Pilot

[The scene opens with a shot of the front of a dirty black Nissan Pathfinder. The camera slowly pans to the right toward the driver side and moves in closer after clearing the front bumper. We see a figure sitting behind the wheel. As the camera approaches, the window comes down. Inside is a man with short black hair and a face full of whiskers. He is wearing a white winter hat (even though it is the middle of summer) and sunglasses. He smiles thinly. Suddenly his cell phone rings. He pulls it off of his belt buckle and puts it to his ear.]

Trey: Talk to me.

[As Trey listens to the voice on the other end of the phone, the camera spins around to give us a glimpse of the area. The day is partially cloudy as the sun pokes in and out. The area? Your average suburban neighborhood. Houses with long green lawns. Big trees. In the background you can hear children's voices yelling, dogs barking and birds singing. The road on which the Pathfinder is parked is long and straight. Old large trees stand guard along the street. A few cars are parked randomly further down the road in each direction, so he does not appear to stand out any more than the other vehicles.

As the camera pans back around, Trey has noticed something in his rear view mirror. The camera pauses on him, and then quickly turns to the right. We see an oncoming bright red sports car. A convertible. The camera quickly moves around the Pathfinder, the door opens, and we are now inside the vehicle just as the convertible passes by.]

Trey: I gotta go. Keep me updated. (He hangs the phone up). I really hate this low budget crap, just so you know (he says looking at the camera). But I've got bills to pay.

[Trey reaches into the backseat and pulls a camera with an extra long lens out of a duffel bag.]

Trey: Now, I know you're looking at this and wondering, why in the hell are we in the middle of suburbia in an SUV, and what's so important about that red car? Take a look.

[The camera now faces straight out of the front window. About four houses down, the red car has pulled into a driveway of a large, white, two-story house. From the driver side emerges a blonde woman wearing a white tank top, black shorts and black high heel shoes. Maybe in her late 20s or early 30s. Hard to tell from this distance. Out of the passenger side steps a shirtless man with a good build. He is wearing white shorts and sneakers.]

Trey: Man, he either stuffs his shorts or has one hell of a chubby right now. Oh, before we go on, my name is Trey. Trey Vincent. And the man behind the camera is my partner in crime, Dennis Ian Cyrus. Say hello Dennis.

Dennis (voice): Hello.

Trey: Wow, didn't go for the cheap joke. Anyway, I'm Trey Vincent, a man who should be on your TV every week. But instead, because of this rotten economy and the monopoly some people hold on the wrestling business, there is a conspiracy to keep me down. But that's irrelevant now. Because I have two plans by taping this. Plan A. You people watching this are EWS guys. Fine. I'm am entertainment, period. I will give you some entertainment the likes of which you have never seen. But that's not where it ends, oh no. Because in the ring, I am one of the best. But more on that later. I'm getting hungry and we've got to go film this next bit for Fox networks. My plan? A new reality TV series. Trey Vincent: Private Eye. Starring me. It's a ratings winner.

[Trey opens the door and the Dennis opens his door and they get onto the cemented sidewalk. We hear the Pathfinder's alarm beep. Trey leads the way, looking suspiciously in every direction, though mainly to his left and right as he walks. He holds the camera in his right hand, the strap dragging along the ground. He picks up the camera and he pauses at the fence of the home where the red car is parked. He backs up a few steps and takes off, clearing the four foot picket fence with ease and lands on his feet.]

Dennis (voice): Trey. Can you hold the camera for a second?

Static.

[We open up on the lawn. The camera runs behind Trey, who is also running. Trey gets to the chimney and stands with his back against it for a moment. He then peers to his left and looks in one of the large side windows.]

Trey: Hello (he whispers).

[Trey gets down on his knees and crawls to the window. He raises the camera and begins clicking away.]

Trey: Yeah baby. (He takes more photos). Work it, honey. Yeah. Smile pretty for the camera. (He keeps taking photos). You know darling, if you had only been that flexible for your husband, you wouldn't be in this predicament. (Trey returns to the chimney and pulls out more film to replace the full roll in his camera).

Trey: OK, backstory. Inside that room, is a married woman, and some local boy toy. Her husband came to my company a few days ago. He was convinced her wife was having an affair. Apparently, he came home one day and found some dude's boxer shorts in their bed. The unlucky hubby wears briefs. The wife? Well, I'll leave what she wears to your imagination. Needless to say it isn't boxer shorts, but I did just see our good friend inside there, he was wearing them, before she ripped them off.

[Trey loads up the camera.]

Trey: Now see, I can't put the camera at the window, because that's Spice Channel stuff. But I can take the photos and I'm sure our client will feel just wonderful when he gets to divorce her and she gets nothing. All these chicks. So dumb sometimes.

[Trey crawls back toward the window and takes some more photos.]

Trey: Oh man. So, yeah, basically, the married couple hasn't banged for about six months. She's always got a headache or has some excuse not to bang him. Now we know the real reason. She's been too busy elsewhere. This chick is a human rollercoaster. Everyone gets a ride. And for all the curious guys in TV land, she ain't a natural blonde. But I ain't complaining.

Static.

[We are now in a different part of the yard. Trey is behind a small bush, peering in another window and taking more pictures from a new angle.]

Trey: This is the bad part of the job. I gotta get pictures of the dude's face. Every guy looks the same when they're banging. Unbelievable. Anyhow. He looks like he's about ready to blow, so.

[Trey gets out from behind the bush and looks around the yard. He walks toward a oak tree in the middle of the yard and takes a seat behind it. The camera lowers to his eye level.]

