Curse of the Blue Diablo, page 1
part #3 of Grindhouse Chronicles Series
Grindhouse Chronicles
Book Series
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01 - Smoothen Silky: Demon Fighting Pimp
02 - Midget with a Chainsaw
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All books available from Amazon and on Kindle.
www.GrindhouseChronicles.com
COMING SOON
Volume 4: Smoothen Silky vs The WereCougar
CURSE OF THE BLUE DIABLO
©2018
Prologue
“Come on you bunch of pansies, you wanna make the show one day or don’tcha?!” Blackwell barked up the hill, shaking his head at the seven wrestlers huffing and puffing their way to the top. They were just beyond the Anarchist Championship Wrestling Promotion training camp, pushing their bodies to perform harder and faster.
Frankie and Brian were the first to hit the bottom of the hill again, collapsing next to each other in the dirt with fatigue. Brian flopped over onto his back, running his hands through his blonde hair. Frankie remained facedown, the neon green of his tight jogging pants making his ass a giant beacon for the others in the evening sun.
Sarah barreled down after them, skidding in the gravel on the bottom half of the hill and tripping over Frankie. She let herself fall, just to have the chance to rest, and left her legs propped up on the blonde’s chest. She was happy she’d wound her long brown hair into a bun for this, as she felt like she’d sweated out twice her body weight that night.
Dave and Tommy leaned on each other, their dark hair looking the same shade in the dusky light. They supported each other as they panted for breath, clearly staggered from running up and down this hill so many times.
“Come on, line up!” Blackwell demanded hoarsely, and Dave and Tommy groaned in unison, facing the hill again. The last two to jog gracefully down the hill joined the line, and they couldn’t be more different.
Tate, the tall All-American wrestler with the bulging pecs and flowing blonde hair grinned smugly as he joined the lineup, flexing to show that he wasn’t fazed in the slightest by all this hard work. He gave his short masked companion a hard shove.
“You ready to get your ass kicked, boy?” He sneered. “I’m the star of this promotion and I’m gonna show you why.”
The stocky wrestler in the black and blue mask didn’t betray any emotion from his face being hidden. “Big words from a small man,” he rasped with a throaty Spanish accent.
“Bitch please, I got at least six inches on you,” Tate snarled.
“Not where it counts,” the masked man replied, a hint of amusement in his voice, and the taller wrestler lunged for him. Tommy and Dave recovered their breath enough to hold their blonde firecracker of a coworker back.
“Jesus Christ, Tater Tot, keep it in your pants,” Blackwell barked, his grizzled face deep in a frown.
“Sorry, Mister Blackwell,” Tate muttered, shrugging his friends off violently. He turned to the hill, scowling at it as if it had done him a great disservice.
“Alright, one more trip to the top, ladies,” the old wrestler grunted. “Whoever gets there and rings the bell first doesn’t have to do the six mile fun run tomorrow morning. So is everybody who hasn’t already shit themselves ready to go?”
“YES SIR!” The four left standing yelled.
“On my mark,” Blackwell bellowed, “Three… two… one… GO!” Tommy and Dave made it about twenty feet before tripping over themselves in a heap, having spent the last shreds of their energy on holding their coworker back. Tate, the man in question, tore up the hill in perfect synchronicity with the man in the mask despite their height difference.
The shorter man managed to pull ahead right at the crest of the hill, and reached out for the bell, but Tate lunged forward and knocked him clean into the bell post. He stood there, smugly looking down at the man he’d knocked over, and smirked at him as he rung the bell several times.
“That’s right, you second class piece of shit, I’m the champion,” he said, voice laced with warning. He cackled as he turned and strutted down the hill, chest puffed out like a caveman. The masked man picked himself up off of the ground, brushing the dirt from his legs and shoulders as he clomped down the hill to the others.
Tate stopped abruptly halfway down, leaning until he was nose to nose with his masked opponent.
