* * * * *
There was a knock on their door at nine the next morning.
“Can you come back later?” Joey called out from bed, hardly stirring at the noise. Conversations through the door with hotel housekeeping were a daily part of his life.
An hour later, after room service had delivered breakfast, another knock came.
“Housekeeping,” a woman called from the other side.
“Jesus Christ they want to clean this room,” Joey said to Jade. “Please come back later,” he yelled at the door.
“Ok, sorry,” the woman said back.
Another hour passed. Joey and Jade had both showered and dressed. Jade was applying makeup. They were talking over a possible sightseeing jaunt through Toronto, when another knock came on the door.
“I don’t fucking believe this,” said Joey. He went to the door and opened it, preparing a polite but forceful statement to the maid about when to come back.
But it wasn’t a maid standing at the door. It was a young man. He was short, pudgy, and ugly. Joey had flashbacks to the Hyatt in Houston, when a similar-looking geek took his picture in the hallway wearing only his skivvies. This new geek had a black leather satchel thrown over his shoulder. Probably had his laptop or some video game shit inside it.
“Mr. Hamilton, Joey, my name is Steve--”
“I don’t care who you are. Listen up. You’re not getting any further. Neither of us is going to talk to you. Now you can leave or I can call security.”
“But Mr. Hamilton, Joey--”
“I’m going to close the door now,” Joey was almost yelling to make sure he spoke over whatever the geek wanted to say. “The next time I open it, you’d better be gone.” Joey slammed the door shut. He looked through the peephole and watched the geek turn away to leave, only to stop after one step. The geek took a big breath, as if steeling his resolve, and came back to the door. He was about to knock again. Before he could get his hand on the wood, Joey opened the door.
“You’ve got a lot of nerve. You Internet geeks have made my life miserable and I’ve got a good mind to break you in half.”
“Goliath faked his injury,” the geek blurted out. “I have proof. Please give me a minute of your time. I’ve been chasing this story for more than a month. You’ll want to hear it.”
The geek crouched backwards and contorted his face in a pathetic smush, as if he were preparing for a beating. Joey suddenly felt very sorry for him. He probably had no friends. He probably never had a girlfriend. All he had was wrestling and whatever else occupied his time, and here he was, having found Joey Mayhem and Jade Sleek in a hotel in Toronto, risking bodily harm to present something.
“Okay. I’m listening. But here’s the deal. As soon as I think you’re bullshitting me or I get tired of your story, you’re leaving.”
“I understand. Thanks Mr. Hamilton.”
“Call me Joey.”
“Okay, great, Joey. So, my investigation started when I learned that Goliath was transferred from Houston General to Houston Medical Center. Did you know about that?”
“Yes, I knew.”
“Okay, great. So, I learned that and thought it was weird that no one paid any mind to this hospital transfer in the middle of the night.” The geek looked at Joey for acceptance of this inference.
“Go on,” said Joey. “What did you say your name was?”
“Steve Garcia,” the geek said, and thrust his hand out. Joey reluctantly shook it. “Have you ever visited my web site, www.wrestlinghotline.com?”
“Can’t say I have Steve. I rarely read what you guys are writing.”
“Well, anyway, just so you know, I never engage in gossip stories, and my site refused to get caught up in the shit that they were putting out there about you and Jade.”
“I appreciate that, Steve. Is there any more to this Goliath thing?”
“Yes, there is. You see, well, this is where it gets complicated. I’ve been investigating the Family Television Group from my web site, ya know, to find out if there’s any dirt on them I could use to discredit their anti-wrestling campaign.”
“That’s very noble of you Steve.”
“Thanks. So, I found out that all the big donors to the FTG are in Canada, and--”
“You’re losing me Steve.”
“I know this sounds far-fetched, but it’s related. Would it be okay if we went inside and sat down? I’ve got all these documents that I need to show you.” Steve patted his satchel. “They’ll make things more clear.”
Joey thought for a second. Deep down, he was sure that this was all baloney, but something about the geek, his humbleness maybe, kept Joey interested.
“Okay, sure. Come in.”
