Tokyo, 1999

In the three weeks I had been in Japan, my Japanese was improving. Far from perfect, but developed enough to know how to find my way around. I had a good grasp on the important stuff; I knew how to order most dishes in a restaurant, find a gym, get around the railway, and locate a bathroom. And if the listener was patient enough, I was even able to talk about local politics or sports with a certain naive confidence. But, for the most part, I relied on bowing, pointing, and choppy single-word phrases. Sometimes my attempts to speak were met with friendly attempts to understand it. Other times, even if I knew that I was getting my message across, the arrogance of my ignorance was met with cold resistance by those who found my foreigness as an insult. So, not sure which I'd receive at any given exchange, I resorted to infantile miming and broken speech.

I can only imagine that it was my pathetic grunting and bowing that made Matsuko step from behind the counter and lead me away from her friends, who were all giggling and pointing at my epileptic attempt to find a cellular phone with bluetooth. Somehow, there was something lost in translation.

'Mister, I apoligize for my sisters, but they are very young. Please, may I help you?'

I was relieved by her English, and she was very helpful. In fact, I found a phone that not only linked to my bluetooth headset, but also saved Playstation data, held appointments, and worked on four continents. For that alone, I wanted to take the girl out for dinner. It was a reflex, admittedly, but finding a friendly face in that country made me ambitious.

She declined, but agreed to show me around the city if I agreed to help her practice her English. So it was a natural arrangement. What I hadn't realized was that she would also help me move up from the basements and empty garages of the Japanese underworld fight clubs and into the spotlight of the Asian Wrestling Ciruit.

If I wanted to call them dates, I could have, but they really were more like tutoring sessions. After work each day, I'd walk her to the center of Tokyo, and we'd go on a scavenger hunt. She'd ask me how to say certain words and phrases in English, and I'd ask the whats, whys, and hows of Japan. She taught me that uptown trains became down downtown trains and downtown trains became uptown trains once they passed through Tokyo. As she explained it, it wasn't the geography of North and South, but of the center. That was mind-blowing in it's almost accidental significance.

She also taught me the fine art of living simply. She explained to me that in Japan, space, time, energy, and life itself was valuable. Every moment, every movement, every sound was to be treated with economy and respect. That touched how I did a lot of things in the ring for a very long time. If that were the one and only lesson she'd taught me, I would have been happy, but it wasn't. So my debt to her still remains unpaid.

In these walks, as our understanding of each other's language and culture improved, we began to speak about everything we could think of. She spoke of her desire to move to New York City and design for a big Manhattan Design House. She showed me her sketches and her ideas, and I was blown away. She explained to me that she was working in the small electronics store only until she could save enough money to make that move. And, in a moment of startling disclosure, she told me how her parents forbade it. Of course, she did not tell me why that was.

Word of our walks, and the friend that she had made, must have spread fast because one day when I went to meet her, there was a man leaning against the counter, grinning as I approached. Too old to be her boyfriend, and she hadn't ever mentioned having one anyway, the man wore a fine suit and smiled at me like a wolf.

I could see on her face that she was frightened, and she kept her head down and avoided my gaze the whole time. When I asked her what was going on, she shook her head, turned, and began walking away in silence. The last thing I saw before she turned the corner was the resignation that came with things getting out of hand, and feeling powerless to set things right.

Left alone with the man, I tried to excuse myself to follow her, but he strolled up behind me, wrapped his arm across my shoulder, and drew me to a stop. The man spoke to me in sloppy American TV phrases, and I could feel the unmistakable hard shape against my ribs. His eyes, smiling and empty, let me know that what I thought I felt hanging under his shoulder was not my imagination.

'Mr. Superstar! My sister tells me that you are her best guy friend. You like her?'

I almost laughed at the cliche of the overprotective older brother swooping in to chase away the guy eyeing his baby sister. But I knew better. His sister was the least of his concerns.

'Maybe I'll give you my car and a little date money and you take her out, eh? Come, let me show you something.'

I swallowed hard, feeling the pull of fear in my chest. This was something far worse than a sibling rift with me caught in the middle. He patted me on the shoulder hard, then pretended to realize something.

'I know you, Mr. Superstar. Yes, I know you from a fight I saw you in. You cost me a pretty penny, I remember. But I'm not mad. Because you are a good fighter. The other guy was a joke. He didn't have the heart to stand in that ring with you. Right?'

I was standing in the position that a milllion other man in a thousand countries throughout the history of time have stood. I was about to become a commodity. A horse in a race that I had no control of, and my purpose was to benefit the right people at the right time.

'I am not interested. I apologize. Please, let me be on my way and I will not bother you nor your sister. I promise.'

My ego slammed against my chest at the sound of my retreat, but my intellect knew that some things were not worth the effort. This was not a ring and a three-count. The city would be a very small place if I pissed off the wrong people.

He seemed to ignore me, and he slipped a large wad of yen into the inside pocket of my coat, slapping it with a smile.

'I am Sorimatsu, and me and you will be very good friends.'

And that was when I knew I was not going to talk my way out of that arrangement. When he lead me into the side entrance of a bar I hadn't even realized was there, I knew that I was not going to walk away without a fight.

The Ripple Extends
New York City, 2007

I sat in the bowels of Madison Square Garden for almost three hours before I heard footsteps coming down the hallway toward the security holding area. A New York City police officer was outside the door, awaiting the final word on whether criminal charges were possible. With the nature of what we get paid to do every night, it was a tricky issue. However, STD was pushing all avenues.

I really didn't care. I had made the mistake of believing that I was more than a sacrificial lamb to Duluth's plans. It was a reality that had dawned on me despite my every effort to deny it. So when I heard the footsteps, I had a smile on my face.

