Offices of Crinkly, Bottom & Munch Solicitors
Doncaster, England
Late July, 2019
Tommy Wasley hadn’t been back to England since he first signed with Emerge Wrestling practically dead on eighteen months earlier; he had vowed – when he made the move to the states – that he would only return if he proved to be a failure, only if Moustache Ride tanked and never made it.
He was breaking his vow now, but not through his own desire to retire, or his own acceptance that he had failed to live his dream of becoming one of the best wrestlers in the business today, but because he had been asked to return to attend a meeting at the offices of Crinkly, Bottom and Munch solicitors in Doncaster town, the town he grew up in, the place he started his journey not just to becoming a professional wrestler but to manhood too! Well, Tivolli’s in Rotherham was the hunting ground of cougar’s from all across South Yorkshire, after all… would have been rude not to attend, wouldn’t it? But let’s move on…
Everything had happened so quickly once Tommy had finally taken that phone call several days earlier; it was the solicitors inability to actually track him down to hold a conversation with Tommy that had held everything up, the whole probate process delayed because Warren Munch couldn’t get hold of him.
But that was More than a week ago now, and while it had taken him a good few days to make arrangements, Tommy had undergone the epic journey from California to Doncaster - by way of two other airports because he wasn’t made of money just yet – in order to speak with the solicitor that had spent so long chasing after him.
Tommy couldn’t remember his hometown being as dank and depressing as it felt as he walked through it the morning after arriving back in Doncaster; it took him approximately thirty seconds to encounter a ‘spice’ head out cold in a slump against a wall, and less than another thirty seconds for him to be approached by someone begging for change for the bus – people still used that lie to scrounge money?! – but after about ten minutes of walking he found the office of the solicitors and was quickly ushered into a side office and offered his choice of drink while he waited. At least the tea was good now he was back in England; he may be able to get Yorkshire Tea in Walmart, but it didn’t taste the same. The water made all the difference!
“Mr. Wasley, I do beg your pardon for keeping you waiting,” a voice said as the door opened and Tommy looked around to see the most spindly, janky man he had ever had the pleasure or displeasure of meeting. The guy walked with such exaggerated care that it seemed awkward but he did so with ease as he sauntered into the room with an outstretched hand that Tommy stood up to take in his own. He was expecting a weak and wet handshake, but was surprised to find it dry and solid. He was clearly no good at reading people whatsoever. “Please, take a seat Mr. Wasley, do…” the solicitor said, motioning to the seat Tommy had just vacated for their introduction. “Warren Munch, at your service, though I assume you had already guessed that given it was me you are scheduled to meet, aha. Now, I believe you have most of the paperwork sent to you already via email, but I have a copy here somewhere… somewhere… as yes, here we go,” the solicitor said, searching the contents of his desk before handing an envelope to Tommy.
“A were gonna print it off at the ‘otel this mornin’, but it slipped me mind,” Tommy admitted, taking the envelope and opening it before looking over the first document. “I ‘ave read it, worked me way through it on’t plane but a waint claim t’ ‘ave understood most’re it if am ‘onest…”
“Understandable sir, these things do have an unnecessary amount of legal mumbo jumbo in them, but alas, it’s the world I live in, aha,” he said with the same little laugh as before, which was quirky to the point of being a little annoying to Tommy. But he let it slide; this was the guy that was trying to basically give him money, he wasn’t going to insult the guy over his quirks. “As you know, the funeral was arranged in your absence dictated by the terms of Ms. Wasley’s will, and the details of your Aunt Margret’s final resting place are in the paperwork you currently have in your hand. That was the simple part, as I was able to do this myself with imput from your parents… however, I wasn’t able to do any of the paperwork pertaining to her estate being transferred over to you, Mr. Wasley, as I was unable to contact you to get approval to start that particular process in motion,” the solicitor told Tommy, looking apologetic as he spoke.
Tommy, of course, understood perfectly; they couldn’t do anything without him sticking his John Hancock on the dotted line to make it all official and above board, and until they finally spoke to him it wasn’t as if he knew he had money anyway, was it? “No drama’s mate, a figured as much anyroad,” the portly wrestler told his solicitor, shrugging his shoulders to indicate it really wasn’t an issue.
