Ace Stevens
Old Habits Die Hard
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Brooklyn, New York
The Apartment of Ace Stevens
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Knock. Knock. Knock. The door creaks forward as it would in any terribly clichéd horror film. The newly-appointed agent of Ace Stevens,
Lewis Middleton, steps through the now open door and into an apartment that can only be described as trashed. As he walks to the living room area, he accidentally knocks over two empty glass bottles, which were presumably full of alcoholic beverages the night before.
Ace?
As Middleton approaches the living room area, he can faintly hear two things: tapping and breathing. The tapping is more noticeable. I kind of sounds like stone on stone or rock on rock.
Ace? Middleton once again calls, this time more forcefully.
The Englishman open the living room door slowly, only to discover his client, colleague and friend,
Ace Stevens, desperately scribbling on a large, black chalkboard. The living room itself is even messier than the rest of the apartment, with glass bottles, cans and streamers littering the floor.
Erm, what are you doing?
Writing he replies, while still obsessively doodling on the chalkboard.
Yes, I gathered that. What exactly is it youre writing? And where did you get that blackboard?
Ace stops. He turns around to make eye contact with his agent for the first time and proceeds to quickly answer Middletons questions.
Catchphrases. And I think it would be best if you didnt know.
The former Mayhem champion returns to his writing with as much vigour as he previously had.
Sure, sure. And whats with all the mess?
Had a party. Not every day you beat the Mayhem champion on your return match, Ace replies, his speaking being as quick and as direct as his doodling on the board.
But now Im working. So if you dont mind, yknow, get lost... kind of thing.
Certainly. I was just in the neighbourhood and I thought Id come by to let you know your match for this week.
Shoot, says Ace, still scribbling away.
Well its a match on Aftershock...
Aftershock, huh? You wouldve thought they considered me Meltdown material by now.
Quite. The match itself is Alex Bowen and Matt Tastic going up against yourself and Vega.
Ace stops once again. He drops his piece of chalk and turns around to face Middleton.
Vega? The Mayhem champion Vega? That one? The one who I beat the other day. My Vega? That Vega?
Im afraid so.
Huh. Cant imagine hed like that much, after, yknow me kicking his ass. Hell probably try to attack me at some point. Never mind. Oh, and what about the other two... erm... Tastic and Bowen?
At this point, Stevens is still uncharacteristically speaking a mile a minute.
They dont like each other either. Always bickering backstage. They also happen to be Mayhem legends.
Oh, like me.
And Vega...
Once he holds the Mayhem title for as long as I did, then well talk.
I dont want to get caught up with semantics and everything, but hes actually held that title longer than you did.
He what? asks Ace, rhetorically. The anger of his statement is somewhat hidden by the speed of his response.
Well, you know, it is technically true. Matt Tastic and Alex Bowen have held the title longer too. Bowen the all-tim-
Yeah, yeah, yeah. I get it. Youre saying Im the weak link, right? Didnt you see what I did on Meltdown? I DESTROYED Vega! I PROVED that Im the greatest Mayhem champion of ALL-TIME! IM THE KING OF MAYHEM! IM ON FIRE! SO BUCKLE UP, BECAUSE ITS TIME TO FACE STEVENS!
Are these your new catchphrases?
That depends, a suddenly calm Stevens says,
like any of them?
Im going to go now.
Fine. Just one more thing though, Lulu. WZCW doesnt have a wellness policy, does it? Im asking for a, um, friend says a more than jittery Ace.
Middleton simply sighs and leaves.
Im asking for a friend! I swear, Ace calls as his agent leaves.
Its Krypto! He loves Soma.
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Manhattan, New York
Times Square
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Times Square. The Crossroads of the World. The Centre of the Universe. The Great White Way. The place almost has as many nicknames as Ace Stevens himself. It is a location without peers. With thirty-nine million visitors every year, it is the most popular tourist location in the world. And with that abundance of unassuming people it is, crucially, a haven for thieves, crooks and pickpockets.
