Post by Christian Kane on Mar 29, 2015 10:51:04 GMT -6
KANE VICE: KNOCKIN' ON HEAVEN'S DOOR
●●●
The Personal Audio Journal Of Christian Kane
Dated 10th March 2015
In recovery they told me it’d be a good idea to do these things...just so I can listen back to my thoughts. I have some crazy ones. I think the whole thing is a sham, but after what’s transpired...I’ll do anything.
It’s been a fucked up few weeks. I’ve found it hard to focus on what’s at hand, the EXODUS Pro International Title. I’ve tried to love it, but I just don’t know. That fucking Brazilian is right, it’s like wearing a silver medal and I fucking hate it. Half the time I can barely stand the sight of the fucking thing, yet I want to retain it so bad. But why? My ego, I guess. What else? I don’t know. I’m barely keeping it together. My minds all over the place, I’m fucking losing it. It’s all the fucking injustice, it gets to me. I’m stuck down here scrapping over a silver medal whilst people who I beat to get a shot at this fucking thing are holding the real gold, what I’ve always craved.
It’s the story of my life. Whatever I have I always want more. I’m not a hypocrite about it, I know what I am. I’m selfish...I’m really fucking selfish. But I don’t care. I’ve gone through so much shit in my life it’s made me realise that I can’t rely on other people for support. Physically or emotionally. I’ve got to do everything myself. Just when I think my passion is back I witness bullshit like this and it zaps it right out of me. Why shouldn’t I drain the place for every last penny it has? If they don’t afford me the opportunity to become the world champion you better fucking believe I’m going to make them pay me like one. But I’ve heard all the excuses and all the reasoning - I don’t need the belt. I’m good without it. How does that help me? They think I give a shit about those people? Those fans? I try to love them and half the time they throw it all back in my fucking face. Those stupid fucking Japs. They cheered for Brooks when he attacked me. I heard them...and it damn near broke my heart.
Things aren’t going well outside the ring, either. I’m not in the interest of leaving a paper trail...or an audio trail, whatever, but I’m being pulled apart at the seams here. Feels like I’m being pulled at each limb and it’s only a matter of time before I burst apart. I got myself into this. I fucked up big time...again. Just when everything was going so great. It’s taking my brain - I know it. I keep getting these headaches, too. They’re not that bad, I don’t think they’re migraines but I can’t seem to shake them. When I’m in the public eye I put on my Christian Kane face, but no one seems to like me anymore. Why the fuck do I feel like everyone has to love me? I’ve got issues. Big ones. The Redeemer? My dreams? That wasn’t even half of it.
Ceahna worries too much. I love her and I know she cares about me. She just wants to be involved in my life, I guess...but I can’t drag her into this with me, no matter how much she protests. The more she’s in the dark...the better. This is my other life and she’s not part of it. I started drinking again. She’s not happy. I don’t think she knows about the blow yet. I don’t know. It’s difficult. Recovery is a fucking scam. I’ve been in and out more times than I’ve got fingers - I don’t see the point anymore. Some people can’t be fixed and I’m fine with that. Let addiction slowly eat my alive - it’s the narrative of my life. Addiction.
Alcohol. Drugs. Money. Sex. Success. I can’t say no. They’re slowly killing me.
They say it’s lonely at the top. I have all these people around me and I still feel so damn lonely...but I’m not even at the top. Strike parades the fact that he got to the top before me, nevermind the fact he slammed a railroad spike in my face like a candle on a birthday cake. A few months ago I would have probably said, ‘I’m not even at the top...yet’. But I just don’t know. Maybe the network wants someone they can trust, someone who they know won’t fly off the handle on air. Abby Park’s a good girl, she’ll behave unless you give her something to drink - and Strike, well, he’s the kid who acts like a little asshole until the teacher looks his way. Then he’s stood up straight with a big grin on his stupid fucking immigrant face. Ugh. I’m getting carried away.