“However, now you are here, we can officially begin the process and future correspondence can be done either electronically or on the telephone, I’m happy to report,” the solicitor said, sounding much happier about this piece of information. “We shall need to take photocopies of your identification of course, but we can begin everything today and hopefully the majority of the case should be relatively quick and pain-free. Probate can be something of a time consuming affair I have to say, but the financial side of things should be a mere formality…” he went on, and Tommy nodded; he’d read that himself when he looked everything up online, trying to get an idea of timeframes and what not.
“Aye, a read as much me sen after we spoke on’t phone,” the bearded wrestler confirmed. “Teks ‘em months apparently, though a can’t say am in any great rush to sell anyroad… there’s nowt stoppin’ me at least collectin’ up her stuff though, right? Citizens advice said that shunt be a problem, donatin’ stuff to charity an’ what not?” he asked and the solicitor shook his head.
“No problem whatsoever, Mr. Wasey,” he confirmed. “As the executor of your great aunt’s will, I am more than aware that you are the sole beneficiary of her estate, save for the charitable donations, so in effect, they will be your possessions soon anyway. I am happy for you to take the keys today in order to begin making arrangements in that regard,” Munch told him, which took Tommy by surprise, considering he figured he’d need to wait a few weeks until the ball was actually rolling before that would be allowed. “As for the financial side of things, I believe once the charitable donations have been taken into account, the figure is roughly one point six million pounds. There is, of course, inheritance tax to consider, with the current threshold at blah, blah, blah-blah,” the solicitor didn’t continue, but that was basically what Tommy heard until he had enough of the calculations and decided he simply wanted an answer.
“Can’t y’ just gimme a figure, pal?” he asked, cutting the solicitor off mid-flow as he broke the figures down.
Giving a curt smile, the solicitor grabbed at his pen and did some quick math on a jotter before turning back to look at Tommy. “Roughly one point one four million, plus the house,” he said, placing the cap back on his pen. “If you sell the house, you have tax to pay on that too, unless you keep it for a minimum of seven years before selling, but the value of the house does add around four hundred thousand onto the total of the value, plus her possessions, whatever the value of them may turn out to be,” he finished, somewhat lamely, but it was after all what the client wanted, blunt and straight forward answers.
“Chufin’ ‘ell,” was all Tommy could manage as he struggled to wrap his head around that figure. He had completely forgotten everything else he wanted to ask, his head turned by the fact he was going to see such large amounts of money very soon. Fortunately, he was spared the task of having to think of actual words to follow up his exclamation with, because the door to the office flew open with a bang and the sound of the receptionist shouting filled the room.
“I said that Mr. Munch is busy,” the receptionist shouted, but as Tommy turned around to look at the doorway, it wasn’t the tanned blonde that had greeted him on arrival that he saw, but someone he knew far more personally…
“Theer y’ are, y’ ungrateful little bastard!” the man yelled at Tommy, as he jumped to his feet, glaring at the interloper. “A wondered when y’ were gonna show y’ fuckin’ face, y’ little shite!”
“I say, is there any need for such language in--” Munch started to say, but the angry man turned his anger towards the solicitor instead and shut him down straight away.
“Shut tha gob Vincent Price, or al shut it fo’ y’!” he shouted, pointing a finger at the solicitor for emphasis. “This’s a conversation between me an’ me lad, so a dunt wanna ‘ear a peep outa thee, y’ listenin’?!” he went on, and Tommy continued to glare at… well, if you didn’t pick up on it, the man was clearly his father. That’s what ‘me lad’ means, for them still playing catch up. “A wondered how long it’d be b’fore y’ came crawlin’ art the woodwork, sunnyjim, comin’ for all that cash tha’s bin left, no doubt?!”
“Well, if someone’d bothered tellin’ me that Peg were dead, maybe ad ‘ave turned up sooner,” Tommy fired back at his father, who bristled under the accusation, blushing slightly but not backing down. “First I ‘eard about her death were when this guy gid me a bell a’bart a week ago, sayin’ a had t’ come in for a meetin’… so don’t be comin’ in ‘ere actin’ like Billy big bollocks, all rate?!”
