and act like you own the place. Well, you don't own this place. We do.'
Anger smoldered behind Vincent's eyes. 'That's why we're negotiating.'
'There's a carnival comes through here every year,' the police chief said. 'It's been stopping here since the seventies. Phil and I have an arrangement with those boys, and we're willing to work with them because it's a long-term relationship. But you may never do another show here again.'
Vincent's expression seemed set in stone. 'I know I speak for Frank when I say that I feel two hundred dollars is more than reasonable for a temporary license, fellas. But in the interest of getting this done, what would you say if we were willing to donate, say, another two hundred to a charity of your choice?'
Before either man answered, Frank slid the money into Montgomery's shirt pocket. 'We'll trust you guys to get it to the right folks.'
'And here,' Vincent said, a smile slowly surfacing on his face as he handed a small stack of tickets to Lawson. 'I'm sure you must know some people who'd like to see the show.'
Frank nodded. 'Bring some family and friends on us.'
'The matches start at eight,' Vincent told them. 'We'll have it wrapped up by eleven and we'll be packed and out of town by midnight.'
Lawson and Montgomery exchanged glances, and the smaller man quickly inspected the license again. 'I must have been mistaken. Everything appears to be in perfect order here.'
Once he and Frank were alone in the locker room, Vincent began to laugh. 'Christ,' he sighed, 'it's like the same two guys in every town.'
Frank lit a cigarette. 'It never ends, man.'
'Fuck 'em.'
As they left the locker room they were confronted by Elliot Rosby, a freelance concessionaire they rented space to at each show. He and his young nephew had toured with Charlie Rain since the early days of the ECPWL, and sold T-shirts, photographs of the wrestlers, videos, hats, and programs. At the conclusion of each night, Elliot kicked back twenty percent of his profit to the ECPWL, but never without a complaint, and seldom without a lengthy discussion.
'Frank, Vincent!' he said in his typically loud voice. 'Just the people I wanted to see. Have you got a minute?'
'Oh, Elliot,' Frank moaned, 'anybody but you right now.'
Vincent increased his rate of speed and escaped down the hallway with a wide smile. 'Gotta go but Frank's got a few minutes to chat, don't you, Frank?'
'What do you need?' Frank asked.
Elliot was in his late forties, of average height, and had a chunky build. His eyes appeared larger than they actually were due to the thick lenses of his glasses, and even his enormous handlebar mustache, sprinkled with flecks of gray, did little to deflect attention from his bad complexion. In his younger days Elliot had been a magician on the nightclub circuit in New York City, and though he never achieved stardom he had earned a decent living. Reportedly, Elliot had lost it all due to a penchant for gold-digging women. He constantly claimed to still be a working magician and often approached Frank and Vincent with various magic act ideas, none of which were ever taken seriously.
'Well, what I need – what I need is – is to have a conversation,' Elliot said, the words tumbling from his lips with their usual nervous cadence.
Frank rubbed the back of his neck. 'I don't have time for a conversation right now. Can we do this later?'
'But – you see, this is just it – this is just the problem, Frank. I ah, I used to go right to Charlie and talk to him when I had a problem, right? Now he tells me to speak with you or Vincent. It's certainly nothing personal – I want to make that clear, Frank – please don't misunderstand – it's absolutely nothing personal – but, well, I'm sure it comes as no surprise to you that Vincent isn't the easiest guy in the world to have a conversation with. He's a great guy – don't, ah, don't get me wrong – it's just that he can be – you know how I mean – awfully disagreeable at times and honestly -
'Elliot – '
' – I get the feeling he just never listens to me.'
'Elliot, what do you want?'
He frowned and scratched his beard. 'I was talking to some of the guys and, ah – they were saying it's going to be a weak crowd tonight. Can you shed any light on that, Frank?'
'Probably five to six.'
'Oh, boy,' Elliot rolled his eyes. 'Oh, I mean – five or six hundred makes it – well, it makes it very difficult for me to do any business that's, ah – well, even remotely substantial. Just stop for a second and think about it from my end.'
Frank started off down the hall. 'I don't have time for this shit.'
'All I'm saying,' Elliot went on, following close behind him, 'is that it – you know – makes things difficult for me.'
'I'm tired of this, Elliot. You make me have this exact conversation with you whenever we don't sell out.'
'But, Frank, you – you're certainly reasonable – a reasonable man and all, and – '
Frank stopped, faced him. 'No breaks.'
'I'm simply asking – '
'Did you hear me?'
'Maybe tomorrow in Connecticut I can make it up, but Jesus H., Frank – five or six hundred marks just isn't – '
Frank put a hand on Elliot's shoulder and leaned in close to him so as not to draw attention. 'Then pack up and go home.'
'You see, now that – that's the thing I'm – that's exactly the thing I'm talking about. Why do you have to hurt me like that? Why do you have to treat me like a mark when all I'm trying to tell you is -
'
'You open that table,' Frank told him, 'and you owe me.'
Elliot looked as if he had been mortally wounded. 'The thing I'm wondering – nand for God's sake, I'm simply wondering – is that maybe just for tonight – and only for tonight, Frank – maybe you could find it in your heart to let me kick you boys ten percent instead of -
'
'I don't have a heart, Elliot.'
'No, that's – come on now that's – that isn't true at all. I understand you have to, you know, have to carry yourself a certain way, Frank, but I know, believe me – I, ah – I know when someone is -
'
'Twenty points.'
'I'm only asking for tonight.'
'Twenty fucking points.'
Elliot sighed heavily. 'Who loves you more than me? Who loves this show more than me? I – I can't figure out why – why you have to treat me this way.'
'I'm tired of this, Elliot. I've got enough to worry about without having you stuck up my ass with this bullshit, okay? Here's how it is, and I'm only saying this once more so pay close attention. You work my show you pay me my fucking money. Period. Can you understand that, or should I have Vincent take you into the locker room and explain it again?'
Elliot's face dropped. 'I'm asking, Frank – that's all. It was only a request, I mean – you say no – it's no.'
'Fine.' Frank forced a smile. 'Then we're all set.'
Elliot gripped Frank's shoulders and nearly hugged him. 'Of course we are!' he said through a burst of laughter. 'Don't get so upset, babe – it was only a question. Now, go on – go – you're busy – I can tell you're busy. The last thing you need is me bothering you, right? Am I right, boobalah? Right, chief?'
'It is not humanly possible for you to be more accurate than you are at this exact moment,' Frank
