The American Gladiator (or "Why the fuck did I ever think it was a good idea to actually try and write serious stuff with this character christ jesus

"You're a large sub with extra pathetic!"

The breath comes in ragged gasps. Every inhale is sharp and shallow as you sprint down the alley. Your chest is tight, and you’re not sure if it’s from the fear closing its iron grip around you, or from the last punch that Danny Petcheski landed. The one that caught you just below the sternum and sent you to the ground.

Your eyes sting with a mixture of tears and fear sweat. Your nose runs, so you have to try and breathe through your mouth. Your body is desperate to choke down air. You wonder if they’ll hear you and begin their chase anew. You wonder if Danny will have Liam throw you in the dumpster again, or if you’ll have to explain to mom why you need another new pair of glasses. You wonder what she’ll say if she sees you bruised and crying when you come home.

You wonder.

You sprint along the alleys and side streets, feeling a stitch forming along your right side. You’re not made to move like this. The adrenaline has started to wear off, and now your body is in open revolt. It screams at you to slow down, to stop, but you know that taking your foot off the gas right now means that they might catch up to you, and you don’t know what comes next.

You risk a glance over your shoulder and almost crash into a mailbox as a result. Books and pencils spill across the sidewalk, and you have to waste precious few seconds - seconds you don’t have - getting them back into your bag before you can run again.

You hear laughing behind you, and you tell yourself that it’s just Mister Gustafson telling another one of his stories.

The sign is visible now, which means salvation is only a few feet away. LeMoo’s Fine Sandwiches. And above it, the two-bedroom apartment that you call home.

A new wave of energy courses through your legs. You find steady footing. You won’t be caught again, not this close to the sanctity and sanctuary of your bedroom. So you bolt past the open kitchen door. Past Arthur as he gets ready for a cigarette break.

“Damn, kiddo, you look like the devil’s on your ass.”

He doesn’t know how right he is.

You close the door to your room and slide to the floor while you try to calm yourself down, to steady your nerves. You’re pretty sure you locked the door behind you, but it’s better to double check. You don’t want mom to see you like this, at least not until you’ve had a chance to clean yourself up and make sure everything is in order.

The remote is the first thing you reach for, because it’s just after three o’clock, which means it’s time for the one thing - the only thing - that you have to look forward to every day.

“From Universal Studios Hollywood, this is American Gladiators…”

#

Etienne had never been inside a limousine before.

“I know, sweetie,” Dolores purred. “You’ve said that three times already.”

“I’m sorry,” Etienne replied. “This is just so different from what I’m used to. For so long it was always about the training and the exercise, to make sure I was ready for my next match.”

Dolores watched as he opened a side compartment for the second time, and wondered if he was expecting to find something different this time. It was an existence that she couldn’t comprehend, to be so sheltered that a limousine ride in your twenties was the pinnacle of excitement. She took this as a sign that he was someone she could mold, to sculpt in her image to do what she needed. It would require a bit of manipulation, of that she had no doubt, but that was old hat to Dolores Merriweather Pepperidge-Pembroke. An empire like Sketti Bucket wasn’t built on kindness and generosity, after all.

“Well, I’m happy to be your first,” she said, and took another sip from her glass.

She’d tried to ply him with alcohol in the hopes that it might make him more agreeable, but Etienne had refused.

“So tell me, Steve, what do you do for fun?”

Not for the first time Etienne looked confused.

“I do not understand,” he said.

“When you’re not preparing to be the next great professional wrestler. How do you like to blow off steam? How does Etienne Lemieux like to unwind?” She took another sip from her glass, letting the wine linger on her tongue for a moment before swallowing. “Is there a young lady in your life? Or perhaps a young man? I’m not one to judge, you know.”

“No, no,” he said. He had started to turn an absolutely delicious shade of red. “Nothing like that. For now, there is just the wrestling. I made a promise to myself, you know. Career first, and then fun later.”

“Oh, Stevie honey no,” Dolores whined in jest. “That’s no way to live your life. Why it hardly sounds like living at all. All that talent, all those muscles. And the fame that’s sure to come… What good is it if you don’t have a little fun with it on the way?”