“Thanks so much Mr. Hamilton – I mean...Joey.”
Joey closed the door behind Steve.
“Hello Ms. Wilcox,” Steve said to Jade.
Jade, still sitting in front of a make-up mirror, looked at Steve warily, then gave Joey a look as if to say, ‘Have you lost your mind?’
Maybe he had. Joey shrugged his shoulders.
“Have a seat,” Joey said, pointing Steve to the small table in the corner.
“Thank you,” said Steve, placing his satchel on the table as he sat down. Joey sat in the chair opposite Steve at the table. Jade left her chair at the vanity and sat on the bed, close to the table, as if preparing to shut down this conversation between Joey and Steve as soon as it took a wrong turn.
“So, Steve,” said Joey, “you left off with the Family Television Group.”
“Right,” he said, then started rifling through his satchel, pulling out manila folders full of paper. One at a time, he pulled them out and dropped them on the table, until six were in front of him. Each folder had big, sloppy handwriting on the front, written in blue ball point pen. One said, “Houston Medical Records.” Another said, “FTG donor info.”
“So, anyway, I found out that the FTG has all these donors from Canada. I compiled a list and tried to figure out who they were and what sort of dirt I could get on them.”
Jade put an exaggerated look of confusion on her face.
“Let’s just hear him out, Honey,” said Joey. “He says it’s all going to make sense.” But it couldn’t. This geek was going all over the map already. How could this possibly relate to his match with Goliath? And why was he so anxious to hear this news? He and Goliath had made amends. He had a half-million dollar match on Sunday.
“It will, yeah,” said Steve. “So, just days after I got started with this project, this man shows up at my house and serves me with a court order, saying I have to cease and desist all my writings about the FTG and their donors on the web. It was so screwed up, but it told me I was onto something big. So I kept researching, only I did it in secret and didn’t publish anything.
“It was right around this time also that I started getting emails from this anonymous guy who was telling me to keep on going, because I was onto something huge. So I kept on digging. And I found out that all these donors to the FTG from Canada were tied to this group called The Saxon Fund.”
Steve opened up one of the folders marked, “Saxon Fund Stuff.” He pulled out a wad of papers and brochures and spread them in front of him. From the mess, he grabbed a booklet of plain white paper that was clipped together.
“This is the business filing of The Saxon Fund for the Province of Quebec,” said Steve. “On page two it says,” he began reading, “The mission of the Saxon Fund is to seek out safe growth investments in International Markets for a select group of founding partners.” Steve flipped to the back page and held it up for Joey and Jade to see. “And then back here it gives a list of employees of the fund. Andrew Smith, Jonathan Taylor, Jeremy Washington, Peter Jackson.”
Steve put the book down in the pile of papers, then grabbed another manila folder labeled, “FTG Donors.” He pulled out a single sheet of paper from the folder.
&
nbsp; “Andrew Smith, Jonathan Taylor, Jeremy Washington, and Peter Jackson are the four largest donors to the FTG last year,” Steve said with excitement.
“I’ve got to tell you Steve,” said Joey. “You’re getting a long way from Goliath faking an injury. Where is this going?”
“It’s all connected, I swear. If you’ll just give me a few more minutes, I’ll show you how it all fits together. Are you following me so far?”
“No Steve,” said Jade, who was now lying back in the bed, on her elbows, having lost interest in this whole charade. “I’m not following you at all.”
“Okay, so we’ve got this business in Canada, The Saxon Fund, that has only four employees, and these four employees just happen to be largest supporters of the FTG, by far.” Steve looked back at the paper in his hand. “Listen to this,” he said. “Here are last year’s contributions to the FTG. Andrew Smith, three hundred thirty thousand and forty dollars. Jonathan Taylor, forty four thousand dollars. Jeremy Washington, eighteen thousand dollars. Peter Jackson, ninety two thousand three hundred and twenty dollars. Everyone else who donated to the FTG last year combined, eleven thousand dollars. These four men gave the FTG virtually all its money last year!
“And here’s the kicker. These four men don’t exist! My friends and I dug up information on every Andrew Smith, Jonathan Taylor, Jeremy Washington, and Peter Jackson in Montreal, and none of them gave or even could have afforded to give these sorts of donations.