“Just remember, you’re always gonna be a loser when you’re up against me,” he growled, and then his eyes lit up with mischief. “Maybe if you took off that mask…” His hand shot out to grab the bottom of the mask and started to jerk it up, but the short man immediately punched him in the throat. As the blonde’s eyes bugged out of his head and he gasped for air, the shorter man shoved him just enough to send him tumbling down the hill.
“This mask is sacred and never leaves my face in the presence of others,” the short man declared as he traveled the rest of the way down. “You touch it again, and you’re gonna have a problem.” Tommy helped Tate back to his feet, the blonde’s eyes blazing with anger as he caught his breath. Blackwell stepped between them, and stared at his prize pony.
“Serves you right, Tate,” he began, “you may call yourself the American All-Star, but you’re really just an American Asshole. You just can’t stand that the new guy kicked your ass, can you? I saw what you did at the top of the hill. Because of that and you’re little display here, you get to go check the morning fun run trail for downed branches. I suggest you get goin unless you want to be checking by moonlight.”
Tate simply grunted in response, tugging Tommy along with him as he stared the shorter man down. He lowered his mouth to Tommy’s ear. “Give me two hours, then bring him up to Fire Rock. Tell him whatever you need to, just get him there. It’s time for his initiation.”
“You got it,” the dark haired wrestler replied with a nod.
“Now shove me like you’re on his side,” Tate instructed, and his coworker complied, pushing him hard towards the trail.
“Go on, get out of here Tate, serves you right!” He cried, and the blonde shot him a petulant middle finger.
“Fuck you, Tommy!”
“Tate,” Blackwell growled sternly, “run, now.” The blonde turned and took off down the trail, disappearing into the trees as Tommy approached the masked man.
“Hey, look man, sorry about Tate,” he said apologetically. “He’s just stressed out about some scouts from the biggest Texas promotion coming to our next show.”
“It’s okay,” the masked man shook his head. “It’s not your fault he’s a prick.”
“So, what’s your story, man?” Tommy asked conversationally, shoving his hands into his pockets and bouncing on the balls of his feet. “You’ve been out here all day running with us and you haven’t said barely anything until now.”
“My character is silent,” the shorter man shrugged. “I usually employ that when I’m around others. It’s nothing personal, I just don’t often break character.”
“I understand that.” Tommy nodded. “Being professional is a big part of the business. Well look man, I’m Tommy and that’s my brother Brian. We’re the Brain Bashers, the top tag team.” He motioned to the blonde still flopped on the ground, who gave a lazy salute. “That’s Dave, he has a heavy metal persona and goes by Shredder in the ring.”
“What’s up, man?” Dave strolled over and extended his hand. “Hey, if you ever want to team up and do a mariachi metal tag team, I think we can kick these guys asses!” He grinned and the masked man nodded, shaking his hand firmly.
“That bright green ass over there is Frankie,” Tommy pointed to the neon clad man who was doing some yoga stretches to wind down after all the running. “He goes by Hollywood in the ring, total 80’s motif. You know, like Frankie goes to Hollywood?” Tommy received a nod and then motioned to the brown haired woman who was just getting to her feet, daintily brushing dust from her irresistibly tight jogging pants. “And finally we have Sarah, who is our little debutante, Southern Dee-Lite. Only thing sweeter than her is the tea.” Tommy concluded, and she smiled brightly at the newbie.
“Nice to meet you,” she said, eyes alight with charm.
“Likewise,” the masked man replied.
“So, what’s your name?” Tommy asked, keeping the conversation rolling. “Obviously you’re a Luchador, but what do you go by?”
“Coming up in Mexico I was known as Diablo Azul, which translates into the Blue Diablo,” the short man said thoughtfully. “Blackwell has suggested if I want to get a following outside of the region I should go with the English translation. I haven’t decided yet.”
“So what should we call you?” Tommy shrugged. “Neither of those exactly roll off of the tongue in conversation.
“Just call me BD,” The shorter man replied, and then his lips twisted into a small smile. “Or Mr. Diablo.” There was an awkward silence and he glanced around the group. He chuckled awkwardly. “Got ya.” There was a smattering of laughs throughout the wrestlers, and Sarah started the procession inside.
