Eddie Edwards
The Sultan of Sleaze
2
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The sight of Eddie Edwards scowling at you must be a fairly intimidating sight for anybody, not least if you’re the poor receptionist at the Las Vegas Police Department who’s been given the unenviable task of taking him through the legal paperwork required when one is bailed out of jail with only an hour remaining before a scheduled wrestling match. The petite blonde with big blue eyes tries her utmost to be friendly and polite towards the man stood in front of her, however her brightness has absolutely no effect on the EBWF Superstar. He glares at her, completely devoid of any emotion, shocked at what happened to him earlier on in the day. He lets out a deep sign every few moments, trying to take in all of the information being spouted at him, but he can’t help but cast his mind to another location, desperately trying to piece together his afternoon in order to work out who the hell it was that framed him by planting cocaine in his gym bag. Somebody must really have it out for him, and he’s planning on making it his number one task to find out. In the midst of his thoughtfulness, he is snapped back to reality by the secretary speaking his name, and pointing to the spots on the pieces of paper laying in front of him that need to be signed in order for him to become a free man once again. He shakes his head in frustration as he signs the paperwork, pushing it back across the counter towards the woman with a risky amount of force given where he is, and why.
Eddie Edwards: Who bailed me out of this shit-hole anyway?
Secretary: I’m sorry, he asked that we don’t tell you. Something about wanting to be a good Samaritan.
Edwards raises a single eyebrow, before shaking his head and leaving better off alone. He moves away from the counter, thanking the receptionist with a clear lack of sincerity, before moving towards a correctional officer to regain the possessions that were taken away from him. Again he nods insincerely as the items are handed back to him, and immediately upon receiving them he places his RayBan’s onto his face. He smirks, the first time we’ve seen the trademark grin, before letting out a deep sigh of relief as he is shown to the front door of the police station. He opens the door and steps outside, squinting in the bright sunshine in spite of the designer shades protecting his eyes. He raises one hand to block some of the blistering Las Vegas sunshine from hitting him in the face, and with the other holds his cellphone, that he turns back on whilst lamenting the waiting time. A couple of people walk past, muttering under their breath something about recognizing the Sultan, but he keeps his head down for the moment and attempts to keep a low profile as opposed to being mobbed outside a police station. He mutters under his own breath about his phone taking forever to pick up a signal, and as soon as it does he dials a number and holds the phone to his ear.
Eddie Edwards: Come on you Douche-bag, answer the damn phone.
His eyebrow crinkles in frustration as the person on the other end of the line refuses to answer the phone. He just begins to swear to himself when finally, the call is answered.
Eddie Edwards: Look, Davey, you probably won’t believe any of this shit, but I swear to you that stuff was planted on me! It had nothing to do with me, I’ve been framed for this shit, there’s no way I’d take any of that stuff and ruin my reputation, I could get fired for this! I don’t know who the hell it was, Dave, but you gotta believe it wasn’t me!
Edwards’ facial expression changes slowly as he listens to the person on the other end speak. Initially he begins to smile, presumably as his friend is reassuring him, but before long the smile returns to a look of frustration, eventually transforming completely into a look of sheer disappointment and desperate. He lets out a sigh deep from within as he listens to Richards on the other end of the line ranting at him, waiting patiently for a chance to speak which is completely unlike him. With a great degree of patience, Edwards leans up against the wall until Richards finally finishes speaking, and places his hand on his forehead as he tries to think of a fair response.
Eddie Edwards: Look, I know the evidence is against me here. I know it looks bad. But back there earlier on, you told me that you’d be my friend no matter what. I know we had a fight, but that’s what happens with friends, I’m sorry for that. You have to believe me here though, no bullshit. That stuff wasn’t mine. Somebody planted it on me. I swear on the father, the son, the holy spirit, and whoever else you want me to place my fate in the hands of. I was framed. If you don’t believe me here, then I know your words earlier on were just complete bullshit, and I know I don’t need you. If anyone was going to believe me here, I would have expected it to be you, Bro.
Once again Edwards is forced to listen, a look of thoughtfulness emerging as he takes in Richards’ words through the receiver. He takes the non-phone holding hand off of his forehead and rubs his chin-stubble thoughtfully. He even lets out a yawn, showing quite how draining the day has been for him so far, and he hasn’t even competed in his scheduled wrestling match tonight. Eventually, he closes his eyes, and lowers the phone from his ear, clearly showing that he’s been hung up on by the one guy he thought he could rely on.
Eddie Edwards: ...Shit.
He presses the small button at the top of his iPhone to lock it, and places it into his jacket pocket, looking around from side to side as he ponders his options. He rolls his tongue around inside his mouth and moves his lips around as he thinks, before shrugging his shoulders and stepping away from the wall towards the road. He looks one way and the other several times, before eventually spotting a taxi driving quickly in his direction. He throws his arm up into the air and the cab slowly grinds to a halt beside him. He jumps inside the car and makes himself as comfortable as he can.
Eddie Edwards: Orleans Arena please, Bro.
The car takes off as quickly as it stopped, and Eddie lets out the deepest sigh yet as he’s finally on a soft seat, able to get comfortable and think about the day he’s had so far. He opens the window slightly to let in some summer breeze as the car moves, and sinks back into the seat. His comfort is soon interrupted by the sound of his own theme song echoing out from within his jacket pocket. He reaches into the pocket and pull out the phone to see that he has received a text message from an unknown number. His eyes narrow in bemusement, and he opens the message, which he reads and as he does so his eyes widen once again, and he lets out a chuckle out of sheer disbelief.
He shakes his head, unable to completely believe what he has read, before locking his phone and dropping it on the floor in the cab, completely drained and not willing to deal with anymore bullshit today.
