Emerge #25
Emerge Arena,
Etobicoke
July 15th, 2019
Everybody loves a good evening of pro-wrestling and the EMERGE fans are no different. And that was exactly what they were getting so far with Emerge 25 currently underway in the Toronto suburb of Etobicoke! And what a show it promised to be, given the matches on the card… but let’s not dwell on the who’s where’s and why’s, because as we know, the centre of the entire universe are those three Strong Bois from England, known collectively as Strong Style!
Yep. Those guys. The absolute center of the universe, I think we can all agree. And today’s ripping yarn begins with a phone call. Thomas Arthur Cook, Tommy Cook to the world, stood in the hallway outside of the locker room talking to his girlfriend Marie Jones on the phone before his match later in the night. She had been to a fair few shows over the last couple of months since they began dating and he’d been to one or two SCW shows too, but this was a week where she couldn’t make it due to other commitments and with him possibly not arriving back at his hotel after the show until late, he made the call while backstage before getting ready to compete.
The call was almost over when the door to their locker room opened and it was the younger of the Moustache Boys that poked his head out of the door, looking worried. Cook looked up at the noise and spotting him, raised a finger to ask Johnny to give him a minute while he finished the call. “Aye, alright love, you get off then…” he said, beginning to say his goodbye. “Aye, I miss you too. Yeah, I’ll see you in the morning, babe. Yeah, you too. T’rah for a bit…” he finished, taking the phone from his ear and thumbing the end call button in one motion before he slipped the iPhone into his pocket. “What’s up wi’ yous? Ya look like you’ve just had a finger slipped up your arse…”
“It’s Tommy…” Taylor said, his voice sounding just as worried as his face looked. “He’s collapsed!”
Cook’s shoulders tensed as some of the worry transferred from Johnny onto him. Wasley had collapsed? Heart attack? Wouldn’t shock the Brummie, he was constantly saying the Donny lad was overweight, so it wouldn’t shock him. “The fuck you mean he’s collapsed? What’s wrong wi’ him?!”
“He’s… fucking hell mate, I don’t know half the details myself but he’s just collapsed! You’d better get in here…” Taylor told him, panic starting to override the mere worry he was feeling when he first tried to grab Cook’s attention. He disappeared back into the locker room and Cook was quick to follow behind him, shoulders the door heavily as he stepped into the room to see Tommy Wasley laid out on the floor inside, his phone scattered a couple of feet away from him with a call still clearly ongoing.
“Who’s he been on the phone to?” Cook asked, nodding at the phone on the floor.
Looking at it, Johnny’s eyes widened, and he rushed to grab the iPhone. “Orate guv, he’ll uh… he’ll have to call you back!” he babbled down the line before ending the call and turning to look at Cook. “The fuck do we do?!”
“Well he’s breathing, I can see hit fucking gut goin’ up and down!” Cook said, realising it wasn’t a medical emergency as he’d been expecting. Clearly wasn’t a heart attack after all. “What was he doing when he blacked out?” the Brummie asked and Johnny puffed out his cheeks before letting it out in one big exhalation.
“Well, we were talking shit about Tombstone, just having a laugh, and then he gets a phone call,” Johnny explained, holding up Tommy’s phone for emphasis. “He groaned, said he was getting fed up of stupid sales calls and then answered it… next thing I know, he’s talking to someone, or being talked at I guess, then his eyes bugged out and he fell over like a silly bugger, out cold!”
Frowning, Cook looked down at their friend again. He wasn’t fitting, he wasn’t showing signs of any sort of medical condition that should trouble them… in fact, it looked like he was sleeping! The worry that had filled him only moments earlier subsided in Cook and he walked over to the small table in the corner to grab a bottle of water, twisting the cap off as he returned to where Wasley lay, upending the bottle right over Wasley’s head. The tubby Yorkshireman spluttered and gurgled as he awoke, like Sleepy Beauty… if Prince Charming had maybe pissed on her face instead of just kissing it. “B-sp-k-fuckin’ hell,” Wasley garbled, as the flow of water came to an end. “The fuck y’ playin’ at, knobhead?! Fuckin’ ‘ell, a nearly drowned!”
“Yer on dry land, dickhead. It’s only a bit of water, get up…” Cook said as he shook his head and walked over to the sofa to sit down. “What’s the fainting fancy routine about, anyway? Thought yous guys were meant to be hard up in Yorkshire?”