The security guard unlocked the door and held it open, quietly instructing me that I was to leave the premises immediatly. If I attempted to return, I would be held on trespassing, and there was nothing in the contract to protect me from that.

I gathered my belongings and walked toward the parking lot with two security guards on my flanks. Nothing was told to me, so I asked, morbidly curious.

'So am I fired?'

I assumed I was. And I really could not care less. It was pretty evident that my time with FUSE was over. The fruit had rotted from the vine, and I had overstayed my welcome. Things change, and I move on.

Neither officer answered, so I asked again. 'So, what's the word? Am I fired or not?'

'No, Mr. Cruz, you're far too valuable to allow that.'

The answer came from a large black man leaning against the hood of my car. He was polishing his ring with a silk handkerchief, not looking at me.

'You gentlemen have done enough. Run off.'

At first, they held their ground, but when he turned and faced them, something shifted in the air, and they slid away, resentful.

The man was a monster. He stood at over seven feet tall, and beneath an impecably tailored suit was a wall of muscle. He peeled his designer eyeglasses from his face, and chuckled.

'What took you so long?'

I wasn't ready to see him, of all people. I knew that seeing him meant that she was around someplace. And she was the one I was afraid of.

Here's what I think I know about the man. He was born in New Orleans, Louisiana some time ago. Might have been thirty years ago, might have been sixty. THe way he carried himself showed refinement, class, and the patience that comes with wisdom and experiance. But he didn't look old, I'll say that.

Gideon Saint-Luc spent his youth on the streets of The Big Easy, earning his money any way he could. From piming to fighting to gambling to extortion. If there was money to be made, Gideon was involved in it. And more times than not, Gideon was the one calling the shots. I never asked him exactly what he did, but the scars on his fists and the way he worked in a board room, I could imagine he was good at it.

The story of Gideon might have ended there. He'd be just another hustler and scammer who had the brute strength to stay ahead of the rest of the hustlers and scammers. But then something strange happened. He accidently saved the life of a wealthy real estate investor who had begun sniffing around a very bad neighborhood in a very expensive car. Seems he was looking for the next slum to turn trendy, and he stayed past sundown. So as these things tend to work out, Gideon saved his ass, and James Verona remembered the favor when he was looking for a bodyguard.

So Gideon accepted the offer and made the trip to New York City. When he realized what the conditions, he decided that it might have been a bad idea.

The position was as a bodyguard for Mr. Verona's only daughter, Zoe. Threats had begun to come in after James made a few deals with some dangerous people, and James was eager to protect his daughter. When Gideon realized it, he politely declined. However, Mr. Verona instantly doubled his offer, Gideon's salary entered seven digits a year, and the deal was made.

Gideon Saint-Luc was then left to protect the eight year-old heir to the Verona empire. How they became business partners is a whole other story.

And how they came to own my soul is a whole other.

'Where's Ms. Verona?' I asked, walking toward Gideon, eager to play every card I could.

'She's waiting for us at Bernardo's. She assumes Columbian is okay.'

'I'm really not that hungry.' I answered.

He smirked, 'I think you know better.' He responded, checking his watch.

Yeah, I did know better. So I slipped into the back of the limo that was sent for us, and we disappeared into the night.

If Gideon Saint Luc was marble, Zoe Verona was silk. She was excrusiatingly beautiful, but she had edges that could pierce to the bone. She was smart, she was calculating, and above all else, she was merciless when challenged.

As Gideon and I entered the restaurant, waiters and patrons alike cast their gazes downward, and parted from our path. I made no mistake to whom their respect was placed.

Zoe rose at her seat, and the waiters quickly placed two new settings at the table. She extended her hand and gave me the warmest smile she could and shook my hand gently. It was literally uncomfortable to be that close to her sometimes.

'Mr. Cruz, I am very happy you made the time to meet with me tonight. I heard you were in New York and I made it my first priority to see you.' It was all a razor-sharp expression of power that she seemed to revel in.

Gideon whispered something to the head waiter and the man nodded and hurried off.

'Mr. Cruz, I took the liberty of ordering you the Chilean bass with the mango salsa. I hope you don't mind. Truly, I would not recommend anything else.' Gideon added to the fun the two were having, and I took a seat as was my role.

'Now, I would like to get business out of the way so that we may enjoy or dinner. If that's okay with you, of course.' She said, and I resigned myself to agree.

Zoe Verona touched my hand briefly, leaving frost where it made contact, 'Thank you.'

'Okay, so let's clear the air a bit. I'd like to first congratulate you on your return to FUSE, and naturally, your return to our family. How was your big return?'

'I've had better.'

She feigned sympathy, 'I'm sorry, was there something wrong?'

Gideon spoke up, 'Mr. Cruz has been experiancing a bit of backlash from his former employees. And frankly, he has been treated less than appropriatly.'

Zoe Verona, visibly annoyed, shook her head, 'This cannot be permitted. Gideon, first thing in the morning, we are going to call Mr. Duluth to find out how he intends to remedy the situation.'

Gideon looked at me, then spoke again, 'I'm afraid Mr. Duluth is the offending party in this instance.'

Ms. Verona narrowed her eyes slightly, and looked directly into my eyes, which were burning with anger at where I was now sitting under those conditions, 'Damien? Is this true?'

I felt like a child reporting to his parents that his teacher was being mean to him. And like a child, I looked down at my water and nodded slightly.

She sighed, and took a sip of her wine. 'I think there has been a severe lapse in communication, Mr. Cruz.'

The woman smiled a lot, and was artfully polite with me. By the end of the evening, I was full on $120 a bottle wine, Chilean Sea Bass, and the belief that everything was going to work out just fine.