Post by Bruce "The Beast" Richards on Mar 25, 2007 15:15:38 GMT -5
(Bruce Richards walks out of the cabin and into...his apartment? He closes the ragged door behind him and starts pacing the apartment back and forth. He's wearing his hat, but the rest of his clothes seem a little out of keeping with his character: a green t-shirt and kakhis. Still pacing, he starts monologuing.)
BRUCE RICHARDS: Heading into Sole Survivor a few days from now. Lots of formidable opponents to face. And so many people to eliminate: Jeff James, Simply Beautiful, Sebastien Martyr, Nightmare, LDK Lloyd Rees, The Midnight Cowboys, Chris Casino...it's like a smorgasbord of ass-kicking. And let's not forget about the opportunity to beat Kyle Roberts into jelly two times in one night. Delicious Kyle Roberts jelly. (Shakes his head.) But that means I have to beat him properly in the first place. Shouldn't be a problem, but just for extra insurance I need to keep him distracted. I need to keep him on his toes. What's the thing that Kyle Roberts loves almost more than anything...Chili Cheese Dogs...erotic massage...sex and violence...(Snaps his fingers.) I've got it! Tiffany, get out here!
TIFFANY: (Bounding in, bright and smiling.) Yes Bruce?
BRUCE RICHARDS: I have the perfect idea on how to beat Kyle Roberts on Tuesday night!
TIFFANY: Oh, that sounds great, Bruce! How will you do it!
BRUCE RICHARDS: Two words: Foxxy Boxxing.
TIFFANY: Uh, what?
BRUCE RICHARDS: Don't you see it? If we have a mini Foxxy Boxxing match going on outside the ring, it doesn't matter how much Kyle will be trying to focus on me, the sight of two bikini-clad women wailing all hell out of each other just a stone's throw away will drive him crazy. He'll keep trying to sneak peeks out of the corner of his eye, and if the ladies are particularly enticing, and if a clasp somehow unfortunately became unfastened, he'll forget about the fight he's in. And that's when I come in with the Pump-Handle Throw! Moonsault! Bang! One, two, three!
TIFFANY: ...right.
BRUCE RICHARDS: We just have to find you someone to box. Now, I suppose I could ask Rex if any of his ladies have fighting experience...
TIFFANY: Whoah, whoah, WHOAH cowboy. You want ME to get out there in a tiny swimsuit just to distract your opponent?
BRUCE RICHARDS: Yes. Now, that puts Kyle out for the count. Now to move on to the main event. The foxxy boxxing would only be good for one match, everyone else would eventually catch on, and besides, I don't think Lyndsey Valentine will be that affected by your charms, so maybe I could sneak some blinding agent into the ring. Baby powder? Icing sugar? Thumbtacks?
TIFFANY: Bruce, you're being rididculous.
BRUCE RICHARDS: What? Thumbtacks could blind someone.
TIFFANY: No, the whole thing is ridiculous. Sneaking in foreign objects, tryign to distract your opponents with half-naked women...these crazy schemes, they're not you.
BRUCE RICHARDS: Of COURSE they are, Tiffany.I'm smart, I'm clever, I can use that to my advantage. "Never Trust The Beast", remember?
TIFFANY: That's not what that's supposed to mean, Bruce. Besides, what happened to the guy who would threaten a guy he thought was leering at me? You want to dress me up in a skimpy outfit and parade me in front of hundreds of people, just to win a match?
BRUCE RICHARDS: ...it would work, though.
TIFFANY: I know it would work, Bruce; I've got a great rack and I could kick the crap out of any girl that dared to step into a tiny inflatable pool with me. But that's not the point. You think up these schemes and tell me about them, and assume I'm going to go along with them. You don't respect me, you don't respect Bill, I don't think you even respect yourself.
BRUCE RICHARDS: Hold on. No. That's not...that's not the way it's supposed to be.
TIFFANY: (Sighs.) Look, Bruce, just go for a walk or something, okay? Get out of the apartment, clear your head, have a coffee. Come back and you'll be fine.
BRUCE RICHARDS: Yeah. Yeah, I think I'll do that.
(He opens the shack door, and the wind and leaves blow back into his face. He steps out through the door...)
* * * * *
(Bill Fleming is sitting out in his car, which is parked outside a Tim Horton's restaurant. He's rubbing his hands together to keep them warm, and has a worried look on his face.)
BILL FLEMING: You can do this, Bill. You're a smart guy. You can think on your feet. This shouldn't be a problem.
TIFFANY: (Opening the car door.) Talking to yourself, Bill? That's not a good sign. (She hands him a travel tray with two coffees and a box of Timbits, then sits down and buckles up.) All right, I've got the provisions.
BILL FLEMING: I did bake a lot of muffins, you know. And there's fruit and stuff.
TIFFANY: (Shaking her head.) That's all for Bruce. Besides, who doesn't love double-chocolate Timbits? NOBODY, that's who. Although, Bruce would kill me if he knew I was having a Tim Horton's coffee. He says it's a tool of the devil.
BILL FLEMING: (Chuckling.) Heh. So, you sure you're ready for this?
TIFFANY: You bet.
BILL FLEMING: All right. I'm just going to put on Bill's Travel Jams. It makes any car ride go by faster. (He pops in a cd, and Chumbawumba starts to play.)
TIFFANY: Did you say "faster" or "excruciatingly slowly"?
BILL FLEMING: Wha, you don't like it?
TIFFANY: No, I do not.
