Love, Whatever That Is -- Part Four: Without a Glass Slipper

Part Four: Without a Glass Slipper

Finally.


Bonnie's slender fingers caressed the shining golden surface of her title belt. She breathed in the sharp aroma of new leather, touched by no other hands but her own, never worn. Her blue-green eyes, so reminiscent of her vanished "father's", traced the prominent half tai chi, the twin dragons flanking the plate. It was a work of art, exquisite in detail -- almost too fine to be a trophy awarded in trials of combat.


All the months of toil and hardship at the other place added up to nothing. Experience, maybe. This... this makes it all worthwhile. Well, most of it.


Most of it. She'd been put through the wringer for having dared to stand up to that other organization's most dominant faction. Those few brave and bold enough to have stood beside her had suffered the worst, though. Grayson Pierce. DeMarcus Jordan. And Bonnie was responsible. She'd denied it, then. Vehemently. Now, with time and distance, the focal acuity of hindsight, Bonnie understood.


The last person from whom she'd have expected any aid -- even inadvertent -- was the nominal leader of Beach Crew: Jim Thuggin.


Why? He hasn't interfered before. And the timing... not long after Johnny Rabid shows up. Coincidence? Yeah...not likely. Heh. Then he claims he's not the same evil son of a bitch we left behind -- reckon it's possible, but he seemed awfully hip to the whole alternate universe thing, which I don't even completely understand myself.


Absently, she followed the outline of one of the dragons with her finger, and realized with a pang how much she missed Grim. The telepathic bond, while not severed, was stretched so thin she could sense the living ship only vaguely. More than that, though, she missed Omega. If he could see her now: not only a champion for the first time ever, but one half of UCI's inaugural tag team champions. It was a joy marred only by the shadow that would loom over the Guardians' reign for as long as they were champions, which was likely to be a very long one.


Bonnie didn't like Thursday Kerrigan, had barely spoken with Alessandra Malignaggi; none of which meant she wasn't concerned. Whatever Thuggin had done to them was probably dangerous, though to what extent, only time would tell. The dirtsheets claimed they were drugged, and perhaps that was so. Still, one question loomed: Why?


They were allies, weren't they? Further, it was fairly odd that neither of them had said anything about the event. It was as if none of it had ever happened. Bonnie expected some grumbling, a demand for a rematch -- hell, knowing them, there should have been a whole frenzy over it -- followed by the opening of a drug rehabilitation center named after whoever they currently despised.


A masterstroke of douchery, really. Get yourself some good PR, slam your enemy of the moment at the same time. They can't object to it without looking like assholes. It's really kind of impressive; at least, until you see the pattern. But fuck those bitches anyway.


...I hope they're going to be all right.


Her train of thought derailed when Alex Richards poked his head into the "business office" that currently served as Bonnie's bedroom.


"What the hell are you doing back here? Everybody's waiting! Come on!"


And without giving her a chance to reply, Alex took her by the hand and led her out. The bar was packed, and the party was in full swing. On the stage, Temporal Wonkiness launched into a punk rendition of "Hail to the Chief" -- or at least, that's how it started. Before long, they were simply jamming to whatever tune came to mind; with four minds, that made four entirely different sounds, none of which blended together well at all. But the partygoers were too boozed up by now to really notice.


At the far end of the room, unnoticed by anyone but the Daughter of Time, Cameron Bankston, Jr. held his cell phone to his ear. Bonnie watched as his brow furrowed, his jaw set, and when he prodded the touchscreen, he leaned close to whisper something to his wife. Seconds later, they pair had vanished completely.






Steady rain pounded on the panes of tinted glass and drove up the tempo of the pounding in his skull. He poured himself another Scotch from a leaded-crystal decanter and knocked half of it back in a single gulp. Fucking Guardians, he thought as the tension began to ease. Why can't they see? Why don't they stay the fuck out of my way? With a grumble of dissatisfaction, he shifted his weight, trying to keep his legs from falling asleep. Gray Italian calfskin upholstery caressed him like a lover, but it didn't really help. He'd been waiting far longer than he thought necessary.