Fact of the matter is...I’m getting tired a lot these days. But I can’t show it. I’ve got to perform. Because one little slip and they’ll all see that it’s typical Christian Kane, disappearing again. It kills me inside whenever I hear something like that. They make me feel like I’ve done all of this to my body for the past eleven years for nothing. Just so I can be openly mocked by people who think they’re clever. What gives them the right? What gives any of them the right? Reputations are fickle things. People never forget. Maybe I’ll be a joke forever. The sad clown.
I had my chance at life and I blew it.
I’m dying here.
●●●
March 6th 2015
Miami, Florida
“MOTHERFUCKERS!”
Valentina Rodríguez stood in her office, arms crossed in front of her tight fitting black tank which did not leave much to the imagination. Christian Kane sat across from her, jolted into concentration from her outburst.
“I knew it!” The Cuban threw her hands up into the air before fumbling around in one of her desk drawers.
“What?” Kane asked, sitting on the edge of his seat anxiously.
She shot Christian a look before placing two custom made Makarov pistols down on the desk. They were gold plated with intricate wooden carvings on each side of the handle. The slid one across the desk, Kane having to react quickly to stop it before it flew to the floor.
“There’s a rat.” Valentina announced, grabbing Kane’s attention. “I told you! I can’t trust any of these pendejos. These weak fucks. As soon as the badges put pressure on them they fill them with information! Bastards!”
“Uh...who, is it?”
“Who is what?”
“The rat...?” Kane’s voice trailed as he asked the question. Valentina stood in silence for a moment, clearly struggling to come to terms with exactly who it is. She took a second before beginning to load her gun. Christian began to fidget uncomfortably in his seat.
“It’s Miguel.”
Kane looked shocked. Miguel, her right hand man. Or at least he was. Was he working for McKinely too? The man never spoke much. At least not when Christian was around. He didn’t trust him, and he was right to think that...but he was working for the feds too? How much information did he give them, Kane thought to himself. Fruitless question - in organisations like this it’s shoot first, questions after.
“What do you know?”
“Enough to splatter his motherfucking brains all over the fucking wall!” She announced, deep hurt noticeable in her voice. To be betrayed like that, Kane thought...it must have hurt, and here he was plunging a knife deep into her back - and she didn’t even know it. Valentina holstered the gun in her jeans before pointing at Kane who was still holding his gun. “You’re going to do it.”
The words didn’t register for a moment. “...Wait, me? Why me?”
Valentina stepped out from behind the desk, placing a hand on Christian’s cheek. “Because I trust you. I know you’ll do what’s required of you, hm?”
“Well...I don’t have a choice.”
“I know you don’t.” She said with a smirk as she walked past Kane, stopping in the doorway of the office. “Come on. We are going to go to his house. We are going to fucking kill him. And if his is there we kill that perra too - even if his kids are there we kill them too. Fucking dog!!”
She stormed out of the room, Kane following closely behind her. On the car ride over he had wished nothing more than for Miguel’s kids to not be there. Christian seriously doubted she’d do something so heinous, he was pretty sure she said it in the heat of the moment...but Valentina was a crazy woman. Even more so now that she’s learnt of her right hand man’s betrayal - she may be inclined to actually do it. Kane decided he’d stop her if she tried. They pulled into the driveway, Kane concealing his gun just like Valentina did as they stepped out of the car and made their way to the door. After a few rings of the doorbell it swung open, and there stood Miguel.
“Valentina!” He exclaimed with joy, trying his best to hide his shock. “Come in, both of you!”
He waved both Rodríguez and Kane inside before closing the door. Miguel then motioned for both of them to sit as he reached into the liquor cabinet...and that’s where it all began. From the liquor cabinet he retrieved his gun, he knew what they were here to do but before he could act Valentina had shot him in the knee. It sent his gun flying away from his grasp as he fell to the floor. She was very quick on the draw and looked back to Kane who hadn’t even taken his gun out yet. Miguel was crying in agony on the floor as he tried to crawl to his gun but Valentina kicked it away, the gun sliding across the marble floor until it was out of sight.
“Come on!” She screamed. “Kill this fucking prick!”
