ECPWL had become recognized throughout the wrestling business as the fastest-rising independent organization in the country. Their rapid success had now made them a target.
'Maybe we should've tried to meet with Turano before we started booking shots in Pennsylvania and the neighboring states,' Gus said quietly.
Charlie shook his head. 'You don't understand. You don't talk to John Turano. He's such an asshole it's impossible to have a reasonable conversation with the guy. Believe me, I've tried. That's why he's an outcast in the business.'
'None of us are exactly close,' Frank said.
'True, but at least if we need to talk to say, Ralphie Logan down in Miami, or Murray Weiss in New York, or even Pete Bracco in Trenton, we can get them on the phone and work things out. Turano considers everybody the enemy.'
'Maybe he's right,' Vincent said.
'Yeah,' Charlie answered, 'but we all know there's certain things you just don't do, and following somebody else's dates is one of them. It shows a complete lack of respect. It's like a slap in the face, Vin.'
Gus said, 'The New England states were his territory first. He could make the argument that we did the same shit to him. Turano had free reign there for so long he probably thought he could just – '
'I don't give a shit what he thought,' Frank snapped. 'Give me the actual damages.'
'Using sales figures from last year, the loss of those three shots will end up costing us more than ten grand in profits.'
Frank slammed a fist on the bureau. 'But Jesus Christ, can we get a break from this bullshit?'
'We can't afford another hit like that,' Gus said after a hard swallow. 'It'd set us back a year, maybe more.'
Frank exchanged glances with Vincent before he spoke. 'At some point Turano will have enough TV tapings ahead of him. How much longer do you think he'll keep this stunt going? Can we just ride it out?'
'Remember,' Vincent warned, 'he's got more money than we do at this point. The question is how much longer can he afford to keep it going?'
With a horrible grimace, Charlie gulped down the remainder of his drink. 'Long enough to run us into the ground.'
Frank lit a cigarette, pulled the smoke deep into his lungs and held it there. 'What do we do about it?'
'Okay,' Vincent said, 'let's cut to the chase. We've got three options.'
'That's two more than I can think of,' Charlie said wearily.
Vincent removed his suit jacket and slung it over the back of the desk chair. 'One, we wait it out, step up our own sales efforts – particularly in this sack of shit's backyard – and wait to see what he does next. Two, we set up a meeting with him and his people and try to negotiate some sort of deal where nobody has to take the pipe. Three, we make a move on Turano that shows the entire wrestling world that we are the last guys on the planet anybody wants to be fucking with.'
'Charlie,' Frank said, pacing slowly near the door, 'you're the only one who knows this guy – '
'I've met him,' Charlie corrected him. 'I don't know him any better than you do, brother.'
'But you don't think he can be negotiated with.'
'Not at all. The guy's a dick. Ask your friend, Paulie Caruso, he knows Turano. Ask Luther. He worked for him for a few months a couple years back. Any of the boys that work for the guy will tell you the same thing, Frank. The only way he gets talent to work for him in the first place is because he promises TV exposure and guarantees a certain number of shots a year.'
Frank thought a moment. 'Has he ever been pushed?'
'Luther told me a story once about a feud Turano had back in the seventies with a guy by the name of Dave Remy. He was a real small-timer, worked mostly Massachusetts and Rhode Island doing little popcorn shows – you know, a few hundred bucks in his pocket a night with a card of unknown talent, a small room and cheap ticket prices. One of the guys who worked for Turano at that time was Jimmy Shaw. He had a hell of a gimmick – they'd carry him out in a cage and drag him into the ring in chains like a nut. He worked as The Neanderthal Man. They billed him as a guy a bunch of scientists had found out in some jungle someplace – you know the routine – I'm sure you guys remember seeing him on TV and in all the magazines back then. He was a major headliner for a while. Anyway, in those days, the big promotions only offered a handful of exclusive contracts, so there was a lot more movement between the major federations and the independent circuit, even by the big stars. Shaw ended up going to work for Turano, but they had a falling out over money and Shaw split. Somewhere along the line, he met up with this Remy guy and they decided to do a shot together. Shaw wanted to get back at Turano for stiffing him so he gave Remy the name of one of the Turano's biggest clients and told him to put it together. Well, with The Neanderthal Man as the main event draw even a stiff like Remy could sell the deal. Word got back to Turano and I guess he went fucking ballistic, but it was too late. The contract had already been signed.'
Vincent rubbed his eyes. 'This sounds like one of Luther's stories. Does it have an ending?'
'Yeah,' Charlie said in a gruff voice, 'see what you think of this, slick. Two weeks after the shot Dave Remy gets killed out in front of his apartment by a hit-and-run driver. They never caught the guy. Six months go by. Jimmy Shaw's working a tour in South America, and one night after a shot, somebody walks into the locker room, kicks in one of the stalls and beats him to death with a baseball bat while the poor bastard's pinching a loaf.'
'Jesus,' Gus said, fumbling for a cigarette.
'Luther knew a few of the guys on that tour. They told him Shaw was beaten to a fucking pulp, and you wanna know the best part? Nobody saw a goddamn thing.'
Apparently entertained by the story, Vincent smiled. 'Grease enough palms, everybody goes blind, huh?'
'They never caught that guy either.' Charlie rolled his eyes. 'Supposedly Turano arranged the hit through friends he had in the mob in Philly.'
Frank turned to Vincent. 'Turano's connected?'
'Easy enough to find out.'
'Then do it.'
The sky rumbled, followed by a deafening clanging sound as a heavy rain began to fall against the tin awning that ran the length of the motel.
'Then negotiating with this guy is definitely out,' Gus said above the sudden din.
'Not necessarily,' Vincent said.
'Vin,' Charlie said through a heavy sigh, 'Turano's got a temper on him that makes you look like fucking Gandhi.'
Vincent leaned against the desk. 'I just find it hard to believe that he'd refuse to meet with us.'
'Maybe he would,' Frank said, 'but how would our asking for a meeting make us look at this point?'
'How do you mean?'
Frank crushed his cigarette in an ashtray on the desk and moved to the window. 'Turano's already made a move on us. If we respond by asking for a sit-down we'll look weak.'
'That's a good point,' Vincent conceded. 'We'd be coming to the table at a disadvantage. But maybe if we showed him we were willing to bend a little, so would he.'
'I got to tell you, it's real fucking surreal seeing you in the role of peacemaker,' Charlie said, smiling with his eyes.
'Fuck that,' Vincent quipped. 'I'm just saying we better look at this from every possible angle, Charlie. If we decide to use muscle on this guy we better be prepared. Anything could happen.'
Charlie stood up, his expression dark. 'I didn't say anything about using muscle.'
Frank watched the parking lot through the rain-blurred window. The urge to crawl back into bed and go to sleep was an appealing fantasy he allowed himself to briefly entertain before he faced the others. 'What do you think, Gus?'
The expression on his face amply revealed the degree of his surprise in having been asked. He pushed his eyeglasses in tighter against the bridge of his nose and glanced self-consciously around the room. 'I don't see that we have any choice but to make a move on him.'
Frank nodded. 'Charlie?'
'I abstain.'