“So, BD, we have a bit of a tradition at this camp,” Tommy said as they walked. “After we survive the first day, we all head down the trail a bit to a place called Fire Rock. We grab some beers and swap some of our more colorful wrestling stories. You want to join us this evening?”
“I’m not exactly the talkative type,” Blue Diablo protested with a shake of his head.
“Oh, come on,” Sarah drawled, ey es big and pleading as she slipped her arm into his. “It would be great to get to know you.”
“Yeah, come on bud, a couple of beers ain’t gonna kill you,” Frankie piped up, and the short masked man figured it would be easier to give in than to argue. And this group seemed like they were a lot better company than that insufferable Tate.
“Okay,” he agreed.
“Fantastic!” Tommy grinned. “Let’s go get cleaned up and we’ll take off.”
That night, atop a large rock deep in the woods, Dave stoked a well built campfire surrounded by stone seats. Brian opened the cooler Tommy had hauled out there, and passed out beer to everyone. Sarah offered one to Blue Diablo with a hand on her hip and a smile on her lips, but he graciously refused.
“So yeah man, I was on the undercard of this show somewhere out in west Texas, and I swear to christ there were more scorpions in the building than people,” Dave was saying as he added more logs to the fire. “It was one of these small towns where their normal source of entertainment during the week was seeing how far they could slingshot roadkill.”
“Oh come on,” Sarah wrinkled her nose as she popped the cap off of her beer. “The town couldn’t have been that bad.”
“Sarah, I swear, right hand to god if I had asked the audience for a soda and some meth, I would have had a wider variety of meth to pick from.” Dave put a hand over his heart and the other in the air, gaze so serious she giggled. “This, this was not a great town. So anyway, I was facing off against this local kid. He didn’t know suplex from a supermarket, but for some reason he was popular in the town. Well, he decided to get bold and refused to sell a couple of my punches. Just stood there like he was a methed up Superman. The crowd started going wild, chanting his name, which kind of rubbed me the wrong way.” He squared his shoulders. “So I laid him out for real.”
“Bullshit, man!” Brian exclaimed.
“Swear to fucking god, Brian, swear to god!” Dave nodded emphatically. “This kid didn’t fall to the mat though, I hit him so hard he went through the ropes and into the front row!”
“And how did that work out for you?” Sarah raised an eyebrow.
“Well, turned out he had a couple of brothers and a few cousins, all with a mean streak.” Dave shuddered. “Next thing I know, I’m knocking out his extended family and trying to get the hell out of there before I end up in jail. Hardest forty bucks I ever made.”
“Wait, the promoter still paid you?” Frankie blurted, eyes wide in disbelief.
“Hell yeah he did!” Dave laughed. “Said that was the biggest reaction he’s ever seen at one of his events. He offered to double my pay if I came back to smack his momma around at the next show.”
“Did you do it?” Sarah asked, excitement in her voice.
“Come on, Sarah.” He rolled his eyes.
“Come on, Dave,” she replied, mocking him complete with the eye roll. “We all know you’re a whore and will do anything for money.”
“This is true, but goddammit I’m a high priced whore.” He straightened and pretended to preen himself. “Gotta at least hit triple digits before I’ll smack somebody’s mother.”
“Yeah, well, that still doesn’t hold a candle to what I have go to through,” she replied with a grimace.
“Oh, why’s that?” Dave teased. “Because you’re a delicate little flower?”
“You’re goddamn right I’m a delicate little flower,” she agreed, striking a little pose and flipping her hair. “And yeah, you try looking like this and walking through a crowd of drunken rednecks whose wives won’t let them go to the strip club. They have to settle for grabbing my ass on a Saturday night.”
“To be fair, it is quite grabbable,” Brian piped up with a lopsided grin on his face.
“Of course it is!” she agreed. “Do you have any idea how many squats I have to do in order to keep this up?” A chuckle rippled through the group around the glow of the fire.
