. They spoke in a tense whisper
Marx: You really want to do this here and now?
Driver: Hell yeah
Marx: If I wasn't late I would crush you
The driver smiled impishly.
Driver: I got us here in plenty of time Big Man.
Marx: Alright. All I need is your name. No way out of this for you if you give it to me. Understand?
The driver told him
It's on! You want me to teach you? Watch and learn. Promo time!
***
Harvey walked over to the cab and slammed his briefcase against the door. The alarm sounded. Or what passed for an alarm. Preventing auto theft was apparently not a priority in Lost Vegas. A ring of people was forming around the cab and the two men
Ladies and gentlemen! I'm pleased to interrupt your regularly scheduled Tuesday afternoon rat race to bring you this very special big-ticket entertainment production. There are no gloves, no scorecards and no referees to completely ignore, but today I make my return to the fight game after more than a decade! But first, a special announcement!
Sucker Punch is going live folks. I'm taking my voice, my good looks and my talents to BPW. There will be games, prizes, insightful commentary, gratuitous violence...
And maybe even a little wrestling.
And now for today’s main event !
Your hero boats a professional record of 7-0 wins all coming by way of knockout with no losses stands six feet five, hails from Seattle and is 400 pounds of pure television gold.
The Big Ticket, Harvey Marx!
And the challenger, standing 6 feet one and weighing in at 220 pounds, his mixed martial arts record stands at four wins and one loss.
He is… some kind of underwear model/yogi turned cab driver and he comes to us from Boston Massachusetts.
People of Las Vegas, I give you “The Enlightened One”….CARTER SHAW!
We have an insane and probably illegal situation like so many others I have brought to you, but Sucker punch on the street wouldn't be complete without a prize! If Shaw can stay on his feet for 2 minutes, I'll give him 2000 dollars!
(OOC note: Health kept me from writing a fight scene here. Please take a moment to imagine totally badass confrontation here)
***
Harvey Stood Still for a moment. He drank in the Roar of the crowd before gesturing with his arms for them to turn it up. Marx turned a slow Circle stopping with his back to Shaw.
He bowed with a Shakespearean flourish completely inappropriate for a man who has just won a street brawl . He held up the prize money he'd offered to shaw and started tossing it out to the crowd . Two of the city's finest fought just as hard as the others to get a piece of the purse. The crowd clamored for a few seconds and then stopped in stunned silence letting the money fall to the pavement.
Marx didn't have to turn around to know that Carter was doing something unexpected for the third time today.
He was getting to his feet.
Shaw: Is that all you've got?
They both knew it wasn't. Marx tried to look menacing, but a smile broke through. He had seen plenty of good fighters give out a beating, but Harvey could learn much more from the way someone took one.
Shaw beckoned Harvey back into the center of the circle. The Big Ticket shook his head. Shaw's gaze was steady but his legs weren't. Another good shot could put him down again, but Harvey knew it wouldn't keep him down.
Shaw stood like a man with something to prove.
To Marx?
To himself?
To every last soul in the whole damn world?
Harvey didn't know, but he made up his mind to find out.
Marx: This game is over, Carter. You've seen my show. Bonus round with me never ends well.
Shaw proved smarter than the average contestant. He started walking to his cab as the crowd returned to reality and dispersed.
Harvey grabbed his arm gently
Marx: Leave the shitshaker to the wolves, Shaw.
Shaw: It's my job.
Marx: Not anymore. You work for me now. You do what I say, when I say.
They walk to the main entrance to the high-rise building. A doorman is lost in the world of his smartphone. With surprising fluidity, Marx takes the sunglasses and uniform hat off of him and puts both on Shaw. Before the doorman can protest Harvey has taken his phone and struck a perfect pose for a selfie, his left fist floating playfully near the man's jaw.
Doorman: You're that guy from TV!
Marx: YES! Wonderful to meet you Fred.
He tosses the doorman his phone. Marx and Shaw are through the lobby and into an elevator before the doorman remembers his name isn't Fred.
The elevator door closes before Harvey pushes a stack of cash into Shaw's arms.
Shaw: I didn't last two minutes.
Marx: That part was for show. You showed me something out there but you had no chance.
Shaw: So what is this for?
Marx: Travel expenses. I can't have my driver dressing off the rack If I'm going to go on the road and get over as the big Ticket. Go see Frank Bellwood at the Wizards Thread in Miami and tell him I sent you. He's a true craftsman. And he's a gentleman. Might even work a little of his magic and have you acting like one.