BILL FLEMING: Fine, when this one's over you can pick the next one, okay?
TIFFANY: Okay...
(There's a small, awkward pause.)
BILL FLEMING. So...what do you think's happening out there?
TIFFANY: I don't know. He's probably meditating or something. How long has he been in there?
BILL FLEMING: (Checks the car clock.) I dropped him off early this morning, and he had to build the shack and all that, so...probably three or four hours?
TIFFANY: Yeah, he's probably just getting his head straightened out, trying to think more clearly.
* * * * *
(Bruce walks into some kind of backstage area. He closes the shack door behind him, and goes to stand and wait behind a curtain. He's dressed REALLY well. The nicest suit anyone's ever seen on him. And his cowboy hat's gone. He stands impatiently, checking his watch, and finally, some short personal assistant comes up to him, her hair pulled back and holding a clipboard.)
ASSISTANT: Mr. Richards, thank goodness you've arrived.
BRUCE RICHARDS: Sorry I'm late, but it couldn't be helped. NAPW autograph session, and as much as I would have loved to have ducked out on it, I don't think Mr. Caliber would have been terribly pleased with me. It's common courtesy to honour your agreements.
ASSISTANT: Well, it's just a good thing you've arrived. Can I get you anything to drink?
BRUCE RICHARDS: Sparkling water, San Pellegrino if it's available, Perrier if you must.
ASSISTANT: Yes sir, right away sir.
(Bruce looks out and nods to the man who's standing by the podium. He nods back, and walks up to the microphone.)
HOST: And now, ladies and gentlemen, I am very pleased to introduce to you the man you have come here to see. He's a veritable beast of the boardroom, would you please give a warm welcome to Mr. Bruce Richards!
(Bruce walks out into the spotlight, raising his hands, soaking up the applause. He walks up to the podium and speaks.)
BRUCE RICHARDS: Thank-you, thank-you. Thanks very much for coming out here today. The kind of commitment that you all show is inspiring. It's that kind of commitment I show in the wrestling ring every week, and the kind of commitment I have to make your portfolios the most profitable they can possibly be. Now, if you'll take a look at this chart (he clicks on a remote and a chart appears from a projector), you can see just how profitable Richards Investing has been over the past six months. It's because I have a take-no-prisoners attitude, I'm not afraid of the big boys who try to intimidate me, I do what I do best and always come out on top. But enough about my wrestling career...(the audience chuckles; Bruce smiles and continues with his spiel), let's show you just how much you can make if you choose to invest with me.
YOUNG MAN: (From out in the audience.) Boo! BOO!
BRUCE RICHARDS: (The smile falls from his face, but he quickly replaces it.) I'm sorry, ladies and gentlemen, but it appears we have a wrestling fan in the audience. (Calls out to him.) I'm afraid you have the wrong time and location, sir!
(The audience laughs again, but the young man ignores it and calls out to him.)
YOUNG MAN: You're a fraud, Richards! You're a sad, pathetic fraud!
BRUCE RICHARDS: Now hold on a minute, son. Just because I've decided to expand my earning potential by using my business know-how, and you people think that I'm betraying you. Let me tell you something, son: I don't owe you anything. I'm smart, I'm ruthless, and I'm a powerful man. I make more money from one of these seminars than I do in a week of matches. I'm sorry if you feel that I've somehow abandoned you and your fellow overweight wrestling fans, but I'm still fulfilling all the terms of my contract. I'm a man of my word; I make the public appearances, I wrestle in weekly when I'm mandated to, I put on a show for the fans. So if you think I don't do all that I can when I'm in that ring, you're sadly mistaken. (Snaps his fingers.) Security!
YOUNG MAN: You're full of shit, Richards! You used to really care about wrestling! You'd go out there every night, even if you were beat and hurting, and you'd make people go NUTS for you! And then you just gave up, and you pretend you don't care any more about wrestling, but you do, and I can see it in your eyes every time you win a match, when you actually win a match, you've got that fire, but you try and swallow it all and pretend that this bullshit is what you really care about! The business degree was a stepping stone to your wrestling career! It was supposed to be something you were going to fall back on when you retired!
BRUCE RICHARDS: What...how did you...
YOUNG MAN: And now you act you're using it like your gimmick, but you're really just HIDING behind it! (The security guards make their way towards him, and he starts scrambling over seats to get away from them.) So you keep on doing these rip-off seminars and get scared yuppies to invest in your company, working off their fears of a retirement of poverty; you use your wrestling status as a joke, your charts and your graphs and your "this reminds me of a time when I was facing Sick Billy Kryenik" anecdotes; you do business like you should be wrestling! (Security grabs him and start dragging him from the hall.) You're a FRAUD, Richards! A FRAUD!!!
(The security guards drag him from the room and slam the doors behind him; they echo through the quiet room. Bruce clears his throat and stares out at the crowd of eager, but confused, well-to do young people.)
BRUCE RICHARDS: I apologize, ladies and gentlemen...that man was...it's not the same thing....I've got...(He clears his throat again.) I've got to go.
(He leaves the podium and rushes backstage, bumping into the assistant on the way.)
ASSISTANT: They didn't have either, Mr. Richards, I--OOF! (She watches him push past her and walk up to the door.) Mr. Richards? Where are you going, sir?
(Bruce opens the door and forces his way through the wind and snow...)
