Wrestler 5: Wrestler, #5

By charles fisher

Things heat up for Gooley as the NWA makes trouble, and ends up in court over the World Heavyweight Championship. Ralph Banta's son prevails in a tournament, and Gooley's lease with the Harbor Yard Arena is cancelled due to the graphic nature of his shows.

• Language: English
• Publisher: charles fisher
• Release date: Aug 9, 2017
• ISBN: 9781386280101

Book preview

Table of Contents

Wrestler 5 | Natural Breasts, Unnatural Acts

The End | Gooley and the girls will continue the adventure in Wrestler 6, Bad Girls.

Wrestler 5

Natural Breasts, Unnatural Acts

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World Wrestling Alliance Headquarters

Bridgeport, Connecticut

June, 2010

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You got your match with Doc Halliday, Gooley said to Tara.

Good, Tara said. I kill this asshole.

You can’t kill him. Not really, anyway. The kid is going to write the contract so you can beat the shit out of him until he cries like the little pansy he is, but he has to live through the match.

Then he live, but wish he die. Nobody talk shit about me like this.

I got some good stuff on him, Tracy grinned as she flicked ashes onto Gooley’s carpet. He isn’t as pure as he wants everybody to think he is.

There’s an ashtray over on the..........never mind. What did you find out?

Every Wednesday afternoon after his stupid radio show is over, Halliday takes a cab to Brooklyn, where he bangs the crap out of the daughter of one of his biggest advertisers. He’s 38; she’s not, Tracy grinned.

Don’t tell me, Gooley said, eyeing Katie. It’s you.

Oh sure, Katie laughed. Blame me. This dude is Irish; I guaranteed you he has a three incher. I’d take the Rocket any day over an Irishman. They’re even worse than Japs.

Or Jews, Tracy giggled, wiggling her pinky.

Enough about racial diversity. You only think Jews are small because of the size of the bank vault they have to make their deposit in. How old is this girl?

You ready for this? Tracy grinned. Fifteen.

Gooley got down behind his chair and peered through the slats. Help me, he whined. I hate prison food.

That’s about the size of  it, Tracy said. And the kid was right. Doc Halliday’s six shooter has a really short barrel. Snub nose, we call it. Film at eleven. We got lots of video of him porking this underage girl, and we got all her vital stats. He’s toast.

Do you really have film of his.....you know, Gooley said as he sat back down. His junk.

Yeah. He comes up short, as they say. Ronnie Lee’s dog has more than him.

Told you, Katie grinned. She put her head back, opened her mouth, and started gagging as she pumped her fist up and down over her face. "In legal terms, we call it Parva Coles. Bird Peety."

All hat and no cattle, Tracy grinned.

This man have no dick, Tara said. In Iran, the Mullahs cut off his head for this. Have pigeon pecker, she giggled.

Is this all you girls think about, is the size of a man’s equipment?

Try to get a girl without any, Katie said. We had a tape measure contest in the fifth grade for the boys. The losers got laughed out of the greenhouse.

What did the winners get? Gooley said.

They got to see how much it took to make the committee’s eyes water. We had a fourth grader who could swallow a ...

Enough, Gooley said. I never heard of this when I was in school.

It went on, you just weren’t in on it, Katie said. You were probably a Nerd. Nobody wanted to blow a Nerd.

You need an exorcism, Gooley sighed.

I had one. It didn’t work. After the match, I have arranged for the District Attorney to publicly arrest Halliday right in the ring. Sex will have a whole new meaning for him after that. This was done in exchange for advertising discounts, so it’s technically prostitution with a minor. Ten years minimum. The girl’s father is going to be arrested, too, for pimping her off.

And what becomes of the girl?

Nothing, Katie shrugged. She got a little practice having her hole drilled. Probably does it anyway, never mind with this clown. At least now she’ll know she got the short end of the deal. She’ll get over it.

You have no faith in kids, Gooley sighed.

That’s because I am one, and I know what they do behind their parents’ backs. They’re mostly little pigs and whores. You just don’t want to believe it.

She’s right, Tracy said. This has been going on forever. You find me a thirteen year old who hasn’t had a dick shoved down her throat, and I’ll show you a girl nobody wants.

