Post by bennett on Apr 28, 2022 1:09:28 GMT -5
Louisville to Los Angeles
(ft. Johnny Levy)
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"Well, I don't plan on it."
"I mean, it's in the name, ain't it?"
(ft. Johnny Levy)
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“Breaking news this afternoon. An armored truck operated by ‘Crawford Security’ was robbed this morning in downtown Louisville.”
“Breaking news this afternoon. An armored truck operated by ‘Crawford Security’ was robbed this morning in downtown Louisville.”
“Though details remain scant, a nearby CCTV camera was able to provide some specifics."
“A trio of armed individuals blocked off the vehicle from both sides, before gaining access using a diamond-tipped drill. This station has learned that tool is registered to a coal mining company in Hickman County.”
“Two guards were found dead on the scene, with a third still missing.”
“We will report more on this incident as information comes to us.”
“Now onto other news. Famous child actor and professional wrestler Johnny Levy has issued his 1,892nd statement regarding the racism displayed by Project: Honor management. It begins as follows: 'the untalented Indy Darling has once again attacked my peo-'...”
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APRIL 18th, 2022
HICKMAN COUNTY, KY
Just off of a rarely-traveled rural road deep in the heart of Hickman County, a group of individuals are busy unloading crates of various sizes from the back of a parked cargo truck. They're carried and deposited into the back of a smaller, civilian minivan; something less conspicuous and not spotted at the scene of the crime, better suited for a longer trip.
There are three random soldiers in street clothes and blue bandanas who work to move the crates, and three more recognizable figures.
Bobby Bennett, who is hard at work with the rest of the group.
Charli Crawford, standing far removed from the work being done; she has an angry, self-righteous frown, as she watches the gang transfer their ill-gotten gains into their real getaway vehicle.
And beside Charli is her cousin; the one running this entire operation.
Billy Bennett.
Billy Bennett.
She stands smoking a cigarette, a self-satisfied look on her face as she watches the progress through heavily-lidded eyes.
There's someone else kneeling directly in front of Billy, a black hood covering their head and muffling their frightened whimpers. It's the last surviving security guard from the armoured car heist they just pulled, taken hostage as leverage if the cops managed to respond quicker than expected.
The job hadn’t gone entirely to plan.
There were supposed to be zero casualties; not out of any respect for human life, of course. Billy simply didn’t want to risk Bobby going back into prison on a murder beef. As for her? Well, nobody would be taking Billy Bennett alive if she had anything to say about it, so it wasn’t a concern for her personally.
Unfortunately, one of the guards had made a move for Bobby’s gun, forcing her little brother to shoot the man in the ensuing struggle. She wasn't even sure if it was an accident or not; she'd never bothered to ask him after the fact.
Once the gunshot echoed out onto the empty, early-morning Louisville street, Billy knew what she had to do. Couldn't leave the cops any leads; even in Kentucky, they threw everything they could into homicide cases.
She didn’t hesitate to shove the second guard to his knees and put two in the back of his head, execution-style.
She didn’t hesitate to shove the second guard to his knees and put two in the back of his head, execution-style.
The third had his hands cuffed with one of the countless pairs that Billy always carried on her person. A hood was placed over his head, before he was shoved roughly into the back of the cargo van.
They’d gotten away scot-free, making the trip out of Louisville and back to Hickman County, where her people waited to split the load before they traveled to Los Angeles. Billy had a for the gold and diamonds out there; only fifty cents on the dollar, but still a good deal for stolen goods belonging to a crime family.
“All done, sis,” says Bobby, as the boys finish their job and enter their vehicle for the trip to California.
Taking one last drag off the cigarette before flicking it away, Billy smiles and nods to her brother.
“Good shit, bro. Gonna need ya to travel with ‘em, though. Make sure nobody decides to take a share for themselves. I'll finish up here.”
“If ya say so, Bill. See ya in Cali,” he responds, before turning to jump into the front passenger seat of the minivan.
