Ricci could see angels in the redwood grove, or so it seemed. Standing before him, taking assessment of him gentle faces, pale in the darkness, eyes luminous and inquisitive and kind. But even in that meager moon like glow, he was unable to sustain a hope of angels. It was not that he was a religious man by any means, he just wanted to know the touch of something not of this earth, of something celestial. After a brief initial confusion, he realized that these creatures were a breed of coastal elk without antlers.

Six stood together in a fifteen-foot-wide space between this outer row of trees and the deeper growth, so close that Ricci could have been among them in three steps. Their noble heads were lifted, ears pricked, gazes fixed intently on his. The elk were curious, but although timid by nature, they seemed oddly unafraid of him, for he was a stranger, an interloper on their land. As a child, for two months, he and his mother had stayed on a ranch in Mendocino County, where a group of well-armed survivalists waited for the race wars that they believed would soon destroy the nation, and in that doomsday atmosphere where Antonio had spent as much time as possible doing two things, the first of which was exploring the surrounding countryside, hills and vales of singular beauty, groves of pines, golden fields where scattered Oaks stood-each alone and huge and black-limbed against the sky-and where small herds of coastal elk appeared from time to time, always keeping at a distance from human beings and their works. He had stalked them not as a hunter but with a sense of guile, as shy as the elk themselves but irresistibly attracted to the tranquillity and the peace that they radiated in a world otherwise saturated with violence.

In those two months, he had never managed to get closer than eighty or ninety feet to the elk herds before they had reacted to his nonchalant approach, whidding to farther fields and ridges.

Now they had approached him, vigilant but not frightened, as if they were the same elk of his childhood, at long last willing to believe in his peaceable intentions. Coastal elk should have been somewhat closer to the sea, in the open meadows beyond the redwoods, where the grass was lush and green from the winter rains, where the grazing was good. Although they were not strangers to the forest, their presence here, in the rainy predawn darkness, was remarkable.

Then he saw others in addition to the herd of six-one here, one there, and there a third, and still more-between trees, at a greater distance than the initial group. Some were barely visible in the bosky grove, at the extreme reach of the backwash from the motor-home headlights, but he thought that there were as many as a dozen altogether, all standing at attention, as though transfixed by woodland music beyond human hearing.

Lightning spread branches across the sky, put down jagged roots toward the earth, and briefly brightened the grove sufficiently for Antonio to see all the elk more clearly than before. More of them than he had thought. In mist and ferns, among flowering red rhododendrons, revealed by fluttering leaves of light. Heads lifted, their breath steaming from black nostrils. Their eyes fixed on him.

Here, he was strangely at peace. He thrived on conflict. The three kinds of conflict were all present in this moment. Man against nature; standing within the herd of elk was not something he had been able to achieve before, but here he stood, as trusted as though he were one of their own. Man against nature, the lightning and torrential rain he stood in was a threat to his well being. One bolt and it could all be over. Lastly, there was the classic conflict of man against himself. Knowing his penchant to cause pain and misery towards others, there was a temptation there. A temptation to take advantage of the trusting elk and make a trophy out of one of them. But that was not his intention, at least not today. That honor would go towards one Don Tirri.

Don Tirri was not unlike the elk, however, he was just as smart as they were. The ideal situation for Tirri would be to get out of sight quickly. Don’t be rash. Wait for the ideal situation. Pick the moment of the confrontation and control the showdown when it comes. Fierce lightning comes again, and a long hard crash of thunder like vast structures collapsing high in the night break his thought, just for a moment. Don Tirri, he lacked the protection of a herd that the elk had. He had Jenny, at least. But two against one was simply an unfair situation. Tirri would have to recruit at least three more people, or six Waluigi’s and a Bert.

Antonio decides that now is the time to leave. The weather seemed to be worsening and he had a drive to beautiful Indianapolis, Indiana. Besides, he isn’t driving one of those elaborate three-hundred thousand-dollar land yachts that, by their very flashiness, automatically make you believe that the owners must belong to a country club and are simply travelling with Aunt Muffy and Uncle Biff. His vehicle is seventeen years old and, though well maintained, worth considerably less than fifty thousand bucks, let alone three-hundred thousand-dollars.

There are things that can be killed and things that can’t. Some things are harder to kill than others, and some are more fun to kill than others. Some scream, some weep, some do both, some only tremble silently and wait for the end as if having spent their whole lives in anticipation of this awful pain. Though he won’t literally kill him, Antonio wonders which of these Don Tirri is. Thus the days will go by pleasantly straightforward, a river of raw sensation upon which enigma seldom sets sail. As he turns away from the elk and towards his motorhome, Antonio Ricci can only smile as he plays out each scenario in his head, each one with Don Tirri fallen at his feet. It is simply the most scintillating sensation he has felt in a long time.