Christian began to concentrate on his hearing, listening out for anyone else in the home but it didn’t seem like there was. With a deep breath he stepped up to Miguel and put the gun to his head. He took a deep breath before closing his eyes and looking away...suddenly he felt a jolt in his arm and...
BANG!
Kane’s finger was still on the trigger, he didn’t do it. Valentina glared at him for a moment.
“You took too long. I don’t like indecision.”
Christian stayed silent. He looked at the body, then to the white leather sofa immediately to the left of Miguel - stained red with his blood. It was unsightly to say the least, but Valentina looked pleased. She found his gun, picking it up with a cloth she found in the kitchen before placing the firearm in his hand. Kane stood in the same spot, what exactly had he gotten into? This was some bad shit.
On the car journey back Christian was thinking about the events...couldn’t the bullet in the gun be traced back to Valentina. Traced back to him? It was a message, Kane decided. You know, the whole, ‘don’t be a rat’ thing. But the man had a wife, he had kids. It was times like this that Christian Kane felt inherently good at heart, but who knows.
That night Christian sat alone in his suite. He stared at the bottle of tequila he’d taken from downstairs. He hadn’t drank in so long but tonight he felt too down. A man was murdered that day and he didn’t do a thing to stop it. He took a swig from the bottle, his phone in his other hand as he leaned back against the headboard of the bed. Kane missed it - alcohol. The coke too. Say what you will about them, but they seemed to solve all of his problems. He never knew what he was looking for at the bottom of a bottle but he was damn sure intent on finding it. Christian looked at his phone ‘Ceahna - 5 Missed Calls’. He wanted to call back...but what was there to say? He wanted to tell her everything in a last ditch attempt to get help but what could she do? He’d only put her in danger and that’s the last thing that Christian would ever want to do. Either way, drinking again? Kane felt too ashamed to talk to her anyway.
He was nodding his head to the song playing in the background, Guns N’ Roses’ version of “Knockin’ On Heaven’s Door” - it felt very apt right now. As the first verse started a knock came at the door.
“Yeah?” Kane answered.
The door creaked open slightly and Valentina poked her head into the room.
“I need to talk to you.”
Christian waved her in and she approached him wearing only a white satin robe. She sat at the end of the bed.
“What’s up?”
“I thought I should apologise, hm?” She placed a hand on his knee. “About what happened today.”
Kane raised a dismissive hand. “It’s fine.”
“It’s not. I shouldn’t have shouted at you. I just get...I don’t know. Frustrated. I was upset. I don’t know how much he gave them, you know?”
Kane stared off into space, resting the bottle on his thigh. “Right, sure. No - I get it. Don’t worry.”
“Okay.” She nodded respectfully. “It’s a good song.” Valentina mentioned, pointing in the direction the music was coming from.
Christian smirked. “Yeah it is.”
He went to take another swig but Valentina grasped the neck of the bottle with her hand, grabbing Kane’s attention before she slowly began to remove her gown. Inch by inch. Christian was perplexed, yet fixated. After she had fully exposed herself to him she got to her knees on the bed, causing Christian to sit upright against the headboard.
“What are you doing...?”
Valentina flipped her raven black hair over her shoulders and ran a finger down her gorgeously tanned body. “Don’t play dumb with me, Christian - I see the way you look...”
“I’ve got a girlfriend.” He said flatly, grasping onto the bottle of tequila as Valentina inched closer towards him with every passing second.
“Not tonight.”
Kane sighed, looking to his phone, then to Valentina before discard his phone - taking the Cuban by the back of her neck as she crawled on top of him...
Mama put my guns in the ground
I can't shoot them anymore
That cold black cloud is comin' down
Feels like I'm knockin' on heaven's door
●●●
The next morning came just like Kane the night before, his eyes slowly opened as the Miami sun pierced through the blinds, light flooding into the room.
As he sat up he noticed Valentina’s white satin robe discarded on the floor, joined by his clothes strewn across the room. Notch two on the betrayal list. Reaching past the now empty bottle of tequila which he assumed himself and Valentina had shared last night he quietly opened the drawer after he had heard Rodríguez turn on the shower. Fumbling around in the draw for a moment he retrieved an old flip cell phone. A burner cell. He checked again to see that she was still in the shower before he dialled a number into the phone, quickly raising it to his ear as he waited for the individual on the other end of the line to pick up.
