5th precinct

5th precinct
New York, NY
6/8/12

The first thing I noticed when they tossed my ass into the back of the car was the cops names. I read both there name tags. One said Baker and the other said Stevenson. I took one last look at Vanessa, the feelings of love was now being replaced with murderous dreams.

Then I was alone in the back of the squad car. A thick glass partition divided the space. The front doors were still open as we were still outside Sparks Steakhouse. Baker and Stevenson got in. Baker drove. Stevenson was twisted around keeping me under observation.

Nobody said a fucking word, I was done talking

The backup car followed us. The cars were pretty beat up; you would think with the money from all the funding from 9/11 they would have bought new cars. I looked out of the window, and took a different view of New York City. The lights seemed to look different from the back of a police car. The drive to the precinct was pretty short. The car hissed over the rugged streets of the city.

Stevenson still stared at me as the car slowed to a stop into the precinct parking lot. I saw the sign that read: 5th precinct. The first thing that ran through my head was weather or not I should be worried? I was under arrest, apparently for assaulting Vanessa. But I knew two things.

First: they couldn’t prove something had happened if it hadn’t happened. It was clearly her word against mine. And second, I didn’t lay a finger on Vanessa outside a wrestling ring.

We pulled up at the doors of the precinct, and Baker got out of the car and looked up and down along the front of the building. The back up guys stood right next to him. Stevenson walked around the back of our car. Took up a position opposite of Baker, this was a good team. Baker opened my door

..:: Baker ::..
“Ok, let’s go, let’s go”

He was bouncing on the balls of his feet, scanning the area. I pivoted slowly and twisted out of the car. The handcuffs didn’t help matters. I stepped forward and waited. The backup fell in behind me. I felt like they were treating me as if I was Charles Manson, just because I was a famous face in the public.

Ahead of me was the precinct entrance. There was a long marble lintel crisply engraved: New York City 5th precinct. Below it were plate-glass doors. Baker pulled one open. It sucked against rubber seals. The backup pushed me through. The door sucked shut behind me.

Inside it was cool, everything was white and blue. It looked like the set of Law and Order. Lights were fluorescent. It looked like a bank or an insurance office, just older. There was a worn carpet, a desk sergeant stood behind a long reception counter. The way the place looked, he should have said: how may I help you, sir? But he said nothing. He just looked at me and passed his judgment

Behind him was a huge open-plan space. A dark haired woman in uniform was sitting at a wide, low desk. She had been doing paperwork on a keyboard. Now she was looking at me. I stood there, an officer on each elbow. Stevenson was backed up against the reception counter. Baker stood there, looking at me. The desk sergeant and the woman in uniform were looking at me. I looked back at them letting them know I wasn’t impressed with all this bullshit

Then I was walked to the left. They stopped me in front of a door. Baker swung it open and I was pushed into a room. It was an interview facility. No windows, a white table and three chairs. In the top corner of the room was a camera.

I stood there and Baker ferreted into every pocket. My belonging made a small pile on the table. A roll of cash, some coins, receipts, tickets, and my wallet. Baker glanced at my Rolex and left it on my wrist. He wasn’t interested in those things. Everything else was swept into a large Ziploc bag. A bag made for people with more in their pockets than I carry. The bag had a white panel printed on it. Stevenson wrote some kind of a number on the panel

Baker told me to sit down. They all left the room. Stevenson carried the bag with my stuff in it. They went out and closed the door and I heard the lock turning, a sound I was afraid I was gonna have to get used to. I figured they would leave me isolated for a while. It usually happens that way. Isolation causes an urge to talk. An urge to confess. A brutal arrest followed by an hour’s isolation is pretty good strategy

But I figured wrong. They hadn’t planned an hour’s isolation. Maybe there only mistake. Baker unlocked the door and stepped back in. He carried a plastic cup of coffee. Then he signaled the uniformed woman into the room. The one I’d seen at her desk in the open area. The heavy lock clicked behind her. She carried a metal flight case which she sat on the table. She clicked it open and took out a long black number holder. In it were white plastic numbers

She handed it to me with the brusque apologetic sympathy that dental nurses use. I took it in my cuffed hands. Squinted down to make sure it was the right way up and held it under my chin. The woman took an ugly camera out of the case and sat opposite me. She rested her elbows on the table to brace the camera. Sitting forward, her tits rested on the edge of the table. This was a good looking broad. Dark hair, green eyes. I was totally ready to replace the love that Vanessa threw away by pulling this little stunt

I looked at her and gave her a smile

The camera clicked and then flashed. Before she could ask I turned sideways on the chair for the profile. Held the long number against my shoulder and stared at the wall. The camera clicked and flashed again. I turned back and held out the number. Two-handed, because of the cuffs. She took it from me with that pursed firm which says: Yes, it’s unpleasant, but it’s necessary. Like the dental nurse

Then she took out the fingerprint gear. A crisp ten card, already labeled with a number. The thumb spaces are always too small. This one had a reverse side with two squares for palm prints. The handcuffs made the process a pain in the fucking ass.