Amazing, Gooley said. I never would have guessed this went on.

WWA Pay-Per-View

Natural Breasts and Unnatural Acts

The Arena at Harbor Yard

Bridgeport, Connecticut

June, 2010

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All right, Creighton laughed. Settle down. Keep your pants zipped, and your mouths closed. Except for you ladies of the evening, he said, eyeing several arena girls who were lining up customers. One of them was about forty years old; she had a roll of toilet paper tied around her neck, and wore a bib that said I Swallow. What a peach she is, Creighton laughed as the woman dragged a young boy off to the alcove. "I bet she’s going to prove that slogan, too. The only place besides this arena where you will see a woman with that much class is outside the United Nations on a Friday afternoon, trolling for Congressmen.

We have a special treat in store for you tonight, just as that young lad has one in store for him, Creighton said as the old hooker went to work on the boy. Look at that rhythm, Creighton said. Mozart would be envious. Up and down, up and down, in four beat pentameter. Uh oh, she stepped it up........I think that should produce the desired effect, along with a good splat shot. Whoa! Right in the hair line, Creighton laughed as the boy screamed for God and expended himself. I didn’t know those weapons held that much ammunition, he laughed as the woman mopped her face and ran off to the back. Good girl. I hear that is very good for one’s complexion.

Joey Styles shook his head and gave Creighton the cue.

"All right, enough of that, we have to have a wrestling match or two to avoid the Grand Jury. And quite a start we have; we don’t waste time baiting you for a big finale. Our first contest is a special grudge match between someone you all know and hate, against someone you all know and would like to lick. Introducing from Long Island, New York, weighing 220 conservative pounds, the self proclaimed Master of Morality and Conservative Values, recently voted by Pro Wrestling Today as an overwhelming favorite in our He’d Lick Her Bagel Even If It Is Illegal poll, please welcome the nationally syndicated talk radio host, Mr. Flynn Doc Halliday."

What did he mean by that illegal crack? Halliday said nervously as he adjusted his Stetson.

Nothing, his handler said. They say shit like that about everybody.

Still shots of Halliday with his face buried in the crotch of his fifteen year old pet flashed on the Tron out of camera view as the audience hooted; the stills stopped as soon as Halliday was far enough down the ramp to see them. He looked around and smiled at the audience, his hands held high over his flabby body.

He knows Karate? Gooley said in the back. Where did he study, a pastry shop?

He doesn’t know shit, Tracy said with a wave of her hand. The closest he ever came to a black belt is the one he uses to hold up his pants.

What are you doing back here, anyway? Don’t you have a match tonight? Gooley said.

Nope. The NWA is pissed at you. They told me not to wrestle until they figure out what to do about you.

They can kiss my ass, is what they can do.

Creighton nodded at Halliday, who came over and stuck out his hand. Creighton looked at it with disdain.

Please go to your corner, he said.

Oh. I heard you were a Conservative. Do you listen to my show?

No, I do not, Creighton said. Neither will anybody else, after tonight.

Good one, Halliday smiled, and went to his corner. He started to look a bit nervous as fans held up signs provided by Katie that said things like She’s Lean, She’s Mean, She’s Only Fifteen, and Do Teenagers Taste As Good As They Look?

"And his opponent, from the capitol city of our best ally in the Middle East, Tehran, Iran, weighing....oh, who cares as long as most of it is in her bra. She is the Muslim Mauler, recently voted once again by Pro Wrestling Today as Miss  My God, Look At The Size Of Those Babies, even farmers can’t grow melons like hers, a girl who has the best headlights in town even though she doesn’t own a car, our WWA Women’s TV Champion and Doc Halliday’s biggest fan, Miss Tara Al-Shaziri."

Tara came down the ramp and climbed in as the Iranian National Anthem played. Halliday looked at her and shook his head.

They let you wear stuff like that in the ring? he said to her.

You dead man, fat boy, Tara sneered, and smacked the Stetson off Halliday’s head as the crowd roared. You talk shit about me on radio? Wait until you see what you get tonight. Have big surprise for you.

Murdoch signaled for the bell and smiled at Halliday. Good luck, asshole, he said.