______________________________________________________

It’s now sometime later and we see Antonio Ricci standing in front of all things, a driving range. He’s really selling it, too. With his aquamarine polo shirt and obnoxious pink pants, he looks every bit the golfer. He stands over the ball with laser like focus and sends the ball flying off into the distance, with a right slice so hard it almost boomerangs back at him.

“You’d think with all the time I’ve been spending at the country club, I’d be better at this,” Ricci quips. He puts the driver in his hand off to the side and turns his full attention to the camera crew.

“You know something, Tirri, I was never taught to respect my elders. I was taught to those who have actually earned that respect. The fact you walk around here, strutting around like a peacock, plumage on full display, because Magdalena Lockheart saw fit to grant you a shot at the Final Boss championship, is sickening. You did absolutely nothing to actually earn this opportunity. The numbers don’t lie. The facts don’t lie. The only thing here that lies is your mouth. Let’s do ourselves a favor and look at the actual facts, shall we?”

“First of all, you do not deserve this shot. You have never ever been on the leaderboard and here’s the reasons why. EXP1 you lost your debut match to Wendy House. Since I know you are going to sit there and compare us, I feel the need to point out that when I faced Wendy House, I put her down like the sick little puppy she is. Then, we move on to EXP2 where you actually won your match against Brandon Logan. I have to admit, I had to look that one up because in his time here, he didn’t win an entire match. I heard he’s now auditioning for the role of ‘Wolverine Waluigi.’ EXP3, Lex Collins… oh, look at that. You lost again, this time to the man who was atop the leaderboards at the time. Sure, you eliminated Adam Miller, but you got Housed by Wendy… again. What did I do? I eliminated five competitors. I eliminated Lex Collins, the man who you lost to the show before. I wrestled two matches, outlasted you, and it took LEGION and Magdalena hitting me with their best moves three times before I fell. What this shows is that I have been better than you and every turn.”

Ricci takes off the glove from his left hand, taking a moment to place it in his back pocket.

“Think about this, when you were granted the match, the only person you had beaten was someone who never won a match in Level Up Wrestling. You were given this match not because you were worthy. You were given this match because they wanted to build Magdalena up. Maggie has not won a match since winning the Final Boss Championship. The office knew that she needed to be protected and this match against you, Don Tirri, is proof of this.”

”The other reason is because Bert MacAlroy and I, for all our differences,are a match up that will make Level Up Wrestling money. Does Bert deserve an opportunity to earn an opportunity at the Final Boss Championship? Absolutely not. However, the office is doing the smartest thing possible by hedging their bets. If there is some kind of act of God like I had a heart attack or some kind of fluke where Bert comes out with the victory, then Maggie gets protected, yet again, by facing an opponent who does not deserve the opportunity being given to them. If I win, then the get the marquee matchup that will put money in their pockets. I recognize that I am the type of guy who people will pay to see get his ass kicked. I recognize that people want to see the bully get what’s coming to him. I am also the type of man who is dangerous… supremely dangerous. People would buy this show just to see what would happen.”

Ricci turns back around, grabbing the driver and placing a ball on the tee.

”I made a decision, a conscious decision, that I wasn’t going to say too much to you, Don. To acknowledge you any more than I already have would be a disservice to each and every one of our viewers who has a functioning brain. You are so full of your own delusion that nothing anyone else says even registers. You’ve been calling me Mr. Country Club since the first moment you noticed me. I’ve never even been to a country club. You are so stupid and so ignorant that I wonder if your parents ever had any children that weren’t born braindead. The scars on your body aren’t from your wrestling career, they’re from the coathanger. You have more dick in your personality than in your pants. That’s just who you are and we get that.”

Ricci rears back and lets a perfect shot rip, flying straight as an arrow for over 300 yards before it lands.

”Well, I’ll be damned!” Ricci exclaims. ”I guess maybe I could get to the country club one day after all. But first, Don Tirri, I have to come to EXP6 and I need to show you why I am the Alpha. I need to show you that while you might be a Don, I am a man that can take you out and ruin your family business. It doesn’t matter to me if Jenny tries to get involved. It doesn’t matter to me if Magdalena Lockheart gets involved, as unlikely as that may be. It is my job to be the standard bearer here in Level Up Wrestling and I don’t need a championship to prove that. The championship will come to me when the time is right. I’m not worried about what is right. I am worried about right now and right now the only thing I need to worry about is proving exactly how unworthy you really are.”

Ricci reaches back into his pocket and puts his golf glove back and before teeing up again, sending another ball flying, this time hooking to the left, but not as badly as the first the ball that he had hit.

[FADE]