“Speak.” The voice ordered.
“It’s me.” Kane announced albeit in a quiet, hushed tone so as to not arouse suspicion.
“If it isn’t the prince of Miami!” Government agent James McKinely bellowed down the phone, a strong sense of sarcasm in his words as always.
“Yeah, yeah - whatever. It happened. We slept together.”
“Atta boy. I’m not sure what these girls see in you, but you certainly don’t have any troubles there. What is this, a regular thing?”
Kane turned his head to the direction of the shower as he spoke. “I don’t know. It only happened last night...she’s showering now.”
“I see.”
“Well?” Christian asked, rather impatiently. “What the fuck do I do? I have a girlfriend.”
“I’m not a relationship adviser, but just so you’re aware - we support any sexual activity between you and the Queen of Cuba.”
“What? ...Why?”
“Gets you closer to her, doesn’t it. The closer you are the more information you can extract, no? Makes our lives a hell of a lot easier, you just have to come to terms with the fact that you’re fucking someone behind your sweet little Ceahna’s back.”
Kane took a moment, removing the phone from his ear for a moment before bringing it back. “Fuck. You. Who the fuck do you think you are? You think I want to do this shit? I hope you fucking die.”
McKinely laughed down the phone. “Who do I think I am? I think I’m the guy who has the ability to put you away for a long, long time if you don’t co-operate. Understand? I’m truly hurt - deeply hurt actually, that you don’t want to do this...but tough shit. You’re going to do it anyway and you’re going to give us stuff that we can actually fucking use against her!”
“You’re a fucking asshole, you know that?”
“Yes, I do know that, and it’s served me very well over my multi-year career. I would co-operate, Christian - I’d hate to think what were to happen if precious Ceahna were to find out that she isn’t the only one riding you like a cheap whore.”
Kane went to respond but McKinely hung up. Christian flipped the phone shut in anger before putting it back in the drawer. He had always found himself in impossible positions in the past, but none like this. He massaged his temples as he leaned back against the headboard again, he couldn’t remember much from last night - flashes at most, things he’d rather forget, but what he did have thanks to the night before was a terrible headache. They came in bunches, and recently that had been beginning to come more often than not. Christian Kane took a deep breath before ripping the covers off of him, trying to figure out his next move as he rose from the bed.
●●●
A shot fades in of The Handsome Drifter, Christian Kane standing in front of an enlarged poster for EXODUS Pro’s Repetition of Hatred. He is wearing a sharp looking tailored black suit, and around his waist is what this is all about, the EXODUS Pro International Championship belt. A pair of shades lie atop his tied back blonde locks as he averts his gaze deep into the camera’s lens.
“Repetition of Hatred. It’s so close, isn’t it? It’s odd. Time has gone by very, very quickly. It seems like only yesterday I defended my belt at Dead In Hollywood. You know, where I beat Justin Brooks and Lexy Chapel - both of them at the same time. Whatever...no big deal, right?”
He winks at the camera before continuing.
“And that’s exactly the thing...it was no big deal. For all everyone says about Christian Kane being all talk - I tend to back it up. Everyone claimed that Lexy Chapel was an unstoppable force, with heart and determination that could not be triumphed...what did I do? I beat her, and not only did I beat her, I beat her convincingly. I broke Lexy Chapel and after I got done with her she was never the same again. She lost to me yet again and then she disappeared, never to be heard of again. But did Christian Kane get any praise for that? Of course not. And that’s okay, because you people never should have built up Lexy’s ego to the point where she actually thought she was unstoppable. Her whole reign went by in a flash and all it needed was someone hungry enough and motivated enough to redeem themselves and snatch that title belt from around her waist and that person was me.
