No Really, Where's Wrigley at?
Jan 13, 2021 23:27:42 GMT -6
Deana Barrows and Dylan Thomas like this
Post by E.W Montgomery on Jan 13, 2021 23:27:42 GMT -6
About a week ago
...maybe?
“Wait, so the two of you don’t know Jack Puffer? The Detective?”
The black stetson hat flip gives away that the man who is speaking is none other than E.W Montgomery, he is wearing a half buttoned white flannel shirt that looks like it hasn’t been washed in a couple of days just like the rest of the old crazy looking Arkansas native. The two men, who in comparison look refreshed and ready to continue, in suits circle about Earl like vultures waiting to strike.
DICK ONE: “Who the hell is this Jack Puffer you keep on asking about?”
DICK TWO: “Detective? Nobody by that name works at this department.”
DICK ONE: “So let’s go over this one more time, Earl. The last time you say Christopher Wrigley was shortly after you were seen by millions about ready to choke him out, is that correct?”
The cross eyed Earl looks up from his coffee a bit in a haze.
“I never touched him. As I said before we headed into the backstage locker room area and he got a sudden phone call and had to leave.”
DICK TWO: “And that’s when you started drinking?”
“Oh yeah, shortly after the doctors checked out the back of my head the first bottle of Jack went down my throat. Look, if we’re gonna do this dance for another couple of hours could you at least let me take a piss? I could just drop down in the corner over there if need be, I don’t care at this point.”
The first detective gets right into the face of Earl giving him the evil eye. Well, at least he’s giving the evil eye to the one eye of Earl that’s looking in his direction at this point.
DICK ONE: “You can take a piss when I tell you can take a piss! And right now, you can’t take a piss, Earl!”
DICK TWO: “Let’s pick up the story after you started drinking. Do you remember anything else from that night? Did you go anywhere? Did you talk to anyone else that might have seen where Wrigley went?”
Earl never breaks eye contact with the first detective as he takes off his black Stetson hat and scratches with his massive paw at what’s left of his greasy hair at this point.
“Nah... well, actually now that you mention it just before I passed out I got a phone call from an unknown number but I didn’t answer it and they didn’t leave a voicemail. You all sure you don’t Jack Puffer? I swear he was a detective around these parts, but my memory is going on at this point. I think my forty eight hours are up guys, am I supposed to be let go now?”
Earl wipes both of his hands over his face and takes a deep breath into them both before looking around at the two detectives for some sort of guidance.
DICK ONE: “According to my watch, it’s only been twenty minutes. Perhaps you should call your lawyer and complain about us violating your civil rights! Oh wait, you can’t, because your lawyer is missing and you're the last person to have seen him!”
DICK TWO: “Let’s start from the top once again… you said you saw Wrigley left a few minutes after what happened at ringside, correct?”
Like a broken record the two detectives continue to dance around Earl who sinks back with his massive frame into the uncomfortable chair they’ve got him sitting in. We fade to black.
Present day.
Probably.
At least it looks like Earl has had the chance to clean himself up a little bit more. He sits lounged up in a hotel room of some kind, and boy are the cleaning people going to be pissed with what he’s done with the place. This includes the shoe that he’s put through the front of the television set. At his sides are a number of empty bottles of Jack. He picks up a half empty glass and brings it to his lips.
“One more for Wrigley and then I’ve got to kick this habit. Giving up smoking has been hard enough, but if I’m going to do this I’ve got to stop with the booze too. Maybe if I dry out enough I can remember what happened that night a little bit more… maybe Wrigley said something before leaving, before he disappeared. It’s just… my damn head was still hurting from hitting that title belt, I don’t remember much after looking up at those lights of the arena. It’s all blurred together now, I just want to all go back to the way it was before that night... I want it to go back before...
Before... I was accused of hurting my friend.”
Down the hatch goes that last gasp of whiskey. Earl stares at the empty glass for a bit before setting it down in front of him. He instead picks up his cell phone and stares at that instead for a bit.
“It’s been over a month. Not a word, not a call, not a text. Hell, I’d get twenty texts a minute if I didn’t respond fast enough. Then if I didn’t respond quick enough he’d call me until I finally did respond only for him to yell at me at the top of his lungs that I wasn’t responding to his texts. But since that night… nothing. Not a single peep. I keep on looking, like the keeper of a lighthouse I check over and over again for one of his texts to pop up.
What I wouldn’t do for one of those right now. Where is my friend? What happened to him?
Maybe one more drink before I dry out.”
Earl pauses again and puts down the phone and pours himself another drink in the glass which empties the bottle of Jack. Earl tosses it over his shoulder onto the floor behind him adding to the eventual clean up of this room that’s going to cost him. He pounds down about half of the drink and chokes it down his throat, he wipes away at his chin.
“This is a bad bad time, brother. All I wanted to do was show up and fight the guy who magically transformed into a girl or whatever and go home and go to sleep, but no you had to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. You crossed my path Terry, you crossed my path at the wrong time. Ruined one of my favorite flannel shirts along with you crossing my path, and now you’re gonna pay for all of that.
These past few weeks have stretched on and on causing me nothing but frustration and pain. From my missing best friend, to losing my television title, to quitting smoking. And then being dragged down to the police station a number of times, and then having to answer a ton of fan mail for hitting Dak Prescott. This has been nothing less than agony, and I think I’ve had just about enough of it all… I think it’s time for me to be the one to hand out the agony to others. Terry, you and I are both old enough to remember a time when this sport was simply about which man could get up and leave that night. That’s what I aim to bring back against you brother. These fists will be taped, ready to go and you better damn believe that I can still bring my fastball.
GCWA wants to call this a grudge match? Fine, we’ll make it a grudge match. One more big old hoss fight between a couple of big old hosses the way it oughta be. Hell, I’m feeling so damn good right now let’s just make this one of those matches where we go out there trying to tear each other apart to the point where heaven and Earth collide and rip a hole right there through time and space!
Whatcha say about that, brother?”
Earl stops again and pours the remainder of his drink down his throat before wiping away his mustache one more time. He looks at the empty glass giving himself a moment to relish the fact that that was his last drink and then drops the glass to the floor in front of him.
“Does that sound good to you Terry? I don’t know how more of these rodeos I’ve got left in me, week and week some dumb motherfucker is talking about putting me down for good and yet I keep on showing up. I’m sure it’s going to come to an end, but what an end I plan on making it. So let’s do it, Terry. Let’s give these fans of yours something they can remember for the rest of their lives. We are Gods and monsters among the mere mortals, Terry. You want to bring down the thunder? Well shit, that’s all you have to say to me. Just remember, you asked for it. You wanted it. You’ll get nothing less than both barrels from me.
But when it’s all said and done, I just hope you’re able to stand. I’d hate for all those little Terry-maniacs out there to go to sleep Friday night knowing that their hero wasn’t able to walk correctly. I’d hate for all of them to feel what it’s like to be truly thunderstruck.
Brother.”
With that Earl knocks the bottles to the ground that sit on both of his sides and focuses only on the screen of his phone hoping and praying that something is going to come through to him. We fade to black.