Fate will not be seen at this time....instead, enjoy some jOlting TV!!!

It was a clear and cloudless night. Sharc had just stepped outside the HSBC Arena, his bag slung over his shoulder, when he heard a man humming the 'Jaws' theme as he walked closer and closer to his rental car.

'Da dum.'

'What drunk asshole is this,' Sharc muttered to himself. 'And whose SUV is blocking my car?'

'Da dum, da dum, da dum....'

Sharc shook his head as the man got really loud and annoying.

'DUM DA DUM, DUH DUM, dumdumdumDUH! AHHHHHHH. Don't eat me Sharc!'

'What the fuck is this?' he asked the man, who stood in the shadows, leaning against on the opposite side of the hood of the SUV.

'Watch your fucking mouth. Fucking hell. You looking for a fight?'

'No. I'm looking for you to move your car outta my way,' Sharc said rounding the corner towards the man.

'Piss on that. Trey Vincent has far more important things to do than move his Pathfinder for a little scrub like you.'

Sharc stopped at the name. He recognized it, vaguely.

'Trey Vincent? Why are you here?'

'My job. While the sports entertainment icon is waiting and waiting for his new sports entertainment company to finally get its ass moving again, he is waiting and sitting on his ass, bored out of his skull. Which, after watching the last PIW show, wasn't hard to do. I may MST that show at some point.'

'What?'

'Listen scrub...'

'It's Sharc.'

'I thought it was Rich.'

'What the fuck do you want?'

'Well, if you'd shut your mouth for more than two seconds, Trey Vincent will tell you why he's here. While you've been busy busting your ass, falling off cages through 20 flaming tables into an electrified bear-trap barbed wire C4 pirahna tank...'

'Will you get on with it?'

Trey walked around and met Sharc face to face. Trey was smiling.

'Don't you EVER, tell TV to get on with it again or I'll.....I'll.......subject you to the torture of a Brawlers On a Budget card, without ME in it!'

'Brawlers On a Budget? What the fuck is that? And why do I care?'

Trey sighed. 'What's your damage? Go to www.bobwrestling.com if you really want to know. Cheap plug, YES! But seriously, I'm here to let you know something?'

'Were you planning on letting me know anytime before I die of old age?'

'Wow, did you fall out of the boring tree and hit every branch on the way down?'

Sharc dropped his bag and grabbed Trey by his iAd (quick fact: incurable Apathy disorder) T-shirt. 'What are you?'

'A private investigator. A sports entertainment icon. And a damn handsome man.'

'Private investigator?' he said, letting go of TV.

'That's right. I'm buddies with all the pigs.'

'So what do you want with me?'

'Frankly, you could fall of a cliff and the only thing I'd care about is how many beers I've got in my refrigerator. In other words, it's all about the money. And that's all I gotta say.'

'Who sent you? Does this have something to do with the guy who attacked me tonight?'

'Who? That midget?'

'The masked man.'

'The one-armed, one-eyed, three-legged masked man with the breast implants?'

Sharc shook his head.

'Not him, huh? Was it the masked man with the whips and the chains who liked to drip hot candle wax on your balls?'

'NO.'

'Touchy, touchy. Sheesh. Relax, bro. Man, you bush-league sports entertainers really get tiresome. When the hell is that fucking idiot running the fWo gonna hire me? This is fucking ridiculous...Instead, I'm here with some hardcore scrub who looks like the child of Frankenstein and Raylene.'

'Man, do you need some help with your insults?'

'Oh, gee, sorry I'm not up to your high standards. Even the crickets fall asleep during your promos.'

'That's it...'

'No it isn't. Listen...'

'Hey, Trey, if you would quit going off on tangents for a minute and focus...'

'That's my gimmick!'

'What gimmick? This is real life!'

'Is it Sharc? Is it really? Isn't life, just, one, big, long, promo?'

'Are you stealing from me now?'

'When did you use that line?'

'Back in 2000. I think.'

'Oh. Hmm. Are you sure?'

'Yeah, pretty sure.'

'Well, whatever. Look. The point is this. I'm here because somebody from your past, coincidently enough, from about 2000, wanted me to look you up. Somebody who had a major part in your life in that time period.'

'From Tidal Wave Wrestling?'

'Bingo. Give the boy a rubber doll. All three inputs!'

'Is he the person who attacked me?'

'When?'

'Tonight.'

'Somebody attacked you?'

'Yes. I thought you said you were watching the show!'

'Well, I was conflicted. It was you on FX or some naked chicks on Skinemax. Guess which I chose.'

Sharc groaned. 'Are you ever serious?'

'Are you ever not? Listen, Trey Vincent isn't gonna be playing games with you. Just so when you see me following you around in this,' he said knocking on the hood of his SUV, 'you don't think I'm some gay groupie. Because I'm not. Trey Vincent is investigating you. I can't tell you why. But just so you know. I'm watching you. So LOOK OUT. And don't do anything too risque. Unless it involves a lot of naked women, booze and a bag of bananas.'

'A what!'

'In THAT case, you, my man, are MY new hero. Until I sober up and realize what a loser you are. So, enjoy your life. But remember. TV is watching you.....kinda ironic....damn, do I need to get back to sports entertaining. This P.I. business is so low-class.'

Trey headed to the driver's side door and took one last look at Sharc before smiling.

'It was fate that the two of us should meet up,' he said sarcastically. 'Bwahahahaha. Fate. Fucking loser.'

Trey slammed the door shut and started the motor. He then rolled down the passenger's side window and shouted out a last message to Sharc.

'Tell that bitch jOlt failure J-Con that one day, somewhere, sometime, his ass is gonna get cancelled. And that's my final, fucking, answer.'

'Ah. That's where I remember you from.'

'jOlt?'

'Yeah. Tapping out to J-Con.'

There was a brief moment of silence from inside.

'Hey Sharc,' Trey said calmly.

'What?'

Sharc looked inside to see a middle finger sticking up at him. 'J-Con is the biggest scrub in the history of this business. PIW can lick my nuts.'

The engine revved and Trey began to drive off. Sharc headed to his car. Then Trey's SUV backed up. After Sharc threw his bag into the trunk, he turned around and saw Trey's smug face.

'What?' Sharc asked.

'Well, it would've been a nice exit, but, I'm kind of following your boring ass around. So let's get to it Jaws. Entertain me, bitch. Entertain me.'

'Hey Trey,' Sharc said calmly.

'Huh?'

Sharc stuck up a middle finger at Trey.

Trey smiled.

'Let the fun begin,' Sharc said.

But the question now remained...Who had brought Trey Vincent, private investigator, into his world. And why. The year 2000 and TWW were his only clues...Sharc didn't even start to let his mind think about it. Instead, he backed out of his space and tried to remember what hotel he was staying at. That bulldog to the floor had done a number on him. Hell, maybe Sharc was just imagining--

BEEP BEEP, Trey pounded on the horn.

'COME ON! START SWIMMING DOLFIN! STAR SWIMMING WAYLE. OR WHATEVER THE HELL YOUR NAME IS. MOVE IT SEA CREATURE!'

Sharc groaned and scowled at the rear view mirror.

'Asshole!'

NEXT CHAPTER: A Drive Down Memory Lane >>

©2002 John Leary