Now Justin Brooks on the other hand...well...that was no big deal either. Because you see, people, for all the talk I hear from the man himself about how he’s a monster, how he’s a freak of nature that cannot be stopped - he’s been stopped PLENTY of times. Not just by me. It’s actually rather pathetic. Like a retarded lion trying to roar with the rest of the pride. Brooks - if you were really a monster you wouldn’t have to go about telling everyone that you are. It’s a desperate move by a desperate man hanging on to the last strands of his career. With every fleeting moment you find yourself creeping up on three whole years with this company, and in that time you have done absolutely NOTHING noteworthy or remarkable. When they talk about your legacy, they will choose to ignore your time in EXODUS Pro, Justin - believe me.
The small window of relevancy in your career began in petty jealousy and I’m going to make sure it ends that way too. The only reason you were ever afforded the opportunities that you were, the only reason you ever became a three time world champion is because I paved the way for you. It was my hard work! My dedication! My sweat and my blood that ever gave you the chance of becoming something in this business and I rue that every goddamn day of my life! You would be nothing without me, Justin. I left and you were smart enough to fill the gap I left and I commend that move. So it’s fitting that I’ll be the one to wipe you out of this business, isn’t it? I brought you into this world...and I can take you out of it. No problem.
I can’t begin to describe how much of a pleasure it’s going to be to annihilate you once again, Justin. I can’t even put it into words how much I’m going to embarrass you and drag your carcass around the ring on the 30th of March. You’ve earned this, I’ll give you that. Not the right to face me for my title, but the right to get your ass handed to you courtesy of Christian Kane once again. You’ve talked so much nonsense about me that I think it’s about time I showed you who I really was, don’t you think?”
He pauses for a moment, looking down to the floor. Christian took a long, deep breath, understanding how the match meant not to him, but to the landscape of EXODUS Pro. His head shot back up, his nostrils flared and his eyes full of fire.
“Let’s really delve deep into this whole thing. All this time, for the past, what? 5 months? All you’ve been talking about is the supposed fact that I’m not hungry anymore. Now, when did you come to that conclusion Brooks? What about me has indicated that I’m not hungry anymore? The fact that I’m going after the money that I deserve. Is an NFL player not motivated when they’re going after a big money contract? Are they not hungry? We don’t all eat horse meat for breakfast, lunch and dinner, Brooks - this is a grueling sport and I’ll be damned if I wake up in pain day after day for nothing. People tell me to do it for the fans, but I answer back, which fans? The ones who cheered you when you attacked me during a performance on EXODUS Pro on FX #31? Those fans? Because I’d argue that those fans don’t give a damn about me. I’d argue that all they want to see is someone getting their ass kicked, so if I have to go on television to be cowardly blindsided by you then you better believe that I’m going to get paid well for doing it.”
It was a fair point, Kane thought - why shouldn’t he get paid? He had always believed it to be well within his rights to claim as much money as he could as his career entered its latter years. The Handsome Drifter straightened his suit and pointed into the camera before continuing.
“But let’s talk about that Brooks, because why not? You claim you’re this monster, you claim you’re this beast - but you have to blindside me? What’s that all about? That’s the second time in two cycles that you’ve done it Justin, and I’m starting to believe that you’re just too dumb to realise how it works. Now, I may give you the benefit of the doubt, you have been kicked in the head a few times by me...well, you’ve been kicked in the head a lot by me - so maybe it’s brain damage, but what happened to actually earning title shots? Do you seriously think that you’re owed International Title shots just for being here for so long? Is that really what you think Justin? I’ve been almost as long as you and I had to scratch and claw - defeat almost half of the roster JUST to get an OPPORTUNITY to fight Abby Park for the number one contendership. I can’t remember the last time you strung more than 4 wins together and you seriously sit there with that smug grin on your face and BELIEVE you deserve to face me? I struggle to believe that someone can be as deluded as you, but time after time you surprise me. Maybe it’s because of where you came from. They were never all there either.
The amount of times I’ve beaten you should go to show that not only don’t you deserve a match against me for my title, but you don’t even deserve to step inside the same ring as me. You make a mockery of this business. The only reason you’ve ever gotten far is because you use your brute force against people. That’s why when the competition is raised, when you face wrestlers you can truly wrestle...you falter. You stumble. You fall over and you struggle to get back up. That is the reason why you’re nothing in this company Justin. You came here as nothing and I’m going to make absolutely, unequivocally sure - without a doubt, that you’ll leave as nothing.
