But The Wolf kept his stalk alive. There was only one that he pursued, so steadfast, so dedicated, so vicious. It was Will Richards. The Revolutionary Wrestling Alliance champion. Sure, Boyce was another that would be caught in the fire, and God knew that Levi would enjoy pounding his head in like he did in a certain triple cage match back in July of '99. A day Levi proved he was better than Boyce. A victory Boyce was never able to redeem.

He was never the same after that day. Levi had broken that man that day. Broken the spirit of The Champion that had lay upon him until then. He had broken the Pride that had covered his huddled mass. He had broken his little world, and would take pleasure in breaking it again.

"Mr. Levi! A Picture!"

A turn.

A smile.

A flash.

A wolf in sheep's clothing.

The beard was new. Long gone were the muttonchops and the goatee that so many preferred. Instead, the neatly groomed chin the perfect man's perfect beard. It was distinguished. It was classy. It was everything Tommy Levi really wasn't.

The smile was painted on, stretching from one ear to the other. The laughter was forced, but in a way no one could tell. The tuxedo was perfectly fit, very complimentary to his size, but yet, it was just somehow.... out of place. The burning embers of his cigar even seemed different. He was a man who was putting on a good face, to hide the ugliness within. The dark, the brooding, the homicidal that lived in him. And yet, he was no different than any man, woman or child in that room. He hid something all his life.

"Victoria"

His history was storied. Any fan of the game that he played knew it. At eight, a young Thomas Aaron Levi murdered a drunken Christopher Michael Levi with a Fridgidare refrigerator and a spoon. For the reason of his youth and the circumstances within, Levi had spent ten years in an 'Probationary Asylum For Troubled Youths' or in short, a kids insane asylum.

An additional year and a half were tacked on in a minimum security prison for assault of an officer and illegal gambling upon his arrest just two months after his release in Chicago. His only living relative, his mother had shut the doors on him, refusing to speak to him. At her funeral in March of 2001, Levi had said just one word to a reporter before rushing off into a four door Sedan and fleeing as fast as he possibly could:

"Victoria"

"You want to know what I think of Tom Levi? Well, I am his closest friend, probably his greatest enemy too. But if I'm not his friend, I honestly don't know if he has any. We have beat the hell out of each other on many occasions. I stole his mothers ashes for Chrissakes. But something about him always made me want to be his friend more than be his enemy. Now, I'm not saying I am scared of that sonofabitch....I just.... I just would not want to be against him. The worst thing you could possibly ever be, would be Tommy Levi's enemy. It might not happen immediately, it might not happen before you make peace with him, but if you never fix being his enemy, he WILL get you. Somehow, if that bastard had to come back from the dead and bring hell with him, he would do it. Me? I am going to make peace with him, I promise you that, but not because I'm scared of what he will do to me. I'm afraid of what he would do to himself in the process. That man, that man right there, smiling, laughing, enjoying this little fundraiser for the RWA, that sonofabitch is more than insane. That man is....

He's a Bad Man. Very very Bad."

A sip more of his Briskdriver and a slight 'hmph' later and The Reporter knew that was all he was getting from Taylor Dawkins.

"Mr. Dawkins?"

"Huh? Yeah, you still here?"

"Yessir, just one more question."

"Yeah, sure, fire when ready Quigley."

"Who is 'Victoria'?"

The blank look, then a light goes off in his head. The eyes peer down some as if to ask 'How in the FUCK did you know about that?'

"Victoria. Honestly, I haven't a friggin fraggin CLUE who Victoria is. All I know is that the funeral was the first time I ever heard of her. Levi couldn't even speak, but he could say that name. Victoria. You got me, man. I don't know. And honestly, I wouldn't ask him. But I know who you CAN ask. Marie Talada. "Lady Luck". A long long time ago, she was his reason for getting into the RWF, then the RWA. She was the only girl for a long time. And God bless him, he didn't even LOOK at another girl while he was with her, barring that ONE damn incident. And boy, that one time, as small as it was, it killed them. Killed him in a way too."

The Reporter got up from that plush seat and took the paper in which Dawkins wrote on. The address was for a bar in Chicago, one just down the street, maybe ten minutes. It was worth a shot.

*

"You can't do this to me"

*
The den was smokey, a perfect cliche. At One AM the sound of the Piano pounding was heard, rattling off the walls. Men and women talked in hushed tones, drinking slightly less fulentant drinks than those drunk at the part The Reporter had just come from.

In one corner sat a karaoke stand, thankfully empty, across from it was the piano that melted notes into the air with a glee and passion but not a heart. It was a motion but not an emotion. It was wonderful, but it was hollow. And the woman there sat, making a blind love to the 88 keys before her.

