No, the Big Stack had angrily gathered his gear, thrown it in the back of his rented Honda Accord, and driven back to the hotel to enjoy a meal of mediocre room service in solitude.
Hotel hamburger was not the most appetizing thing in the world, but it would do while Kennedy plugged away at a sit n' go on his computer. His night of poker was going about as well as his night on Temptation had. 72 offsuit and Wyatt Connors hitting him with his own brass knux were roughly on the same pale.
'Fucking Hell! I was THAT CLOSE! THAT GODDAMNED CLOSE!'
Angrily, he turns back to the screen, only to find an unappetizing ten-three offsuit staring at him. He promptly folded the rags, before returning to his tirade.
'How TERRIBLE do I have to be to blow a match like that! That guy was staring at Katsidy the entire time and I STILL couldn't win!'
Perhaps more impressive was the fact that Kennedy managed to focus on the match. Well, most of the time, anyway.
'Maybe next week I'll get to wrestle a one-armed opponent and lose. Christ, I've won one match since I came here, and it was against a girl and a guy who lost to KING BLUEBERRY! KING FUCKING BLUEBERRY! A GUY WHO NAMES HIMSELF AFTER THE WORST OF ALL BERRIES!'
Taking a moment to collect himself, Kennedy realizes the obvious.
'That was godawful. Better not use that if I ever face King Blueberry.'
Kennedy had no idea what the Dead Man's Hand wanted him for, if anything at all. Maybe he wasn't supposed to win the matches he'd been placed in so far...but losing still bothered him. Hypercompetitive at everything from poker to tiddlywinks, Phillip Benjamin Kennedy hated to lose.
'Finally,' he smirked, looking at a hand of two red queens, 'this night's turning around.'
Clicking on a button, he shoved a sizeable raise into the pot. As expected, he got one caller, and one moron who raised him all-in.
'Time to make some virtual chips.'
Kennedy pushes the 'all-in' button, finding himself dominating his opponent, QQ vs. 88.
'FUCK YEAH, BABEH!'
Flop: 8 7 J.
'MOTHER-FUCKER!'
He didn't even bother to look at the last two cards. He knew they wouldn't help him. That was the way it always was when a night was going south. The cards were cold, and would remain cold.
Phil was just about to go say 'fuck it' and spend the rest of his evening at a nearby pub when a ringing sound snapped him from his annoyance.
Kennedy looked down to his waist in confusion, sliding his cell phone from its holster, flipping it open, and slamming it to his ear. 'Phillip Kennedy. Who is this?'
'Hello, Mr. Kennedy,' the voice on the other end of the phone stated. 'I am Mr. Smith, an agent with Logical Management. I would like to invite you to meet with me so that I may offer you my services.'
'Agent,' Kennedy asked. 'How did you get this number anyway?'
'That is unimportant, though if you must know, I made a few calls to SCCW Headquarters. I would, I reiterate, like to arrange a meeting with you. I feel that a business relationship between us could be most beneficial.'
'Okay, I'll bite. Where do you want to meet?'
Kennedy paced about in his hotel room in front of the blaring television, waiting for the response. 'I have been told that you are taking a few days of vacation in Atlantic City. I will meet you tomorrow night at the Noodles of the World restaurant on the casino floor of the Borgata. You are staying there, yes?'
'Yeah, I am. What time?'
'7:00 PM. Sharp. Please do not be late. I am a man of punctuality.'
'Sure. See you then.'
The Big Stack clicked the phone off, sliding it back into its holster. Sighing to himself, Kennedy fell back onto his mattress, listening to the sports program in the background.
Ever since he signed up with Sin City, it seemed, life had become so much more complicated.
----------------------
Borgata Hotel, Casino, and Spa
Atlantic City, New Jersey
When Phillip Kennedy came to gamble, he didn't do it small scale.
Though his rented Honda Accord was admittedly modest, and his luggage didn't betray signs of being a high roller, Kennedy's confidence was sky high as he drove beneath the tunnel Steve Wynn built specifically to expedite access to his Atlantic City crown jewel of a casino.
Poker made up a sizeable sum of his income, even as a professional wrestler. He played less, but found himself able to focus more. If he lost, he had money to fall back on. Some players needed that pressure for inspiration, but Kennedy did not count himself among that number.
What he did count himself was lucky that he could show up to work, either at a casino or in the ring, and be generally happy with his lot in life. For all the complications he suffered through, it could be worse. Much, much worse.
He had a burgeoning professional wrestling career, and a still successful parttime gig playing poker. He also had a....Katsidy. She wasn't a girlfriend. Not even close, though Savant had seemingly floated that possibility a few weeks ago.
The term 'fuck buddy' was so very crude, and he didn't like to use it...but it sort of aptly summed up matters whether he liked it or not.