“Piss off, treacle,” Wasley fired back as he dragged himself to his feet and walked over to the chair by the sofa Cook sat on.
“So what the fuck happened mate?” Johnny asked as he joined cook on the sofa. “One minute you’re fine and dandy, next you’re laid out like Anthony Joshua after Ruiz Jr lamped him one!” he said as Wasley puffed out his cheeks and blew it back out with a raspberry.
“Well, it all started a couple’a weeks back,” Wasley said, sitting forward to lean on his knees. “A’ve been gettin’ annoyed wi’ it actually, ‘cause a thought it were all bollock, like them Nigerian Prince wantin’ to gi’ ya money type emails, tha knows the ones?” he asked and both Johnny and Cook nodded. “Well, it started wi’ spam emails, or what a thought were spam anyroad. ‘Please contact us, ya’ve bin left money’ sorta shit. Kinda stuff ya just delete as spam an’ crack on wi’ ya day…”
“You didn’t give some ‘Nigerian prince’ your banks details, right?” Cook asked, smirking. To be fair, is the notion that unbelievable? Tommy Wasley wasn’t the sharpest knife in the drawer, was he?
But he shook his head. “Nar lad, am not that thick,” he said defensively. “A just deleted ‘em an’ went a’bart me business. But then a started gettin’ phone calls an’ all. They’d get a’bart two lines into their spiel an’ ad ‘ang up, like ya do. Only it weren’t stoppin’, same supposed people on a few different numbers. Wouldn’t tek fuck off for an answer… well, it were them who called. A weren’t gonna answer, but am gettin’ sick’a it, so a decided to ‘ave a bit’a fun wi’ em. A were gonna wind ‘em up a bit, lead ‘em on as if a were buyin’ it then fuck ‘em off when ad lead ‘em on a bit… only…” He went quiet for a moment – which as we all know, is clearly a sign that something is wrong! – before looking back up. “Well, as it turns out lads, it weren’t dodgy at all, an’ they weren’t after me money or bank details or owt… it turns out it were a solicitor. Me Aunt Peggy died…”
Silence fell. Sympathy, sadness… a question over who the fuck has an Aunt Peggy these days. So many thoughts, feelings and questions passed through the heads of Taylor and Cook before eventually, Tommy realized one of them should say something. “Fucking hell mate, that’s a shitter…” the Brummie said, trying to sound as comforting as he could.
“Yeah, I’m sorry to hear that mate,” Johnny said, realising he should probably add his own sympathies after a second or two’s delay. “Was she… was she ya know, getting on?”
“Oh Christ, yeah mate,” Wasley said, nodding his head. “She were pushin’ hundred so ‘ad a good innin’s t’ be honest. Can’t say am not sad an’ all that, but am not exactly shocked. Ninety eight, lived independently ‘til the end an’ all that, but she were half robot in’t end…”
“Half robot?” Cook asked and Wasley nodded.
“Aye, she were Yorkshire’s answer t’ six million dollar man or whatever the fuck he were called,” the bearded Donny lad told them in answer to Cook’s question. “Plastic hip, bionic knee, pacemaker, she were basically Steve Austin wi’ a blue rinse!”
“How’d she peg it?” Johnny asked, not realizing the irony – or maybe black humor – of his question. To be fair, it didn’t matter, because it was lost on the other lads too. Not the sharpest knives and all that.
“Heart attack while in hospital,” Wasley told them. “She were in waitin’ for ‘er other knee replacin’, fell asleep an’ dint wek up, by all accounts… so a guess it were peaceful at least.”
The boys nodded. At least there was that. Because sure, while the idea of going out with a bang, in bed with some hot bird when you kicked the bucket was all well and good and a typical ‘lad’ notion, wasn’t that all we really wanted when we finally came to the end, for it to happen peacefully? They sat in contemplation for a few moments before Cook finally looked up again. “So hold on,” he asked, starting to put the pieces together. “Why the fainting fancy routine then? I mean, I understand you’d been told some sad news, but if it weren’t all that surprising, why’d you end up on the floor quicker than Cassie Mason’s knickers in a nightclub?”