Trey: Now, I just need to get a shot of him leaving, and my work here is done. I get paid, but not enough. You see, I'll be honest with you. I need a job. I mean, there are some great perks to this job, don't get me wrong. But I really need to get back in the ring and kick some ass. The Extreme Wrestling Scene needs Trey Vincent. You haven't seen anything yet.

Static

[Back at the Nissan Pathfinder, Trey is leaning on the hood, camera by his hand, waiting. Still waiting. He drums on the hood with his index fingers and looks at the camera. He pulls off the shades.]

Trey: You see, I hear the name of this company. It doesn't worry me. I could show you all my battle scars from the independent scene. But who cares about the past? I'm an a franchise player. I'm a guy you build your company around. I am talent. And if you don't hire me, it your loss, not mine.

Dennis: And they should hired Dennis Ian Cyrus as well. Do they even have any tag teams in this federation?

Trey: I didn't see any. Not a bad idea at all. But if they don't have tag teams, well, you can be my valet. We'll just have to get you some plastic surgery and a sex change operation. What size breasts do you want?

Dennis: Well I've always wanted Cs, hey! I ain't becoming a woman. I'd lose too much.

Trey: But you'd also gain so much. But don't worry about that now. I really don't want to see what you look like in a dress. (He shivers). Cha-ching.

[Back at the white house, the couple has come out to the car. They are both wearing what they first wore into the home. Trey is on it and takes the last pictures he'll need. He puts his shades back on and gets into his vehicle. Dennis also gets in.]

Trey: Well, that was fun. Rather uneventful, but what do you expect for something like this?

Dennis: Maybe we should have shot the pilot for Spice?

Trey: No. No. Let's do our big closer here, shall we. First, this one's for you people at Fox. Trey Vincent is a private investigator. A man who tracks down missing people, catches cheating couples, finds criminals and anything else as long as he gets paid. His only weapon? A camera and his amazing mind. The streets are an ugly place, but I am cleaning it up. I also have ideas where I can go interview the bad people after the fact and get them to comment on why they did what they did. Like, for this, I know how you need to produce stuff about four months ahead of time. Well, by then we could have this chick explaining how bad of a lover her husband was, or just what a slut she was because her father never loved her or something. It's rough, I know. But you guys put on some great reality television.

Trey: As for the Extreme Wrestling Scene. I'll admit I don't know who are the players, who are the fakers and I really don't care. Because you will soon learn that you are all just fakers when compared to everyone's TV champion, Trey Vincent. With my fans world wide, I will show everyone just who belongs on TV and who doesn't. So, let's look at the roster. I'd look at their promos, but, I can't exactly afford a VCR right now. And the motels I stay in, well, I ain't gonna waste my time watching wrestling when there are four, count them four, channels of porno.

Dennis: Don't you mean, that you're too busy banging drunk chicks?

Trey: Yeah, that too. But, OK. (He pulls out a crumpled piece of notebook paper from his black jeans). Here's what we got last time I checked. We have Bonesnap. Chris Casket. Ah, must be the federation dead man. I used to wrestle under the name of Trey Pinebox for a while. And then I upgraded to Trey Bodybag. Then we have, Crush. Crush? Damn, Bryan Adams is still kicking around? Can't be. Is that the dude from Demolition, with the face paint? I'll be damned. This class is high talent. Devin Dawson, no doubt star of that slut fest "Dawson's Creek." Diamondfront. Are you kidding me? Doom is in the house? Who the hell is Doom? Another nobody.

Trey: Fondu? Fondu is moldy when compared to Trey Vincent. Freak Daddy? OK, not even going to touch that one. Honey? I'm hoping that's a chick. And I hope she's hot. Everyone needs a hot chick in wrestling. Hughesy? Whatever. Jacob Davies? James Hairy man. Oh dude! Slater is here. I hope Zach, Kelly and Screech are here too.

Trey: Uh oh, Korruption. You know he's a bad ass because he starts his name with a K instead of a C. Then we have Moe Lester something. Mach? Sounds like somebody was clearing their throat when they named that guy. Mr. Showtime. I'm a big fan of Showtime, the channel. But Mr. Showtime, I dunno about. Unless he shows porno every night after 10, I may not like you.

Trey: No way! Princess Neverafter is here? Oh my world is complete. Prototype. Hmm. Get back to me when you've become a finished product like me. Rick Storm. Blow me, Rick. Sam Douglas. Sly Malone. Oh come on. Where's Joe Smith and John Anderson? Can we be any more vague here? Though I like the name Sly. That dude's got some style. I think I'll keep my eye on him. It's not as good of a name as Trey, but it's still good. No shit, Smash is here too! Man, maybe I should tell everyone my name is Ax and we can reform Demolition 2001? On second thought, no.

Trey: Steve Studnuts. *cough*soundslikeahomo*cough*. That's OK though. Oh, the Heart Throbber is here. Hey, I got something else that throbs, and the women seem to like that a hell of a lot more than you're heart. Everybody tremble in fear, The Nightmare is here. Everyone wet your bed and scream. Them some guy I'll just call Double-W. What is this guy, Chinese? And we also have Wolverine. Hmm. Is this the cartoon character, or could it be a certain 'wolverine' who inhabits the woods around Stamford, Connecticut? Anyway. so that's it.

Trey: It's painfully obvious you need Trey Vincent here. You need a franchise player. You need a role model. You need a sports entertainer to raise you from your pathetic hardcore league status. You need a main eventer who can really deliver. You need an icon. You need the real deal. You need Trey Vincent.

NEXT CHAPTER: All Hail The Franchise Player >>

©2001 John Leary