* * * * *
(Bill Fleming and Tiffany are driving out on some range road outside of Edmonton. Tiffany's happily tapping her fingers on the dashboard to the soothing sounds of Jewel; Bill is gripping the steering wheel and gritting his teeth.)
TIFFANY: Oh, come on, Bill; it's not THAT bad.
BILL FLEMING: It really, really is.
TIFFANY: (Sighs.) How much longer, Bill? It feels like we've been going around in circles.
BILL FLEMING: Look, Bruce wanted to make sure that there was no way someone could find him by accident. He needed to get far, far away from the city; so far that it would take hours to hunt him down.
TIFFANY: But why didn't he tell me where he was going?
BILL FLEMING: If I'm the only person who knows how to get there, there's only one person to go after to get the information.
TIFFANY: I can take care of myself.
BILL FLEMING: Right. And we all know that. But it's better safe than sorry. Besides, I have my good friend Barbie to take care of me.
TIFFANY: Barbie?
BILL FLEMING: Yeah. The barbed-wire baseball bat. I call her Barbie for short. (Tiffany stares strangely at him, and Bill gets defensive.) What? People name their cars and their boats, why can't I name my secret weapon?
TIFFANY: You named it the girliest name you could think of?
BILL FLEMING: Second girliest. Tiffany was already taken.
TIFFANY: Oooh, Bill. Getting a little testy?
BILL FLEMING: Jewel will do that to a guy.
TIFFANY: All right, all right. Next cd's yours. Just shut up and drive.
BILL FLEMING: (Looking a little relieved.) Yes, miss Tiffany.
* * * * *
(Bruce steps through the shack door and onto a rooftop. It's not just any rooftop, though. It's a rooftop that would be familiar to any NAPW fan. The rooftop that looks down over Whyte Avenue. The rooftop that's been the site of many a tense conversation between two of the biggest stars of the NAPW. Yes. THAT rooftop. And Bruce is dressed...kind of strangely. His hat is drawn low over his eyes; he's wearing a longer duster, made of matted black leather, that droops like a cape as he crouches down. He's wearing padded leather gloves, and big heavy boots that look like they've been lined with tire treads. He sits in the darkness, talking to himself.)
THE BEAST: This match-up had been a long time coming. He was coming; I was sure of it. The slight change in the wind; the smell of fireworks and self-delusion in the air; the shouts from the crowds in the street getting louder with each passing moment. I clenched my fists and crouched down even lower, waiting for the time to strike.
(He keeps talking, describing everything that's going on around him, in annoying first-person hard-boiled narration.)
THE BEAST: Footsteps on the roof. They land lightly, like a silk robe on a whore's breasts, but I hear them. Since he disappeared his legend has grown bigger than he could even have imagined. They say he walks on fire. (We see a pair of boots with flames on them.) They say his fists can break stones. (We see a pair of taped fists.) They say that he's got no weaknesses. (We see a pair of powerful legs striding confidently.) They say he can't die.
(D! walks out into the moonlight; he's wearing his jeans & a t-shirt, but the t-shirt's a little different. It's the Superman crest, but with a big "D!" inside it.)
THE BEAST: I say, I'm going to kill him.
D!: Bruce. Talking to yourself? That's not a good sign.
THE BEAST: You calling me crazy?
D!: You are crazy. You think you can take me down? You've never faced me before. You've never faced anyone LIKE me before.
THE BEAST: That's true. But that doesn't mean I'm not going to try.
D!: Why bother? You know I'm going to take you down. Like I did at Anniversary Assault. Remember that? With the chair?
THE BEAST: You don't have a chair.
D!: I don't need one. I only need these (clenches his fists) and these (points to his boots) to defeat you.
THE BEAST: You might be right. But there's a few problems with that.
D!: And they are?
THE BEAST: For one thing? I came prepared. (He pushes a button on a remote control in his fist; a small explosion occurst just behind D!, but he leaps forward out of the way and lands on The Beast. He starts beating the hell out of The Beast's head.)
D!: You trying to blow me up, Bruce? That's the stupidest thing I've ever heard.
THE BEAST: (Through a bleeding mouth.) Don't call me that. That's not my name.
D!: What are you talking about?
THE BEAST: That's not my name any more. And I didn't try and blow you up. I just wanted you to get into position.
(A man rushes out of the shadows and spears D! off of The Beast. He tosses him to the ground, and another man does a moonsault off the ledge. In the light, we see who they are. Cam Scott. Mike Johnson.)
THE BEAST: The other problem? I didn't come alone.
(The Dudes lift D! up and try for a double DDT, but D! turns it into a double clothesline and drops The Dudes. He shouts at The Beast.)
D!: The Dudes? That's it?
THE BEAST: Hardly.
(A third man comes up behind D! and pumphandle slams him to the ground. Lobo. And a fourth runs out, Shining Wizard on D! as he gets up. Diamond. D! gets up and chops Lobo, back to Diamond, then kicks Mike Johnson in the gut and a roundhouse to Cam Scott. But it's not enough. Axe comes out of the darkness too, Guillotine Drop, and D!'s on the ground. The Beast comes over and steps on D!'s head. His grips dig into D!'s face. Keeping him down.)
THE BEAST: You thought you could come back here and change everything? You wouldn't stand a chance. This is my army. This is my city. This is my federation. You never had a chance, "hero".
D!: (Spits a tooth out of his mouth, then laughs.) You really did it, Bruce. You took me down. And all it took was five other rejects.
THE BEAST: It doesn't matter. It's my foot on your face. (Grinds it down.) And I told you not to call me that.