“Oh shit, aye, a forgot that bit,” Wasley replied, actually facepalming. He sat back and ran a hand over his hair before looking at his two fellow Brits. “Well… am still not sure its sunk in yet, but it turns out muggin’s ‘ere is her soul beneficiary. All’a it. Ain’t left me dad a penny, fell art wi’ ‘im a good few years back, dint she? An’ they never med up. Explains why neither’a me parents bothered to tell me she’d died a guess… but yeah, she’s left it all t’ me…”
“Fuckin’ hell, how much?” Johnny asked, pound signs flashing through his eyes, and probably hearing the ca-ching sound from fruit machines paying out as well. Probably. Who cares, move along!
“Well, there’s the ‘ouse, which is worth a pretty penny,” he replied, trying to work it out. “Bloke on’t phone said probably three hundred grand on a bad day an’ upwards’a four an’ half on a good’n… but it’s the bank accounts that’re weer the real money is…”
“Acounts? Plural?” Cook asked, surprised. And Wasley just nodded his head again.
“Yep,” he told them, continuing to nod. “She ‘ad that Miss Havisham elderly spinster thing goin’ on, never married, no kids an’ what not… she were a headteacher before she retired, crackin’ pension an’ what not, lived wi’in her means by quite some way… basically lived that make do an’ mend life instead’a bein’ friv’lous…”
“So how much?!” Johnny asked, growing impatient with excitement. He stopped caring about whether it was insensitive now, he just wanted to know. So did Cook.
“Well, she gave a couple hundred grand to charity, so there’s that,” Wasley said, trying to remember exactly what the solicitor had told him. “But wi’ what’s left, plus the off shore bonds an’ what not… about one point six? Ish?”
Cook and Taylor both stared at him in the exact same way. If this was a cartoon, their jaws would have hit the floor and their eyes would have been popping out of their head like Ahnold Braunschweiger at the end of Complete Remember. “Million?!” both of them asked at the same time and Wasley nodded. “Including the house?” Cook pressed him, but he shook his head.
“Nah, that’s separate,” the Yorkshireman replied, which only caused the stunned looks on the faces of his fellow countrymen intensified. “Got t’ head back t’ England at some point in’t coming week t’ start goin’ over the paperwork an’ get the ball rollin’ on clearin’ the house to sell it… all in all, am lookin’ at close t’ two milly…”
Cook and Taylor sat in stunned silence for several seconds… and then the room exploded with their shouts and cheers and questions and it all came at once, leaving Wasley more than a little taken aback as he tried to process everything they were saying all at once. “Yer realise this means yer ain’t piss poor now, right?!” Cook said, blown away. “Yer can get rid of that bloody campervan and actually buy an apartment, get some decent bloody clothes and stuff!”
“Oi, what’s wrong wi’ me clothes already, like?” Wasley demanded, looking hurt but Cook actually laughed.
“Mate, your idea’a dressing up is sticking on a polo shirt and some chinos, you don’t know fuck all about fashion,” Cook told him flatly, shaking his head with a chuckle. “Least now yer can actually afford to get someone to buy yer clothes for yer!”
“We can have an actual toilet!” Johnny said, excited. “I mean, I know we use the bathroom in Tommy’s place, but when Marie’s around we have to use the crapper in the van and it gets a bit wiffy when it’s warm. Besides, I’m getting a bit tired of living on Tommy’s driveway, having to listen to you snore… and I can’t bring birds home either, because you’re always around, making crappy jokes and sulking when I won’t let you join in!”
“Sharin’ is carin’!” Wasley said in sulky tones, frowning. “Besides, it were one time, ya southern fairy… only asked her to gimme a quick blowie while you were smashin’ ‘er from behind, what’s so wrong wi’ that?”
“You walked in half way through and then refused to leave unless you could join in!” Johnny protested before Cook stepped in.
“Alright, alright, shut up a minute will yer,” he told them both, holding up a hand before turning to Wasley. “Look… I know it’s a lot to take it mate, but pinhead’s right. Everything is gonna change fer you now. Yer can afford to get a place, stay in decent hotels instead of crack den motels… no more saver menu’s at every fast food joint you walk past… it’s gonna change, and yer need to prepare for that…”
It hit Wasley in that moment just how right Cooky boy was. Things were going to change for him now, whether he was ready for that or not. If he sold the house as well, that would put him pretty close to two million quid, which was about six billion dollars, right? Something like that, anyway. That was a lot of money when he usually had less than fifty bucks on him on any given day. He could buy so many things, do so much… then his face brightened up and he turned to look at his friends. “Ere, lads…” he said, grinning from ear to ear. “How much you think a giant inflatable moustache would cost?!” he asked. Johnny’s face split into an equally large grin. Cook’s groan said everything that needed saying.
