Post by L. A. Blackwater on Jan 7, 2021 18:49:01 GMT -6
An old, beat-up Dodge Ramcharger cruises along the Southern end of Las Vegas Boulevard; better known as the “Las Vegas Strip”. Lucas Arthur Blackwater, commonly abbreviated to L.A., drives his truck past the iconic Luxor Hotel. The pyramid-shaped hotel stands out against the busy Vegas backdrop; Blackwater stares at the location of Black Pyramid Wrestling’s debut event as he navigates down the busy strip.
After catching a glimpse of the Hotel and Casino, Blackwater turns off of the Strip, heading for the less glamorous Downtown. He eventually arrives at a rundown apartment building, parking his truck in an underground car park. The tournament had attracted a wide variety of dangerous individuals, all capable of winning the one million dollar prize. Blackwater has an advantage over the pack though; years of military experience. He has a heightened awareness of his safety, and how to lay low in a potentially hostile environment. His instincts told him Las Vegas would be another hostile environment.
Blackwater opens his door, as he reaches for his duffel bag on the passenger seat, he notices something out of place: a high-end black Hummer, it’s windows tinted. Blackwater pauses for a moment, whilst making a quick visual assessment of his surroundings. He slowly reaches for his glove box, opening it, and removing a loaded Browning 9mm handgun. As he exits his vehicle cautiously, Blackwater conceals the handgun in the back of his trousers, covering it over with his coat, and then quietly closes his truck door. He approaches the Hummer with caution, his shooting hand primed to draw his weapon in an instance if required, it wouldn’t be the first time Blackwater had used his Browning 9mm.
Although the windows of the vehicle were tinted, Blackwater can tell the vehicle is empty, he makes another visual check around the car park; it appears he is alone. He exits the car park and makes his way to his apartment.
Blackwater walks cautiously down the corridor of his apartment building. He finally makes his way to the last door, his own. His attention is immediately drawn to a missing piece of thread from the front door. An old trick used to determine if an intruder has entered; a piece of thread can be discreetly attached to the door after closing it. If the thread has been broken or fallen off, if secured properly, the only logical explanation would be because someone opened the door.
Blackwater quickly draws his handgun; he removes the safety. He slowly unlocks the front door then opens it slightly, peeking through the gap. When he cannot see anything untoward, he quickly enters, his gun raised. He makes a quick assessment of the room, but even before he can finish, the lights are switched on. But it wasn’t switched on by Blackwater, it was turned on by a man in tactical gear. The man stands confidently, a handgun holstered, an arrogant smile on his face. Blackwater keeps the intruder in his crosshairs.
“Is this how you welcome an old friend?” asks the intruder, unfazed by the ongoing threat of a handgun directed at his head.
Blackwater pulls the hammer back on his handgun, “It’s funny how you define friends, Brandt, cause I think you're a low life piece of shit and I’ll happily unload this clip into your head.”
Von Brandt, Leader of Jabberwock Securities and Head of Security for Black Pyramid Wrestling, laughs at Blackwaters statement, “I see you haven’t changed a bit. It’s been a while, Lucas, a lot has changed since Bosnia.”
“Don’t get me started on Bosnia,” Blackwater replies. “I take it that shit in Crimea was your doing?”
“There is no proof my organisation, nor myself, had any involvement in Crimea,” Brandt is growing frustrated, “Now lower your fucking weapon, Lucas. This was intended to be a friendly visit.”
“You don’t have a friendly bone in your body, Von. Everything you do is for your own gain and there ain’t no low you wouldn’t sink to achieve your goals, hence Bosnia,” claims Blackwater.
“That’s rich coming from you,” replies Brandt. “You’re not as clean as you think you are. You’re not the decorated war hero anymore, you pissed that away when you were dishonourably discharged.”
Blackwater finally lowers his handgun, “Why are you here?” he asks.
Brandt’s confidence returns, “Maybe I should ask you the same question, why are you here in my city? Why did you sign up for the BPW Tournament? What’s wrong, have you got too much conscience for merc work? Do you think you’re tough enough to take on the fifteen other competitors? Shit, you ain’t even professionally trained.”