Ace Stevens, for once in his life, is not the centre of attention. Flanked by his best friend,
Marty McLaren, he is nothing more than just another nameless face. But considering the reason he is at the tourist attraction, he actually like it that way. The two long-time friends are in deep conversation, discussing what they are about to do.
Remind me again why you wanna do this?
Just gotta brush up on my old skills, man. Vegas like... awesome at this shit. I used to be.
I dont know, man. Youre not a kid any more. Taking stuff from people now... I dont know... aint it a bit unacceptable?
Im going to give their stuff back to them, numb nuts. Well, unless I find somethin good.
I think youre trying to prove a point. But its a point you dont need to prove. Yeah, hes awesome at this. But so what? What have you got to prove?
Ace sighs, preparing to open up to his best friend.
You know what its like, dude? What this whole Vega situation's like? Its like when youre regularly banging this chick right. And then you stop. You aint stopped for good, though. But for the moment, you dont wanna be banging the girl. Maybe you go hit up some other girl. But you know youll probably start again. Well Vega is that guy who swoops in as soon as you stop seeing the broad. Now hes trying to show her a good time, and hes doing pretty well. And suddenly, you dont know if that girl wants to get back with ya, or if you should get back with the girl.
Right. So the woman is the title?
No. Youd think it would be, huh? But it aint. Not really, anyway. The chick is my I.D. My identity. I was the thief, the crook, the guy who just wouldnt let go of the title. I was the guy people didnt like. Thats what everyone knew me as. But as soon as I got injured, Vega saw an opening to be that guy. He rode my success and did the shit I did months earlier. So what do I do now? Do I try to be that guy again? Do I become a different guy?
What does it matter? Either way, youre doin it because of him. You try to be the old Ace, you have to take that identity from him. You try to be a new Ace, youre doin it because you cant be the old Ace. Im telling ya now, Johnny. You need to be the guy you wanna be. Forget everyone else.
You talk a lot of sense, Marty. You talk a lot of sense. Now pick a mark.
What about him? Obvious tourist.
Marty covertly gestures towards an elderly bald gentleman who, despite his apparent age, is fairly tall and has a fair amount of upper-body muscle. With a thick moustache and heavy frame, he certainly doesn't look like your stereotypical old man.
Hmm, he seems a bit old.
Nah, man. He must be what? Fifty-five? Sixty? My pops is older than that.
And the guys a bit big. Ah, fuck it, I fancy a challenge. Im thinking we perform The Domino Effect.
Gotcha, responds Marty as he begins walking towards the duos next target. Within seconds he is standing in front of the bald, old man.
Excuse me, sir. Im sorry to bother you. My name is Martin, and Im from the Domino Players Alliance of America. If you dont mind, Id like to ask you a few questions today.
Listen, kid. I love dominoes. Im actually the DPAA Midwest Over-85 Champion of 2011. But I aint got time to answer your questions, son. Ive gotta get out of this hellhole. I was only looking for a restroom, and now Im surrounded by everyone from Limeys to Krauts. And theyve all got them camera machines...
As the elderly man simultaneously continues to complain and be lovably racist, Ace becomes an undetected presence behind him. He quickly but cautiously reaches into the front pocket of the mans trousers and retrieves a black leather wallet.
...and thats the reason we won the Great War. Them redcoats had nothing to do with it, I tell ya, nothing t-
Dont worry, sir. I can see you are in a rush. Have a nice day interjects Marty, looking to bring their conversation to a close after witnessing Ace do his job.
The old man mumbles something inaudible under his breath as he walks away, fading back into the large crowd. As this happens, Marty and Ace slowly regroup to see what the latter man managed to steal.
This thing is empty. No cards, no cash, no nothing, says Ace, as he rifles through the wallet.
Nothing at all?
Oh, there is one thing: some laminated card issued by the Domino Players Alliance of America.
Wow, he werent kidding. So you gonna give it him back?
Sure, says Ace, as he examines the card.
I just need to post it back to him.
Where to?
St. Louis, Missouri.