The woman inked my hands, her fingers were smooth and cool. No wedding band. Afterward she handed me a wad of tissues. The ink came off very easily. Some kind of new stuff I hadn’t seen before.

Baker rapped on the door. The lock clicked again. The woman picked up her stuff and nobody said a fucking word. The woman left the room. Baker stayed in there with me. He shut the door and it locked with the same greased click. Then he leaned on the door and looked at me

..::: Baker ::..
“My chief’s coming on down, your going to have to talk to him. We got a situation here. Got to be cleared up.”

I said nothing back to him.

Talking to me wasn’t going to happen, it wouldn’t clear any situation up for anybody. But the guy was acting civilized, respectful. So I set him a test. Held out my hands toward him. An unspoken request to unlock the cuffs. He stood still for a moment then took out the key and unlocked them. Clipped them back on his belt. Looked at me, and I looked back and dropped my arms to my sides. No grateful exhalation. No rueful rubbing of my wrists. I didn’t want a relationship with this guy.

..:: Robbie Hart ::..
‘Let’s go meet the chief.’

It was the first time I said a word since they tossed my ass in the back of the cop car. Now it was Baker who looked grateful, I bet the cocksucker thought I wasn’t going to say a word. I was just exercising my right.

The Right to remain silent

He knocked twice on the door and it was unlocked from the outside. He opened it up and signaled me through. Steveson was waiting with his back to the large open area. The backup crew was gone. Things were calming down. They formed up, one on each side. Baker gripped my elbow, lightly. We walked down the side of the open area and came to a door at the back. Stevenson pushed it open and we walked through into a large office.

A fat guy sat at a big desk. Behind him were a couple of big flags. There was a stars and stripes with a gold fringe on the left and what I guessed was the New York state flag on the right. On the wall between the flags was a clock. The fat guy at the big desk looked up at me as I was pushed in toward him. I saw him look blank, like he was trying to place me. He looked again, harder. Then he sneered at me and spoke in a wheezing gasp which would have been a shout if it hadn’t been strangled by bad lungs

..:: The Sergeant ::..
“Get your ass in that chair and keep your wife beating mouth shut”

This fat guy was a surprise. He looked like a real asshole. Opposite to what I’d seen so far. Baker and his arrest team were the business. Professional and efficient. The fingerprint woman had been decent. But this fat piece of shit police chief was a waste of space. Thin dirty hair, sweating, despite the chilly air from the AC. The blotchy red and gray complexion of an unfit, overweight, mess. Blood pressure sky-high. Arteries hard as rocks, He didn’t look halfway competent

..:: The Chief ::..
“My name is Morrison. I am the chief of the precinct, and you are a wife beating bastard. You come into my city and you hit that poor woman. So now you’re going to make a full confession to my chief of detectives.”

He stopped and looked up at me. Like he was still trying to place me, or like he was waiting for a response. He didn’t get a fucking word out of me.

So he jabbed his fat fucking fingers at me.

..:: Morrison ::..
“And then you’re going to jail. And then you’re going to get sentence and spend some time on the island. Then you can kiss you career good-bye.”

He hauled his bulk out of the chair and looked away from me

..:: Morrison ::..
“I’d deal with this myself, but I’m a busy man.”

He waddled out from behind the desk. I was standing there between his desk and the door. As he crabbed by, he stopped. His fat nose was about level with the middle button on my suit. He was still looking up at me like he was puzzled by something

..:: Morrison ::..
“I’ve seen you before. I’m pretty sure I arrested your father years ago!”

He glanced at Baker and then at Steveson. Like he was expecting them to be impressed. He slammed the office door and I was left waiting with the two cops until the chief of detectives swung in. He signaled Baker and Steveson out of the office. Closed the door behind them and sat down at the desk and waved me to the opposite chair

..:: Decetive ::..
“Right, before we book you, I have a few questions for you. My name is Finaly. I understand you have been apprised of your rights. You have not yet confirmed that you understand them. Before we go any further we must pursue that preliminary matter.”

