It’s been three weeks since we moved out of Rolling Hills. The “family” has settled into the new apartment, if you can call it that. It’s more like a goddamned mansion. Cat’s been adjusting well to not getting beaten up but I can tell there’s something missing still. She’s found a big sister in Molly Granger, and I think Molly’s just relieved she doesn’t have to deal with me because of her.
Since we’ve gotten out they’ve all been on eggshells around me but I’m not sure why. The Doc wasn’t kidding about those measures to keep me in line. They installed the GPS in a collar around my neck. That was bad enough but they weren’t done, oh no. They implanted a device in the small of my back and at my neck. Doc said when they were triggered, they’d temporarily make me a quadriplegic, and just to show he wasn’t kidding he pressed the shiny red button on a remote. To say that wasn’t the most pleasant experience in my life would be an understatement. The security guys like to show off the remotes hanging from their necks from time to time, just to piss me off.
I’ve been too busy plotting how to take care of Cat’s problem to care about anyone else in the apartment. Every time I bring it up, she goes a little white and clams up. She’s hiding something but I can’t figure out what. The fat tub of shit insists I’m pushing too hard but I really don’t care what she thinks. I just want to get this over with. The only information the Doc would give me is an address and nothing else. No names, no info at all and that just rings all kinds of alarms in my head. Something just feels wrong about this whole thing.
I decided to go for a walk, check out the address, do a little recon. The neighborhood this place was in put the swank in swanky. Fenced off long driveways, Rolls, Jags, think I was an Audi R8 blowing by. Whoever these folks are, they are rich. When I got to the gates, I had a sinking feeling in my stomach. I knew this all smelled wrong. The front gates were in the shape of a big gold championship belt with an ‘O’ in the center. I knew right away whose mansion this was and I was not happy. Rob. Fucking. Osbourne. Little Catherine had some ‘splaining to do.
That brings us up to right now, with me contemplating doing something that’ll make the big stiffs press the shiny button on those remotes. ‘Hilda sees the look on my face. She knows I know. Fucking bitch already knew….
“Now Mistuh Cole, you bettah be nice to that poor child. Jus cause you know her name now don’ mean you know the sitchation.”
“Where. Is. She?”
“Darkie…” I could see the fear on her face. I could smell it in the room. “Please don’t be mad at me. I couldn’t tell you. You know I couldn’t tell you. Not with our family’s history.”
“OK. So you’re Nitemare’s kid. Big fucking deal. I can deal with that. What I can’t deal with is him beating you up. I don’t buy it. We’ve gone rounds before, been up and down the road, hell we might’ve been close once. One thing Rob Osbourne ain’t is a child beater. So why don’t you tell me what the fuck’s really going on.”
The last thing I remember is a buzzing sound and the sudden change in her face. That wasn’t fear, that was a wide-assed grin. She got me, hook, line, sinker. Darkness.
First thing I see when I wake up is a note and a nicely gift-wrapped package. In gold foil on the top of the note…From the Desk of Robert Osbourne. Son of a bitch.
Hope the time in a padded cell cleaned your scuzzy ass up. You were a fucking embarrassment to everybody you ever got in the ring with so I made a few calls, greased a few pockets got you tossed in a nice padded room. You’re fucking welcome. I now own your ass in every possible way.
The little girl you were so worried about? She was just what you saw. You did actually save her from that guard. When the doctors told me what happened, I had a little chat with her. She’s a wicked little thing, agreed to go along with your rehab. Don’t be too angry with her, mostly because she’s got a remote to your implants and doesn’t have a problem using it. You better get to know her because you and she will be together for awhile. The Doc wasn’t lying to you. That apartment’s yours. You have a fat bank account. You’re clean and sober and it’s all thanks to me.
Is there a catch? You bet your ass there’s a catch. You’re gonna take a couple months and get ready for one last match. You and me, in the ring, the last blast for EWA. You remember EWA right? One of the feds you almost killed with your incompetence? Think of this as payback.
Your best friend,
“So ‘Darkie’ now you know…” That little BITCH.
I dive toward her. I hear the click. I feel the blood run from my nose as I hit the floor hard. This should be fun…