He would be so much fun break.

“I am sorry,” he said, his face now nearly as red as the liquid in her glass. “But I have made a promise to myself.”

“Well then, I guess we’ll just have to get this sorted out for you all the faster.”

“The next PRIME show… it is in your hometown, yes?”

“It is!” She punctuated the statement with mock toast and another sip. “And I’m working to get an appointment with Lindsay Troy to see if we can get this all taken care of.”

“Maybe I should come with you. To help explain.”

Dolores grinned. Had Etienne any experience outside of wrestling he might have seen the undercurrent of malice behind it.

“In good time, Steve. In good time. For now just trust that Dolores will take care of everything. You trust me, don’t you, Steve?”

“I do, yes.”

She smiled wider, baring her teeth.

“That’s what we like to hear.”

#

When Steve opened the door of his apartment to find Oliver Cade and Dr. Zeke on the other side, a part of him wished to be back in the nightmare world of his dreams. The ones where he thought he could fly, only to realize he’d been thrown by a large Russian into a wall or a table. The ones that caused him to wake with a jolt and startle Kitty Lemeow from her comfortable spot curled up at the edge of the bed.

Yet still he let them in. It would have been rude not to.

“Sorry to drop in like this,” Ollie said. He had a plain cardboard box slung under his arm, and he tapped it with his free hand as he spoke. “But we wanted to make sure you got this before the show.”

“Is Rick with you?” Steve said.

“No, he didn’t make the trip.”

“Oh,” Steve said. In truth, he was relieved. Of the three of them, Rick was the one he liked the least. He carried himself with the smug satisfaction of someone who thought they were better than everyone else in the room, and wanted to make sure those people knew it. Rick had a habit of taking liberties during the harebrained training sessions that Zeke concocted, but it was the cheap shots he took with his mouth that stayed with Steve long after he’d gone home. The ghosts of his youth had found a new way to haunt him.

“Yeah, he said he had some personal stuff to take care of.”

“What?” Zeke’s voice had the high nasal whine of a swarm of mosquitos. “That’s not what The Dickman said to me.”

Ollie shot Zeke a wilting glance.

“Oh, yes. Right.” Zeke said, his eyes darting between Oliver and Steve. “We needed someone to guard the secret underground lair that is definitely not a basement. Henchman strike and all. Don’t want to upset the guild by hiring across picket lines. You know how it is.”

Ollie turned his attention back to Steve and mouthed the words ‘definitely a basement.’ With any luck Steve wouldn’t ask any more questions, and no one would have to hear about how Rick had flatly refused to fly to Illinois, or how he’d insisted that this was all a hopeless case, and that it was only a matter of days before “Comrade Grundlefuck” murdered the sandwich man and they’d all be looking for another way into PRIME.

But he didn’t have to say it, because Steve had already put the pieces together.

“It’s okay, guys,” Steve said. “I know he thinks this is pointless.”

Steve walked across the room and melted into the couch. He closed his eyes, pulled one of the throw pillows over his head, and tried to wish it all away. As he’d done so many times before, Steve told himself that if he couldn’t see them, then they couldn’t see him.

A large sub with extra pathetic, that’s all he was. And if Rick knew it, then so did the rest of them.

“Ollie, my boy, can you give us a minute?”

The voice was new, one that Steve hadn’t heard before. He lifted the pillow, curious to see who this new person was that had just entered his home.

“Sure thing, Uncle Dale.”

Steve sat up, his brow furrowed. It was just three of them. There was Ollie, setting the box down next to the door, and nearby was Dr. Zeke. Only he wasn’t Zeke anymore, at least not in the way that Steve knew him. The oversized sunglasses were gone, and the brown ski mask had been removed to reveal a man in his early 70s.

“Are you okay, son?” he said.