Hey, this is supposed to be fixed, right? Halliday said. She isn’t supposed to hurt me.

Yeah, you wish, Murdoch snickered. You fucked up big time, Pal.

Tara moved in and took Halliday down with a drop toe hold. She put him into a cross arm bar and nearly ripped his shoulder out of the socket. He started wailing in pain; Tara reached over and choked him out to keep him quiet. Murdoch walked around, ignoring what was happening to Halliday.

You like? Tara sneered. Me terrorist, huh? I fix your ass, child molester. She executed a springboard elbow drop off the second strand, tearing Halliday’s neck muscles. He tried to get out of the ring, so Tara helped him by kicking him in the balls. He fell onto the concrete floor face first, knocking out two teeth. Tara grabbed a steel chair and beat him with it until he stopped moving.

What the hell is she doing? an ABC executive yelled at Gooley in the back.

Wrestling, Gooley shrugged. "Didn’t you read the contract? He signed up for an anything goes match."

Your people said she wasn’t going to hurt him!

We lied, Gooley grinned.

I’m putting an end to this, the man snapped, and headed for the door. The Great Sphincter stepped in front of him.

Hi, he grinned. I’m Arnie. Going somewhere?

Tara managed to get Halliday’s fat body back into the ring, and pinned him for the victory. She blew her nose in her hands and rubbed it all over his bloody face.

Some nice Islamic boogers for you, she giggled.

Murdoch helped Tara get Halliday to a standing position in the corner, then handcuffed him to the top strand.

Two big NYPD Detectives climbed into the ring and held up their badges. Halliday looked around, a terrified look on his face.

Flynn Patrick Halliday, you are under arrest for violations of the following New York Penal Statutes; Section 130.35, rape in the first degree, Section 130.50, criminal sexual act in the first degree and   sodomy in the first degree, Section 130.65, sexual abuse in the first degree, Section 130.70, aggravated sexual abuse in the first degree, Section 30.75, course of sexual conduct against a child in the first degree, Section 130.96,  predatory sexual assault against a child, and Section 230.33, compelling prostitution. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to an attorney. If you cannot afford an attorney, one will be provided for you. Do you understand the rights I have just read to you?

This is a joke, isn’t it? Halliday squeaked. Part of the show. You guys are actors, right?

Yeah, we drove all the way to fucking Bridgeport from the 19th Precinct just to play games with you. The Detective held up one of the still shots of Halliday on top of the fifteen year old girl. You’re all done, Pal. He motioned to the other Detective, who cuffed Halliday and took him out of the ring as the crowd roared.

In the back, the ABC executive sat in his chair ashen faced as Katie came in and grinned at him. A stack of stills was on the table next to him.

You know anything about this, Sport? Katie said. You look kind of worried.

No, the executive said. We’d never condone anything like that.

Yeah, sure, Katie said. We’ll find out what you condone. That kid is from New Jersey. That brings in the feds, and they are going to take a long, hard look at you guys, no pun intended. That kid’s father got a really nice advertising discount for pimping off his own daughter. They’ll see what everybody else is paying compared to this dude, and you’re gonna have some ‘splainin’ to do.

I swear, I didn’t know anything about this. I don’t handle advertising.

Yeah, well, you tell it to the Manhattan D.A. He’ll be stopping by your offices tomorrow. Now get the hell out of here before I have Sphincter do something to you I may regret. The executive got up and stormed out of the office.

There goes his job, Gooley said. They have to pin this on somebody, and he’s the executive producer of Halliday’s radio program. Or was, that is. How the hell did you get those videos?

I’ll never tell, Katie grinned. They might not be admissible in court, because he wasn’t in a public place when he was filmed, but the girl is making an affidavit and she’ll testify against him. The cops have plenty of DNA evidence, and the D.A. will bluff this asshole until he shits in his pants. He’s all done any way you look at it. Then he has the feds to worry about. He’ll do at least twenty years. Those videos and pictures may just turn up on some web sites in foreign countries, and we may just link to them off our own.

My God, I hope you never decide to turn on me, Gooley laughed.