D!: You really like being like this? You're just The Beast, now? The dark, vicious, unrelenting Beast? (He laughs again.) You tried so hard to be someone new, to reinvent yourself. But you're not someone new. You're the same old, same old.
THE BEAST: (Kneels down to get closer to D!.) What are you saying?
D!: (Whispers.) You're Ravager.
(The Beast stands up, his eyes wide.)
THE BEAST: No. No, that's...I can't...you're lying. You're...
(He runs through the shack door, through the growing windstorm.)
* * * * *
(Bill Fleming and Tiffany drive in silence. Tiffany stares out the passenger window, and Bill looks like he's trying desperately to stay awake at the wheel. Suddenly, Tiffany points out the window.)
TIFFANY: There! Right there!
BILL FLEMING: What?
TIFFANY: We have passed that same stop sign three times now!
BILL FLEMING: It's a stop sign, Tiffany, just like any other stop sign.
TIFFANY: No, it's got a dent on the top right corner, and there's a cross and some flowers by it. Same sign, three times. (She turns to Bill.) Are you (BLEEP)ing with me?
BILL FLEMING: What? No, I...uh, it's just....
TIFFANY: (Flatly.) Bill. Tell me RIGHT NOW what's going on.
BILL FLEMING: (Stammering.) Bruce told me that you'd come and ask me to help you find him, and he told me that if you did...that I should drive you around and stall you until he was done!
TIFFANY: WHAT!?!
BILL FLEMING: I tried to talk him out of it, but he insisted! I'm his manager, Tiffany, I have to do what he says!
TIFFANY: (Fuming.) Right. But I'm his girlfriend, and I don't have to listen to ANYTHING he says. And you're going to drive me there right now.
BILL FLEMING: But he said--
TIFFANY: (Shouting.) Right now, Bill!
BILL FLEMING: (After a pause.) Okay. We'll go. But if he gets mad, I'm going to tell him you threatened me.
TIFFANY: He won't have TIME to get mad.
* * * * *
(Bruce Richards walks out the shed door into an apartment lobby. He walks down the stairs and comes up to apartment 1B. He tries the knob, but it's locked. A chubby guy in a ball cap and a hooded sweater comes down the stairs.)
LANDLORD: Sorry, buddy, that place isn't ready yet. (Pauses.) And you're not ready for it yet, either.
BRUCE RICHARDS: What do you mean?
LANDLORD: It's not time to go into that door, Bruce.
BRUCE RICHARDS: How do you know my name?
LANDLORD: You're Bruce Richards! You're an NAPW wrestler! I go to all the shows, man, you're good.
BRUCE RICHARDS: (Confused, but nodding.) Thanks. (Gestures to the door.) Look, I really need to get in there. Can you just unlock it for me?
LANDLORD: (Shakes his head.) Can't do it. You need to figure some stuff out first. Who are you?
BRUCE RICHARDS: You know who I am. I'm Bruce Richards.
LANDLORD: Yeah, I know that's who I said you were. But who do you say you are? Are you Bruce, or are you The Beast?
BRUCE RICHARDS: ...it's not that simple.
LANDLORD: Sure it is. You can be one or the other.
BRUCE RICHARDS: Why can't I be both?
LANDLORD: (Smiling.) You really think you're ready for that kind of challenge?
BRUCE RICHARDS: I don't back down from a challenge.
LANDLORD: Good. (He takes a few steps back.) Then good luck to you.
BRUCE RICHARDS: What do you mean?
(The landlord gestures to behind Bruce; Bruce turns around and sees a huge man in a black cowboy hat and a long black coat. Long, greasy hair hangs down from under the hat so we can't really see the man's face, but we hear heavy breathing, and a few gutteral noises. Then, without warning, the beast leaps at Bruce.)
* * * * *
(Bill Fleming and Tiffany drive up to the lodge. Before the car even fully stops, Tiffany leaps out of the car. The night's gotten pretty dark, and the fire outside the cabin is all but exhausted. The smoke and steam continues to pour from the chimney. Tiffany runs up to the door, but Bill calls out to her.)
BILL FLEMING: Stop!
TIFFANY: (Turns around.) Why should I?
BILL FLEMING: You might think this whole thing is stupid, but it's important to him. You go in there, how much respect are you showing him?
TIFFANY: He might be almost dead in there!
BILL FLEMING: You willing to risk your entire relationship because you're scared? Being scared is part of life; it's part of being in a relationship, not knowing what's going to happen, not being 100% in control of everything. You don't go in there, you might lose him. You go in there, you will lose him.
TIFFANY: (Shaking her head.) You're smarter than you look, Fleming. (She walks back and sits on the hood of the car.) What do you think, Bill?
BILL FLEMING: He told me that if he wasn't out by nine o'clock, I should go in and get him. (Checks his watch.) He's got about fifteen minutes.
TIFFANY: I don't think I can wait that long.
BILL FLEMING: You said you wanted to come along.
(Bruce kicks the door to the shack down and stumbles out. Bill and Tiffany stare at him. He's wild-eyed and weak; he falls to his hands and knees, and they run out to him.)
TIFFANY: Bruce?
BILL FLEMING: You okay, champ?
BRUCE RICHARDS: The door...the door...what happened to the door...
TIFFANY: You kicked the door off, Bruce. It's gone.
BILL FLEMING: What happened in there? What did you see?
BRUCE RICHARDS: (Looking up at Tiffany and Bill.) I fought. I fought and I won.