Dale Henderson took his first steps across the room. He’d stuffed his accessories in the bowl of his purple fedora, which he set down on the edge of the coffee table as he approached. His face was round, weather-worn and wrinkled, with a rosy glow that bloomed out from his cheeks across his nose. A few strands of white hair danced a lonely waltz on top of his head, and a warm smile peeked out from behind a neatly trimmed white beard.

Steve thought that with a few extra pounds the man before him might make a very convincing Santa Claus.

“Zeke?”

Dale offered a sheepish smile as he tapped the side of his nose. “Guilty as charged. Though as professional wrestling’s only lawyer-doctor, I should probably advise myself against offering up any more secrets.” The grin bloomed into a full smile. “I don’t actually have those degrees, you know. But I like to pretend. Do you mind if I sit?”

“This isn’t what I thought it was going to be.”

“I know,” Dale said, his voice soft.

"I just wanted to put on a good performance. But it always turns into a disaster, doesn’t it?”

“No, I wouldn’t say that.”

“I would. I keep making everyone angry, but I don’t know what I’m doing wrong. I know what people think. I know what people say about me. The other performers keep beating me up. The announcers make fun of me every week. The only person who’s been nice to me so far, who’s been anything like a friend, has been Mister Murder. Even Mister Colton tried to convince me that I should quit right away, and I thought he was supposed to be nice.”

“Jake Colton said that? Doesn’t sound like him.”

“Who? No, it was Nathan. At the place where they eat all the steak. The one in Japan.”

“Ah, Denki Gai,” Dale said. “In his defense, I think he was probably just looking out for you. If I remember correctly you did have a pretty rough night.”

“Mister Russia threw across Tokyo just like he did at my last performance.” He paused, his eyes falling to the floor. “He’s going to do it again, isn’t he? He’s just like Danny. I’ve been trying to outrun him for twenty-five years, but he’s always going to catch me, isn’t he?”

“Who?”

“Nevermind.”

“Did you know I used to be a wrestler? It’s true. It didn’t last long, and was probably doomed from the start if I’m being honest, but I did it. I even had a spot in the very first Belmont Classic. Do you know what that is?” Steve shook his head. “It’s a tournament that’s held every year, and it’s just for people who are brand new to the sport.” Dale chuckled. “I lost in the first round. It wasn’t even close.”

“Oh.”

“I told myself that was the end, that I should take it as a sign and find something else to do with my life.” Dale’s fingers ran along the gold band he wore on his ring finger, tracing the contours, the curves. A lifetime of memories captured in 24 karats. “But my Carol, she wouldn’t let me. She said that if this is what I wanted to do, that I should keep finding a way to do it.”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t know you wanted to be a wrestler.”

“Nah, I didn’t want to be a wrestler. Not really. I wanted to be a bad guy.” “But there are bad guys everywhere.”

“That’s not quite what I mean. My Carol and I, we grew up together. We met in Ms. Pendleton’s third grade class, and from that day forward we were inseparable. We would watch Batman every week together - the one with Adam West and Burt Ward, and every week she’d laugh at whatever nonsense Cesar Romero or Burgess Meredith would get up to. I wanted to be like them. But I’m no actor, Steve. I was too short. Too thin. Two things that also meant I was a bad wrestler. But I had a reason, and that’s all I needed. So I did it. I made her laugh. For the rest of our life together, I made her laugh.”

Dale stood, rising from his seat on the couch and wandered over to the window. From up here he could see the crowd gathering outside the entrance to LeMoo’s Fine Sandwiches, a line that stretched down the block and around the corner.

“My Carol, she was a sentimental sort. She would sew blankets and give them away to her friends as gifts. She said that blankets made her feel warm and safe like a hug, and this way the people she cared about could take that hug anywhere they went.”

“She sounds like a very nice lady.”

“She loved to cook, too. Oh, she was magic in the kitchen. There’d be gallons of soup if you were sick. Giant trays of food to help ease the stress of a move, or a new baby. But she didn’t need an event. There was always extra to bring to friends… to family. This is how she took care of the people she loved.”

The line started to slowly file into the building, and as each person advanced another would appear from around the corner to fill in the space at the back of the line.