It pulls back onto the rural road, headed on the long journey to the delivery point, where they had orders to wait for Billy. After all, she was the one who knew the buyer; she needed to be there to make sure the terms of the deal were met in-full. That there were no misunderstandings.
Two vehicles remain: an old Jeep, and the cargo van they came here in.
Charli stands silently next to Billy, glancing occasionally at the sobbing hostage on his knees in front of them. It’s only after the vehicle disappears around a bend that Billy lets out a deep exhale and steps towards the kneeling security guard.
“Only one thing left, then.”
Grabbing onto the hood that rests over the man’s head, Billy pulls it off before Charli can raise her voice to protest. She grips the man’s hair and turns his head, so his eyes fall directly on Charli’s face.
“What the hell are you doing?!?!” screams Charli, no longer wearing the mask she had on during the robbery. Her identity is fully revealed to the security guard, who seems to understand what this means for him, and begins to beg for his life, promising he won't tell anybody, the usual lines.
Billy had heard it all before.
Billy had heard it all before.
“Ooops!” exclaims Bennett gleefully, hand moving to her mouth to stifle a giggle. The pleased look on her face makes it clear that this wasn’t some slip-up on her part. She wanted to put her morality obsessed, law-abiding cousin in this very position; forcing her to either take care of the hostage herself, or risk being tied to the armed robbery and murders back in Louisville.
“Guess we’re gonna have to take care of this li’l problem, huh? Or, uh, y'all are, anyway.”
Pulling her back-up sidearm - a Ruger GP100 - from the holster on her waist, Billy cocks the hammer before handing Charli the revolver and pointing a finger at the crying, pleading hostage. Charli stares down at the weapon for several seconds, before looking back to Billy and shaking her head.
“No.”
“Mmm. Interestin’ answer. Brave, too, sayin' 'no' to me like that. Hell, it's your call, really. But ya think you’re gonna survive prison this time, if ya get thrown in there for robbin’ your fellow Crawfords? Wouldn’t bet on ya lastin’ more than a week.”
Charli frowns as she considers this very real possibility. Even with all her training and experience, there’s no way she would be able to make it very long behind bars after screwing over her own people; the same ones who have a firm grip on crime within Kentucky.
“No skin off my back either way, y’know?” says Billy, not bothered that the hostage has seen her face as well; or at least doing a damn fine job of making it seem that she doesn’t.
Suddenly, it seems like the Crawford woman reaches a conclusion in her own mind, taking a step back and bringing the barrel of the revolver up to point directly at Billy. To her credit, Bennett doesn’t seem surprised, or even terribly concerned at having the gun leveled in her direction.
Wouldn’t be the first time she’s had a pistol pointed at her, and it likely wouldn’t be the last... unless Charli decides to pull that trigger, of course.
“Ooooh. Don’t tease, cuz; ya really shouldn’t point a gun at me unless you’re gonna pull th-”
*CLICK*
Charli does precisely what Billy about to say, depressing the trigger and hearing nothing but the click of an empty chamber. The revolver is unloaded, of course.
She might be an addict and a lunatic, but Billy isn't stupid.
Rolling her eyes at the naivety of her cousin, Billy grumbles something under her breath as she steps towards Charli, moving in a flash before the other woman can turn tail and run. Grabbing her cousin by her braided hair, Billy moves one leg behind Charli’s and shoves her back onto the muddy ground.
“Dumb cunt. Ya think I’d hand ya a loaded gun? ATF really don’t hire the brightest minds, huh?” hisses Billy, still looking completely satisfied that her cousin took the bait.
During this exchange, the hostage has taken the opportunity to make a break for it, running as fast as he can in the opposite direction. It didn’t go unnoticed by Billy, but she doesn’t seem overly troubled by the possibility of him getting away.
After all, she still has her Beretta secured in the holster that hangs off her shoulder.
Pulling the weapon, she doesn’t glance at the fleeing hostage before sending three shots in his direction; he drops, dead.
