The Total Package

Mallard quietly said, “Lance.” to let John know he was going to hit him with his signature finishing move, “The Mallard Lance”. Then he yanked on John’s arm and whipped him into the far corner of the ring’s turnbuckle.

Rita marched down the ramp towards the ring with purpose in her stride. She was doing an unplanned run-in, the term for a wrestler not booked, running into the ring to interfere with the match.

Rita was not supposed to be out there. One of the match’s stipulations was that Rita waited in the locker room and did not involve herself in the fight. Stipulations like this were often ignored, but that was scripted too. This was not. The audience was elated, but not surprised to see their favorite fighting hottie approaching the ring with bad intentions for Mallard, but John was.

He figured Vic had sent her out to pop the crowd, literally. And she succeeded, for they were roaring for her. She dressed to temper every male spectator’s dick in the arena into a solid stone cock, while inducing a seething, dark green enviousness in anything with a vagina that was not hers.

Her dark-honey colored hair was untied, and fell behind her shoulders. She wore her usual ring attire: Black low-rise baggy windpants that fit well below her waist and her thong panties, red this time. They protruded above her hips, well above the waistline, highlighting her sculpted abdomen and shouting naughty to the rooftops. John wanted to go into the locker room and massage her moist clit through them again.

Her black crop top had her name printed across it in red letters, and that sexy, serpent tattoo completed the package. He wanted to pull the shirt off of her and smooth over all of her skin with his hands and so did all of the male spectators.

Mallard charged at John and slammed into him with his “Mallard Lance” tackling him backwards and jamming him into the corner with tremendous force. It never hurt. It was never supposed to. But John sold the move for the audience who needed to believe that the “Mallard Lance” was devastating.

He adopted a stunned and glazed look on his face and wobbling a few steps toward the center of the ring, he collapsed onto his face. The crowd screamed for him to get up while others, aware of Rita coming to save him, chanted her name, “Rita! Rita! Rita!”

Before Rita entered the ring, she circled it like a shark. The referee was following her with his eyes, making sure she did not cause trouble. When he turned his back to call the match in progress, Rita forced the petite blonde ring announcer, Lilly Gonzalez, from her steel folding chair, picked it up and folded it closed. The crowd howled, well aware of her plan.

Mallard rolled John over, and covered him for the pin. Thirty-thousand berserk wrestling fans screamed for John to kick out, twenty-thousand demanded the opposite. The ref dropped to all fours to get a close look and make sure John’s shoulders were both pinned and began the count, slapping the mat… “One… Two… Thr”—John kicked out of the pin and pushed Mallard off of him. The crowd went wild.

John climbed to his feet. Mallard charged him with his signature move again but John was ready. He jumped aside and Mallard crashed into the referee. The referee was tackled to the ground, and lay unconscious. Most referees could be knocked over with a feather, and though it was not in the game plan, John knew it was Rita’s cue to join the battle unbarred.

When Mallard saw what he had done, he acted wide-eyed with shock that he accidentally lanced the ref. John took this chance to grab Mallard into a waist lock pressing his chest to Mallard’s back, and heaved the two-hundred and fifteen pound wrestler into a suplex.

He lifted him up off the mat arched his back and fell backwards like a felled sequoia. The pair landed violently on their backs, and the ring buckled beneath them with a loud thud. The audience roared at the sheer power of the move.

He heard the crowd roar, cat-call, whistle and shout. He did not see it, but the heat Rita drew from the crowd was unmistakable. He knew that she had slipped into the ring to stand by her new man, and make sure Mallard stayed down. John stood to face his soon-to-be manager/main squeeze.

Her hazel eyes blazed with irate hostility as she looked in the direction of Ray Mallard, who was slowly rolling to his feet. She slowly stalked toward him with the steel chair.

John felt a small tinge of resentment. He wanted to win the match on his on merits. Vic must have had ordered Rita to burn the bridge between Mallard and herself. Her incursion into the match was unscripted but John allowed her to do what she was told.

When Mallard had stood up all the way, she charged past John across the ring at Mallard and swung the chair hard, swatting Mallard across his head with a loud crack, that the whole arena felt. The crowd roared in approval. Mallard went limp, dropped to the mat like a curtain and ceased to move.

“You think you’re a man? You’re not a man! You’ll never be my man!” She said.

The audience could not hear what she was saying; they only needed to see her yelling at the crumpled Mallard, and watch her pantomimed body language to understand that she had nasty things to say.

The referee had miraculously regained consciousness, and shakily began to stand up. Rita turned to Johnny Lockdown and pantomimed for him to pin Mallard.

John began walking towards Mallard, disappointed that Rita had won the match for him. Was this the sign of the times? Was Vic’s angle going to be that Rita would always be there to help John cheat? John never liked heeling to win, especially since he was a good guy, a babyface.

John was focused on Mallard in a motionless heap on the ground when Rita began to quickly move towards him. John looked up to her-- a grayish blue blur rushed towards his face and a cold, hard object collided with his forehead with a metallic crack!

He felt warm blood spilling off his brow and into his eyes as he fell in shock. The crowd gasped. He wiped hot blood from his eyes and saw Rita standing over him menacingly with the steel chair -- looking down on him with an arrogant smirk. He rolled to his knees and tried to stand.

“You think I’m your girl? I’ll never be your girl! I choose, not you!” She said, using the same pantomime, pointing her finger at him vigorously for the audience’s benefit.

“My God!!” John heard the big, round ring announcer, T.J. Duke, holler with absolute astonishment in his raspy voice. “She busted him open with a steel chair!! She busted them both!!”

John heard Duke’s partner Jared “The Monarch” Lara add, “Rita’s her own woman T.J.! She doesn’t want either of them!”

Lara laughed, and TJ Duke lost his mind!

“Oh, good Lord!!” he said. “Rita has had enough of the both of them!! I’ve never seen such a betrayal in all my years in the business!! That evil jezebel Rita!! I can’t believe what just happened! There is no winner!! What does this mean for Ray Mallard and Johnny Lockdown?? Rita has sent a clear message!! She will not manage either of them!! Ladies and gentlemen!! What will happen?? What will happen next week??”

John never thought it would happen, but it did. He was the victim of a screw-job. He had been scripted to win, both the match and the girl but he was heeled, stiffed and jobbed out. To add insult to injury he had jobbed out to the girl who had pledged to be his.

He could not be one-hundred percent sure, but he thought he felt tears mixing with the blood juicing from the chair-shot. Dizziness invaded John’s brain and phosphenes assaulted his vision. It was the last sensation he experienced before darkness took him; save for pain.