Post by Admin on Jun 26, 2023 4:03:49 GMT
Strader Estate-Compound WhiteHouse(Tamika’s home)
Houston, Texas
June 21st, 2023
“Good, Meeks is home,” he said to himself. John gears down his club coloured ‘45 Harley Davidson Panhead and backs it up beside his twin sister’s Indian Scout painted in her signature green. He places his helmet on the throttle while removing his riding glasses before heading up to the WhiteHouse on the estate.
“Hey Meeks, where ya at?”
His voice echoes in the foyer and is quickly greeted by his niece and nephew, his late sister’s 4-year-old twins, Lizzie and Clay. He scoops both up in his arms.
“How are my little monsters, huh? Being good for your Auntie Tee?”
“They keep me on my toes, but Lil’Scottie has been a great help.”
John looks at Tamika with a smile, as she takes Clay in her arms and Lizzie nestles into her uncle’s neck.
“Not that I’m disappointed you stopped in as I always love to see you, but I am guessing this isn’t a social call so… what’s up, lil’bruh?”
John scoffs at the “lil’bruh” comment, even though he should be used to it by now. Tamika was barely thirty minutes older than him, born on March 20th, 1989, ten to midnight. John was twenty minutes after her. It was a battle he knew he wouldn’t win.
20 Minutes Later…
“You want me to get in touch with Simon?”
Tamika shakes her head, as she hasn’t seen or spoken to her son’s father and her ex-husband in a few years. She gets up from her chair, looking at her brother sitting in front of the mahogany desk that once belonged to their dad. Tamika walks to the window, back to her brother, looking over.
“I haven’t talked to him in over a year, Johnny.”
John sighs, looks down and back up to the back of Tamika’s head. He can see her reflection in the pane of glass and can’t help but notice that she looks sad.
“Look, I know it’s tough on you with how it ended, but I wouldn’t be asking if it wasn’t important.”
“Why not just call his right hand Alison?”
With a scoff, John shakes his head.
“Alison? She’s a fuckin’ psychopath, Meeks.”
Tamika turns around, looking him in the eye. His icy blue eyes make her think of their father and their big sister.
“Yes, she is, and that’s why she is his right hand. Last I heard, Simon was overseas in Russia.”
“Russia? Really, eh? Well fuck.”
“Why do you need to talk to him?” Tamika sits back down and flips through an old Rolodex sitting beside her phone.
“He has access to the prisons in Canada. Kent Institution Maximum Security prison in British Columbia to the Nova Scotia Correctional Facility. My Asian contacts are pressing my club to increase distribution and I need that pipeline to meet the demand.”
Tamika shakes her head. She pulls a card for the Rolodex and slides it toward John.
“Asian contacts? Let me guess, you want to give all those prisoners some poppy seeds for their bagels?”
John chuckles as he reaches forward, collecting the contact information.
“Best you don’t know, Meeks.”
“But Megz could?”
He sighs and raises his brow slightly.
“I couldn’t keep our big sister out of the business with the old man, but this is as far as your involvement goes. You are the head of this family now, Meeks. We need you whole and your hands clean.”
“Yeah, alright. Stay for dinner? Gran is making her famous Kobe-beef meatloaf and Key Lime pie for dessert.”
“Kenzie is actually just up at Megz Ranch, babysitting Christian-Michelle. Well, I guess it’s Ronnie and Outcast’s ranch now, but yeah, sounds like a plan.”
Peace Arch Historical State Park
Seattle, WA, USA and Vancouver, BC, CAN
June 24th, 2023 9:00PM PST
The infamous border park where people can sit at a picnic table that is on the invisible border between the North American countries. Canadians and Americans enjoy the park as the President, John Nash Strader of the Brothers of Mayhem MC, sits down at the table with the President of the Femme Fatale Alison Lawson. Both have taken the same page while wearing plain black zipper hoodies to not draw attention to themselves. Well, as much as they could, with one being 6 '5 tall and the other looking like she belongs in Arkham Asylum.
“Appreciate meeting me halfway, Alison.”
“Don’t appreciate me yet, Strader. Cut to the chase. What’s this offer Simon can’t refuse?”
“Never one for patience. I have a line on the finest poppies in SouthEast Asia. I have a product that needs a pipeline, and I know Simon has access to every prison from here to the East Coast. We moved a lot of ‘Yayo’ through them.”
The short-haired brunette with disturbing dark brown eyes, appearing black. She stares at him blankly, but he knew the wheels were turning behind them. She’s as crazy as she is smart and John knew she would see the value in what he was presenting to her Club and Simon’s business.
“What’s in it for us?”
“My product, your pipeline, fifty-fifty profit sharing.”
“Fifty-fifty… I will need a sample, Strader.”
“It’s being arranged right now.”
Alison smirks and extends her hand across the picnic table.
