The bruises are evident and the dried blood spots on his neck will soon be nothing more than battle scars washed away. Jason Cruise is visibly worn down after an epic battle against the Affliction not more than a few minutes ago. As he approaches his locker room he never expected to find what was waiting for him on the other side of the door.

Marie.

Barely conscious she laid underneath a metal fold up chair, her left cheek flat against the cold cement floor. Her wrists were beat red, still loosely bound by the ropes that El Diablo and Angela had fastened her down with. The empty glasses of wine still sat nearby on the small table where Angela had placed an unknown substance in her drink, causing Marie to slip into a state of unconsciousness.

Jason's eyes began to dart throughout the room, as if suddenly deep down the detective in him was turning on all cylinders. But all he tried to play investigator his found themselves frozen on the woman he loved. Suddenly it was all setting in and Jason fell to his knees, his hands cradling Marie underneath the mane of brown hair that spilled across the floor.

'Marie,' he said, softly shaking her.

Realizing the seriousness of the situation he looked over his shoulder and only one word came to mind, a word he rarely would let fall from his lips.

'Help!'

* * * * *

A cell phone rang in a small house in the middle of Glendale, California. Glendale has never been known as the most luxurious area in the downtown Los Angeles area and it always seems to be occupied by people aspiring to be something more. Actors, musicians, all of them crafting their trade and usually waiting tables at night to get through to the next day.

The person who picked up the phone was no different. His name was Frederick, more commonly addressed as Freddy, and even more importantly he was the brother of FUSE star and champion, Jason Cruise. Freddy, to Jason, is nothing more than a good brother with a waste of wrestling ability. Jason has always been the first to tell Freddy that he was twice as talented as him in the ring but he had one-tenth of the work ethic.

Somehow sitting on the sofa on Halloween afternoon with a beer in both hands and a box of pizza in front of him while drowning in a sea of mini butterfinger wrappers didn't really support Freddy's best efforts to convince anyone otherwise.

'Yo what's up,' Freddy asked as he picked up his thin black razor phone.

'Hey Freddy, it's me.'

Freddy continued to chew on whatever wad of crap was filling his mouth as he talked to his brother. 'Caller ID dumbass, I know it's you, whaddya want?'

'Do you still have that number for Kristoff, I need to talk to him.' Jason replied.

'Kristoff,' he stated, taking a moment to think to himself. 'What do you want with that fool? I thought you were done running numbers.'

'I am you idiot. I just need the number.'

Freddy looks around to the stand next to the table where he sees a little rolodex full of numbers, names, addresses, bra sizes, whatever the heart desires. What nobody knows though is that before Jason made it as a successful wrestler he was nothing more than a money runner for a bookie named Kristoff. Every Monday he would get on his bike and cycle his legs off around town, collecting or paying Kristoff's clients. In return, he got a free place to stay and a small, very small, percentage of Kristoff's juice.

It's been years since Jason has spoken with his old boss but Kristoff always favored Jason over some of his other lackies. He worked hard, he never missed a pick up, and if things got a little hectic he could always count on Jason to collect by whatever means necessary.

'Yeah, I think I got it here somewhere. I'm kinda in the middle of something.'

'Freddy, get off your fat ass and get me the fucking number.'

'This isn't a good time god dammit!' Freddy yells.

Both voices fade for a moment as Freddy looks down at the coffee table in front of him, his hand lifting the pizza box open only to find that it's empty. He sighs, leans over to the rolodex, and throws it on his lap.

'Hold on one sec,' Freddy muddles. 'What do you want with that Russian anyway?'

'He's not Russian you dolt, his name is Chris, he just makes people call him that so he sounds more official. You got the number or what?' Jason barked.

'Yeah, yeah. Ready?'

'No, I'm actually in the middle of a bubble bath and a good novel... of course I'm fucking ready.'

'Alright.'

* * * * *

Lying in a hospital bed isn't easy. The rooms are small, the television's channels are usually limited, and half the time the person next to you has visitors that will just never leave. Kansas Marie found herself in a similar situation as she laid in a gown on a stiff bed in the VCU Medical Center in Richmond, Virginia.