At last, the door of the limousine opened to admit a Japanese man in an elegant three-piece suit: charcoal-gray with a subtle pinstripe, tailored to fit with the kind of precision that could only be bought on Saville Row. The driver, his face almost entirely obscured by a chauffeur's hat, raised the translucent partition as soon as the man was securely inside. The Japanese man, who had introduced himself as Mr. Hideyoshi, took his seat across from David Sanchez and regarded the other coolly.


"I thought you people were known for punctuality," the Mayor said by way of greeting.


Unruffled, the other inclined his head in agreement, allowing the ghost of a smile to flit across his lips.


"My apologies, Mr. Mayor," he replied, without so much as a hint of derision. "There were... obstacles. Your anti-religion movement seems very unpopular."


Sanchez nodded absently. As excuses went, it was at least passble. Not that he really cared, one way or the other. There was a job he needed done, and this was the man to do it. The inconvenience wasn't an issue; better to be put out for an hour than have anyone see this Hideyoshi just walk into City Hollow. David Sanchez already had enough problems with his public image.


"There's a particular business owner giving me some trouble," he said without preamble. "His shithole bar stands in the way of my gentrification project, and he's been very unreasonable about the whole thing. I've offered him a very generous sum for the real estate -- double, maybe triple what that dump is worth. I've exhausted the acceptable, legal measures... I require a different kind of persuasion."


"My people are known to put up a very strong argument," the Asian man told him.


"How are they for subtlety?"


"That depends on what the situation calls for, Mr. Mayor."


"This is the situation."


David Sanchez swiped his phone screen to reveal a photograph -- of Alex Richards.


"Oh... so I see..."


He accepted an envelope from Sanchez, not even bothering to check the contents. Only a fool would double cross the Yakuza, and a fool was the last thing Sanchez could be called.


"We're only too happy to do our... civic duty, Mr. Mayor," said Mr. Hideyoshi, smiling. "You'll be hearing from me by the end of the week."






The basement of the Sloshed Pit made a perfect training area during the day, ever since Bonnie Blue and Cameron Bankston had lost their regular gym to the City's expansion efforts. Neither had a doubt in their minds that the neighborhood had been targeted, on the day they'd arrived to find the entire block had been razed to the ground. A petty annoyance, calculated to whittle away their resolve, it had turned out to be a blessing in disguise. The Pit had plenty of space, and it had been the work of a few hours to collect some equipment from Project Antarctica in Colorado and transport it here, to Chicago.


Just now, Alex Richards and Bonnie Blue appeared to be locked in mortal combat. She had him in a headlock, and he simply lifted her up, then brought her down in what would have been a devastating powerbomb, had he followed through. Instead, he stopped short and dropped her gently on the concrete floor. Bonnie waited until he reached down to help her up, then wrapped her legs around his neck and pulled him to the ground -- or tried to, anyway. Grinning, Alex shifted his weight and stood up easily.


"Ok," he said. "You've got me where you want me. Now what?"


"Ummm... " Bonnie thought about it for a moment. "Shit. This worked on Cam."


"Yeah, but just once. He won't fall for it again. And besides, I'm a little bigger than he is." Alex disentangled himself from Bonnie. "Might work on Updegraff. Sleazy fucker would probably think you were coming on to him."


"Ewwww," was her immediate response. "No. Just no. Besides, that'd look awful bad when he hands me a hundred grand next week after that tournament."


"Yeah, you're right about -- wait. What makes you think you're the one walking out of the tournament with that fat bank?"


The Daughter of Time didn't answer. She just gave Alex a guileless, innocent smile and winked. In mock-exasperation, he rolled his eyes, shaking his head, and poured himself another boot full of ZimQuila.


"Really, though," Alex said, "how are you going to handle that jackass?"


"He's already proven himself to be an unprincipled cheat, the way he went after Jay. First, back at the end of May, when he almost cost our homeboy his match with Occulo. That was pretty fucked up. An' every week since, it's like he's had this weird obsession. I don't get it. What did Jay ever do to him?"


She was being rhetorical, but Alex shrugged in response anyway. He spotted his brother walking past behind her, and waved to get Shaun Zach's attention. With wild exaggeration, Alex pantomimed an old-fashioned, crank-fed movie camera. Shaun's confusion slowly melted into dawning realization that his brother wanted to film this. He pulled a smartphone from his back pocket and centered the young woman in the frame before he hit "record." Alex gave Bonnie a thumbs up.