“If it passes the test, you have a deal.”
John sneers like the other members of his family do, and shaking her hand in agreement.
“We are gonna make our clubs, and Simon’s business, a lot of fuckin’ money.”
Former Outlaw MC Clubhouse
Joliet, Illinois Route 66
June 25th, 2023 23:45(11:45PM)
John Nash Strader sits on the side of his 1945 Harley Davidson Panhead, looking at an empty lot. His niece, Cara Strader, taught him how to use his iPhone 14 Pro to record professional quality videos. Normally the long time Strader cameraman, Harold the Cameraperson, would be the one to film these. However, John was on his annual Route 66 run. He did it in honour of his old man since his murder on March 27th, 2021. He reaches into his kutte, pulling out a soft pack of Marlboro Reds, and with a snap of his fingers, the zippo in his right hand lights up his deathstick. John let his infamous panty-dropping-smile out to play for the phone set up on his bike's handlebars.
“All the way back in 1983, my old man was a prospect for the motorcycle club. He eventually became the Sergeant At Arms of that club, but not before he was given the task that would give him his top rocker (that’s the name patch on a kutte for the ignorant ones out there). That task?”
He takes a long haul, exhaling through his nose as he answers the question posed.
“He had to send a message to a rival club that his club wasn’t to be messed with. Since he’s dead, and the statute of limitations is long passed, I can say the method he chose was blowing the clubhouse/gas station that used to be right over there.”
He casually points over his right shoulder.
“He was put down a few years back. I bring him up because I am a lot like him. The MC way of life is where we both are the most comfortable and professional wrestling is where we both satisfied our love of violence. I’m not much older than my old man when he finally stepped into the squared-circle. He was a World Champion five times in five different companies. Almost thirty other second and third tier championships and a nine time tag team champion, all with different partners, and even once by himself.”
“The whole family is like this. We all share a love of the highway on two wheels and kicking ass in the ring. My sisters and nieces got into the business before I did, but the difference between me and them? They do it for the glory and setting records, whereas I do it for the love of violence I mentioned before.”
“A giant fuckin’ banana learned that lesson when I beat it to a pulp, fit for making banana bread. Now two more professional wrestlers are going to get that same lesson.”
John smirks, taking another deep drag of his smoke.
“Leopold Grimm, there is only one man I have any respect for that wears grease paint in the ring, and that is the current IWF Invictus Champion. Oh, and fun fact? Unlike anyone else in this company, I actually hold a victory over him. I’m gonna give you a head’s up: stay the fuck out of my way. Also, make sure the pretentious Heaven spelled backwards manager of yours doesn’t make the mistake of getting involved in our match. Because I will curb stomp 'em on the steel ring steps.”
“Now, I’m sure you’ll get a few knocks in. It is a triple threat after all and focus will be divided. Besides myself, I recognize actual threats, and that is the one my stoner niece refers to as E-Manual.”
He smirks to himself as takes a final drag, exhaling through his nostrils.
“I know exactly who you are, Emmanuelle. You are a champion calibre competitor. Everywhere you go, you make waves and that’s impressive, flat out. But there’s just a few things I have to say about your goals and motivations.”
“One, I know your goal is to make anywhere you go a hotbed for women’s wrestling and good for you. That’s an admirable goal to have, and by the looks of it, you achieve that everywhere you go.”
“Two, unfortunately for you, there’s going to be a Strader across the ring from you at Odyssey. While all of us with Strader blood running through our veins are the same in many ways, the crucial difference between my nieces, my sister and myself? Like I said earlier, I don’t do this for championships or glory.I do it to satisfy a need to make people hurt and bleed.”
John stands up and walks over to the right side of his Panhead whilst he fastens his black beanie helmet on. He pulls the bike up, grabbing his phone. He looks into it for the last time, the Strader Sneer across his face. He rests his left leg up on the kick start, turning over the key.
“Tamika would have something ridiculous to say about taking a shit at McDonald’s with the door open. Veronica, like her mom (my big sister), would let you know if she forgives or doesn’t (she doesn’t). But me? I’m going to leave you with a thought that both Grimm and Emmanuelle would do well to remember.”
“You know why Michelangelo’s David at the Sistine Chapel had such a small dick? It was a sign of intellectual superiority to have a small dick, while big dicks belonged to the savages and barbarians of the world.”
“If I were to die today, and that was a true thing, it would be a shame to think I would’ve been remembered as only a savage.”
John kick starts his Panhead and shuts off the camera after a few revs of the throttle.
“See if they are smart enough to understand what I meant.”
Before he can put away his phone and ride off down the unkept infamous Route 66, he sees the smiling face of Alexandra Calaway via phone contact photo. He smiles to himself, looking at the photo for a few seconds.
“Kid is right… I just need to sit down and talk to you… I’m on my way, doll.”