Shaw: So what should I do when these doors open?
Marx: Hang on to this briefcase for me. Think you can handle that?
Shaw: Yes, sir. I could hold this for months!
Marx: Too far, man.
Shaw: Sorry boss.
And what were you going to do with all this money if you didn't meet me today?
Marx: I'm a gentleman in Vegas. Use your imagination.
The two men step off the elevator into the conference room. Leonora is sitting behind the long table, nervous lawyer / accountant types see it on either side of her. They seemed relieved to realize they are no longer alone with her.
Leo: Hello Mr. Marx. Nice of you finally join us.
There was a beeping sound and then a click as Leo moved out from behind the table and over to Harvey to shake his hand.
Leo: Leonora Albright. I'll be producing your show when you go live with black pyramid wrestling.
She was in her early 30s, wearing a sleeveless white pantsuit with red shoes. Her makeup was minimal, her short red hair was slicked back. The custom seating system in her wheelchair was comfortably tight to her willowy frame.
Marx: Pleasure to meet you Leo....wait, you're THAT Leonora? Mr Osbourne has told me, uh, quite a lot about you...
Leo: It's all true
Marx: Everything?
Leo: …Everything.
Harvey blushed and Shaw smiled
She looked both men up and down, smiling at Shaw. She quickly moved closer to him.
Leo: And who might you be?
Marx: This is my… associate, Mr. Shaw.
Leo: I see. And did you and your associate just beat the hell out of each other?
She locked eyes with Shaw, her chair blocking the view as she removed the cab company ID still hanging on his breast pocket, dropping it into a small space between her seat and the inside of an armrest. She'd need it if she was going to do her homework on Shaw
Both men could only look at the ground like guilty children with their hands in the cookie jar.
Leo shook her head disapprovingly, summoning all the discipline she had learned as a stage actor to conceal her delight.
Leo thought her dossier on Marx didn't do him justice. Typical of Oz to have no idea what he had. Apparently the loud little troll with the saxophone and synthesizer was part of the deal, but she was used to handling divas.
Then there was Shaw, standing in silence. Somehow every bit of the arrangement pretty boy he seemed to be, and somehow so much more.
She ginned, toying with the golden spider web charm hanging around her neck
Saving Sucker Punch just got a lot more interesting…
Marx: And welcome back to the show ladies and gentlemen. I'm here with Steve.
Contestant: My name is Mike
Marx: Sure it is, man. Here we are folks, tonight's final question. Will Steve double his winnings…
The crowd Boos mercilessly.
Or will he get nothing?
Wild cheers
I will repeat the question. Who won this year's Golden Globe for best actor?
Let's see his answer, folks!
Contestant: “Tom cruise?” is written on the podium screen as we go wide. There is a drum roll. The camera turns to a close up.
Marx: That is…..WRONG!
There is a loud buzzer and a massive fist comes into the shot and collides with Mike's face. He's sent flying and his mangled glasses sail in the opposite direction.
The correct answer is Michael Bolton! I love that guy!
The saxophone kicks up again and we see a shot looking up from the floor of a huge man in an electric blue pinstriped suit
We're just about out of time for tonight. This week my show is being brought to you by Apocalypse Cola, who reminds you…
Armageddon is more fun if you're drunk!
I’m Harvey Marx, and I’ll see you tomorrow night for another painful episode of Sucker Punch!
Mike crawls out and extends a shaky thumbs up from behind the podium, and we fade out to more sexy sax.
Director: And we're clear!
The shot goes wide and we see the entire studio set of Sucker Punch
As usual There is no one in the rows of theatre style seating to the side of the stage. Harvey Marx hasn't had an audience for three years. As soon as he knows the feed has been cut, he slumps under the weight of performing for no one. He gestures dismissively at the contestant still in a heap on the floor.
Marx: Get him out of here, Boris. I’ll be in my trailer.
Marx turns and walks for the door.
Boris: yes, boss!
A small man jumps into action. He sets down his saxophone and starts dragging mike away. Harvey throws a t shirt over his shoulder and it lands just right, covering Mike's face. Marx has had plenty of practice. He leaves the building. We hear a shout as a shaky camera takes us into an office
Osbourne: HAVE YOU LOST YOUR MIND?
Leonora: You brought me in to save the show, Oz. Are you going to let me do that or not?
