Electricity hung in the air; one would be hard pressed to tell whether it was just because of the recent storm that had passed or if it was charged dreams of the Los Angeles hopeful. It was a palpable feeling; one that you felt the minute you saw the Hollywood sign on top of that glorious emerald hill.
The small neighbourhood of Oceanside was situated between two worlds, Santa Monica and Beverly Hills. This placement meant it was a true hybrid area, filled with the glitz and glamour of the rich and famous but with a suitably sleazy twist. There was the Pit, a down right pig hole of a bar where the drinks were cheap and the staff were mostly wannabe rockers dying to move up to the Whiskey a Go Go. Of course there was also Oceanside Gourmet; a cheap Denny’s Knock off with greasy late night food and doe eyed waitresses willing to serve deep into the night. There was a good chance that if you weren’t working at one of those two places, you probably worked at the Treasure Chest, a gentleman’s club known for its beautiful girls and it’s creed “Discretion is a guarantee, pleasure is the bonus”.
Most of the business in Oceanside are owned by one man; Douglas Bigby. Doug; like everyone else came to LA with stars in his eyes as a fresh faced eighteen year old from Illinois. He worked mostly menial jobs, trying to shove his scripts and screenplays into the hands of anyone at all in the movie industry. This method failed spectacularly most of the time with the only positive being that someone of the greedy fucks would steal his idea but he’d never be able to prove it. Failing miserably as a screenwriter, Doug converted his latest script into a self published humour magazine he called “Future Imperfect”. It swiftly became popular with the local colleges because of its juvenile and deadpan humour. Within a few years, Future Imperfect was on the coffee tables of most under thirties and Doug was a millionaire. He invested in the development of the Oceanside neighbourhood with the goal of protecting young artists from an industry that would use them and abuse them. It is not uncommon to find Douglas Bigby roaming the streets at midnight in his green robe, drink and cigar in hand, spouting philosophy; every bit the comedy figure that his magazine would suggest.
In fact Doug had been walking the streets when he happened upon the scene that was now unfolding before him. The flashing red and blue police lights were illuminating the growing crowd as the two officers surveyed the body on the ground, a pool of blood formed in a perfect circle beneath her porcelain skin. The pink dress was a dead giveaway, Doug knew who this was, an aspiring starlet of the silver screen named Nikki Entwhistle and she had rather obviously room a swan dive off of the bridge that hung above them as an entrance into Oceanside. Poor girl. He turned and looked upon the face of another crowd member and put his hand on his shoulder.
[color=mossgreen]”Hollywood is a faithless place, Kip. She ain’t the first and she won’t be the last. Swing by the Pit and tell me about your trip later”[/color] His nonchalantness was not to be confused with apathy; it was simply that he had seen tragedy like this before and there was only so many times a heart could break. Doug slipped out of the crowd and back into the night before the young man could even respond.
Kip backed out of the growing crowd and slipped off down an alleyway towards his apartment. In Los Angeles, it wasn’t a great surprise to turn a corner and see a police barrier but when you’ve literally just gotten off of a plane after a twelve hour flight from Japan, it can be a bit of a shock. He climbed up the stairs to his loft and opened the door to a wave of silence and dust. Kip had been gone for a month and it didn’t look as if the cleaning lady had been there in just as long...who was he kidding? He didn’t have a cleaning lady.
Closing the door behind him he dropped his bag onto the floor and then grabbed the wall to stabilise himself. Everything was aching but nothing more so than his back. KVC had only been wrestling for a few years and he’d been fortunate enough to work in a few big territories and get through them all in a fairly healthy condition but Japan was a whole different genre. It was hard hitting, rough and violence: Kip loved it. Or at least he did until he took a bad bump his last go round and has done something bad to his back. He couldn’t really make heads or tales of what the Japanese doctor was saying but it didn’t sound good.
Leaving his gear by the door, Kip walked over to his fridge and pulled out the last remaining beer he had left behind before his trip and then a bag of ice from the freezer before heading into the bathroom. He poured the ice into the bathtub, took off his clothes and climbed in. The chill was a welcome reprieve from the pain. He cracked open the beer and leaned back, turning the radio on as he did. For a normal person, eleven pm was probably too late for a bath but Kip wasn’t a normal person. He never had been. He had bounced around foster homes, been involved in some shady deals and he wore tights and fought big sweaty men for a living; no Kip Van Cise was not a normal person. His mind drifted to his sixteen year old brother; Mason, currently living with some family in Santa Monica a few hours away. He had to remember to visit him soon; reaching into his crumpled up pants on the floor, he pulled out a baggie of white pills and washed them down with his beer. KVC was on the precipice of something special, he could feel it, he had momentum, he couldn’t let a little back pain derail him when he was so close.
When the agony had subsided enough, Kip lumbered out of the tub and into the bedroom to his untouched closet. The Pit was not the place to be dolled up and looking your best; it was a shithole. Then again it was their shithole. Changing into a simple pair of jeans and denim jacket combo, KVC quickly feathered his blonde hair and downed a few more painkillers before heading straight back out of his loft. It was a short walk to the Pit and an even short walk past the queue outside and up to the large bouncer known only as Rig.
”My man, Rig how they hanging brother?” Kip fist bumped the larger gentleman as he made his way towards him.
”Sweaty and slightly to the left. How was Japan man?”
Kip slipped some money into Rig’s short pocket and smiled ”it was a strange one my brother, I’ll fill you in soon. First I need to get some beer. Get some strange and listen to the some rock n roll” KVC patted the big man on the back before entering the hazy club. He found his way to his usual seat through the crowd of leather and denim clad club goers and smiled at the familiar bartender.
”I’ll take a shot and beer and one for yourself”
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