“So I knew I was onto something really strange here and I emailed the information to this anonymous guy. He wrote back,” Steve grabbed another manila folder labeled “Important Emails” and started flipping through the papers. He pulled one out. “Here’s what he said: Dear Steve. These people may not be real, but the money obviously is. Find out where the money came from and you’ll really be onto something.”
Steve took a big breath. Joey could tell this little presentation was a huge deal to him. Whoever this fellow was, he was very thorough.
“Well, around this time,” Steve continued, “all the big news in wrestling started unfolding. You and Jumbo got in a fight. You two got suspended. Revolution bought GWA. I was so wrapped up in all this money chasing and government record searching that I missed all these stories, and my web site has suffered for it. I was pissed, and I began to think this anonymous fellow either needed to get to the point or expose the story himself, and I told him so in an email. He wrote back with this whopper.” Steve pulled another paper out of the “Emails” folder and began reading it alound:
“Dear Steve. The story you’re following is much, much bigger than any of these other ‘scoops’ you’re missing. Here’s another tidbit to keep you motivated. Dr. Harold Claven in Houston recently moved. His old address was 628 Amherst Drive. His new address is 4853 Ledgestone Court. See what your Houston people can tell you about that.”
“This is where Goliath gets involved Joey.” Steve was so excited he was breathing heavily. “Dr. Harold Claven works at Methodist Hospital in Houston Medical Center. He performed Goliath’s MRI. A week after he performed the MRI, he moved to River Oaks, the richest part of Houston.”
Joey looked at Steve with bewilderment, then looked to Jade. Her face was agape. She had obviously figured out whatever Joey was missing. “Did Goliath ever get an MRI at Houston General?” Jade asked Steve.
“No,” Steve said with the excitement that only good gossip can bring. He pulled out the file marked “Medical Records.”
“Goliath’s official medical records are confidential, but his insurance claims aren’t.” Steve flipped through the papers in the folder as he continued talking. “Goliath, like you all, and most everyone in your business, is self-insured, so it was easy to follow this paper trail.” Steve pulled out a wrinkled paper that looked like a business invoice and laid it on the table. He pointed to figures as he spoke. “Goliath paid nine hundred dollars to Houston General. He paid twenty six hundred to Houston Medical Center. He must have a huge deductible. A full-body MRI costs a minimum of two thousand dollars. Goliath never had one at Houston General.”
“I don’t see where we’re going,” said Joey.
“I do,” said Jade. “The ambulance took Goliath to the nearest hospital to the arena, Houston General. By the time we got there, he had been discharged. Then some Internet photographer snapped a shot of him going into Houston Medical Center.”
“Yeah...and?” Joey was frustrated that everyone except him understood the significance of all this trivia.
“And,” said Steve, “after Dr. Claven at Houston Medical Center performed the MRI, suddenly he could afford a new house worth millions of dollars. Goliath paid off this doctor to tell the GWA that Goliath had concussion syndrome!”
“So the results were faked?” said Joey.
“Why else would Goliath go to so much trouble to see this one doctor who suddenly becomes super rich?” said Steve.
“But why?” said Joey. “It doesn’t make any sense for the world champion to fake an injury and disappear for a month.”
“To find that out, we have to go back to the FTG and the money trail,” said Steve. “So, if you’ll recall, we’ve got these four employees of the Saxon Fund in Canada, all of whom are fictitious people, supporting the FTG. Following Mr. Anonymous’s advice, I tried to follow the money back to its real source.”
Steve went back to his paper booklet from which he had read the names of The Saxon Fund employees. “Now, according to this, Mr. Andrew Smith is the president of Saxon LLP, meaning he should be the one who ultimately provided all the money. But since he doesn’t exist, I decided to chase down the money that actually made up The Saxon Fund. Canadian Law requires a fund like this to disclose its investments, but not its investors, which made it difficult. On this one, I just got lucky. A library search and a tip from Mr. Anonymous turned up this gem.”