TIFFANY: He's delirious. Let's get him to the fire.
(They help him to the firepit; Bill gets Bruce some water and Tiffany goes to fetch the blanket. Fade to black.)
BRUCE RICHARDS: Heading into Sole Survivor a few days from now. Lots of formidable opponents to face. And so many people to eliminate: Jeff James, Simply Beautiful, Sebastien Martyr, Nightmare, LDK Lloyd Rees, The Midnight Cowboys, Chris Casino...it's like a smorgasbord of ass-kicking. And let's not forget about the opportunity to beat Kyle Roberts into jelly two times in one night. Delicious Kyle Roberts jelly. (Shakes his head.) But that means I have to beat him properly in the first place. Shouldn't be a problem, but just for extra insurance I need to keep him distracted. I need to keep him on his toes. What's the thing that Kyle Roberts loves almost more than anything...Chili Cheese Dogs...erotic massage...sex and violence...(Snaps his fingers.) I've got it! Tiffany, get out here!
TIFFANY: (Bounding in, bright and smiling.) Yes Bruce?
BRUCE RICHARDS: I have the perfect idea on how to beat Kyle Roberts on Tuesday night!
TIFFANY: Oh, that sounds great, Bruce! How will you do it!
BRUCE RICHARDS: Two words: Foxxy Boxxing.
TIFFANY: Uh, what?
BRUCE RICHARDS: Don't you see it? If we have a mini Foxxy Boxxing match going on outside the ring, it doesn't matter how much Kyle will be trying to focus on me, the sight of two bikini-clad women wailing all hell out of each other just a stone's throw away will drive him crazy. He'll keep trying to sneak peeks out of the corner of his eye, and if the ladies are particularly enticing, and if a clasp somehow unfortunately became unfastened, he'll forget about the fight he's in. And that's when I come in with the Pump-Handle Throw! Moonsault! Bang! One, two, three!
TIFFANY: ...right.
BRUCE RICHARDS: We just have to find you someone to box. Now, I suppose I could ask Rex if any of his ladies have fighting experience...
TIFFANY: Whoah, whoah, WHOAH cowboy. You want ME to get out there in a tiny swimsuit just to distract your opponent?
BRUCE RICHARDS: Yes. Now, that puts Kyle out for the count. Now to move on to the main event. The foxxy boxxing would only be good for one match, everyone else would eventually catch on, and besides, I don't think Lyndsey Valentine will be that affected by your charms, so maybe I could sneak some blinding agent into the ring. Baby powder? Icing sugar? Thumbtacks?
TIFFANY: Bruce, you're being rididculous.
BRUCE RICHARDS: What? Thumbtacks could blind someone.
TIFFANY: No, the whole thing is ridiculous. Sneaking in foreign objects, tryign to distract your opponents with half-naked women...these crazy schemes, they're not you.
BRUCE RICHARDS: Of COURSE they are, Tiffany.I'm smart, I'm clever, I can use that to my advantage. "Never Trust The Beast", remember?
TIFFANY: That's not what that's supposed to mean, Bruce. Besides, what happened to the guy who would threaten a guy he thought was leering at me? You want to dress me up in a skimpy outfit and parade me in front of hundreds of people, just to win a match?
BRUCE RICHARDS: ...it would work, though.
TIFFANY: I know it would work, Bruce; I've got a great rack and I could kick the crap out of any girl that dared to step into a tiny inflatable pool with me. But that's not the point. You think up these schemes and tell me about them, and assume I'm going to go along with them. You don't respect me, you don't respect Bill, I don't think you even respect yourself.
BRUCE RICHARDS: Hold on. No. That's not...that's not the way it's supposed to be.
TIFFANY: (Sighs.) Look, Bruce, just go for a walk or something, okay? Get out of the apartment, clear your head, have a coffee. Come back and you'll be fine.
BRUCE RICHARDS: Yeah. Yeah, I think I'll do that.
(He opens the shack door, and the wind and leaves blow back into his face. He steps out through the door...)
* * * * *
(Bill Fleming is sitting out in his car, which is parked outside a Tim Horton's restaurant. He's rubbing his hands together to keep them warm, and has a worried look on his face.)
BILL FLEMING: You can do this, Bill. You're a smart guy. You can think on your feet. This shouldn't be a problem.
TIFFANY: (Opening the car door.) Talking to yourself, Bill? That's not a good sign. (She hands him a travel tray with two coffees and a box of Timbits, then sits down and buckles up.) All right, I've got the provisions.
BILL FLEMING: I did bake a lot of muffins, you know. And there's fruit and stuff.
TIFFANY: (Shaking her head.) That's all for Bruce. Besides, who doesn't love double-chocolate Timbits? NOBODY, that's who. Although, Bruce would kill me if he knew I was having a Tim Horton's coffee. He says it's a tool of the devil.
BILL FLEMING: (Chuckling.) Heh. So, you sure you're ready for this?
TIFFANY: You bet.
BILL FLEMING: All right. I'm just going to put on Bill's Travel Jams. It makes any car ride go by faster. (He pops in a cd, and Chumbawumba starts to play.)
TIFFANY: Did you say "faster" or "excruciatingly slowly"?
BILL FLEMING: Wha, you don't like it?
TIFFANY: No, I do not.
BILL FLEMING: Fine, when this one's over you can pick the next one, okay?
TIFFANY: Okay...
(There's a small, awkward pause.)
BILL FLEMING. So...what do you think's happening out there?