Before Charli can push herself back to her feet - whether to run or fight back - Billy lifts one leg high above the ground and stomps down on her chest, driving her back down into the muck. When Charli finishes grimacing in pain, she opens her eyes back up to notice the barrel of Billy's Beretta pointed down at her.
Immediately, she stops struggling, laying still on the ground, resigned to her fate. Charli looks oddly comfortable with it, too.
“Do it, Billy. Just fucking do it!” she shouts, voice rising above the trees as birds scatter from nearby branches.
Raising an eyebrow at this, Billy seems somewhat surprised at her cousin’s words; she considers them for a moment, before a smile creeps across her features.
“Naw,” she mumbles, putting her Beretta away and reaching down to snatch the empty revolver off the ground, depositing it back into the second holster hanging off her waist.
“I think the real punishment is lettin’ ya live, cuz. At least until the rest of the Crawfords find out ‘bout what ya did... and believe me, they fuckin’ will.”
Before Charli can respond, Billy takes her foot off her cousin’s chest and lifts it up again to stomp on her head viciously. Leaving Charli dazed in the mud, a sick giggle escapes Billy’s lips as she watches the blood flow from Crawford’s busted nose.
“I’d say ‘until next time’, but for your sake, ya better hope I never have reason to come see ya again.”
Without another word, she turns around and begins to stomp back towards her empty Jeep. Billy prefers not to let the boys get too far ahead of her; she wants to remain as close to their stolen treasure as possible.
She can't help but be paranoid with this much on the line.
She can't help but be paranoid with this much on the line.
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APRIL 19th, 2022
DEEP LAKE, FL
THE BENNETT COMPOUND
Sitting at the table in the meeting room used for summits and negotiations, Bo Bennett has a satellite phone pressed against his ear. The sound of angry shouting is heard over the line, though the specific words are inaudible.
Eventually, the other voice finishes speaking, leaving Bo rubbing the bridge of his nose with his free hand before responding in a weary, frustrated tone.
“God fuckin’ damnit... so much for a ceasefire. No, you’re right. I said, you’re right. Nobody but Billy would be dumb enough to target a Crawford shipment in your own backyard. Listen, I’ll handle it, okay?”
More words are heard from the other end of the phone, before the call is ended. Bo slams the satellite phone down onto the table as he stares furiously at it. It was a mistake giving his sister any breathing room, he could see that much now.
He should have finished the job, before she had a chance to regroup. There was one constant when it came to Billy: she made full use out of any inch that was given to her.
He should have finished the job, before she had a chance to regroup. There was one constant when it came to Billy: she made full use out of any inch that was given to her.
Not only had she been gathering people to her side in areas outside the family's usual territory - relying on her fearsome reputation and history with them - but now she was making moves against the other half of the family.
Only a matter of time before she sets her sights on Bo himself.
He wonders if he has enough men guarding the compound to defend against a surprise attack. He wonders if he’s going to wake up some night soon, with his sister standing over him, holding a blade. He wonders why he took the chance of making an attempt on her life in the first place, instead of trying to placate her; as he always had.
Was all this worth it?
“No going back, huh Bill?” he grumbles to himself in the dimly lit room, before lifting up the phone again and dialing.
He has to take another shot at this.
This time, with a real professional.
Best to call them in now, before things get any further out of hand.
The phone rings, and a woman's voice answers. There's a distinct Japanese accent, even in her terse words.
“Who's. Calling.”
“It’s Bo Bennett. I've got a job for you.”
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APRIL 20th, 2022
LOS ANGELES, CA
THE HOME OF JOHNNY ‘BIG HOSS FAN’ LEVY
A journey of nearly 2,000 miles brought Billy, Bobby, and her three soldiers - along with their cargo - to Los Angeles, California.
More specifically, to the home of one Johnny ‘SUPERSTAR’ ‘KOSHER KILLER’ ‘GOYIM SLAYER’ Levy.
Ever since the Project: Honor show in Mexico - where she inexplicably found herself on Levy’s yacht doing lines of blow, rapping, firing off guns and partying - she had formed something of a business relationship with the Jewish child actor.