Steve went back to the “Saxon Fund” folder and pulled out the one remaining sheet of paper. “This is from an issue of the Financial Times dated January 14th,” Steve said, then began reading. “Skyler Holding To Liquidate North American Assets. On January twentieth, Skyler Holding will begin liquidation of its North American assets. The liquidated assets will be reorganized under the new parent company, The Saxon Fund.”
Steve looked at Jade and Joey as if he’d just given them the world. “Have you ever heard of Skyler Holding Company?” Steve asked them.
They both shook their heads.
“Skyler Holding used to buy and sell corporations. It had to reorganize earlier this year after it bit off more than it could chew. It was named after the daughter of one of the wealthiest men in the world.”
Once again Jade’s face conveyed understanding before Joey had solved the riddle.
“Spit it out man,” said Joey, impatiently.
“Skyler Holding was Max Zeffer’s company,” said Steve.
“What does that mean?” asked Joey, fearing where this was going.
“What it means is that the Saxon Fund and all its money belongs to Max Zeffer. What it means is that Max Zeffer was the one who was giving money to the Family Television Group. He was laundering hundreds of thousands of dollars through a Canadian investment fund so the wrestling world wouldn’t see that he was bankrolling the anti-wrestling activists!”
“Oh my God,” said Jade, quietly, obviously aware of why Steve was so excited.
Joey still didn’t understand. Why would Max Zeffer support an anti-wrestling group?
“But there’s more,” said Steve. “Yesterday, Mr. Anonymous sent me an email with an attachment.” Steve grabbed the last manila folder. It was labeled “Next Year’s Prospectus.”
“Every year, investment funds like The Saxon Fund have to present a prospectus for public record, even if the fund is closed to new investors,” said Steve. “Mr. Anonymous sent me the most recent prospectus for the Saxon Fund. Buried on the second to last page, in small type,
is the list of employees. Our four fictitious fellows who gave to the FTG are still on there, as are two new names. Harold Claven and Patrick French, or as we know them, Goliath’s doctor and Goliath.”
Joey took the booklet from Steve and looked at the name in disbelief. There it was, Patrick French, also known as Goliath, employee of this strange Canadian company that this Internet geek had dug up.
“What does this mean?” Joey asked with hesitation.
“It means that Max Zeffer can pay Goliath and the doctor who performed Goliath’s MRI whatever amount of money he wants, and the wrestling world will never know about it.”
“Jesus Christ,” said Joey. “Is that legal?”
“I have no idea,” said Steve. “What I do know, without a shadow of a doubt, is that Max Zeffer paid Goliath to take a dive in your match.”
“And in doing so wreck whatever was left of the GWA,” said Jade.
“That’s correct,” said Steve. “Max attacked from two fronts. From the outside, Max paid the Family Television Group to come after the GWA and its advertisers with a ton of money. From the inside, Max paid the GWA’s biggest star to sit out with a phony injury. It worked. The ratings tanked and Duke panicked. With the advertisers fleeing and the ratings in the toilet, Duke knew he had to sell the company before the network officially canned the show and the stock price plummeted. Now Max Zeffer is the only major promoter left in professional wrestling.”
Joey sat in stunned silence, having finally put it all together. Here, in front of him, was documented proof that Goliath had faked his injury, an injury that had ruined Joey’s reputation. Here was proof that all the crap Joey took backstage and on the Internet was unwarranted, that the last month of politicking and heartache were unnecessary. Joey had been nothing but a game piece in an elaborate scam for Max Zeffer to become the sole promoter of North American wrestling. Joey grimaced as he thought about how schmaltzy and fake both Max Zeffer and Goliath had been when they told him of their plan to resurrect Joey’s failing career, a career that they had destroyed.
“So what are you going to do?” Jade asked Steve.
“Well, I was going to put together a piece to go on my web site. I’ve already written a lot of it. But apparently, there’s even more to this story. That’s why I’m here. Are you ready to hear more?”
At this point, Steve could have told Joey and Jade that he had pictures of Bigfoot and they would have listened.
“Go ahead,” said Joey.