"Wentworth Updegraff the... Nothingth -- a man who prob'ly owes his existence to a time machine an' a faulty condom. Ok, maybe just a faulty condom. I'd say the best part of ya went runnin' down your mama's leg, but that Updegraff gene pool been in need of some chlorine for a long time. Take your brother, for example. Dude's so inbred, he's related to hisself -- three times! Seriously, the guy's a step back on the evolutionary scale. An' you, Wentworth...


"Honestly, how does a guy beat Dustin Beaver one week, then a couple weeks later, turn around an' get his ass handed to him by Julian Mercury, of all people? I mean, dude... Julian Mercury! Were ya takin' a nap?"


Bonnie's suggestion was accompanied by an expansive shrug.


"Whatever, man. It don't matter. That was then. This week's a whole other ballgame. Beachmania -- where I'm guessin' you were expectin' my good friend, Jay Omega. An' to be honest, so were we. We were all gonna enjoy watchin' him roll right over ya, finally get his payback for your interference, your continuin' harassment. But we can't always get what we want. Now an' again, we gotta settle for somethin' else.


Don't think of it as settlin', though. Not this time. Ok, you don't get to play with Jay; you'll get over it. Instead, you get to play with me, Bonnie Blue. One half of the brand-new, very first ever United Championship Infinite tag team champions! Ain't ya excited yet, Wentworth? I know I am. If I had the opp'tunity to face me, I'd be downright beside myself."


Bonnie shot the camera a cheesy grin.


"Now, now, I know what kinda guy y'are. An effete snob. Entitled. Self-important. Possibly a narcissist. Y'ain't gonna fully appreciate the chance ya been given, here -- 'cause y'expect it. You're the kinda fella 'spects everything to get handed to him. Oh, sure, you'll give lipservice to the notion of hard work. It's great -- for other people. Far be it from you to ever sully your lily-white hands with anything that even approaches manual labor. I bet you even pay someone to wipe your ass for ya.


"An' I know ya think you're better'n me just 'cause you're so wealthy. Ain't no such thing as a rich man come by his wealth honestly, an' money can't buy class. Trace your his'try back far enough, your people come from same roots as anybody else's. Diff'rence bein', your family woulda been bandits an' highwaymen; horse thieves an' cattle rustlers; robber-barons. The money your family accumulated over the years came at the cost of other men's blood. Yet you regard yourself as superior.


"It's cute an' all: ya reckon a college wrestlin' background and a shit-ton of cash will get you where ya wanna go in this business. An' maybe that carried ya for a little while, but Wentworth... oh, bless your heart, Sugar. You are thoroughly outclassed this week.


"So, Wentworth, I'm gonna do you an' me an' Jay -- an' all these fans who's gonna be tunin' in this Sunday night to watch us go toe-to-toe -- a favor. I'm gonna give you that one thing the Omega Man didn't get a chance to 'fore he left: An Omega-style ass-whoopin'. See ya at Beachmania!"







As Nightmare helped Bonnie zip up the tight, black-sequin dress that Shadowlove had insisted on, Ms. Miyamoto looked her over with a critical eye, reaching out to make an adjustment here and there. At last satisfied with the fit, she pushed Bonnie into a chair and opened an extensive makeup kit, carefully selecting just the right colors.


"Thank the nonexistent God I'm not the one who has to wear this girly shit," Crystal said to Bonnie, her voice low.


Ms. Miyamoto lifted her eyebrow at the statement, but didn't look away as she applied a shimmering gloss to Bonnie's lips. "You should both take more pride in your appearance... such as it is."


"Looks will only get you so far," Nightmare countered, bristling.


Serenely, Ms. Miyamoto gave Crystal Bankston a smile and nodded. "I quite agree, Crystal-san. Don't make the mistake of thinking I'm just another pretty face."


"Y'all be nice," Bonnie interjected. "We got Triad ass to kick, I don't need y'all at each other's throats. I reckon Miss M was just tryin' to help."