..:: Robbie Hart ::..
‘I understand my rights’

..:: Finaly ::..
“Good, I’m glad about that. Where’s your lawyer?”

..:: Robbie Hart ::..
‘Don’t need one, this is all bullshit’

..:: Finaly ::..
“You’re charged with assault on a female. I know for a fact Vanessa Rocsi has hired the best lawyer in New York and there looking to have your head! You need a lawyer, we can provide one, you know free of charge. Do you want us to provide one?”

A court appointed lawyer is just like having no lawyer. I was still pissed hearing Vanessa was gonna take this to the extreme. I knew she had money, her dad anyways. I couldn’t afford a lawyer, at least not one on there level

..:: Robbie Hart ::..
‘I don’t need one’

..:: Finaly ::..
“Fine, you can hire one at any time. But your still gonna have to sign a release that you have been advised of a free lawyer.”

..::: Robbie Hart ::..
‘Fine by me’

He shuffled a form from the desk and check his watch to enter the time and date. He passed the paper across to me. I signed it without even blinking. He looked it over and placed it in a buff folder.

..:: Finaly ::..
“Ok, Mr. Hart. Tell me what happened”

I had no fucking idea what happened. No idea at all. I left Vanessa’s hotel room, she followed me into the hallway and I thought everything was forgiven.

..:: Robbie Hart ::..
‘You already got her statement, doesn’t really matter what I say’

..:: Finaly ::..
“Vanessa said you went to her hotel, and threw a fit when she refused to talk to you. She said she wanted nothing to do with you after you were apart of her miscarriage. Then you beat her up, I saw the bruises, made what Chris Brown did to Rihanna look like love taps.”

..:: Robbie Hart ::..
‘It’s all bullshit.’

..:: Finaly ::..
“She doesn’t think so, and the evidence doesn’t think so.”

I was getting no where, they already had me guilty. It didn’t matter what I said or didn’t say anymore

..:: Robbie Hart ::..
‘Ok Finaly, you want my side of the story. I went there to apologize for everything. My life’s been shit since she left me, and I figured I owed her an apology. I knocked on her door, she let me in. She heard me out, and I walked out. Didn’t even raise my voice let alone my hands. She chased me into the hallway and we kissed. I was at Sparks waiting for her, I made reservations for us. Now why would I have done that if I kicked the living shit out of her?’

..:: Finaly ::..
“Doesn’t explain the marks on her face and body”

..:: Robbie Hart ::..
‘She’s a wrestler just like me. She got those during her match, not from me … Not from the hotel.”

Finaly gazed at me. I watched him struggling with any detective’s basic dilemma. His gut told him I might not have done this. The wrestling part got him thinking that. But I was sitting right there in front of him. So what should a detective do?

I let him ponder

..:: Finaly ::..
“Don’t get smart with me Hart. You’re in deep shit. Bad things happened in that hotel room. Our victim and a witness saw you leaving the room. So don’t get smart with me.”

..:: Robbie Hart ::..
‘I wasn’t leaving a crime scene. I was leaving the hotel room to get are date set up. There’s a difference right? People leave a hotel every minute of the day. If I did it, why would I hang around the city? Why would I make reservations for the two of us?’

Finaly leaned forward and shook his head

..:: Finaly ::..
“You should have left when you had the chance.”

Before he could even ask another question Baker knocked and entered.

..:: Baker ::..
“Hart, made bail. His mother is out front.”

Finaly smirked

..:: Finaly ::..
“How cute, your mother is here to bail you out. But don’t be mistaken, just because you made bail. Vanessa is still taking this to trail. You’re still fucked beyond belief. If I was you, I would look into getting a lawyer.”

I got up and followed Baker to the front where my mother and Uncle Johnny Styles were standing. I was lucky that Battle Grounds was doing a show in the city. I walked to the desk and signed my bail papers. I smirked at the woman in uniform, and she handed me an order of protection

..:: Robbie Hart ::..
‘What the hell is this?’

Baker answered for her

..:: Baker ::..
“Order of protection against you for Miss Rocsi.”

I grabbed the paper and shook my head, and walked outside with Jada and Johnny

..:: Jada Hart ::..
“She has the best defense team hired”

..:: Robbie Hart ::..
‘I’m sure I’ll figure something out.’

..:: Jada Hart ::..
“How? You’re money is all tied up with everything else, and I’m not going to help you out. I told you not to talk to her! I even introduced you to Gabrielle, but no you have to do things your way! You know what this does to me? You know I’m already having enough shit with me taking over the family after your father died. You’re on your own Robbie”

..:: Robbie Hart ::..
‘I’ll figure something out.’