Pulling up in front of the mammoth golden tower of the Borgata, Kennedy stepped out of his vehicle, flashing a black card to one of the attendants. Almost immediately, his bags were whisked from the trunk of his rental, a spare key given to the attendant to valet park the vehicle.
Watching as his bags were taken inside on one of those lovely cart gizmos, Kennedy straightened the brim of his ever-present Stetson, and squared his shoulders to the door. With a pair of well-worn blue jeans, cowboy boots, and of course the hat, he was ready for a weekend of gambling -- and a meeting with a certain Mr. Smith.
The sound of vibrating came from his waist, and he reached down for his phone to find a new text message awaiting him.
'Kat,' he observed, with a grin, clicking on the message.
'Thinking of you. :*' Phillip read, the happy smile still on his face. 'How sweet. I'll have to reply when I get situated in the room after my meeting.'
He stepped through the rotating doors of the casino, the sound of slot machines and money jangling echoing through the air, familiar and pleasant to his ears. A quick glance to his right at the line to check in confirmed that he was going to be waiting until *after* dinner to go get his room.
'Christ on a cracker, it's 6:45 at night, why the Hell is the check-in line out the door,' he groused. 'Ah well. By the time dinner's over, it'll be empty. At least, I hope to Hell to it is or I'm gonna be pissed.'
The phone in his hand promptly vibrated again, as if to sense his current bad mood. Flipping the phone open, he accepted the photo message, and his eyes promptly widened to the size of dinner plates.
Kathryn Shaw stared back at him with bright, happy eyes, red cowboy hat from last week perched atop her head.
Oh, one minor detail: Other than the hat, she's stark raving naked.
Caption: 'I am *so* wet for you right now.'
There was some joke to be made combining vibrating and Katsidy, but really, Kennedy was too busy ogling to make it. It was only with great effort and force of will that he managed to fold the phone closed and put it back in its holster.
'That woman will kill me one day, but damned if it ain't the best way to go that there is on this mortal coil.'
Trying very, very hard to push the image of naked Katsidy out of his head were the lights and the jingles and the jangles of Atlantic City. Kennedy's eyes lit up at the slot machines as he walked through the Borgata's massive lobby casino. Las Vegas was his gambling destination of choice for certain, but the Borgata was a marvel, even to the gambling veteran.
'Never understood how people can eat on the floor when there's gambling to be done,' Kennedy mused, fighting his way through the throngs of the young and beautiful to make his way to the casino's noodle house. 'Better to eat off the floor so you're less tempted. Can't complain about a free meal though.'
The Big Stack arrived, spotting the giant N.O.W. sign outside the Asian eatery. A quick scan of the tables and bar revealed the only man that could have been Mr. Smith. After all, Kennedy noted, there weren't too many other 6'9' men in the vicinity.
Brushing past the waiter stationed at the entrance with an 'I'm with Mr. Smith,' Kennedy sauntered over to the table where the gargantuan was sitting. Said gargantuan had spotted Kennedy a mile away, and was already rising to his feet as Kennedy approached.
'Mr. Kennedy, it is a pleasure. I am David. David Walter Smith.'
The resulting handshake was quite painful for Phillip, but he did his best to not reveal this. 'Charmed,' the Big Stack replied. 'You're a big man. Not quite the sort I expect to be an agent.'
'I am not an agent originally,' Smith admitted. 'I am a professional wrestler, much like yourself. I work for PRIME, where I am called Logic.'
'So if you're workin' for PRIME, why did you call me here?'
Logic dismissed the question for a moment with the wave of a hand. 'We will discuss that soon enough, but first, let us order. I am famished.'
The larger man sat down, prompting Kennedy to follow suit. Whatever David Walter Smith was, he didn't a miss a trick. Immaculately groomed and clothed in a finely tailored suit, the erstwhile agent certainly looked professional.
'Fine with me, big man. Say, what's this joint serve up anyway?'
David favored his possible client with a 'you are SUCH a dunderhead' look, before letting it soften. 'As the motto of this restaurant states,' he began, 'have anything you want, as long as its noodles. Well, they also serve rice, but you get the idea.'
Kennedy opened his menu, looking at Mr. Smith over the top of it. 'Oh,' was about all he could muster, feeling sort of silly as he scanned the dishes for something to eat.
'You could, of course, also allow me to order. I have been here several times before, with various companions.'
Kennedy shrugged. 'Sure, why not? It'll save me some time.'
With that, David flagged down the nearest waiter. 'I will have the vegetarian spicy fried rice. My colleague here will have the beef chow fun. Bring him a Tsingtao to drink, meanwhile, I will have a glass of your Mokowa sake and a glass of water.'
Kennedy watched as the waiter shuffled off to put the order in. 'Are you always so...'
'Orderly? Meticulous? Yes and yes, Mr. Kennedy,' David Walter Smith replied. 'And I believe that you will find these traits greatly beneficial to you in the near future.