Blackwater returns his handgun to his back pocket and lights a cigarette, “What can I say, I need the money. And don’t give me that not professionally trained crap, you know I can handle myself just fine.”
“Yes you can,” Brandt replies, “The offer still stands for you to join Jabberwock, I could make use of a man with your skills.”
Blackwater takes a long drag of his cigarette then slowly exhales, “Hell will freeze over before I ever join Jabberwock, Von. Now get the fuck out.”
Brandt holds his hands up in defeat, “Ok, Ok I can see I’m wasting my time here. A word of advice though, Lucas. This is my town, you think Bosnia was bad? Point a gun in my face again and you’ll wish you died in Bosnia.”
Brandt walks towards the exit, “Oh and one last thing, I rarely leave the Luxor, but I came tonight to deliver that file personally to you. Consider it a present for old times sake. I’ll see you around.”
Blackwater slams the door shut after Brandt leaves. He takes a final drag of his cigarette and then stubs it out in his ashtray. He picks up the file left behind by Brandt and sits down on his sofa.
On the front of the file, it says, “Tyler Church”. Blackwater begins to look through the file.
Blackwater sits at a bar inside the Aria Casino, once the epitome of luxury Vegas hotels and casinos. Now with management departing before lockdown, the day-to-day running of the hotel has fallen to it’s Security Director, Tyler Church.
Blackwater catches sight of the hulking man, who’s sheer presence commands respect. He appears to be running a tightly run casino operation, he appears to be in his element. Blackwater begins to strike up a conversation with the barmaid.
“Hey girl, who’s the big guy over there?” asks Blackwater, of course, he already knows the answer, he’s thoroughly studied Brandt’s intel.
The barmaid stops, looks over at Church and smiles, “That’s Church, he runs things around here. He’s a good guy.”
“He looks like he can handle himself,” states Blackwater.
“Oh yeah he can,” replies the barmaid. “You don’t want to get on his bad side, that’s for sure. I would definitely not want to be in the ring with him. I heard the boys talking in the back saying he’s entered that Wrestling Tournament. The winner gets one million bucks. I would be made up for him if he won, he has a couple of kids back in New Mexico, he financially supports them so that money would do them wonders.”
“He sounds like a saint,” Blackwater says sarcastically, taking a sip of his whiskey.
“That’s an interesting accent, are you British?” asks the barmaid.
“Yes I am,” replies Blackwater, he takes a larger sip of his drink.
The barmaid is fascinated, “That’s awesome, have you met the Queen?”
Blackwater rolls his eyes, “Actually, yeah I have.”
“What... really?” she asks.
Blackwater is merely conversing with the barmaid whilst observing Church, learning his movements, trying to pick up on any potential weaknesses. “I’m ex-forces, honey. The Queen gave me a medal after I lost my eye.”
Church finally notices Blackwater sat at the bar watching him, they stare intensely at each other across the casino.
Blackwater downs the rest of his whiskey and stands, putting on his jacket. “Sweetie, guys like Church, they’re really tough, most men would easily be put down by such a huge specimen. But some men, they’ve been sent to the pits of Hell to fight, to the place of nightmares, most don’t return, some come back broken, I came back minus my eye.”
Church and Blackwater continue to lock eyes, “That tournament you say Church is fighting in. Well, I’m his first opponent, and I hate to disappoint his kids, but Daddy won’t be coming home with that money.”
The barmaid suddenly looks nervous, “I... I don’t want any trouble in here.”
“Don’t worry,” replies Blackwater, “I’m leaving. I’m looking forward to the contest. I have no intentions of starting something here. From what I have seen tonight, I quite like Church, maybe I’ll come back here after the fight and have another whiskey.”
Blackwater nods in a sign of respect towards Church then proceeds to leave a tip for the barmaid, “Goodnight darling”.
He turns and heads for the exit, he stops at the door and turns to the barmaid one last time, “Send your boss my regards.”
Blackwater exits the Casino and slips into the Las Vegas night.