Osbourne's face is a mask
Why not do this, Oz? The camera loves the guy. He's perfect for BPW. And you're not using his best asset. He can still fight.
Oz: You can't handle him, Leo.
Leonora laughs out loud. An almost obscene full body laugh. She would fall out of her wheelchair if she wasn't belted in.
Leo: I handled you well enough.
Osbourne shakes with familiar rage, but doesn't take the bait (this time) He needs to save his sinking Emerald City Television Network. He's out of options, and he knows better than to doubt the instincts and genius of his new producer, but hates to give her the satisfaction.
Oz: Fine. I'll call Black Pyramid Wrestling.
One week later
Harvey Marx looks at his pocket watch and curses to himself. He's been in Las Vegas less than three hours, and he's been robbed twice. First when he had to pay for the miserable excuse for a Cuban sandwich he ate, and again while he watched the hubcaps, radio, and hood emblem be stripped from his Jaguar.
We all know which one was the bigger crime.
But this was no time to debate the finer points of crime and punishment in what could only loosely be called a city these days. Marx was running late for a meeting. He whistled for a cab and was startled when one came to a screeching halt not eighteen inches from his back.
Marx quickly ate his rage, glancing back at what was left of his own vehicle. Osbourne had offered to fly Harvey to Vegas. With Sheldon Osbourne there were always strings attached. It was a lesson that had taken the big man far too many years to learn. It was better to lose the Jag than lose any more of himself to that snake.
Sounds of sitars and meditative mantras wash over Marx as he ducks into the cab. It seems strange but at least it helped Marx calm down after being nearly run over.
Marx: Nice soundtrack.
Driver: Thanks big guy. I'm big into self-improvement. Got to reach a full potential you know?
Harvey Shrugged
I'd like to consider myself enlightened. You never know when the universe will give you an opportunity. Gotta stay on the path bro. So Where are we going, man?
There was a sparkle in the eyes looking at Marx in the rear view mirror. The driver was dressed in a shirt and slacks that were pristine. He looked almost absurd in this cab. Marx definitely looked absurd, jammed into the tiny back seat.
Marx didn't have to reach very far to hand him an address.
You're not from around here
The driver gestured at the husk of the Jaguar as he pulled away from the curb.
Marx: Neither are you.
Marx was drawing attention to the drivers Boston accent. Marx was impressed with the man's ability to hide it. He knew something about that himself.
Driver You got me!
The driver squints at Harvey, then puts a smile in his voice.
Hey, I know you. You're on TV!
Marx: Really? You must be thinking of that OTHER 400 pound game show host.
The words were just on the edge of insulting, but Harvey's smile pulled them back from the cliff. The host of Sucker Punch is in his element, schmoozing another frat boy into submission.
Driver: What kind of ring name is the big ticket? Why not something more intimidating like big murder?
Marx: Do I look like I need help to intimidate people? I didn't choose the name for my opponents. I did it for the people. Marketing is more important than intimidation. I was never selling a fighter to anyone. I've always been a performer, in the ring or on my game show.
Driver: Yeah I suppose it's good for retirement, too. What did you have, 7 fights?
Marx: 7 official fights.
“fight” would be a very charitable description of the brutal work that Harvey did for Sheldon Osborne on the docks or in dark parking garages all around Seattle just after his retirement.. He decided to keep that to himself. It was a time he'd like to forget and knew he never would.
I'm impressed, kid. Not too many people have researched my record. I was a ring announcer after I retired and I still do that on occasion. That'll be part of my pitch to Black Pyramid wrestling.
Driver: I'm a Fighter too. 4 and 1 in MMA. I don't have a catchy nickname yet. Someday I'll earn it .
Marx: What happened in the Loss?
Driver: A judge didn't like me sleeping with his sister.
Marx: As much as I’m enjoying this conversation, I’m late for a meeting. Can't this thing go any faster?
The sparkle in the driver's eye was joined by something else Harvey couldn't label.
Driver: I thought you'd never ask….
The driver pulled into a clear straight ally and reached for the gear shift
The cab picked up speed through it and turned onto a road on the other side. The gas petal hit the floor with a dull thud just as the traffic lights up ahead went yellow. Traffic up ahead stopped by the cabbie didn't. He jerked the wheel violently and the cab was on a sidewalk, narrowly avoiding disaster at the stoplight. The cab thundered across two intersections this way before Marx could realize he was still alive. Harvey had never set foot inside a place of worship in his life, and he had not prayed in the ring as many fighters did. Now, as his fingers dug for dear life, ripping the already torn vinyl seat under him, Harvey Marx found the gods.