Despite the goofy, ridiculous, completely unrespectable way he carried himself, Levy had family connections within the State of Israel; they came in handy for someone in the market for firearms, which Billy usually was.
Plus, he kept a huge amount of cash on his person, as he was able to buy up all the stolen diamonds and gold with cash. Even at a discount rate, understandable considering the illegal nature of the deal, he was still able to produce nearly $750,000.00 after a brief trip to his vault. Crisp bills, too. Almost like they were ironed out by hand, with great care, perhaps even lovingly.
The exchange done, Bobby and the trio of gangsters who came here with Billy are busy partying near Levy’s outdoor pool, celebrating the great Jewish holiday of 4/20 by smoking copious amounts of pot with Levy’s wife and several Orthodox Jews dressed in the traditional all-black outfit.
As for Billy herself, she leans against the railing that separates the backyard from the cliff-face at the rear of the property. Her messy hair whips in the wind that rises up through the Hollywood Hills, as she stares down at an object held in her right hand.
It’s a strip of photographs from one of those booths in every mall across America, taken after some show or another.
Billy and Savannah in a series of goofy poses, flashing gang signs and ‘V’s and other silly things. The last photo on the strip is of her former friend, leaning over to plant a kiss on Billy’s cheek as the Floridian visibly blushes; wearing a contented smile on her face.
She really had misjudged Savannah Andrews.
Turns out she was wrong.
Savannah wasn’t a bad bitch; she was just a plain old, regular, basic bitch. Just like every other woman Billy had ever met in her life. Worthless, fragile, too focused on what others thought of her, trying to impress people who didn't matter and constantly on the look-out for an upgrade.
Billy’s little experiment was a resounding disaster; a catastrophic failure, in fact.
But this conclusion doesn’t take any of the pain away, and tears begin to fall from her face and over the railing, plummeting down the cliff.
“I’m better than her...” she mumbles to herself, though she hardly believes her own words.
But believe them or not, she had to force them into becoming reality. Preferably before this creeping depression takes her completely off her game.
Now isn’t the time to be stuck in her feels. Billy needed to remain cool, and keep her wits about her, considering what she has planned.
With a heavy sigh, Billy wipes away the tears with the back of her free hand. One final glance is paid to the object, before she releases her grip on the strip of photos and watches her most precious keepsake from that brief friendship float away in the wind.
Lost forever, along with any hope of a truly happy life for Billy Bennett.
It was all just a fantasy in the first place, she tells herself. It helps, just not enough to fully kill the feelings inside her; ones she desperately wants to be rid of.
Before she can compose herself, a voice is heard over her shoulder. Levy apparently noticed her morose mood, and stepped away from the party to come and try to comfort his business partner.
“Everything okay, Billy? You don’t seem yourself; I mean, I cut you those lines like an hour ago and you haven’t even touched them.”
Biting her bottom lip to stave off any more tears, Billy isn’t too keen on anyone seeing her like this; let alone a clown like Johnny Levy.
Frowning at the state of the young woman, Levy moves beside her to lean over the railing a few feet away. He doesn’t turn to look at her face, giving Billy an opportunity to pull herself together and wipe away more tears.
“Hey, we all feel sad sometimes. I mean, not me. You see how I live, right? Beautiful home, big-titted wife, the entire nation of Israel at my back. Shit’s lit.”
Billy actually turns to glare at Levy midway through this completely irrelevant, humble-brag disguised as a ‘pep talk’. It almost looks like she’s wondering what the fuck his problem is; or if he thinks he’s actually helping.
The actor finally notices her look, and offers a sheepish grin in response.
“Yeah, that didn’t come out the way I meant it to... but hey, I know what could cheer you up!”
“Heroin?”
“Uhhh, I guess?”
“Cocaine?”
“Oh, hell yeah, sister. But that’s not what I was thinking of.”
“Killin’ someone real slow?”
“...”
“...”
“...”
“...”