I had no idea how I was gonna afford a lawyer as good as the team Vanessa was putting together. There was one possibility, but was I that desperate to reach out to them? I couldn’t even believe my own mother wasn’t going to help me.

My options were few and far between

Vanessa really was living up to her name

The Fatal Attraction

♥ - - - ♥ - - - ♥ - - - ♥
♥ Ragnarok ♥
♥ ROBBIE HART’S EDITION ♥
♥ The Shoot ♥
♥ - - - ♥ - - - ♥ - - - ♥

Hostyle Jones is a man tainted by desperation. I'm sure he'll call it hustle or desire or ambition or will to win or something like that, but when those things are tempered by a constant supply of failure? That's when desperation sets in, when you start to see your window closing. He's coming off a few tag-team wins this month, and desperation, desire to increase his stature and cement his march towards the top of company has convinced him that they were all EPIC wins, CAREER DEFINING wins, and the standard for what hunger and competition is supposed to be all about. Let me make this perfectly clear at the outset:

No one cares about tag-team wrestling anymore, that’s why the titles are in limbo mang

Hostyle please keep thinking that your preference for brawling will get you somewhere against the best wrestler that ever laced up a pair of boots. I promise you, if you come to me thinking those moves that would work for you in a bar fight will gain you some advantage, you're going to NEED a bar when I'm done with you. After your lengthy stay in the hospital, that is. If you come to me thinking those high-risk moves you like to try will do me in, you're defeated already.

But you already knew this … That’s why you have your self already preparing for the road to Valhalla Match

There IS no one like me. Absolutely. Nobody brings it like I do when this strap is on the line. I’ll TELL you exactly what I'm going to do to you, Hostyle. I'm going to show up, like only I can, and I'm going to beat you like a whore that owes her pimp some money. And, might I add, I most assuredly WILL make it look so easy a Canadian could do it. And you’re supposedly jacked-up ability to withstand punishment? That might help you against someone else, say, Syco Angel. But against me? All it means is that our match might take thirty seconds longer. And in those thirty seconds, I'm going to make you wish you were already unconscious. You'll regret every single instant I spend tearing you apart. I'm going to stick my fist down your throat and rip out your will to compete. And when I'm done, you'll be left lying in a pool of your own regret, mingled with blood, drool, and the decaying remnants of your career, while you look up at the lights and think 'PRETTY!'

Believe me yet? No? Good

I don’t care if you have split personalities, I’ll bitch slap whatever personality shows up, I don’t care if you hear voices, I’ll shut each and everyone of them up with my very own Solution. I don’t care if you are bat-shit crazy, come Ragnarok I plan on beating you sane.

I’ll be the best shrink you ever saw

For the entire month, I’ve heard nothing but the same fucking thing come out your mouth. How many times you gonna bring up my losing streak? It’s clear to me you’re running out of material. Every promo you cut, every interview you do, you just keep putting you foot deeper down your throat. You’re stuck on repeat; I call it the Cody Taylor syndrome.

You know, usually, even though I totally undersell an opponent's ability, and their chances against me, I realize that there's a chance they might win. But in your case, that little mental caution doesn't exist, because you're like my dick when I was eleven.

I can beat you any time I want to

Say what you will, Hostyle. Lie through your teeth and tell these people that you're going to beat me. Tell them you're the guy that's figured out the formula of shutting me up, when the best this business has ever seen haven't been able to do it. Tell them that despite your obvious inferiority, you've landed found the secret ingredients and have cooked up the Robbie Hart-killer. Tell them that you're going to find a way to stand victorious over me and take this championship that I SINGLE handily put back on the map. Please. Tell 'em that shit. Just remember to eat light that day, because I'm going to force-feed you every single lie you utter. And when it's all over, and you look up at the top of the ladder and I’m standing tall with my title still in my grasp, while your wondering what the fuck just happened, don't say I didn't tell you. Because I'm going to hurt you, motherfucker, worse than you can imagine. I'm going to make you wish the whore that birthed you had simply swallowed that load instead. I'm going to make you wish the day you decided to become a professional wrestler had been the day you'd decided to lay down on the freeway.

Ragnarok’s coming, Hostyle

The day you wish would never come is rapidly approaching. The beating you never thought you'd have to take inside a ring is on its way, delivered as only I can do it. Sunday night, all the things you've claimed to be, all the things you've ever hoped to be....it all comes to an end

And unlike Isolation, Steel Angel can’t save you from this heartache