It sounded uncaring, but Tommy truly had been saddened by the loss of his great aunt, once he sat down to think about it. But the raw emotion had passed now, and confronted by his raging father, he found himself being way blunter about the fact than he intended to be, in all honesty. “Don’t you talk to your father like that!” a second voice said, and it was only when Tommy looked away from his father’s eyes that he realise his mother was also standing there, slightly behind her husband but looking just as angry. “We raised you better than that Thomas Wasley, I expect better of you!” she scolded her son as she further stepped into the room, so that she stood by Albert’s side instead, standing defiantly with her husband, clearly taking his side in whatever this was.
“Nice t’ si thee an’ all, mother…” Tommy replied, coldly. “Ad ask to what I owed the pleasure, but a think we can all guess what the crack is, can’t we?”
“Y’ turn up after god knows how long away an’ ‘ave the nerve to be snarky wi’ us?!” Albert Wasley said, glaring at his son, his voice almost cracking in anger. “An’ if that weren’t bad enough, y’ only come back ‘cause y’ find art ya gettin’ y’ mits on Peg’s money! How shitty is that, eh?!”
“An’ how shitty is it that me own parents dint bother to call me to tell me me aunt were dead in’t first place ‘cause they found out it were me gettin’ ‘er money an’ not them?!” Tommy fired back at his father, refusing to let his old man bully him. “I cem ‘ere, cause Mr. Munch said a had t’ come ‘ere in person in order fo’ ‘im to do ‘is job! A had t’ jump on two planes an’ a train t’ get ‘ere, somethin’ a coulda done weeks ago if me own parent’s weren’t fuckin’ sulkin’ that it weren’t them getting’ Peg’s money an’ bothered to tell me she’d passed away! Instead, she’s already buried an’ am left lookin’ like a money grabbin’ bastard who’s only turned up ‘cause she’s dead!”
“Well if the cap fits,” Julia said, spitefully. Both she and her husband were completely ignoring the fact that Tommy was right in everything he said, that if he’d known perhaps he would have come sooner, but as they’d neglected to tell him about his aunts death it wasn’t as if he even had the choice to attend the funeral. “You shouldn’t need a reason to come home every once in a while anyway,” she went on, trying a different approach. “We’d like to see our son every once in a while, you know?!”
“Am busy wi’ work!” Tommy told his mother, not entirely truthful but they didn’t know that. “Chris mother, am out there tryin’ t’ mek a name for mi’ sen, an’ y’ actin’ like a’ve moved two towns over an’ don’t bother poppin’ round for tee or a visit! Am on a different continent!”
“Folks, please, if we could--” Munch tried to say, but was cut off once again.
“Don’t be gi’in’ me that nonsense, we know how little y’ actually fight!” Albert said, spitefully. “What, y’ couldn’t come home every few months an’ visit?! Too good for us nar, a’ y’?!”
“A dint think a were, until a realise how spiteful y’ could both be when money came into it!” Tommy spat back. “Sad thing is, a were gonna share it wi’ y’ both once everythin’ came through, maybe see if y’ wanted to move into ‘er old house, given it’s bigger than yours… but a don’t think al be botherin’ nah… not now a know how vindictive y’ can both be, anyroad…” he added, rubbing salt in the wounds for his own satisfaction.
He could tell he’d scored a cheap hit from the look in his father’s face, but his dad quickly recovered. “Oh aye? We wouldn’t want anythin’ from you anyway, we ain’t a charity case!” he spat back at his son, with severe venom. “Evidently we’re not good enough fo’ y’, so don’t worry about comin’ to see us lad, ‘cause y’ waint be welcome!” he added before turnin’ to his wife. “Come on love… nasty fuckin’ smell in ‘ere that’s makin’ me feel a bit sick…” he finished and turned to leave. Julia stood glaring at her son for a moment longer and then she too turned and exited the office, leaving Tommy and Munch alone.