“Is it always like this out there?” Dale asked.

“Saturdays are pretty busy.”

“I can’t tell you how you should feel, Steve. I won’t. It wouldn't be right of me to tell another man how to live his life. But whatever happens next week with Ivan… whatever you decide to do after that… I think you should give yourself a little grace. Maybe give yourself a little credit for the things you do.”

“What do you mean?”

“Good guys and bad guys don’t always look like we expect them to,” Dale said with a grin. He slowly waved a hand between them as if to say just look at us. “You’re doing the same thing my Carol did. You’re telling people ‘I want you to be happy and healthy.’ She’d love you for that, Steve. God bless ‘er, she’d love you for that.”

He paused, letting the words sink in.

“You’d be her hero for that.”

#

You thought the staff would be surprised to see you, but deep down you always suspected they thought you’d show up. You don’t take days off.

When Dale and Ollie headed out, you changed into your business clothes and trudged down the two flights of stairs to the kitchen to lend a hand. You could tell that Big Ang’ was glad to see you, even though both of you know she would never admit it. She’s not cut out to run the show; it’s not in her nature. Her place is out front, dishing out orders with a side of extra sass like only she can. She wanted to pretend that her relief at seeing you wasn’t obvious, and since you’re not the type to call someone out you played along with her insistence that she was fine, and that everything was in order.

But you both knew.

These are your people, and no matter what happens in your other life moonlighting as a professional wrestler, you know it’s here where you truly fit in.

What surprised you wasn’t the amount of people to turn out on a Saturday, that’s something you’ve become used to. It was how many of them asked if you were there.

You posed for pictures, each one more awkward than the last as you worried about what to do with your hands.

You signed napkins, wondering why and how you became someone that people wanted to be around.

It never once dawned on you that anyone would want to see you succeed. It never once clicked that this corner sandwich shop had become a pillar of the community, having stood strong against the tide of real estate development for decades. You were too focused on getting it right to realize that your family had already been doing it for generations.

That the name Lemieux means something.

To the people of this neighborhood it’s always meant something.

You ascend the stairs back up to your humble apartment. The pain that’s been with you since your first performance, when Ivan Stanislav threw you effortlessly out of his ring and through a table, gives way to something else. It’s the ache of a hard day’s work, the kind you feel in your bones and know that you accomplished something today.

Kitty Lemeow is there to greet you when you walk through the door. She slinks between your feet to welcome you home, rubbing her fur against tired legs. You expect her to make a play for your ankle, but instead she scampers off to reclaim her throne on the windowsill so that she can look down at the residents of Peoria in all her feline superiority.

The box that Ollie left is still there near the door, complete with a note tucked neatly inside.

We figured it was time you had real gear. Hope you like it.

- OC, Zeke, and Rick

Zeke. After today, you wonder how you’ll ever be able to call him that again. You wonder how many people know the actual man underneath the mask. You wonder if you’ve been given access to privileged information, available only to a select few.

The first thing you see is a pair of white shorts with red and blue stripes running along the sides, like something you might see in old NBA clips. The singlet is blue with red and white piping along the straps. Three stars find their home in a white stripe across the waist, and above it is a solid blue block with your name in red and gold. LEMIEUX.

“Just like Laser’s,” you whisper.

The world of professional wrestling is nothing like you imagined it would be. To Dale it is a realm of heroes and villains, where he gets to live out his fantasy of henchmen, and death rays, and secret underground lairs that are, in reality, just a simple basement.

To you it’s no different than school, full of bullies - where the Danny Petcheskis of the world grow up to be Ivan Stanislav - and the people who stand up to them.

You wonder how many of the people who came to the restaurant just to see you will be there when PRIME visits Chicago in a week. You wonder if that means you’ll be facing down your fears alone again, or if this time…

This time…

You wonder.

You hold the singlet up and watch as the light from the lamp reflects off the gold of your name. With this, you are one small step closer to the person you’ve always wanted to be, an ordinary man strong enough to do extraordinary things.

With this, you can fly.