Here comes the sales pitch, the Big Stack thought, ears pricked to listen to the man who was just now sliding a business card across the table. 'David W. Smith, Agent,' Phillip read, 'Logical Management, LLC.'
'This is a new venture of mine. I have come to realize over the years that being a professional wrestler means that there is finite earning potential, as well as earning years. My goal is to provide representation for fellow wrestlers in their contract negotiations, as well as provide advice and counseling based on my experience in the business. All for a modest fee, of course.'
'Right, modest fee. I've heard that before.' Kennedy was, admittedly, somewhat doubtful.
'Ten percent of any of your earnings made as a result of my effort. This includes base salary, merchandising deals, commercials, signing bonuses, etc. No more, and no less.'
'Ten percent...' Kennedy paused for a moment. That actually sounded relatively reasonable, all things considered. Then, of course, he remembeed something important.
'Wait a minute. Why do I need representation to begin with,' the Big Stack asked, plucking his beer from the table just as the waiter placed it in front of him to take a long sip.
'An excellent question,' David replied, coolly, taking a small, delicate sip of his rice wine. 'I have chosen to offer my services to you for several reasons. First and foremost, SCCW seems to have plans for you. You have been placed in high profile contests since your arrival.'
'And lost most of them,' Phillip groused, placing the glass back on the table.
'That is, ultimately, unimportant for our current purposes. They see something in you. You are but a rookie. Given time, you will win such matches. You are of value to them. Therefore, you are also of value to me.'
The PRIME talent pauses for a moment to take another sip of sake. 'What is your current contractual status, Mr. Kennedy?'
'I'm signed with SCCW for a couple months, on a trial basis,' the Big Stack responded. 'I think that contract expires August 5th.'
'And any day now,' Smith continued on, a faint smile on his face, 'they will be in touch with you, wanting to renegotiate your contract, sign you for a year or more, for as little money as they possibly can. That is why you need representation. You need someone aware of your options, who will make sure that you are signed to the best possible contract.'
'And that's where you come in, I'd wager?'
'Precisely. I would say that you are in a very interesting negotiation position right now. Smitty T. Duluth is currently predisposed, and as such, I would imagine that your new contract would go through Madison Sinclair, who is somewhat less...vehemently opposed to people of your current alignment.'
'Current alignment,' Kennedy asked, the question out of his mouth before he realized the meaning. 'Oh.'
'Yes,' David replied. 'Your alignment with the Dead Man's Hand would likely have made renegotiation with Smitty tenuous. However, the fact remains that you are an up and coming star that SCCW has given a great deal of exposure to in your short tenure. They will not want to lose you. Both Steven Caldera of Global Championship Wrestling and C.P. Cantrell of PRIME are aggressive businessmen who like to hire young up and coming talent. You have leverage. You merely need someone who knows how to utilize it.'
'You know, I never thought of it like that, Dave,' Phillip mused, not noticed David flinch at the shortened familiar form of his name. 'I'm not much for the business end of things. Sorta like to go with the flow.'
David Walter Smith smiled inwardly, as the plates of food were put down in front of them. 'And I can allow you to focus on such endeavors. Dinner is served, Mr. Kennedy. Before we eat, however, do we have a deal?'
The Big Stack looked down at his dinner, steam rising off of it. Nodding once, and sticking his arm through the hot water vapor, he engaged in another hand-crushing handshake with David. 'We do,' he announced, smiling. 'Now let's eat. Want to try some of mine?'
David shook his head. ' No thank you. I am a vegetarian.'
-------------
PRIMETIMECENTRAL.NET
JULY 19, 2008
News Stories
SCCW: Phillip Kennedy Signs One Year Deal.
DALLAS, TX: In a press release today, Sin City Championship Wrestling announced the signing of current roster member Phillip Kennedy to a one year contract, effective August 5, 2008.
'We are proud to lock up one of our most notable young talents for the next year,' the press release stated. 'Phillip Kennedy has proven that, in spite of his inexperience in the sport, he is capable of great things, and we expect him to achieve many of them under the Sin City banner.'
Terms of the contract were not immediately available, though both sides in the negotiation described the contract as being beneficial for both parties. 'SCCW recognizes the caliber of talent that it has in Mr. Kennedy,' David Walter Smith, Kennedy's agent and wrestler for PRIME under the name Logic, told Primetime Central. 'At the end of the day, my client wanted to continue to compete for SCCW, and SCCW wanted Mr. Kennedy on the roster. It was not difficult to reach a fair agreement for all sides.'
Rumors put the deal at being worth in the range of $125,000 to $175,000, with various performance-based incentives. Also rumored to be in the deal is a $10,000 signing bonus, that Kennedy will use to participate in the main event of the 2009 World Series of Poker.
Kennedy is scheduled to compete on SCCW's Temptation program this week, in a 'Last Exit Rumble' qualifier for the final spot in the promotion's Heaven & Hell Match at All-In. He is already scheduled in a Strength in Numbers Title match on that card.