TIFFANY: I don't know. He's probably meditating or something. How long has he been in there?
BILL FLEMING: (Checks the car clock.) I dropped him off early this morning, and he had to build the shack and all that, so...probably three or four hours?
TIFFANY: Yeah, he's probably just getting his head straightened out, trying to think more clearly.
* * * * *
(Bruce walks into some kind of backstage area. He closes the shack door behind him, and goes to stand and wait behind a curtain. He's dressed REALLY well. The nicest suit anyone's ever seen on him. And his cowboy hat's gone. He stands impatiently, checking his watch, and finally, some short personal assistant comes up to him, her hair pulled back and holding a clipboard.)
ASSISTANT: Mr. Richards, thank goodness you've arrived.
BRUCE RICHARDS: Sorry I'm late, but it couldn't be helped. NAPW autograph session, and as much as I would have loved to have ducked out on it, I don't think Mr. Caliber would have been terribly pleased with me. It's common courtesy to honour your agreements.
ASSISTANT: Well, it's just a good thing you've arrived. Can I get you anything to drink?
BRUCE RICHARDS: Sparkling water, San Pellegrino if it's available, Perrier if you must.
ASSISTANT: Yes sir, right away sir.
(Bruce looks out and nods to the man who's standing by the podium. He nods back, and walks up to the microphone.)
HOST: And now, ladies and gentlemen, I am very pleased to introduce to you the man you have come here to see. He's a veritable beast of the boardroom, would you please give a warm welcome to Mr. Bruce Richards!
(Bruce walks out into the spotlight, raising his hands, soaking up the applause. He walks up to the podium and speaks.)
BRUCE RICHARDS: Thank-you, thank-you. Thanks very much for coming out here today. The kind of commitment that you all show is inspiring. It's that kind of commitment I show in the wrestling ring every week, and the kind of commitment I have to make your portfolios the most profitable they can possibly be. Now, if you'll take a look at this chart (he clicks on a remote and a chart appears from a projector), you can see just how profitable Richards Investing has been over the past six months. It's because I have a take-no-prisoners attitude, I'm not afraid of the big boys who try to intimidate me, I do what I do best and always come out on top. But enough about my wrestling career...(the audience chuckles; Bruce smiles and continues with his spiel), let's show you just how much you can make if you choose to invest with me.
YOUNG MAN: (From out in the audience.) Boo! BOO!
BRUCE RICHARDS: (The smile falls from his face, but he quickly replaces it.) I'm sorry, ladies and gentlemen, but it appears we have a wrestling fan in the audience. (Calls out to him.) I'm afraid you have the wrong time and location, sir!
(The audience laughs again, but the young man ignores it and calls out to him.)
YOUNG MAN: You're a fraud, Richards! You're a sad, pathetic fraud!
BRUCE RICHARDS: Now hold on a minute, son. Just because I've decided to expand my earning potential by using my business know-how, and you people think that I'm betraying you. Let me tell you something, son: I don't owe you anything. I'm smart, I'm ruthless, and I'm a powerful man. I make more money from one of these seminars than I do in a week of matches. I'm sorry if you feel that I've somehow abandoned you and your fellow overweight wrestling fans, but I'm still fulfilling all the terms of my contract. I'm a man of my word; I make the public appearances, I wrestle in weekly when I'm mandated to, I put on a show for the fans. So if you think I don't do all that I can when I'm in that ring, you're sadly mistaken. (Snaps his fingers.) Security!
YOUNG MAN: You're full of shit, Richards! You used to really care about wrestling! You'd go out there every night, even if you were beat and hurting, and you'd make people go NUTS for you! And then you just gave up, and you pretend you don't care any more about wrestling, but you do, and I can see it in your eyes every time you win a match, when you actually win a match, you've got that fire, but you try and swallow it all and pretend that this bullshit is what you really care about! The business degree was a stepping stone to your wrestling career! It was supposed to be something you were going to fall back on when you retired!
BRUCE RICHARDS: What...how did you...
YOUNG MAN: And now you act you're using it like your gimmick, but you're really just HIDING behind it! (The security guards make their way towards him, and he starts scrambling over seats to get away from them.) So you keep on doing these rip-off seminars and get scared yuppies to invest in your company, working off their fears of a retirement of poverty; you use your wrestling status as a joke, your charts and your graphs and your "this reminds me of a time when I was facing Sick Billy Kryenik" anecdotes; you do business like you should be wrestling! (Security grabs him and start dragging him from the hall.) You're a FRAUD, Richards! A FRAUD!!!
(The security guards drag him from the room and slam the doors behind him; they echo through the quiet room. Bruce clears his throat and stares out at the crowd of eager, but confused, well-to do young people.)
BRUCE RICHARDS: I apologize, ladies and gentlemen...that man was...it's not the same thing....I've got...(He clears his throat again.) I've got to go.
(He leaves the podium and rushes backstage, bumping into the assistant on the way.)
ASSISTANT: They didn't have either, Mr. Richards, I--OOF! (She watches him push past her and walk up to the door.) Mr. Richards? Where are you going, sir?
(Bruce opens the door and forces his way through the wind and snow...)
* * * * *
(Bill Fleming and Tiffany are driving out on some range road outside of Edmonton. Tiffany's happily tapping her fingers on the dashboard to the soothing sounds of Jewel; Bill is gripping the steering wheel and gritting his teeth.)
TIFFANY: Oh, come on, Bill; it's not THAT bad.