Crystal shrugged in acquiescence, then sighed. She'd made snap judgements before, and regretted it. Besides, Bonnie was right; they needed to save the aggression for the Triads. Fortunately, aggression was something Nightmare had plenty of. After helping Bonnie stand on the unfamiliar Jimmy Choo stilettoes, Crystal picked up her gear and went to meet Preecha Kamon out by the Ranchero.


It took a few minutes, and a lot of coaching, but eventually Ms. Miyamoto had Bonnie Blue strutting in those awkward shoes like a pro. Then she, too, left the room, with a vague assurance that she would meet up with them at the casino. Bonnie strolled out into the bar to a wolf-whistle from Alex Richards. She gave him an undreadable look, and he shot her a shameless grin in return.


"All right," said Polar, coming around the corner. "This is your camera. It's going to relay everything back to us. Me and Alex will watch over the op from here."


He held up a hair comb studded with glittering glass gems, and affixed it in her hair.


"We'll be your Pit Crew!" he added, grinning like a fool.


"How long ya been waitin' to use that one, Cam?"


"Longer than I want to admit." He gave her a final appraisal, and nodded with satisfaction. "Now, go show those Triads why people don't fuck with the Guardians."


The Daughter of Time gave him a mock-salute before walking out the door, where Shadowlove waited to escort her to the car. She was pretty sure he was checking her out as she slipped into the passenger side. It felt odd, to let someone else drive her Ranchero; not that she was going to be much use behind the wheel with those shoes, which had already begun to pinch her feet. Fortunately, the ride wasn't long.


Setting up in UCI's WAREHOUSE was a bold move, even by Triad standards. They were desperate, in the wake of the Diego Garcia incident; caught up between the Latin Kings and the Yakuza. Bonnie wondered whether Spencer had rented them the building, or if they'd simply laid claim to it, since nobody was home. They'd have been gone by morning anyway, without anyone the wiser. Even so, Bonnie was incensed -- the only gambling that should be going on in the WAREHOUSE was the betting on individual fights, which compensated for the low ticket prices.


Shadowlove's approach to getting them inside was far from subtle -- but effective. The moment Nightmare and Preecha made their entrance through the skylight overhead, Bonnie focused all her effort on bending Time. Rather than trying to slow everything around her -- a feat of skill that had left her with a headache for three days the last time she'd tried it -- she concentrated on speeding herself up. She was no Jessie Quick, but this would have to do. Bonnie dashed around the building until she located her target, calmly overlooking the chaotic scene from Jim Thuggin's private skybox: Ped Xing.


He addressed her without looking away. "Ah, Miss Blue. How kind of you to come. But our business has been...pre-empted. Your friend, Mr. Fontaine, saw to that."


"We got new business, Mr. Xing," Bonnie drawled, coming to stand beside the Triad assassin.


He turned to face her at last, a curious half-smile on his lips, prompting her to continue with the arch of his brows.


"That man down there, Shadowlove... I want that contract canceled. The one on him and the one on his lady." Bonnie paused for effect. "Unless y'all want more trouble with the Yakuza."


The look he gave her was dagger sharp and edged with surprise.


"Oh yeah, dude. His girl's all kinda connected, an' that means he's protected. Ya dig?"


"As you say," Xing replied after a long silence.


She watched him send an anonymous mass message and nodded with satisfaction.


"Cool. Now, get your people outta our house. You wanna hang out here, take up wrestlin'."


And as quickly as she had appeared, Bonnie Blue vanished, leaving Ped Xing to stare at the empty space in her wake, a thoughtful expression on his face.



*******************


Not much more than an hour later, the Guardians and their friends were wandering the aisles of Chinatown's night market. Paper lanterns were strewn everywhere overhead; the smells of dozens of exotic foods mingled in the hot, still air. Hawkers shouted from the various stalls in Cantonese, Mandarin, and broken English. Overall, the atmosphere was festive, and the group chatted animatedly, having easily forgotten that soon Shadowlove and the Polar Phantasm would face off in the ring. While Bonnie, Crystal, and Ms. Miyamoto paused to examine some silks, Shadowlove nudged Cam with his elbow.


"Hey, do you think Bonnie's into me?" he asked in a conspiratorial stage-whisper.