He closed his eyes and prayed, pinned to the seat. He hoped he could be heard over the roaring engine the chorus of horns, screaming tires and crashes that surrounded him.
The cab shook under the strain of the speed. The driver was muttering curses all the way, a willing avatar for the demon Prince of road rage.
Vegas was a blur The world was all burnt tires, twisted metal and breaking glass. Suddenly the cab turned. It was on two wheels for a blink, only Harvey's weight on the other side keeping the thing from rolling.
FUCK YOUR MOTHER! I'VE GOT A VIP IN HERE!
Marx's terror reached a new level as the kid let go of the wheel to flip someone off out the window. Then everything was spinning as the cab whipped around and came to a stop. The parking lot was fairly empty in the afternoon but there were plenty of people on the busy street.
We're here!
Marx exits the cab and turns toward the building. The driver starts to pull away then slams his breaks, rushing after Harvey.
Driver: Train me.
Marx stops.
Marx: You want to host a game show kid?
Driver: train me to fight!
Marx: Cute. What's your angle? Fame, money? There are easier ways to impress women than getting punched in the face a few hundred times.
Driver: Power.
Marx was struck by the gravity of the word.
I know how to hustle and I know how to work. I want what I deserve, and I don't care if I have to take it.
There was an edge and an honesty in his voice that stopped bystanders in their tracks. The truth was very rarely spoken in this world, and he was attracting attention.
Marx: I like you. But I'm not interested.
Marx started walking away from the cab, which was now parked across the path into the building.
Driver: Here he is, people. The Big Ticket himself. Not a real fighter. He just plays one on TV.
Marx stopped cold. He gets taunted every day. Usually some fool making a joke or acting on a dare in a bar. It was part of the job, and he never took the bait.
This was something different. Something that hasn't happened in years. Harvey Marx was being challenged, and there was only one way to respond.
Marx turned around and step closer to the driver. Both were conscious of the crowd beginning to gather around them. They spoke in a tense whisper
Marx: You really want to do this here and now?
Driver: Hell yeah
Marx: If I wasn't late I would crush you
The driver smiled impishly.
Driver: I got us here in plenty of time Big Man.
Marx: Alright. All I need is your name. No way out of this for you if you give it to me. Understand?
The driver told him
It's on! You want me to teach you? Watch and learn. Promo time!
***
Harvey walked over to the cab and slammed his briefcase against the door. The alarm sounded. Or what passed for an alarm. Preventing auto theft was apparently not a priority in Lost Vegas. A ring of people was forming around the cab and the two men
Ladies and gentlemen! I'm pleased to interrupt your regularly scheduled Tuesday afternoon rat race to bring you this very special big-ticket entertainment production. There are no gloves, no scorecards and no referees to completely ignore, but today I make my return to the fight game after more than a decade! But first, a special announcement!
Sucker Punch is going live folks. I'm taking my voice, my good looks and my talents to BPW. There will be games, prizes, insightful commentary, gratuitous violence...
And maybe even a little wrestling.
And now for today’s main event !
Your hero boats a professional record of 7-0 wins all coming by way of knockout with no losses stands six feet five, hails from Seattle and is 400 pounds of pure television gold.
The Big Ticket, Harvey Marx!
And the challenger, standing 6 feet one and weighing in at 220 pounds, his mixed martial arts record stands at four wins and one loss.
He is… some kind of underwear model/yogi turned cab driver and he comes to us from Boston Massachusetts.
People of Las Vegas, I give you “The Enlightened One”….CARTER SHAW!
We have an insane and probably illegal situation like so many others I have brought to you, but Sucker punch on the street wouldn't be complete without a prize! If Shaw can stay on his feet for 2 minutes, I'll give him 2000 dollars!
(OOC note: Health kept me from writing a fight scene here. Please take a moment to imagine totally badass confrontation here)
***
Harvey Stood Still for a moment. He drank in the Roar of the crowd before gesturing with his arms for them to turn it up. Marx turned a slow Circle stopping with his back to Shaw.
He bowed with a Shakespearean flourish completely inappropriate for a man who has just won a street brawl . He held up the prize money he'd offered to shaw and started tossing it out to the crowd . Two of the city's finest fought just as hard as the others to get a piece of the purse. The crowd clamored for a few seconds and then stopped in stunned silence letting the money fall to the pavement.