Levy whistles low and long to cut through the tense silence after Billy’s last comment.
“Aaaanyway, not that either. I was going to say...”
He removes his arms from the railing and opens them wide to proclaim his solution to Billy’s depressive state.
“MUSIC VIDEO?!?”
The very mention of such a blessed collaboration actually manages to break through Billy’s heartache, turning to Levy as a small smile begins to form on her face.
“Bet.”
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No, I'm not actually writing the damn thing. There's simply no way to follow John Blade. It's not possible.
After the music video and post-filming celebration conclude, Billy and Levy have found their way to the sub-basement under his fabulous home in the Hollywood Hills.
And not just any floor of his vast sub-basement, the one dedicated to the career of John Blade, the greatest professional wrestler in the business today.
Yes, the same one from Levy's first promo for Black Friday, like, five months ago or something? Damn, how's that for some foreshadowing.
In lieu of a table or any mirrored surface, Johnny and Billy have shoved the massive, twelve-foot tall polished glass statue of John Blade midway through the Five Knuckle Shuffle onto its side.
Naturally, they've dumped a pile of cocaine onto it; Levy is hard at work splitting it all up, like the goddamn underappreciated workhorse and brand-carrying, dimes-drawing machine that he is.
As Johnny Levy is busy doing the Lord's work, Billy is using a giant, professional Hollywood film camera to record herself discussing Project: Honor's resident GOAT.
“Bet everyone is gonna be expectin’ me to talk a bunch of shit 'bout your career and your trash-ass Vanilla Ice bars.”
And not just any floor of his vast sub-basement, the one dedicated to the career of John Blade, the greatest professional wrestler in the business today.
Yes, the same one from Levy's first promo for Black Friday, like, five months ago or something? Damn, how's that for some foreshadowing.
In lieu of a table or any mirrored surface, Johnny and Billy have shoved the massive, twelve-foot tall polished glass statue of John Blade midway through the Five Knuckle Shuffle onto its side.
Naturally, they've dumped a pile of cocaine onto it; Levy is hard at work splitting it all up, like the goddamn underappreciated workhorse and brand-carrying, dimes-drawing machine that he is.
As Johnny Levy is busy doing the Lord's work, Billy is using a giant, professional Hollywood film camera to record herself discussing Project: Honor's resident GOAT.
“Bet everyone is gonna be expectin’ me to talk a bunch of shit 'bout your career and your trash-ass Vanilla Ice bars.”
"Well, I don't plan on it."
“I mean, sure, let’s be honest here, your record is anythin’ but impressive, ya come off like a clown, and ya ain’t half the rapper ya think ya are.”
“Definitely not on the level of Lil Petey. Not even on the level of Billy Bennett; somethin’ I’ll be happy to prove to ya before the bell rings at Disputed Territory.”
“But I ain’t ‘bout to dismiss ya based on any of that. Wanna know why? I’ll be glad to tell ya.”
“It’s simple: ya proved your worth by winnin’ that AAA title not once, not twice, but three times.”
“Now, some might say it’s just some undercard belt to be passed around by the people who ain’t good enough to win anythin’ better. Keep 'em satisfied, stop 'em from kickin' up a fuss or askin' for more. Somethin' like that. But I see it a different way, John.”
"I mean, it's in the name, ain't it?"
“Anywhere, Anytime, Anyhow? Somethin’ like that, right?”
“Unlike the other titles in this company, holdin’ that belt means ya gotta be on your guard 24/7, 365. Somethin’ I know a li’l bit ‘bout myself. I know what that can take outta someone, how stressful it is lookin’ over your shoulder all the time, just knowin’ someone could be out there gunnin’ for ya and whats yours.”
“Takes a certain cunnin’ to win that championship, that ya don’t need with these other belts. I mean, look at some of the dumbasses we got as Champions; doubt they know 'bout anythin' but hittin' dudes really hard.”
“And if I’ve proven anythin’ in my time at Project: Honor, it’s that ruthless instincts and a clever brain means a damn sight more than raw power or technical ability. Didn’t go 13-1 by bein’ a good wrestler, y’know?”