I’ve bled for this. Sweat. Cried. Almost died for this right here.”
Kane pats his International Title.
“What makes you think you deserve to wrestle me for it? There is nothing in this mortal world that could ever qualify you as being worthy enough to wrestle me in that ring for this title. Throughout your whole EXODUS career you’ve not done a thing noteworthy enough to step out on that stage on the 30th of March and wrestle me one on one for the EXODUS Pro International Title. That is simply put, a fact. You can’t go about gaining title opportunities the right way because you’re not good enough for that. You’re inconsistent, you lack the drive and determination - not me. And that’s the conclusion I’ve come to, you’re projecting. Maybe you’re the one that isn’t hungry enough. You’re so concerned about my personal life just as your little voodoo whore is, maybe you should leave it well enough alone and focus on your own life, no? I’ve got problems, I know that - but they’re MY problems, they’re not yours to worry about. They never were, they never will be. What I choose to do outside of that ring, outside of EXODUS Pro as a company? You don’t have to concern yourself. Honestly. All this talk about how I’m the unmotivated one, about how I’m not hungry anymore - it’s all about you, Brooks. It’s always been about you. You’re the egomaniac, not me. You climb to the top of the Empire State Building like the King Kong built freak that you are and you roar at the top of your lungs, you tell EVERYBODY that you’re the...Big...Bad...Brooks. You tell ‘em ALL that you’re the monster, but do they believe you? Not anymore. And certainly not after Repetition of Hatred.”
“You wanna play off your loss in the triple threat as a fluke? You want to blame your shortcomings on Lexy Chapel? What happened a few months ago, Brooks? A Beast vs A Stud - what happened? That’s right. I beat you. No two ways about it - I beat you. Pinned you in the middle of that ring, one...two...three. And you know where that was? Right here...right here in Japan. Fitting, isn’t it? See what you fail to understand Justin is that these people? They don’t forget. I have done so much for this company. Ever since I returned I’ve tried to do right by people, I’ve tried to play by the rulebook. I’ve put myself in harms way for some of them and what do I get in return? They look down on me like I’m nothing. They keep me down here with you instead of up there.”
He points upwards.
“I want money to provide for the family that I eventually want to create and I get called a mercenary. You attack me and they cheer for you. They give you a title shot just because you attack me. How is that supposed to make me feel? Hm? How am I supposed to sit here and give you respect before this huge match? I don’t respect you Justin. I never did. Because all you are in vulture who picked the bones of a company that I already ransacked, and when you made the step up...you couldn’t keep up. You want me to show you the Christian Kane of old, Justin Brooks? You want me to forget about the money? Fine. Just for you. I’ll do that.”
He takes the expensive pair of shades that sat upon the top of his head and crushes them in his hands, the lenses popping out as he bends the metal and plastic out of position before discarding them. Kane raises his wrist to the camera, showing off a matte black and gold Rolex watch before he slides it off his wrist and throws it aside with force. He takes his rings off of his fingers discarding them too before unhooking his necklace and throwing that away as well. Finally he rips off his suit jacket and drops it to the floor until he’s only left with one valuable item on his person. The International Title. He unhooks it and holds it up in his hands.
“At Repetition of Hatred - the money isn’t important - THIS is important. Making sure that THIS title belt does not fall into the wrong hands...your hands. The difference between us will never be clearer than this, Brooks - this title belt? This is your pinnacle. This is your world title. Your whole career has led you to this moment...but me? This is a stepping stone for me. One day I’m going to be the EXODUS Pro World Champion, but until then? I’m going to hold on to this. Because I’ve worked too damn hard for too damn long to let you tarnish it.
#STUDLIFE.”
With that Kane kisses the belt, slowly lowering it until it no longer obscures his face, revealing an incredibly focused and determined look into the camera as it begins to fade.