Marx didn't have to turn around to know that Carter was doing something unexpected for the third time today.
He was getting to his feet.
Shaw: Is that all you've got?
They both knew it wasn't. Marx tried to look menacing, but a smile broke through. He had seen plenty of good fighters give out a beating, but Harvey could learn much more from the way someone took one.
Shaw beckoned Harvey back into the center of the circle. The Big Ticket shook his head. Shaw's gaze was steady but his legs weren't. Another good shot could put him down again, but Harvey knew it wouldn't keep him down.
Shaw stood like a man with something to prove.
To Marx?
To himself?
To every last soul in the whole damn world?
Harvey didn't know, but he made up his mind to find out.
Marx: This game is over, Carter. You've seen my show. Bonus round with me never ends well.
Shaw proved smarter than the average contestant. He started walking to his cab as the crowd returned to reality and dispersed.
Harvey grabbed his arm gently
Marx: Leave the shitshaker to the wolves, Shaw.
Shaw: It's my job.
Marx: Not anymore. You work for me now. You do what I say, when I say.
They walk to the main entrance to the high-rise building. A doorman is lost in the world of his smartphone. With surprising fluidity, Marx takes the sunglasses and uniform hat off of him and puts both on Shaw. Before the doorman can protest Harvey has taken his phone and struck a perfect pose for a selfie, his left fist floating playfully near the man's jaw.
Doorman: You're that guy from TV!
Marx: YES! Wonderful to meet you Fred.
He tosses the doorman his phone. Marx and Shaw are through the lobby and into an elevator before the doorman remembers his name isn't Fred.
The elevator door closes before Harvey pushes a stack of cash into Shaw's arms.
Shaw: I didn't last two minutes.
Marx: That part was for show. You showed me something out there but you had no chance.
Shaw: So what is this for?
Marx: Travel expenses. I can't have my driver dressing off the rack If I'm going to go on the road and get over as the big Ticket. Go see Frank Bellwood at the Wizards Thread in Miami and tell him I sent you. He's a true craftsman. And he's a gentleman. Might even work a little of his magic and have you acting like one.
Shaw: So what should I do when these doors open?
Marx: Hang on to this briefcase for me. Think you can handle that?
Shaw: Yes, sir. I could hold this for months!
Marx: Too far, man.
Shaw: Sorry boss.
And what were you going to do with all this money if you didn't meet me today?
Marx: I'm a gentleman in Vegas. Use your imagination.
The two men step off the elevator into the conference room. Leonora is sitting behind the long table, nervous lawyer / accountant types see it on either side of her. They seemed relieved to realize they are no longer alone with her.
Leo: Hello Mr. Marx. Nice of you finally join us.
There was a beeping sound and then a click as Leo moved out from behind the table and over to Harvey to shake his hand.
Leo: Leonora Albright. I'll be producing your show when you go live with black pyramid wrestling.
She was in her early 30s, wearing a sleeveless white pantsuit with red shoes. Her makeup was minimal, her short red hair was slicked back. The custom seating system in her wheelchair was comfortably tight to her willowy frame.
Marx: Pleasure to meet you Leo....wait, you're THAT Leonora? Mr Osbourne has told me, uh, quite a lot about you...
Leo: It's all true
Marx: Everything?
Leo: …Everything.
Harvey blushed and Shaw smiled
She looked both men up and down, smiling at Shaw. She quickly moved closer to him.
Leo: And who might you be?
Marx: This is my… associate, Mr. Shaw.
Leo: I see. And did you and your associate just beat the hell out of each other?
She locked eyes with Shaw, her chair blocking the view as she removed the cab company ID still hanging on his breast pocket, dropping it into a small space between her seat and the inside of an armrest. She'd need it if she was going to do her homework on Shaw
Both men could only look at the ground like guilty children with their hands in the cookie jar.
Leo shook her head disapprovingly, summoning all the discipline she had learned as a stage actor to conceal her delight.
Leo thought her dossier on Marx didn't do him justice. Typical of Oz to have no idea what he had. Apparently the loud little troll with the saxophone and synthesizer was part of the deal, but she was used to handling divas.
Then there was Shaw, standing in silence. Somehow every bit of the arrangement pretty boy he seemed to be, and somehow so much more.
She ginned, toying with the golden spider web charm hanging around her neck
Saving Sucker Punch just got a lot more interesting…