Chess

"A chess game is divided into three stages: the first, when you hope you have the advantage, the second when you believe you have an advantage, and the third... when you know you're going to lose!"
— Tartakower

In dark times like these, we cannot be alone. We cannot stare down at the face of tragedy and cry. That would be the easy way out. Grieving is far too easy to give into — and once given into, it becomes like a tidal wave, swallowing you and carrying you deeper into a world you don’t know, and one from which you may never return.

Knowing this, Sharc hunted through several papers that were scattered across the wood table he considered a desk in his home. He sorted through the various bills, wrestling magazines, pay stubs and other artifacts until he found what he’d been looking for: A phone number.

Sharc headed out towards the phone in his kitchen, looking into his bedroom to see Amy King’s bare legs on his bed. She was taking a nap, still recovering with the aid of some mighty painkillers to what Levine had done to her on Pressure Point a week ago.

He tossed the paper on the kitchen counter and stared down at it as he dialed the cell number.

Chess is like life
— Boris Spassky

In the living room, Sharc paced back and forth, listening to the phone ring in his left ear, hoping that it wouldn’t end with some sort of "leave a message" message. Those were such anti-climaxes. Especially for Sharc, who rarely even used the phone.

"Yeah? Rich? That you?"

"Yeah. What’s up, DB?" Sharc asked his longtime friend and mentor, a man who had appeared briefly with him in Action during Sharc’s feud with Fiend. The wrestler known as Diamondback.

"Same shit, different country. Big roaming charges." DB sniffed loudly from whatever country he was currently living. "What about you? How goes Action?"

"It goes shitty," Sharc said, sitting down in front of the couch and pulling his knees up to his chest. He stared up at a news show on the television to his right, but didn’t really see it for what it was. "Amy’s hurt. KroW got her."

"Ahh, KroW. What did he do?"

"He branded her. With his name."

"No shit. Wow. I thought Action was kind of, you know...not hardcore and shit."

"KroW never did play by the rules."

"The blunders are all there on the board, waiting to be made."
— Tartakover

"I know what has to happen next. We talked about it," Sharc said, now staring intently at the floor, his eyes wide, as if recalling some terror or painful memory from his recent past.

"We?" DB paused. "You want my advice?"

Sharc was silent, knowing he was going to get it anyway.

"You tour so many cities all across the city. I don’t think it would matter too much if you stopped going to one every now and again. You know what I’m saying?"

"I hear you."

"I mean. Take Los Angeles. I go there all the time. I love that city. But if I was appearing every week on the WB, I might not want to advertise it so much. I mean. Things happen in L.A. all the time. Things happen everywhere all the time. People disappear. People die. It’s a shame. But that’s America for you. It’s a shithole of lies and death. I still am amazed by what you can get away with under the guise of sports and entertainment. I’m sure it wouldn’t be too hard to push that envelope a bit. It hasn’t been a good year for wrestlers anyway."

"No, it hasn’t. So where are you now?"

"I’d like to answer that, Rich. Really I would. All I’ll say is there is plenty of nice women. Plenty of nice scenery. A little bit of sun. And no fucking pigs bothering me, not that they were anyway there."

When you see a good move wait - look for a better one.
— Emanuel Lasker

"So, you’ll be back someday?" Sharc asked.

"Oh yeah, I’ll be back. Listen. KroW is a psycho. It sounds like you’re in the middle of a war. You guys wrestle yet?"

"Yep. Main evented the show three weeks back or so. He beat me. But I got the last laugh. Or so I thought. He’s been searching for this little photo ID I have of his. I was trying to steal away his most prized possession, the PIW World Title."

"PIW title? In an Action main event? Mwahahaha. The marks must have loved that."

Sharc pushed himself up and headed towards the window. He looked around at his neighborhood and remained quiet about that topic. He really didn’t care if people hated or loved PIW. This feud wasn’t about PIW anymore.

"You know what would be great," Diamondback mused. "Get rid of everything at once. How long is he under contract for?"

"As far as I know, ‘til the end of the month," Sharc said.

"Perfect."

"Play the opening like a book, the middle game like a magician, and the endgame like a machine."
— Spielmann

"I guess it is perfect then."

"Oh, I can already hear the wheels in your head churning, all the way from here."

"What he did to Amy..." Sharc started, but he could say no more.

"The winner of the game is the player who makes the next-to-last mistake."
— Tartakover

"I’ve seen tapes of your work in PIW and TWW, and of course I worked with you back in the day," DB said. "I know what you can do. I know that a lot of what you can do is wasted a lot of the time. This is the era of reality television. People have a lust for this shit now. We’re slowly moving toward a different world. Guys like us should be in the Asylum, fighting. We’re fighters, Rich. You’re living in a time of anarchy, but nobody realizes it yet. Maybe you should toss the first Molotov cocktail."

"We’ll make it nice and clean."

"Wise man. Don’t leave any crumbs."

"Crumbs would be bad."

"Ashes would be better."

Sharc was silent.

"No price is too great for the scalp of the enemy King.
- Koblentz

NEXT CHAPTER: The Clouds Gather >>

©2003 John Leary