Jason had Marie taken on a helicopter to Virginia immediately after FUSE on ESPN to the nearest hospital to the Richmond Coliseum where he would be wrestling this week. If it sounds expensive, well, it was. Jason's salary for the past month was cleanly wiped out with this latest expense, even with Marie's previous history working as a nurse. To her benefit, the nursing experience at least got her great attention from the staff. Unfortunately, the latest visitor was neither staff nor friend.

It was the Man in the Black Hat.

He stood at the feet of her bed, his body draped in a black coat and pants, a tall black hat pulled snug over his brow.

'Marie,' he said softly, just as Jason had said to her when he found her in this similar state. 'I am disappointed in you. Pretending to be asleep will not save you any grace on my end. So weak you are, I should have known.'

He begins to walk around to the side of the bed.

'A little wine, a little pill, and all of a sudden every dirty little secret kept inside of you was open for the taking. You always were too trusting.'

He moves in closer, his hand running along the thin silver railing along the bed as he leans over her.

'All you had to do was watch over Jason. But you got too close, you let your heart lead your way. You let jealousy and love out weigh your brains. I expected more from one of my own.'

He shakes his head.

'I expected more from my only daughter.'

* * * * *

Kristoff Melnikov was neither Russian nor in a mob. What he was and always has been, was a business man. For nearly a decade he had run one of the largest illegal gambling rings in the greater Los Angeles area. After being banned from virtually every Casino in Las Vegas back in the 1990's he decided to take sports betting and handicapping into his own hands and start his own sportsbook.

His clients, while wealthy, were not known amongst the public eye. Granted, over the years he had managed to ring in a Hollywood celebrity or two, he was more interested in a stereotypical client. Single, white male, self employed, and unknown. For years he had slipped under the radar with his proven method of whom he allowed into his anonymous circle, it was only happenstance that led Jason Cruise, an innocent fourteen year old boy from Santa Monica, to his doorstep years ago.

So in a way, it was a bit surprising to Kristoff that Jason would ever track him down for something other than a casual hello or to take a modest weekend bet. This time it was something a bit more personal.

'Jason. How the hell ya been man. It's been what -- two years?'

Kristoff was basically out of a movie for his job title. He was razor thin, he never shaved, and he always had a nice cigar dangling from his lips. He wore an old L.A Rams cap off to the side and he just looked greasy. He was a bookie to the one hundredth degree but he was also so much more. He was old school.

'About that.' Jason's voice was low and uncertain. Even if it was just a phone call, it was a phone call he couldn't believe he was making.

'What can I do for you, brother? Don't tell me you're hopping on the Patriots bandwagon too kid, you know not to bet against the smart money.'

'No, you know I don't bet anymore.'

'Yeah, sure thing. If only I had a thousand dollars for every time I heard that line in my life. Oh wait, I do... god bless the broken down sports fan.'

'I take it business is well.'

'I've got no complaints here. So tell me, if not a bet, what can I do for you?'

'I need some help with something. This is a bit strange to ask.' Jason begins pacing around his hotel room. 'I need a favor, really.'

'Do explain.'

'There's this person. I think he's been following me...'

'Jason,' he interrupts. 'You do realize what you're asking.'

'I do -- just, just hear me out here. I just need you to find out who he is. I'm not asking you to wrap cement blocks around his feet and throw him into the Pacific, y'know?'

'Well yeah, I don't think you could afford that on a wrestler's salary.' Kristoff says with a straight face.

'No, seriously. No physical action, nothing like that. I just need a name.'

'Jason, you were always one of my best runners. I never really expected something like this from you and I know that by coming to me that you must be in some sort of serious bind here so that tells me that you are desperate.'

'I am. I'm going fucking nuts here.'

'Alright then. What do you have on him so far?'

Jason scratches his head. 'All I know is I keep seeing this person following me wearing a black hat.'

'That's all?'

'Well, yeah,' Jason replies.

'You're fucking nuts, kid. But you're lucky.'

'You're gonna help me out?'

'I'll see what I can do.'

'Thanks, Chris.'

'Jason?'

'Yeah?'

'Don't ever call me that again or some cat in the hat freak show is going to be least of your worries.'

Click.

* * * * *