“In fact, I’ll be the first to admit that I ain’t even that. Half the time, I don’t even know what I’m doin’ I’m in the ring with real professionals. But I keep winnin’. Beatin' 'em all, despite not knowin' half the shit they're capable of. ‘Cause I see the opportunities when they present themselves, and I don’t hesitate to grab ‘em by the neck and squeeze until I get what I want.”
“Sorta like ya did when ya won the AAA Championship three times over.”
“So, yeah, I’m takin’ ya seriously; might even be the first person in this place to do that, other than Levy over here who’s... like... a big fan of ya, I guess.”
Levy looks up from cutting lines on the toppled statue of John Blade, giving the camera a big thumbs-up before speaking.
“Love your work, John! Also you’ve got a cool first name. That’s all.”
Having said his piece, he gets right back to divvying up the pile of white powder.
Billy blinks once, and shakes her head before getting right back into the flow. She's grinding her teeth, her eyes occasionally shaking violently in their sockets, but otherwise she's fairly well composed and relaxed. Must be the good company.
"I don't doubt ya got what it takes to make me tap, if I let ya get your hands on me. And I belive that you'll be comin' in pretty damn motivated."
"Would have to be mighty hungry, for a man in your position to think ya got a single damn hope again someone like me."
"But to tell ya the truth, I never expected someone like Brandon Hendrix to come so hard at my belt. Guess I underestimated how much ya grubby fucks here in Project: Honor value that li'l trinket. Too bad for y'all I've decided to keep it. Better for everyone, I think, anyone else would be way too fuckin' obnoxious with it."
"And yeah, that includes John Blade. Hell, ya seem to think you're hot shit as is, can't imagine ya with the Legacy Championship."
"Though I bet the afterparty would be fuckin' awesome."
Billy pauses and rubs her chin, as if actually considering...
...nah, that's too damn ridiculous.
Or is it?
Regardless, it seems Billy is losing focus, as she glances back to the assorted lines of various lengths that Levy is still in the process of meticulously crafting. Licking her lips hungrily, Billy turns her eyes back to the camera and fidgets, already backing away towards that sweet, sweet cocaine as she wraps things up.
"Alright, well, I got some uhhh... 'work' to do, so. See ya in that ring, though! Sorry in advance for fuckin' ya up like I'm gonna, but... ya knew what ya were gettin' into, didn't ya?"
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Billy blinks once, and shakes her head before getting right back into the flow. She's grinding her teeth, her eyes occasionally shaking violently in their sockets, but otherwise she's fairly well composed and relaxed. Must be the good company.
"I don't doubt ya got what it takes to make me tap, if I let ya get your hands on me. And I belive that you'll be comin' in pretty damn motivated."
"Would have to be mighty hungry, for a man in your position to think ya got a single damn hope again someone like me."
"But to tell ya the truth, I never expected someone like Brandon Hendrix to come so hard at my belt. Guess I underestimated how much ya grubby fucks here in Project: Honor value that li'l trinket. Too bad for y'all I've decided to keep it. Better for everyone, I think, anyone else would be way too fuckin' obnoxious with it."
"And yeah, that includes John Blade. Hell, ya seem to think you're hot shit as is, can't imagine ya with the Legacy Championship."
"Though I bet the afterparty would be fuckin' awesome."
Billy pauses and rubs her chin, as if actually considering...
...nah, that's too damn ridiculous.
Or is it?
Regardless, it seems Billy is losing focus, as she glances back to the assorted lines of various lengths that Levy is still in the process of meticulously crafting. Licking her lips hungrily, Billy turns her eyes back to the camera and fidgets, already backing away towards that sweet, sweet cocaine as she wraps things up.
"Alright, well, I got some uhhh... 'work' to do, so. See ya in that ring, though! Sorry in advance for fuckin' ya up like I'm gonna, but... ya knew what ya were gettin' into, didn't ya?"
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