New Years Day
Dean wakes up on New Year’s Day like he had the several prior, severely hungover, virtually broke, and on Lurrr’s couch.
“Here ya go, buddy,” Lurrr offers Dean a cold beer to ease the pain that would only get worse as time struggled forward.
Dean happily accepts and falls back into the couch, taking a sip. His eyes find the poster of OCW’s first PPV, FrostBite. A simple enough graphic but one that still holds so much emotion for the once proud promotion head. Lurrr notices.
“Ever thought about bringing it back?”
“Huh?” Dean snaps out of it, “Nah, sucka. I’m retired. Can’t go back. Too much shit happened.”
“Bro, you can always go back. And if it’s finances you’re worried about...I can help with that. This industry is a shit hole. It needs OCW.”
Dean leans forward. He takes a long sip from his beer and nods his head.
He took Lurrr up on his offer. A few days later he was in Little Rock, Arkansas standing in front of the old OCWHQ. The home, still standing, had quite a bit of wear and tear. Some cracked, broken windows. The neighborhood had transformed from a quiet community to a loud, worn down commercial hub. Dean’s eyes lingered from the top of the building to the bottom. But they didn’t stop there, they continued down, underground where the basement resided.
We’re back inside Lurrr’s living room. He’s nowhere to be seen but Smith’s there.
“Okay, sucka. Here’s how we’re going to do it,” Dean paces while Smith sits at the kitchen table. “All new talent. All fresh faces. No old names. We’re starting fresh. We’re leaving the old OCW buried,” he stares at Smith. Smith returns his gaze knowing exactly what he’s referencing, “Where it belongs.”
“I couldn’t agree more, sir.”
“That’s MR DEAN!”
“MR Dean...it’s great to have you back, sir.”
“Put out fliers. Hit up Craigslist. Get on Facebook. Do whatever you have to do to get us a roster of 10 by next Monday.”
“NEXT Monday?”
“Yep, we’re returning NEXT Monday, sucka! OCW is back!”
And OCW made its grand return. Inside a local bar. The once proud promotion reduced to venues fit for freaks and sideshows. Knowing he needed additional funds to make the promotion desirable once again, Dean sought outside financing.
“Bobbinette Carey?” the voice of Derek Mobley rings out backstage at a local high school as OCW prepares for its weekly airing of Massacre.
In 2014 Mobley no longer stood in Dean’s shadow. He stood alongside Dean. By this point in Mobley’s career, he had achieved world championships and hall of fame inductions. His career second to none, especially Dean’s.
“I don’t want to hear it, sucka,” Dean’s proud voice sounding a little too far on the side of beaten.
“Why don’t you let me fund it. I can help you clean the name. Rid this place of its past. Start new. I’ve got money. Let me in, finally,” Derek pleads.
Dean looks his student-turned-star up and down, “You’re too good for this place, sucka. Go live your life.”
Dumbfounded, Mobley is left without the words, or chance to say them if they somehow manifested in his possession. Dean’s music plays and he walks out in front of a crowd of hundreds to open the show.
And so the year of 2014 carried on. Dean made promises to financier after financier as OCW toured the country. The promotion grew as it entered each new territory. There was just one glaring omission...no OCW Title.
When asked by his financiers Dean would assure them the OCW Title was safely locked away and would be presented at the right time. An answer most seemed content with.
Except for Gavin Reed. Gavin financed the ‘Southern’ portion of OCW’s journey. A journey that saw a Central Champion crowned. A Southern Champion crowned. And a Western, as well as a Northeastern Championship, to follow. Fine accolades, to be sure. But the prize everyone wanted was the OCW Championship.
Reed pressed Dean about the OCW Title. Dean kept assuring him it was safe and sound.
Things seemed content until Scott Syren made his inevitable return. The last known OCW Champion. He returned without the belt and challenged for the Western Championship.
Gavin Reed, having sunk a ton of money into OCW’s resurgence, immediately began investigating the absence of the OCW Title. His findings would lead him to a conclusion he feared.
The OCW Title was gone. It had been gone the entire time.
In fact, nobody had seen the title since 2005.
So, Reed confronted Dean. Despite Dean’s pleas, Reed informed Dean he would tell the world about Dean’s deceit later that night on Massacre. An announcement that could shatter the foundation right when the promotion seemed poised to return to its rightful place at the top of the industry.
The details of what took place next are sketchy.
Gavin Reed made his way to the ring. About half way down, a piece of the roof shook loose, fell and crushed Reed in the aisle. To Death.
“MR DEAN!” Smith yells, rushing into the boss’s office.
“What up, Sucka,” Dean says with more than a hint of glee.
“It’s, um,” Smith pauses, surprised by Dean’s demeanor, “Gavin Reed. He got crushed. To Death!”
“I saw, it’s a very sad thing,” Dean laments with no passion in his voice. He turns his eyes up at Smith and smiles.
“Oh no. Not in 2014, sir.”
“Yes, in 2014.”
Both men eye one another.
“To the basement, sucka!” Dean yells.
Smith whines and throws his arms at the ground before turning and exiting to take care of his horrible job.
Reed never made it to the ring. Reed never revealed the secret about the OCW Title.
Whether by his hand or an incredible stroke of fate, Dean’s secret remained safe and OCW continued its promotional renaissance.
---
We cut back to the haunted house. A new figure greets us. The most familiar detective in all of Pro Wrestling.
It’s Jack Puffer! Unlike Cocco Ricci, there’s plenty of color to Puffer’s skin. He also has no glitchy issues. This man seems to be very much present, living, and full of investigative mirth.
“Hello, folks. It’s me, Jack Puffer, and I’ve been tasked with bringing you the second part of this story. The modern issues that have continued to weigh OCW down.”
Puffer looks over his shoulder at the house. The door casually swings open and behind it is the lost, expressionless figure of Gavin Reed.
“I was around when Dean manipulated those financiers into helping him get OCW back on its feet. He lied to us all about the OCW Title, using it as a lure to accumulate enough money to get OCW financially stable once again.”
Puffer brings his hands behind his back, leans forward, and paces, “And once the promotion regained financial stability Dean cut all the financiers off. They recouped nothing from their investments. Although, I guess the other three should be fortunate they, at least, escaped with their lives.”
Jack tosses a nod toward Gavin Reed, “But Dean is old school. He never evolved and he carried his antiquated, carny practices into the modern era. They served him well, initially. But with an increase in standards, practices, and technology...Dean’s slipshod style would not last long. His grip on OCW was weakening and, within a year, it would fall from his grasp.”
Puffer spins, staring at the screen, “A loyalist. A financier. A man looking to aid in building OCW’s product ignored, pushed to the side...eliminated. Sounds kind of familiar, doesn’t it?”
Jack strolls off screen as we see a car pull up to the haunted house. The back door opens and Lord Allton emerges. With the aid of his metal leg braces, he exhibits a foreboding gait, walking toward the front of the house. The door is open but Reed is gone. Lord Allton enters.
We cut away.
Lurrr’s Living Room
January 1st, 2014