“I know that smell.”

[Nose pointed to twelve o’clock, Count COOL sniffs at the air like a dog trying to find the perfect tree.]

“...smells.... like a billion dollar cigar.”

[Cautiously, Cancer begins to snoop around the small room he occupies as if someone could be hiding inside of it. Said room has no furniture or decorations -- except for a plastic fern resting in the corner and a soiled Defiance banner thumbtacked to the wall.]

[Oh, and a camera of course.]

[Yup.]

[Vacation.]

[Over.]

“Must have just missed him.”

[A short shrug before Cancer turns his full attention to a future audience.]

“Let me tell ya, COOL Eddy Dubbayou smoked one of his Cowboy and Indian and Alien and Republican killers in my car once... the stench lingered for the next three months.”

[Playfully, Cancer waves his hand in front of his nose, almost knocking his precious from his face. His heart stops for a split second, but being the professional he is it isn’t noticeable.]

[The smacking himself in the face however, is.]

“This place is going to stink.”

[Shit grin agape, The Count pops his eyes and flexes his nostrils to their outermost point. Then, without hesitation or regard for human life, he stops to smell the roses.]

“AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH! Good thing I’ve grown to enjoy the fine smell of hard work and due diligence.”

[That’s to be taken as someone else’s hard work and due diligence, and not his own.]

“You know, I’ve always admired a person who isn’t afraid to roll up his sleeves and get his elbows dirty. It’s a quality I’ll never have, and for people like myself, and Fast Eddy White for that matter, things we can’t have don’t happen too often.”

[Somewhere, Edward White just whispered, speak for yourself.]

“Yet, this week on Heritage oh-ate, the rare occurrence... eh, occurs. One of Money COOL will find themselves not getting what they want.”

[Sadface.]

“Ed, we’re boys. We ball out. We smoke shit people don’t even know about. We pour out Johnny Walker Blue because it’s fun. We were Champions of the World together. Fuck, you just rolled out the red carpet for a brother.”

[A few seconds pass, as Cancer straightens his tone and posture.]

“I know your pain, and your disgust with the current situation. I know you wish to rectify the sins of the past, but I’m sorry friend. This time... against Team Mongoloid, it’s gotta be me.”

“That’s the way I see it, and I don’t see that changing.”

[Trembling, Lord COOL shakes the serious from his body.]

“Fuck do I hate doing that shit.”

[Swiftly, Cancer spits; cleansing his pallet of any lingering buzzkills.]

“I’ll tell you what.”

“If Conarri really wanted to win War Games, he’d send Money COOL and no one else.”

“Not Jeff Andrews.”

“Not Claria St. Sure-- who by the way are you fucking kidding me is the points leader in my league?”

“Not Christian Light. A Mongo I recently chawped down a peg or two, only to have the victory overturned by a coward... by a low-life, dreg of society who thought power was his and not mine.”

[Guess who that might be? Here’s a hint. It’s the person Cancer blamed for everything.]

“And since it’s gotta be me... Cancer Jiles, The High Chief of COOL, will not only be going to War Games atop a white horse... but he’ll leave atop one as well.”

[Ahhh, the caveat. I imagine if everything goes according to plan, THC of COOL will also be smoking on the finest cheeb and tossing Ed White’s money around like double-yolks.]

[Oh, and take that old school motorcycle.]

“Jeff Andrews could get Superman himself for a tag team partner this week, and they could have Wonder Woman as a valet... and Batman as a ref, and the rest of the Justice League as lumberjacks...”

“It wouldn’t matter.”

[Devious fucking grin that would make Bronson Box proud.]

“Cancer Jiles has Lex Luthor in his corner.”

[Granted, Ed is a wealthier version who has a lot more hair, but still. Same vein.]

“Cancer Jiles has a man who could dredge the entire Pacific ocean, and then build a highway from California to Japan as a tag team partner.”

[Route 66 Zillion Dollars.]

“And me?”

[Cancer points at himself wearing an inquisitive look.]

“I’m COOL. With a capital Cee.”

[And O, and O, and L.]

“Me.”

“I chump out guys like Jeff Andrews.”

“I make it look it easy.”

“I make it look simple.”

[The poignancy flowing out of The Count’s mouth is smothering. Matter of fact, you could cut it with the popped collar on his fancy silk button-down that he’s wearing.]

“I will go to War Games.”

“I will win War Games.”

“And you can take that to the bank.”

[cut.]

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