this will not end well

Two large men sit across a table from one another in a quiet diner in South Boston, both tinkering with their coffee mugs. Jack McGrath’s father has a grim look on his face, staring at the ceiling fan. Before him is the longtime wrestling veteran and trainer Robert Divine. Divine’s bald head shines under the obnoxiously bright lights of the eatery.

“I just don’t know what to do anymore. Jack is not the same, and I’m afraid I’m going to lose him forever. That damned wrestling federation is absolutely out of control, and it’s turning my son into a madman,” groans Mr. McGrath.

He takes a sip of his coffee and looks across the table in desperation.

“You’re not wrong. I’ve been doing this shit for too long, and I haven’t seen anything like RAZOR Wrestling in many years. But, I’ll tell you this; Jack has a big heart. I trained him for nearly three years, and the kid is totally focused on being the best that he can be. I really think he’ll figure things out,” says Divine confidently.

“I really hope you’re right. He hasn’t answered my phone calls in almost two weeks. That’s not like him at all. I just have a terrible feeling about his upcoming match. It’s a goddamn Las Vegas Street Fight. You know how he obsesses over things. I’m afraid that he’s going to take it too far…” The man who raised Jack as a single father takes a deep breath, adjusting his scally cap. Concern is plastered across his face.

Divine struggles on what to say next. Perhaps the Jack McGrath that Robert trained is no more. Perhaps the kid with ambitions to be the next best professional wrestler in the World is slowly disappearing. Perhaps, Jack is allowing the violence and carnage to take over.

“You gotta go see him. You gotta go to Vegas. There’s no way he’s going to walk away from this upcoming match, but you can prove to him that you’ve got his back. Show him that you care. Show him you want what’s best for his career, and especially what’s best for him,” Divine declares.

Mr. McGrath shakes his head and sighs. “Looks like I’m going back to Vegas. Thanks, Robert.”

a few minutes later

----

Mr. McGrath is outside the diner on his cell phone.

“Jack, pick up your fucking phone,” he whispers under his breath.

He continues to pace back and forth. Of course, Jack does not answer because there is only one thing on his mind.

Revenge on “Gosuto Sutori”.