BILL FLEMING: It really, really is.
TIFFANY: (Sighs.) How much longer, Bill? It feels like we've been going around in circles.
BILL FLEMING: Look, Bruce wanted to make sure that there was no way someone could find him by accident. He needed to get far, far away from the city; so far that it would take hours to hunt him down.
TIFFANY: But why didn't he tell me where he was going?
BILL FLEMING: If I'm the only person who knows how to get there, there's only one person to go after to get the information.
TIFFANY: I can take care of myself.
BILL FLEMING: Right. And we all know that. But it's better safe than sorry. Besides, I have my good friend Barbie to take care of me.
TIFFANY: Barbie?
BILL FLEMING: Yeah. The barbed-wire baseball bat. I call her Barbie for short. (Tiffany stares strangely at him, and Bill gets defensive.) What? People name their cars and their boats, why can't I name my secret weapon?
TIFFANY: You named it the girliest name you could think of?
BILL FLEMING: Second girliest. Tiffany was already taken.
TIFFANY: Oooh, Bill. Getting a little testy?
BILL FLEMING: Jewel will do that to a guy.
TIFFANY: All right, all right. Next cd's yours. Just shut up and drive.
BILL FLEMING: (Looking a little relieved.) Yes, miss Tiffany.
* * * * *
(Bruce steps through the shack door and onto a rooftop. It's not just any rooftop, though. It's a rooftop that would be familiar to any NAPW fan. The rooftop that looks down over Whyte Avenue. The rooftop that's been the site of many a tense conversation between two of the biggest stars of the NAPW. Yes. THAT rooftop. And Bruce is dressed...kind of strangely. His hat is drawn low over his eyes; he's wearing a longer duster, made of matted black leather, that droops like a cape as he crouches down. He's wearing padded leather gloves, and big heavy boots that look like they've been lined with tire treads. He sits in the darkness, talking to himself.)
THE BEAST: This match-up had been a long time coming. He was coming; I was sure of it. The slight change in the wind; the smell of fireworks and self-delusion in the air; the shouts from the crowds in the street getting louder with each passing moment. I clenched my fists and crouched down even lower, waiting for the time to strike.
(He keeps talking, describing everything that's going on around him, in annoying first-person hard-boiled narration.)
THE BEAST: Footsteps on the roof. They land lightly, like a silk robe on a whore's breasts, but I hear them. Since he disappeared his legend has grown bigger than he could even have imagined. They say he walks on fire. (We see a pair of boots with flames on them.) They say his fists can break stones. (We see a pair of taped fists.) They say that he's got no weaknesses. (We see a pair of powerful legs striding confidently.) They say he can't die.
(D! walks out into the moonlight; he's wearing his jeans & a t-shirt, but the t-shirt's a little different. It's the Superman crest, but with a big "D!" inside it.)
THE BEAST: I say, I'm going to kill him.
D!: Bruce. Talking to yourself? That's not a good sign.
THE BEAST: You calling me crazy?
D!: You are crazy. You think you can take me down? You've never faced me before. You've never faced anyone LIKE me before.
THE BEAST: That's true. But that doesn't mean I'm not going to try.
D!: Why bother? You know I'm going to take you down. Like I did at Anniversary Assault. Remember that? With the chair?
THE BEAST: You don't have a chair.
D!: I don't need one. I only need these (clenches his fists) and these (points to his boots) to defeat you.
THE BEAST: You might be right. But there's a few problems with that.
D!: And they are?
THE BEAST: For one thing? I came prepared. (He pushes a button on a remote control in his fist; a small explosion occurst just behind D!, but he leaps forward out of the way and lands on The Beast. He starts beating the hell out of The Beast's head.)
D!: You trying to blow me up, Bruce? That's the stupidest thing I've ever heard.
THE BEAST: (Through a bleeding mouth.) Don't call me that. That's not my name.
D!: What are you talking about?
THE BEAST: That's not my name any more. And I didn't try and blow you up. I just wanted you to get into position.
(A man rushes out of the shadows and spears D! off of The Beast. He tosses him to the ground, and another man does a moonsault off the ledge. In the light, we see who they are. Cam Scott. Mike Johnson.)
THE BEAST: The other problem? I didn't come alone.
(The Dudes lift D! up and try for a double DDT, but D! turns it into a double clothesline and drops The Dudes. He shouts at The Beast.)
D!: The Dudes? That's it?
THE BEAST: Hardly.
(A third man comes up behind D! and pumphandle slams him to the ground. Lobo. And a fourth runs out, Shining Wizard on D! as he gets up. Diamond. D! gets up and chops Lobo, back to Diamond, then kicks Mike Johnson in the gut and a roundhouse to Cam Scott. But it's not enough. Axe comes out of the darkness too, Guillotine Drop, and D!'s on the ground. The Beast comes over and steps on D!'s head. His grips dig into D!'s face. Keeping him down.)
THE BEAST: You thought you could come back here and change everything? You wouldn't stand a chance. This is my army. This is my city. This is my federation. You never had a chance, "hero".
D!: (Spits a tooth out of his mouth, then laughs.) You really did it, Bruce. You took me down. And all it took was five other rejects.
THE BEAST: It doesn't matter. It's my foot on your face. (Grinds it down.) And I told you not to call me that.
D!: You really like being like this? You're just The Beast, now? The dark, vicious, unrelenting Beast? (He laughs again.) You tried so hard to be someone new, to reinvent yourself. But you're not someone new. You're the same old, same old.
