“You just couldn’t resist, could you?” Jake growled, pacing, hands waving around as if to punctuate his annoyance.

The ground between them was littered with cigarette butts and footprints, along with the occasional bottle of beer.

“Just had to stick your nose where it didn’t belong, stir up shit before you were even on the roster. What the hell is your problem? Why can’t you ever just do things like a normal human being? You know, the kind who actually calls up the front office, fills out some paperwork, then waits for a phone call to say he’s got the job!”

Leaning against a fencepost, Derrick watched Jake stomp past, ash from his cigarette falling onto his shirt.

“Where’s the fun in that?”  Derrick shrugged, took a long drink from his beer and closed his eyes. The kid was giving him a headache, which was making him highly tempted to pop him in the mouth and just be done with it.

Jake sputtered, muttering curses and trying to come up with a response while Derrick did his level best to ignore him.

“Look,” Derrick snapped, cutting him off. “You’ve been on my case for months to get off my ass and get back in the ring. Showing up there and fucking with Sammy was the first step. Now we’ll see how bad he wants at Warner.”

Jack paused and just stared at Derrick, the look on his face one of complete and utter exasperation. “You’re seriously gonna protect that, that, that…walking fuckin’ micstand!”

“For now. Don’t underestimate the power of the mic. I’ll watch his back, and he’ll get me on the air. He’ll get people talkin’ ‘bout me again, and once he does, let’s just say that nothing in DEFIANCE will ever be the same.”

“Yeah, okay, whatever, keep dreaming there big guy. I’ve seen how DEFIANCE works, you’re good, but you’re not DEFIANCE good.”

“This from a guy who can’t even sniff the middle of the card with someone else’s nose?

The outrage on Jake’s face was almost priceless, we’re talking tomato red with one twitching, pulsing, throbbing vein stickin’ out on his forehead as his blue eyes went impossibly wide. His mouth opened and closed like a fish outta water and for the first time all afternoon, he couldn’t think of a thing to say. Derrick, however, still had plenty on his mind.

“Do you know how utterly desperate and pathetic you looked last week standing there in the ring sayin’ you’d be a Malachite? Hell, even after ya said it, I kept on waitin’ for ya ta show some pride, raise you’re fuckin’ head and beat the holy hell outta that ‘sumbitch when he started beatin’ on ya. But no, ya just laid down ‘n took it like a little bitch, then went ta the back ‘n had a fuckin’ tantrum.”

“Says the guy who bowed down to Victor Fuckin’ Mandrake and spent almost three years as his student afterwards!” Jake shot back.

“To save a friend,” Derrick pointed out. “Stupid and self-sacrificing, but a completely different scenario there, or are you forgetting that even as Victor’s student I was the one with the world title belt.”

“That he took from you,” Jake reminded him.

“And promptly lost,” Derrick chuckled. “And I believe I was the one to retrieve it.”

Jake held up one finger, about to comment when he realized that, yes, that truly had been the chain of events to take place.

“Damn,” Jake muttered softly, rubbing the back of his neck. “I keep forgetting it was the Bell cage fight that put you outta action, not the one with Mandrake.”

“Naw, Mandrake and I just broke the holy hell outta each other ‘n the cage,” Derrick reminded him, the fond memories lifting the corners of his lips into some semblance of a smile. “Sometimes I miss those days.”

For a moment silence passed between them, as if both were remembering the days when they were amazing and the fans loved ‘em for it.

“You’re the one who told me I had to do something different,” Jake pointed out softly. “Something memorable.”

“Yeah, but joining some delusional wanna be prophet wasn’t quite what I had in mind. About the only thing Malachi is gonna do for your career is make you even more irrelevant.”

“And chasing Sam Turner is gonna do what for yours?”

Another chuckle from Derrick, it seemed as if he was truly enjoying seeing his young friend flapping around like a maniac while trying to figure out what his game plan might be. At least the headache was finally fading, replaced with twinges of amusement.

“Chasing Sam, that’s funny. You’re sorely mistaken if ya think Imma be the one doin’ the chasin’. Naw kid, Sammy boy is gonna be chasing me. In fact, he just might end up having a heart attack tryin’ ta keep up.”

Jake just shook his head and lit up a fresh cigarette.

“Cocky much?”

“Ain’t cocky when ya know ya can back it up. Sammy might be a ragin’ ball of badly thought out curses, but at the end of the day, he’s just a pissed off hick playin’ at bein’ a  thug.

“And what does that make you?”

“You even gotta ask?” Derrick shot back as he finished his beer. The bottle joined the others in the dust, along with the empty six-pack container. “You’ve been in the ring with me, you’ve been in the ring with him, answer that yerself.”

Jake shuddered as a sudden flash of phantom pain shot up his arm, a reminder of the time Derrick had damn near broken it. A slow smirk crossed Derrick’s face at the sudden change in Jake’s expression.

“Sammy is just a means to an end,” Derrick continued. “He’s like that snarling little kick me dog that circles your ankles ‘til ya punt it across the room. He gets in my face again, he’s getting’ punted, then Imma let Warner spend about five minutes grindin’ his face in the dust. After that, I’m pretty sure ol’ STT2 ‘ill go back ta bein’ just Sammy Turner Jr.”

“And if he don’t?”

A cold look crossed Derrick’s face and those eyes, bright with laughter, faded to a dark abyss. “Then I end him.”

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