[REC]
“Nah then, dickheads! How’s it hangin’? Mine’s shriveled an’ slight t’ left, cheers f’ askin’! But let’s not start comparin’ dicks, eh? ‘Cause finally, after too bloody long, am back… am black an’ am gonna go quack… wait no, that’s so many levels’a wrong ain’t it? Fuck, lemme start again…
As a were sayin’, am crackin’, me… ‘cause am back on yer computers, phones an’ tablets once again, after what feels like a bloody age of waitin’ t’ be booked! Ah dunno, best tag team in’t world an’ we ain’t used, the fuck’s that all a’bart, eh? But it’s done wi’ nah, ain’t it? An’ what a crackin’ bit’a news that is, all thanks t’ yours truly an’ his band’a investors, Johnny, Tommy an’ the fittest bird a’ve ever had the displeasure’a not pleasurin’, Kimberley Williams, the new owners’a this wonderful company a call hom’!”
Wasley grins ear to ear with pride, despite the fact that he’s definitely, possibly, probably full of shit about being part of the consortium...
“So, how’s a’bart we start wi’ the fact that me an’ young Johnny are clearly the only team wi’ any bottle around ‘ere, eh?! ‘Cause let’s face it, a don’t see anyone else standin’ up to them country bumpkins in Tombstone but me an’ Johnny!
Now am not sayin’ that the rest’a the tag division should be hangin’ their ‘eads in shame or owt… but let’s be honest, they should be hangin’ their ‘eads in shame! Them big goofy fuckin’ Viking blokes were useless last show, an’ a don’t see anyone else steppin’ up t’ the plate an’ yet me an’ Johnny, we’re openly pokin’ the fuckin’ bear rate now!
An’ ya may ask why that is; is it ‘cause we’re a couple’a tea spoons short’a a full tea service? Is it ‘cause we’ve got massive insurance policies on each other an’ hope the other gets killed? Is it ‘cause we hope we get hurt horribly an’ EMERGE has to give us huge settlements to stop us bankruptin’ the company?
Nah mate, it’s just ‘cause we ain’t chickenshit’s! We’ve said since day one that we wanna run the tag division in EMERGE, prove that we’re the best tag team in’t world, an’ now we’re comin’ t’ back that claim up.
Which is exactly what Mr an’ Mrs bloody Newman ‘ave gotta contend wi’ next Monday! Hiya folks, we ain’t ‘ad the pleasure yet, ‘ave we? Deffinitely ain’t had the pleasure’a Mrs Newman anyroad, am sure ad remember if I ‘ad!
Nah a know that ya both cem over ‘ere from GCW, which is fine, we’ve all come from somewheer, dunt we? But… from GCW? A mean, ain’t they supposed to be some huge intergalactic sized joint wi’ shows all over the world or summet?”
Wasley scratches his beard thoughtfully.
“What the fuck ya doin’ slummin’ it darn ‘ere?! Okay, so us champ were once in a huge company an’ all, but she were off the grid for a while, weren’t she? Come ‘ere, remind people what’s what an’ piss off… fair enough, old lad, jobs a good’n. But you two? What, couldn’t cut it n’more in GCW?
Me an’ Johnny though, comin’ ‘ere were an’ upgrade, fest stop on’t road to the big time, determined t’ prove us salt! We cem ‘ere to improve, to better us selves an’ prove we were all we were cracked up t’ be, an’ you two reckon ya can swan in off the back’a huge deals in GCW an’ just tek over the division? Get fucked! Johnny’ll ‘ave t’ do thee though Neil, am not into blokes. Soz.
Long an’ short’a it though, is this: it’s thee two standin’ in our way this comin’ show… an’ if that human cutting board, piggy in the middle an’ his band’a hillbilly’s don’t scare us, then what makes ya think either’a you two do? Not sayin’ ya not capable wrestlers… just not scared’a ya either. So let’s see who’s better, eh? A couple’a GCW’s finest… or a couple’a ENGLAND’S finest. All the way from the indy’s in ol’ Blightly to Canada. Sithee Monday… Ride’s free for thee, Summer…”
With that, Tommy winks theatrically and the scene fades to black.
[/REC]