Steve went back to the folder labeled “Emails” and pulled out another sheet of paper. He handed it to Joey.
“I got this email from Mr. Anonymous yesterday,” said Steve.
Joey began to read.
To: Steve Garcia
From: Anonymous
No doubt you’ve figured everything out by now. But there’s more to come. Revolution has hired Joey Mayhem to a short-term contract, with his purpose being a blowout feud with Goliath at the Apocalypse pay per view.
Joey is going to get screwed again. He will be asked to do the job to Goliath, and will be released shortly thereafter. This will be the final payoff to Goliath from Max Zeffer. Getting rid of Joey Mayhem clears the roster of the only person who might be a legitimate challenge to Goliath’s spot on the roster. Somebody has to fight Lucifer in the big blowout match. The fans want Joey Mayhem. But if Joey is gone, the fans will accept Goliath.
You would do well to inform Joey Mayhem that this is going to happen.
This is your last task before you run with your story. Tell Joey Mayhem that he is going to be screwed. Tell him that part of the deal was that if Goliath took the dive, Max Zeffer got rid of Joey Mayhem, clearing the way for Goliath to wrestle Lucifer, Champion vs. Champion, in the biggest match in wrestling history.
As proof of the credibility of this information, give Joey Mayhem this tidbit of news that is unknown to the world yet. In two days, Revolution will be announcing Duke Correlli as its “General Manager.” This announcement will be made at 10 am eastern time on Revolution.com. When this comes to pass, Joey can be confident that the information in this email is coming from a well-connected source.
Well done figuring everything out Steve.
Your friend,
Anonymous
Joey passed the paper onto Jade. She read it, then looked up in disbelief. She obviously didn’t know what to say. Joey didn’t either.
“So, I guess the big question left is, who is Anonymous?” said Joey.
“That is the big question,” said Steve. “And why has he been so concerned with helping? I’ve been thinking about that one for weeks. Here’s what I’ve come up with.
“We know that Anonymous has got major inside access at Revolution, and has to be close to Max Zeffer. This narrows it down some. Gene Harold, the head booker; Larry Jenkins, the talent manager; Vicky Archuleta, the head writer; Patrick Childers, the production chief; or any of the front office.
“Of those people, I’ve been trying to think of who might have a motive for disclosing all this stuff, and that doesn’t really get me anywhere. I have no idea why I’m privy to all this insider info.”
“I don’t either,” said Joey. “I guess that makes me skeptical of the whole deal.”
“That was me too when I started getting emails,” said Steve. “But this Anonymous Guy is right on every time.”
“Well, I guess we’ll see,” said Jade. “Tomorrow, if Duke gets named the General Manager of Revolution, whatever that means--”
“Even then, will we really know everything?” said Joey. “Yes, this guy’s obviously got connections at the very top of Revolution, but can we really believe what he’s saying about me getting screwed again if we don’t know why he’s saying it? Why was it so important that you had to come out here and find me?”
“I don’t know,” said Steve. “My best guess is that this guy doesn’t want to see you get screwed again.”
“But who would care?” asked Joey. “If he cared, why didn’t he stop this whole charade from playing out before it started?”
“I don’t know,” said Steve.
“Well, we still have the question of what you’re going to do, Steve,” said Jade. “Joey now knows about everything and can decide for himself what he’s going to do. But what are you going to do with all this information?”
“I guess I’m going to go home and write my story,” said Steve. “Whatever you decide to do, Joey will just become part of the ending.”
“Where do you live, Steve?” asked Jade.
“Chicago. My flight back leaves tonight at eight.”
Jade was thinking about something. “What are you going to do until then?” she asked
“I don’t know. I guess I’ll just hang around at the airport.”
“You know what Steve, you should stay here for a bit. I’ve got a story to tell you. Since everyone in our business is going to be reading your web site soon anyway, you might as well have all the scoops.”
“Oh, okay,” said Steve. He reached into his satchel and pulled out an empty notebook and a pen. “What’s the story?” he said.
“I think you should title this story, ‘Why Jumbo Sanders is a Piece of Shit: An Exclusive Interview With Jade Sleek.’”