“So, BD, you have any crazy wrestling stories?” Tommy prompted, motioning to the short masked man with his beer bottle.
“Eh, you know, nothing out of the ordinary,” Blue Diablo replied with a shrug. “I mean I was pretty popular in some parts of Western Mexico. Got such a following that I would get booked for private events.”
“Like what, kid’s birthdays and shit?” Tommy asked.
“More like private shows for the cartels,” the shorter man corrected, and a hush fell over the group. They glanced at each other, and then back at him, until Dave broke the silence.
“Like, drug cartels?”
“No Dave, like the Maple Syrup Cartels in Canada,” Sarah retorted with another eye roll. “Of course the fucking drug cartels.” She turned to Blue Diablo with softer eyes. “Please excuse Dave. He’s a moron.”
“It’s quite alright,” the masked man nodded in acceptance. “But yes, the drug cartels. Now, I don’t know about the stress of having to perform in front of some methed out desert people, but I’m guessing that it’s a little less stressful than performing with one of the cartel boss’ family members.”
“Holy hell dude, that’s nuts,” Frankie blurted, eyes wide.
“Yeah, not my best show by far,” Blue Diablo agreed. “One of the bodyguards pulled me aside before the show and said if anything happened to the kid that my family would receive a map to all the places where my body was buried.”
“Yeah, BD, I think you got me on the stress level with that one.” Dave shook his head in disbelief. “Holy shit.”
“How did you even perform that night?” Sarah inquired, leaning forward with anticipation.
“It was kind of a blur, to be honest,” Blue Diablo replied, spreading his hands with his palms up. “Only thing I remember is being amazed that I figured out that there is a middle ground between a body slam and gently tucking a child into bed.” Everyone burst into laughter, bellies clenching with the force of it.
“Well, looks like everyone is having a grand old time here!” Tate bellowed, stepping into the firelight, and the laughter stopped immediately. The silence was palpable, everyone tense and ready to spring, except for Blue Diablo, who simply smirked through his mask.
“You still upset, Tate?” he asked. “Or have you had a chance to work through your frustrations on your hike?” The blonde wasted no time lunging forward to shove the masked man from his seat. Brian and Tommy dove to help pick him up, but Blue Diablo got to his feet, squaring his broad shoulders.
“Just getting started blowing off steam.” Tate crossed his arms, grinning wide as Brian and Tommy grasped the masked man’s arms to hold him in place. The others flanked him and he glanced from side to side smugly, asserting his position as Alpha of the group.
“What are you doing?” Blue Diablo asked, though he didn’t sound worried or afraid.
“I’ll tell you what we’re doing, you mask wearing freak,” Tate snarled, narrowing his eyes. “We’re giving you your walking papers. Now, I don’t give a fuck what Blackwell wants for a promotion. I’m the star, I’m the one who puts asses in those seats. I’m the one who is destined for greatness.”
“So, what’s stopping you?” the masked man prompted, a hint of sarcasm in his tone.
“You and Blackwell. You come in here with your Luchador act and want to compete in the same ring as me?” Tate scoffed, putting a hand to his chest in disbelief. “I know he wants to make you champ so he can get those dollars from your beaner fan base. They would throw down the pesos by the fistful to watch their Mexican homeboy whoop up on the American All-Star. In the blink of an eye I go from Champion to a fucking joke! We all do. Playing second fiddle to your kind.” He reeled back and spit on the rock that Blue Diablo had been sitting on, face twisted with disgust. “As soon as that happens, those scouts stop coming to the shows, and I end up stuck doing these House bits in high school gyms until I’m a broken fucking old man.
“The rest of these guys will never move up, and have to spend the rest of their days in this industry being mocked in fucking Mexican. I’m not gonna let that happen!” Tate finished shrilly, eyes wild and fists clenched.
“Wow, you are one racist piece of shit, you know that?” Blue Diablo was in awe, and shook his head. Tate punched him in the gut with all of his muscular glory, causing the masked man to slump forward.
