The foul weather only helped to bring more people to the event. The auditorium was packed to the rafters, and Benny Dunn's security crew was on their toes from the opening bell. The show itself was one of the best Frank had ever seen the boys do. Of course, the bouts were identical to those staged throughout the course of the tour, but there was an additional element of excitement on this particular afternoon – generated mostly by an aggressive, boisterous crowd that seemed to inspire the wrestlers to bring the level of their performance up a notch.
Luther defended his world title successfully, coming back from the brink of defeat at the hands of The Lariat at least half a dozen times. With the flair of a seasoned professional, the Dark Train would stare into the crowd with pleading eyes; hands reaching out as if to touch the fans while his opponent increased the pressure on a submission hold that appeared to drive him to the very edge of consciousness. And the crowd responded, chanting Luther's name again and again, each chorus louder and more desperate until their hero struggled to his feet, absorbing the power of his fans' support and transforming it into a tangible energy capable of allowing him to finally turn the tables. After pinning The Lariat in dramatic fashion, Luther staggered from the ring, his championship belt held high above his head as he embraced the crowd at ringside, making sure to stop for a quick photograph with a local retarded youth who was to receive a percentage of the profits generated by the fund-raiser. Sensing the power of the moment, Luther slung his arm around the boy and encouraged him to wear the belt. Again, the crowd began to chant Luther's name.
Benny Dunn moved up the main aisle to ringside and lifted the boy over the metal barricade that separated the front row from the ring area and stood him next to the champion. The young man, star-struck and unable to believe that one of his idols had actually involved him in the show, looked up at Luther in awe. With the fans cheering him on, Luther secured the strap around the boy's waist and began parading him through the crowd.
"The official time!" Charlie's voice boomed over Luther's exit music as he watched from the center of the ring. "Twenty minutes, fourteen seconds. The winner by pin-fall and still ECPWL Heavyweight Champion of the World… Luther Dark Train Jefferson!"
Luther and the boy were still at ringside exchanging high-fives and dancing to the music as the frenzied crowd cheered uproariously.
"And let's hear it for the real champ!" Charlie said. "Corey Walters, folks! Let's hear it for Corey!"
The crowd now began to chant Corey's name, and the boy started to laugh, finally grabbing Luther around the waist with a hug that looked as if it might never end.
Frank, Vincent, and Gus watched from the rear of the auditorium. As the music continued to blare and Luther did his best to prolong his time in the spotlight, a woman moved through the crowd and approached them. She was attractive, dressed in plain, inexpensive clothes, and her hair was pulled back and fastened with an elastic. Her eyes were moist and she dabbed at them with a tattered tissue.
"I'm Jean Walters," she said, offering a shaking hand. "Corey's mother. I can't thank you gentlemen enough for this."
Frank took her hand and smiled warmly. "It's our pleasure. Corey's a great kid, ma'am, and we're happy to help."
"He's done nothing but talk about this show for weeks," she told them, still teary-eyed. "Now, after all this, it should just about make his year. Please thank Mr. Jefferson for me."
"I'll do that," Frank said. "We've also got a package for Corey in the locker room. Some autographed pictures and things we thought he might like."
Without hesitation, she leaned over and hugged all three men in turn. "Thanks again."
"Take care," Vincent said, watching her return to her seat.
"I guess every once and a while even we do something good," Frank grinned, elbowing Vincent. "Even you, Satan."
"Speak for yourself."
Gus shook his head. "Don't you have any feelings at all?"
"Sure," Vincent yawned. "I've got deep feelings for that blonde over there. Mostly in my nuts."
Benny emerged from the crowd and joined them at the rear of the room. "Can I talk to you guys for a second?"
"Shoot," Vincent told him.
He glanced over his shoulder at Elliot's concession table. "I had one of my guys watch him like you told me, Vin. He's been pocketing the cash on every third sale. Fucking guy's good, though. Magician's hands."
Vincent turned to Frank. "What'd I tell you?"
"Thanks, Ben," Frank said. "Make sure your guy gets a few extra bucks in his envelope. Tell Charlie I said it was all right."
With a quick nod, Benny returned to his duties at ringside.
Gus made a fist and shook it in the air. "That sonofabitch. We should kick his ass."
"Go ahead," Vincent said.
Gus cleared his throat and immediately assumed a less threatening posture. "Well, I would but… with my training I have to be careful."
"Yeah," Vincent cracked, rolling his eyes, "you might annoy him to death."
"Hey, I don't need the cops down on my head, man." Gus hoisted his pants up high on his hips. "You guys probably weren't aware of this but my hands are registered as deadly weapons with quite a few police departments."
"Oh, Jesus H. Christ." Vincent moaned and headed for the locker room. "Not the registered hands story."
"What the hell is his problem?" Gus asked.
Frank gave him a friendly pat on the shoulder. "Don't worry about it. Go tell Elliot I want to see him in the locker room right after the intermission."
"What if he asks why?"
"Tell him you don't know."
Elliot entered the locker room with a bounce in his step and a smile on his face. The wrestlers were congregated on one side of the room, Frank, Vincent, Gus and Charlie on the other.
"Luther Jefferson!" Elliot barked. "You, sir, are without a doubt, the man. Does this guy know how to work a room or does he – does he know how to work a goddamn room? Beautiful – absolutely beautiful is what that was. With the – with the kid and all – no one does it any better!" Luther, a towel draped over his sweat-drenched body, smiled and waved to him. Elliot approached Frank and the others, seemingly unaware of what was about to happen. "Hey, Frank, you wanted to see me, babe?"
Vincent turned and hit him full in the face. Elliot fell forward and to the side, his knee catching one of the benches and sending him sprawling onto the cement floor. The buzz of conversation in the room came to a halt as everyone looked to see what had happened.
"Get up," Vincent said evenly.
Elliot rolled over onto his back. Blood had already begun to ooze from his split lip. "Oh my – oh my God," he gasped. "Help… somebody – I think I'm having a heart attack."
Vincent reached down, grabbed a handful of shirt, pulled Elliot to his feet and slammed him against a row of lockers. "You're not lucky enough to have a heart attack."
"What the hell is this all about?"
"My money."
Elliot's eyes darted back and forth across the room, two blurred orbs behind the thick lenses of glass. "I don't – what does that – what are you talking about?"
"Just give him the money, Elliot," Charlie said.
He reached into his pockets with a shaking hand and pulled out a crumpled wad of bills. "Fifty. I only skimmed fifty bucks. For God's sake, fellas, I – "
"Quiet." Vincent ripped the money from his hand and stuffed it into Elliot's mouth. "You think you got balls big enough to steal from me? Is that it?"
Elliot shook his head violently but didn't attempt to speak until Vincent removed the money and handed it to Charlie. "I'm sorry – so sorry, guys, it's – it's just that it's been such a bad run for me this tour. I – Frank – I tried to talk to you about – "
"And what did I say, Elliot?" Frank asked.