Polar cocked his head and looked at the other man speculatively for a moment. Chiseled features, perfect body, cocky grin -- what girl wouldn't be into that? For a quick, no-strings hookup, sure. Long term? It'd be like dating Zoolander.


"Um, truthfully? Maybe," he said. Ice-blue eyes twinkled with mischief. "You'll have to fight all her crazy ex's if you wanna get with her, though."


Shadowlove blinked and gave Polar a thoroughly befuddled look. "Really?"


"Oh, yeah," Cam told him, nodding emphatically. "Look at her. Why else do you think a girl like that is single?"


"Huh. Never would have guessed," said Shadowlove, shrugging.


"Aren't you kinda involved anyway, dude?" Polar asked, inclining his head at Ms. Miyamoto.


"A man should always know where he stands with the ladies," Shadowlove said sagely.


Meanwhile, Alex Richards had slipped away to amble around on his own for a bit. Gone was the despair that sent him seeking solitude in the darkness. A bouyant spirit carried him through the maze of brightly-colored stalls, his mind barely paying any attention to where his feet led. And there, yet again, fate intervened. The chcolate lab spotted him first and barked a short, friendly greeting, straining at the leash; Rebecca Thatch tightened her grip. Alex's breath caught in his throat, his heart skipped a beat, and there was a curious sensation in his stomach that was neither hunger nor nausea. Butterflies? How long had it been since a woman had caused that reaction?


"Hey, Rebecca!" he hailed her, hoping he sounded more casual than he felt.


"Alex?" A slow smile spread across her face. "What are you doing here?"


The dog already had his paws on Alex's chest, trying desperately to lick his face. He knelt to pet the service animal.


"Oh, you know... just out with some friends. Doing stuff. And...things."


He'd never felt so tongue-tied in his life, and mentally smacked himself in the forehead. To his surprise, she giggled -- and not in that derisive way most women giggled around him. It was light and flirty; he could still scarcely believe she'd actually asked him out the other day. If ever there was a time to push his luck, it was probably now.  From the corner of his eye, Alex saw Ms. Miyamoto approaching, her unhurried pace somehow conveying a sense of impatience.


"You, uh... want to join us?" he ventured.


"I'd love t-- ?!"


All at once, a hand snaked outward from the crowd to clamp down on her mouth, while the other arm wrapped itself around her waist and pulled her away. Another man helped, while four more remained to run interference and cover their escape. Alex Richards promptly laid about him with enormous fists, while the dog shot through the crowd after his departing mistress. In a rush, Ms. Miaymoto jumped into the fray -- and immediately realized something was wrong. These thugs weren't trying to win; it was a delay tactic. At some unseen signal, the quartet turned as one and fled, melting into the crowd. Somewhere in the near distance, the squealing of tires seemed to indicate a vehicle leaving at very high speed.


The panicked barking of the chocolate lab ceased, and the dejected animal made his weary way back to Alex's side. Ms. Miyamoto stared after the vanished men, eyes narrowed and her teeth clenched, murmuring a soft curse under her breath.


"Was that -- ?" Alex began.


Miyamoto nodded solemnly. "Yakuza. I recognized their tattoos."


"But...that's my girl," he protested. "We gotta get her back! This is... this is like some finding Cinderella shit."


"And me without a glass slipper," Ms. Miyamoto quipped.


Together, they hurried to rejoin their compatriots.


"JAPANESE GANGSTERS STOLE MY GIRLFRIEND!" Alex announced breathlessly.


Dumbfounded, the Guardians exchanged puzzled looks. Polar was the first to recover his wits.


"Well," he said, sounding mildly shocked. "I guess anything is possible in a post-Wave universe."


(To be concluded....)




LOVE, WHATEVER THAT IS

Series conceived by Alex Richards, Bonnie Blue and the Polar Phantasm
Series directed by the Polar Phantasm
Episode Four: Without a Glass Slipper
Episode written by Bonnie Blue
Shadowlove and Ms. Miyamoto appear courtesy of SHADOWLOVE.
'The Guardians' created by Bonnie Blue, Jay Omega and the Polar Phantasm
(Come home soon, Spaceman.)


[(c) United Championship Infinite 2016. All rights reserved.]