No chance of that happening, Tracy grinned. You won’t even commit an obscene act with us, never mind somebody’s kid. You have no blackmail value.

I always wondered about that Halliday character, Gooley said. He seemed a bit too Goody Two Shoes for my liking.

Those are the ones that usually have something to hide, Tracy said.

I could have something to hide, Gooley shrugged. I’m a stud.

Yeah, sure you are, Tracy said as she flicked ashes on the carpet. You’re a regular John Holmes. We could have a live feed showing you gang banging six whores  covered in mayonnaise, and nobody would believe it.

It would have to be spicy brown mustard, Gooley said. "My people aren’t big on mayo. Milton Berle once said Anytime somebody orders a corned beef sandwich on white bread with mayonnaise, somewhere in the world a Jew dies."

I got a girl for you, Katie giggled. "We called her Cocktail Sauce Carla. Use your imagination."

No thanks, I don’t need to be sharing a cell with Halliday. He’s going to have a bad time in prison, I bet.

Oh yeah, Tracy grinned. That flabby ass of his is going to have more meat shoved in it than your average deli case at the Shopmart.

Just keep him away from the corned beef, Gooley said.

Creighton climbed back into the ring after the police activity was finished. You lovely young things can come out of hiding now, he grinned as several arena girls poked their heads out to see if the coast was clear. The NYPD is gone; not that they have any jurisdiction here, but unlike the Bridgeport Dragoons, they are real police.

"Cops eat shit! Cops eat shit! Cops eat shit!" the crowd chanted.

Oh, that will stand you arseholes in good stead, Creighton laughed as a couple of patrolmen let their hands drift to  their sidearms. "You seem to forget, the motto on their cruisers is Shoot to Kill. You could be next."

See that? Ann Coleman said. The Bridgeport pigs don’t take any shit.

Just bribes, Tyler Brooks snickered. They consider the evidence room to be their retirement fund, right, Miss Flynn?

Yup, Shannon said as she opened a half gallon of Butter Pecan ice cream.

Is that Turkey Hill ice cream? Ann said innocently.

What do you care? Shannon said. You aren’t getting any. Every time I ask you for some of your food, you flip me the bird.

That’s because you’re a giant, gawky bastard who has more tits than sense, and you need to lose weight. I’m just looking out for you.

Mother Teresa has spoken, Shannon said. You still aren’t getting any. Go to the lobby and get your own.

They don’t have Butter Pecan, Ann pouted. Please? I’ll trade you for a meatball sub.

No. I don’t eat meat unless it has hair around the base of it.

Bastard, Ann grumbled as she took out her phone. Now I have to order in.  She called Collici’s Restaurant. "Tony? Ann Coleman. What the hell is that supposed to mean, you fat bastard? Yeah, some joke. You should be on TV. Animal Planet is hiring. I want to order a large Sicilian pie with everything, and three sausage and pepper grinders. Oh, and a serving of Lasagna. A small one; I’m on a diet. Fuck you, smartass. Oh, and have whatever brain dead Wop asshole who delivers this stop and get me some Butter Pecan ice cream. Yeah, we’re at the arena. No. You insulted me. Stick your tip up your ass."

Ann looked up in time to see one of Gooley’s cameramen a few feet away from her.

Hey! she yelled as Creighton laughed hysterically. Did you put that on the Tron?

Yes we did, Creighton squealed. Now the whole world knows what a miserable, piggy glutton you are.

I ordered that for the homeless people, Ann laughed.

Sure you did, Creighton laughed. Like Miss Too Tall Jones next to you? Maybe she’ll have some of your pizza after she finishes her ice cream.

Watch it, Creighton, Shannon warned. I know where you live.

Then I shall padlock my refrigerator. Just keep eating, ladies; it seems to be what you do best, other than yapping. The following contest, which is not an eating contest featuring the two hogs at ringside, is for the WWA Men’s TV Championship, currently held by the most astounding physical specimen known to man, Gentleman Jack Sweeney.

Sweeney came out to God Save the Queen and waved to the crowd.

That’s your theme song, Ann giggled, poking Tyler.

"And yours is Just Eat It by Weird Al Yankovic."

"And his opponent, who spends more time in rehab than he does in