As she sat before him, taking a break from her pounding of the keys, she looked different than what one would see of Levi's love. Hair was strewn across her face, her eyes were saggy, as if she had been up many hours, and her lips, though painted with lipstick, were frowned, unhappy. But she smiled, and that smile could easily win a heart, no matter how frowned her face could ever be.

"So what do you want to know?"

"About Tommy Levi"

"Haven't I heard enough of him? Jesus Christ. You people just don't stop do you?"

"I'm sorry, but this is a different matter ma'm. Its a matter that many people want to know about."

"Like what? Like how much money I took when I left him? NOTHING. I even left some of my things with him. When I left, I left alone, with nothing but me."

"No, no ma'm. I want to ask you about Victoria."

Her pause was one of surprise. The anger The Reporter had expected was not there, not a trace. Only suprize, and confusion.

"Victoria. I know of no Victoria. I know, I know, the mysterious Victoria everyone talks about being Levi's long lost or whatever. But he told me about all the women he had had. None were named Victoria. I'm pretty sure there was no one else until his mother died. And of course after that, there was a string of women, but I don't care, and no one else does either, except Tom. Cuz that's all he cares about. Making him happy. Making people love him. He can give you anything if you say that you love him."

"So you don't know who Victoria is?"

"No. Not a clue. I do know someone who might be able to help. Erik Bryant. He was briefly known as Bonito Enriko in the RWF. Didn't have much of a career, but he was always by Tom's side. Always around. Maybe he knows, he was with him from the beginning."

"Thank you Ms. Talada."

"Tom once said I couldn't leave him. 'I couldn't do that to him'. That was bullshit from the beginning. Tom did it to himself, because that's all he ever did things for, himself. Victoria, I'm sure is nothing more than just another thing that Tom did to himself. Something that is eating at him, and something that he will never be able to be at peace with because he can't admit to anything being wrong about him."

The address for Mr. Bryant was scribbled on the same paper that the Bar's was. It was that of a gym, one formally owned by Levi himself, now owned by Ivan Koloff again. It was right beside the new gym on the hill that the party was undoubtedly still going at.

The Reporter walked away, tipping his hat to the Piano Woman and headed to the phone. Jack Shidte's voice on the other end was disappointed, and slightly inebriated.

"No, Mr. Shidte, nothing from Ms. Talada either. But I have one more lead. Erik Bryant. I'm going to check it out. Yessir, I will hurry, before this night is done. Yessir, Victoria...we will know, if it is to be known."


*

"Maybe it's something we aren't meant to know"

*
The gym was small, a humble room, but equip with all the things a gym needed. Many weights, stretching machines, jogging machines and the like all surrounded one large ring. It was well past regulation size, but it was still in rustic in its look. It was old, the ropes were taped with masking tape, the turnbuckles padded with pillows, the ring taped up in the middle, blood stains all around. But there it was, in all its glory. The ring that began Tommy Levi's career.

"Wild isn't it?"

The Reporter whipped around at the sound of the voice. It was deep, but powerful. Had it been a black man, he would have sworn it was James Earl Jones. But there, in the shadows, light barley creeping past his nose, sat Erik Bryant.

He sat in the folding chair that was just a bit too small for him, legs crossed, stretched out, his hands clasped on his ample stomach. Erik was a large man, not weighty, but large. He filled his frame with as much as the frame would allow without bordering overweight. His hair was neat and short, his eyes a dark dark blue. His moustache was long in its width but short and snippy. A ten-dollar cigar stuck between his teeth as he talked from one side of his mouth. A slight Texas drawl as he spoke was more color to the deep darkened voice that sat before The Reporter.

"That bastard up there at that party just up the hill first started in that ring right there. Ivan took him back to Charlotte to train a couple months in, met him up with Ric Flair, but this beaute, this is where he first got stretched out. Me and him beat the holy hell out of each other in this ring, for no pay, no glory, no fans. Just for knowledge. Granted, I took a few more shots to the head. I wasn't as advanced as Levi. I knew everything to know, just like Levi does, but I couldn't put it into action. A stuff shirt I guess. I'm just cut out to be a trainer I guess. So what brings you here, besides wanting to hear another side of the story on the man they call Levi."

The smile was present, bright and colorful, even transcending the shadows. Only one light shone, it was just above the ring, so The Reporter took a seat beside it, smelling the smell that wrestling rings get after twenty years of men thrashing one another in them.

"Actually I came to ask you something very specific. Something no one has the gall to ask Levi himself. Something he refuses to talk about. Something many believe he will take to his own grave."