Tommy watched them leave until he could no longer see them before sighing and letting his head hang. “Am sorry y’ had to see that, Mr. Munch, it weren’t befittin’ the circumstances,” he apologised, turning to look at the solicitor.
“Mr. Wasley, you wouldn’t believe the conversations and arguments we get in these offices on a weekly basis,” the solicitor said, retaking his chair, trying to remain professional. “I find the best thing to do is simply to try and remove any emotions from the situation… perhaps we should continue?”
Tommy looked at the solicitor in shock for a moment and thought about saying something, but simply nodded his head. “Good idea,” he said, retaking his seat ready to get the paperwork underway. This was going to be messy… he just knew it…
TO BE CONTINUED.
[REC]
“Emerge 27 were the beginnin’a the end f’ this company. It were proof that we were taken ov’r by not just a bloke that dunt know what he’s doing, but a bloke that makes questionable decisions in order to ‘win’ his battles and above all, one who’s clearly incapable of maintaining any sort of order…
The’s some that’ll probably say am bein’ negative or mardy or whatever, an’ am guessin’ there’s some who’ll even say that Cindy Todd’s antics’a all good, that it med f’ good telly… but am not gonna laugh that stuff off, not this time.
On Monday night, me an’ Johnny step into a ring wi’ a team who’ve been destructive every step’a the way in this company, the team that’s held them belts f’ ages… but more importantly, a team that’s more or less tied directly t’ Cindy an’ her band’a misfits.
In short, me an’ Johnny may be headin’ f’ us own destruction. A know, we can’t die; too young, too good lookin’… but honestly, if it were anyone else that were gonna be facin’ Tombstone on Monday, ad be tellin’ ‘em t’ reconsider. But a never were any good at takin’ me own advice…
An’ daft as it sounds, despite the fact that me an’ Johnny’ve bin pokin’ the bears wi’ sharp sticks f’ weeks now… after the endin’a the last show, it stopped bein’ a’bart that, at least f’ me anyroad. A won’t put words in Johnny’s gob, not when it’s usually full’a various other stuff like food, shit or sometimes women’s bits if his own braggin’ is t’ be believed…
…f’ me, this ain’t a’bart them belts anymore. After Sundown turned into Cindy Todd’s lacky, after the head’a the ragamuffins in Tombstone started actin’ as Cindy’s personal monster-bitch-thing, everythin’ b’cem that bit clearer. Clarity, ladies an’ dickheads. A’ve got some.
See, a were p’raps one’a if not the most vocal a’bart us EMERGE chaps an’ chappetts bandin’ t’gether to fate off Cindy an’ ‘er Unforgiven cronies… an’ as far as am concerned, that names particularly fittin’, ‘cause a won’t be forgivin’ em f’ what they did, even if a were safe in’t back at the time.
Monday neet in Miami, it’s Moustache Ride versus Tombstone f’ them tag straps… but it’s more’n that folks, it’s turned into EMERGE versus The Unforgiven. It may not be by name, it may be me jumpin’ to conclusions about where the’s smoke the’s fire an’ what not… but while the towel head is actin’ as Cindy’s personal puppy, am gonna just assume that the rest’a the inbred’s are gonna follow suit.
Am probably art’a me right mind t’ be honest… a should be runnin’ f’ the hills, or maybe away from’t hills, ‘cause hills’ve got eyes, an’ ad expect the the family to keep an eye out on Tombstone’s behalf… but am done hidin’, done playin’ games an’ havin’ a laugh all the time. Am steppin’ up, am standin’ up t’ be counted, an’ win lose or draw on Monday, unless am dead, am gonna continue to stand up, until a can no longer stand or The Unforgiven’a kicked art’a the company f’ good!
So a seh this t’ the rest’a the roster: It’s time t’ mek a choice. if y’ ‘ere f’ the money, or don’t gi’ a shit then fine… but if y’ care a’bart this place as much as I do, then y’ know what y’ gotta do. Question is, d’ya care enough or not? Guess we’re gonna find art, ain’t we. Just ‘ope I ain’t faitin’ alone…”
[/REC]
