"That's two more than I can think of," Charlie said wearily.
Vincent removed his suit jacket and slung it over the back of the desk chair. "One, we wait it out, step up our own sales efforts – particularly in this sack of shit's backyard – and wait to see what he does next. Two, we set up a meeting with him and his people and try to negotiate some sort of deal where nobody has to take the pipe. Three, we make a move on Turano that shows the entire wrestling world that we are the last guys on the planet anybody wants to be fucking with."
"Charlie," Frank said, pacing slowly near the door, "you're the only one who knows this guy – "
"I've met him," Charlie corrected him. "I don't know him any better than you do, brother."
"But you don't think he can be negotiated with."
"Not at all. The guy's a dick. Ask your friend, Paulie Caruso, he knows Turano. Ask Luther. He worked for him for a few months a couple years back. Any of the boys that work for the guy will tell you the same thing, Frank. The only way he gets talent to work for him in the first place is because he promises TV exposure and guarantees a certain number of shots a year."
Frank thought a moment. "Has he ever been pushed?"
"Luther told me a story once about a feud Turano had back in the seventies with a guy by the name of Dave Remy. He was a real small-timer, worked mostly Massachusetts and Rhode Island doing little popcorn shows – you know, a few hundred bucks in his pocket a night with a card of unknown talent, a small room and cheap ticket prices. One of the guys who worked for Turano at that time was Jimmy Shaw. He had a hell of a gimmick – they'd carry him out in a cage and drag him into the ring in chains like a nut. He worked as The Neanderthal Man. They billed him as a guy a bunch of scientists had found out in some jungle someplace – you know the routine – I'm sure you guys remember seeing him on TV and in all the magazines back then. He was a major headliner for a while. Anyway, in those days, the big promotions only offered a handful of exclusive contracts, so there was a lot more movement between the major federations and the independent circuit, even by the big stars. Shaw ended up going to work for Turano, but they had a falling out over money and Shaw split. Somewhere along the line, he met up with this Remy guy and they decided to do a shot together. Shaw wanted to get back at Turano for stiffing him so he gave Remy the name of one of the Turano's biggest clients and told him to put it together. Well, with The Neanderthal Man as the main event draw even a stiff like Remy could sell the deal. Word got back to Turano and I guess he went fucking ballistic, but it was too late. The contract had already been signed."
Vincent rubbed his eyes. "This sounds like one of Luther's stories. Does it have an ending?"
"Yeah," Charlie said in a gruff voice, "see what you think of this, slick. Two weeks after the shot Dave Remy gets killed out in front of his apartment by a hit-and-run driver. They never caught the guy. Six months go by. Jimmy Shaw's working a tour in South America, and one night after a shot, somebody walks into the locker room, kicks in one of the stalls and beats him to death with a baseball bat while the poor bastard's pinching a loaf."
"Jesus," Gus said, fumbling for a cigarette.
"Luther knew a few of the guys on that tour. They told him Shaw was beaten to a fucking pulp, and you wanna know the best part? Nobody saw a goddamn thing."
Apparently entertained by the story, Vincent smiled. "Grease enough palms, everybody goes blind, huh?"
"They never caught that guy either." Charlie rolled his eyes. "Supposedly Turano arranged the hit through friends he had in the mob in Philly."
Frank turned to Vincent. "Turano's connected?"
"Easy enough to find out."
"Then do it."
The sky rumbled, followed by a deafening clanging sound as a heavy rain began to fall against the tin awning that ran the length of the motel.
"Then negotiating with this guy is definitely out," Gus said above the sudden din.
"Not necessarily," Vincent said.
"Vin," Charlie said through a heavy sigh, "Turano's got a temper on him that makes you look like fucking Gandhi."
Vincent leaned against the desk. "I just find it hard to believe that he'd refuse to meet with us."
"Maybe he would," Frank said, "but how would our asking for a meeting make us look at this point?"
"How do you mean?"
Frank crushed his cigarette in an ashtray on the desk and moved to the window. "Turano's already made a move on us. If we respond by asking for a sit-down we'll look weak."
"That's a good point," Vincent conceded. "We'd be coming to the table at a disadvantage. But maybe if we showed him we were willing to bend a little, so would he."
"I got to tell you, it's real fucking surreal seeing you in the role of peacemaker," Charlie said, smiling with his eyes.
"Fuck that," Vincent quipped. "I'm just saying we better look at this from every possible angle, Charlie. If we decide to use muscle on this guy we better be prepared. Anything could happen."
Charlie stood up, his expression dark. "I didn't say anything about using muscle."
Frank watched the parking lot through the rain-blurred window. The urge to crawl back into bed and go to sleep was an appealing fantasy he allowed himself to briefly entertain before he faced the others. "What do you think, Gus?"
The expression on his face amply revealed the degree of his surprise in having been asked. He pushed his eyeglasses in tighter against the bridge of his nose and glanced self-consciously around the room. "I don't see that we have any choice but to make a move on him."
Frank nodded. "Charlie?"
"I abstain."
"What the hell does that mean?"
"There's this thing called a dictionary, kid. Find out about it."
"There's a time and place for fucking around," Frank said, staring at him decidedly. "This isn't one of them."
Charlie scratched the back of his head. "We all knew it was only a matter of time before this happened. I trust you guys to handle it in a way that's in our best interest."
Thunder rolled, and Frank's eyes shifted to Vincent. "Vin?"
"If nobody else thinks – "
"I'm only concerned with what you think at the moment."
Vincent loosened his tie. "We should probably move on him," he said in an uncharacteristically soft voice. "Otherwise we not only run the risk of looking weak, but we might make Turano feel more confident about coming after us later. Either way, things could and probably will get real ugly. Going this route will change everything for a long time."
"I say we hit back," Frank told the others. "Hard."
Charlie headed for the door. "This is where I step out."
"Maybe you should stay," Vincent suggested.
"I don't want nothing to do with the muscle end of things," he said firmly. "I made that clear from the beginning. I'm with you guys a hundred percent in whatever you decide only I don't want a hand in it. The less I know the better."
"How can you expect to be safe if you're ignorant of what's happening?" Vincent pressed.
"Tell me only what I need to know," Charlie said, then he looked at Frank for his approval. "Okay, chief?"
The rain seemed to increase in intensity, and in that split-second power shifted even further in Frank's favor. "Head on over to the venue. We'll meet you there in a while."
Charlie left without hesitation.
Gus moved to the window and watched him cross the parking lot in an awkward, almost comical sprint, his feet splashing puddles as he went. "What a pussy."
Probably smarter than the rest of us, Frank thought.
Vincent sighed. "Let's get to it."
"Close the blinds," Frank told him.
The things they were about to discuss were better suited to the dark.