"You mean Victoria, don't you?"

"Yes. Do you have any infor.."

"Victoria isn't a person I know of. If Victoria is a person, then I never met her, and I think I met everyone in Levi's life. Even today, I was there at that party, but I am not as close as I once was with him. He has grown into something different. Before, his craziness, his nutcaseness..it was something he could turn on and off. It was something that he saved for the ring. Not long ago, he lost the ability to do that. Now it just randomly comes in and snaps. And then there are times when you expect it to come and it never does. It's frightening. And I am not scared of a whole lot."

"Sir, you were with him from the beginning.."

"Since before the beginning!"

"Right. Nothing comes to mind about Levi and the name 'Victoria'?"

"Nothing. Sorry son. I wish I could help. I think that is a secret he will take to his grave. I remember, heh, I remember when I met him, just after he got arrested the second time. I was in prison for dealing back then, just a three month spank on the hand you know, but it was enough for me. But while I was there, I met him and I bonded with him. He was a strange dude, and in minimum security, strange dudes don't get fucked with. So I kept around him and no one fucked with me, ya know?

Anyway, I remember talking to him once and talking about The Business. He had always watched it, sparingly, but even more so in the Home. I swear, if they still let them watch it in there, they are more fucked up then we could ever fix, I tell you that. But, Tommy, he was real interested and when he got out, I got him a job as a bouncer that I knew wrestlers frequented. He met Hulk a few times, but before Ivan showed, no one gave him a real chance. But it was his history that scared them. A guy who was in jail for murder was kind of hard to make a face, ya see what I'm sayin'? But he went man, full on, and he always had this one damn briefcase. I never saw what was in it, but I figured it was just more poormans shit like mine was. I saw him the other day, loading up his car, and guess what I saw him load in? That same damn briefcase 'Regan for President' sticker and all."

"Thank you for your time, Mr. Bryant."

With that he left for the party again, empty-handed on the story of Victoria. But full of the life of Tommy Levi.
*

Victoria.

*
The Reporter opened the large wooden frame door leading to the ballroom. At four in the morning, the party was almost done. A few, mostly wrestlers and promoters, still hung around, but the normal Chicagoans whom were invited, including various men who's ties with the Chicago Mob weren't exactly secret, had left sometime in the past hour.

Jack Shidte was not among them. Jack stood, hands clasped tightly behind his back, his eyes thin and tired. He was past the slightly inebriated status he inhabited earlier in the evening. Now he was just as close to drunk as one could be and still function as a reporter. Or something resembling one at least.

"You get anything?"

"No sir. Erik knew nothing of Victoria. Apparently no one knows."

"Dammit, I ask you to find out ONE damn thing about Levi so we could put together this package for his campaign and you screw that up. All I want to know about is this 'Victoria'!

"Maybe Victoria isn't something we are supposed to know about. Maybe it is a secret that should never be known, like the many secrets of the life of great men in the past."

"You read too many books, son. Levi isn't a 'Great Man', that's the first mistake. But he IS a man who is gaining power here, and yet is losing everything he once had."

"Exactly. Victoria isn't something we should know, Mr. Shidte. Victoria is HIS secret just like you have yours and I have mine. Everyone has secrets that drive them. It could be the simplest thing in the world, but it is what drives him, what makes him tick...as a person. I don't think it is our place to know 'Victoria'."

"I guess your right. God knows I would love to know, but I guess no one ever will. It's his secret; a secret yellow journalism can't uncover. C'mon, lets go home, it's been a long night."

The Reporter nodded, as Jack Shidte took his last sip of his beverage and sat the glass on the table. The two left, boarding the same '99 Lincoln and driving off, not bothering to check out. The host had left many hours before, bearing with him a strange sight.

A suitcase was with him as he left the building. One man would describe it as 'an old tattered piece of crap'. Levi left for his home, an apartment in which he owned the entire building of and resided on the top floor, opening all rooms into one gigantic household.

As he lay his suitcase on his bed, he walked to the window, looking outside, seeing the sun begin to make rays against the dark blanket that covered the Nights Sky. The suitcase lay open, its contents spilled among themselves. There, in a small plastic bag labeled 'Exhibit A3' was an item that fit with nothing else around itself.

The engraving was still clear, though the spoon itself was old, stained and bent. It gleamed in the light of the lamp that stood just beyond the bed sheets. The writing was dark, but elegant, a purplish colour on the silver that surrounded it. It was strong, but cheap. It was sturdy but unglamorous. Just another spoon. Who's engraving spelled of one word.

'Victoria'.