THE BEAST: (Kneels down to get closer to D!.) What are you saying?
D!: (Whispers.) You're Ravager.
(The Beast stands up, his eyes wide.)
THE BEAST: No. No, that's...I can't...you're lying. You're...
(He runs through the shack door, through the growing windstorm.)
* * * * *
(Bill Fleming and Tiffany drive in silence. Tiffany stares out the passenger window, and Bill looks like he's trying desperately to stay awake at the wheel. Suddenly, Tiffany points out the window.)
TIFFANY: There! Right there!
BILL FLEMING: What?
TIFFANY: We have passed that same stop sign three times now!
BILL FLEMING: It's a stop sign, Tiffany, just like any other stop sign.
TIFFANY: No, it's got a dent on the top right corner, and there's a cross and some flowers by it. Same sign, three times. (She turns to Bill.) Are you (BLEEP)ing with me?
BILL FLEMING: What? No, I...uh, it's just....
TIFFANY: (Flatly.) Bill. Tell me RIGHT NOW what's going on.
BILL FLEMING: (Stammering.) Bruce told me that you'd come and ask me to help you find him, and he told me that if you did...that I should drive you around and stall you until he was done!
TIFFANY: WHAT!?!
BILL FLEMING: I tried to talk him out of it, but he insisted! I'm his manager, Tiffany, I have to do what he says!
TIFFANY: (Fuming.) Right. But I'm his girlfriend, and I don't have to listen to ANYTHING he says. And you're going to drive me there right now.
BILL FLEMING: But he said--
TIFFANY: (Shouting.) Right now, Bill!
BILL FLEMING: (After a pause.) Okay. We'll go. But if he gets mad, I'm going to tell him you threatened me.
TIFFANY: He won't have TIME to get mad.
* * * * *
(Bruce Richards walks out the shed door into an apartment lobby. He walks down the stairs and comes up to apartment 1B. He tries the knob, but it's locked. A chubby guy in a ball cap and a hooded sweater comes down the stairs.)
LANDLORD: Sorry, buddy, that place isn't ready yet. (Pauses.) And you're not ready for it yet, either.
BRUCE RICHARDS: What do you mean?
LANDLORD: It's not time to go into that door, Bruce.
BRUCE RICHARDS: How do you know my name?
LANDLORD: You're Bruce Richards! You're an NAPW wrestler! I go to all the shows, man, you're good.
BRUCE RICHARDS: (Confused, but nodding.) Thanks. (Gestures to the door.) Look, I really need to get in there. Can you just unlock it for me?
LANDLORD: (Shakes his head.) Can't do it. You need to figure some stuff out first. Who are you?
BRUCE RICHARDS: You know who I am. I'm Bruce Richards.
LANDLORD: Yeah, I know that's who I said you were. But who do you say you are? Are you Bruce, or are you The Beast?
BRUCE RICHARDS: ...it's not that simple.
LANDLORD: Sure it is. You can be one or the other.
BRUCE RICHARDS: Why can't I be both?
LANDLORD: (Smiling.) You really think you're ready for that kind of challenge?
BRUCE RICHARDS: I don't back down from a challenge.
LANDLORD: Good. (He takes a few steps back.) Then good luck to you.
BRUCE RICHARDS: What do you mean?
(The landlord gestures to behind Bruce; Bruce turns around and sees a huge man in a black cowboy hat and a long black coat. Long, greasy hair hangs down from under the hat so we can't really see the man's face, but we hear heavy breathing, and a few gutteral noises. Then, without warning, the beast leaps at Bruce.)
* * * * *
(Bill Fleming and Tiffany drive up to the lodge. Before the car even fully stops, Tiffany leaps out of the car. The night's gotten pretty dark, and the fire outside the cabin is all but exhausted. The smoke and steam continues to pour from the chimney. Tiffany runs up to the door, but Bill calls out to her.)
BILL FLEMING: Stop!
TIFFANY: (Turns around.) Why should I?
BILL FLEMING: You might think this whole thing is stupid, but it's important to him. You go in there, how much respect are you showing him?
TIFFANY: He might be almost dead in there!
BILL FLEMING: You willing to risk your entire relationship because you're scared? Being scared is part of life; it's part of being in a relationship, not knowing what's going to happen, not being 100% in control of everything. You don't go in there, you might lose him. You go in there, you will lose him.
TIFFANY: (Shaking her head.) You're smarter than you look, Fleming. (She walks back and sits on the hood of the car.) What do you think, Bill?
BILL FLEMING: He told me that if he wasn't out by nine o'clock, I should go in and get him. (Checks his watch.) He's got about fifteen minutes.
TIFFANY: I don't think I can wait that long.
BILL FLEMING: You said you wanted to come along.
(Bruce kicks the door to the shack down and stumbles out. Bill and Tiffany stare at him. He's wild-eyed and weak; he falls to his hands and knees, and they run out to him.)
TIFFANY: Bruce?
BILL FLEMING: You okay, champ?
BRUCE RICHARDS: The door...the door...what happened to the door...
TIFFANY: You kicked the door off, Bruce. It's gone.
BILL FLEMING: What happened in there? What did you see?
BRUCE RICHARDS: (Looking up at Tiffany and Bill.) I fought. I fought and I won.
TIFFANY: He's delirious. Let's get him to the fire.
(They help him to the firepit; Bill gets Bruce some water and Tiffany goes to fetch the blanket. Fade to black.)