Big Apple Takedown

Torrie watched intently as Masterson

mixed a pair of martinis for them

and brought the drinks to the couch.

As the cool martini slid down her throat, she kept her eyes locked on Masterson. She put down her glass and used her now-free hand to trace a finger along his jawline. Continuing down to his shoulder and his arm, she took his glass out of his hand and put it down on the coffee table. Still looking directly into his eyes, she pushed the tiny button on her ring that sent a stream of clear liquid into his glass. At the same time, she distracted him with a kiss.

Masterson kissed back hungrily. His hands started exploring her body, quickly going places where they weren’t exactly welcome. Torrie was silently thankful for his desperate aggression. It made it easier to push him away. With a smile, she took her glass and lifted it to her lips as if she was only delaying the inevitable. Masterson mirrored her move by taking his own glass.

After they both put their glasses back down, Torrie responded to his earlier moves, giving him a look that said, You may proceed. And he did just that. He proceeded to pass out on the couch, thanks to the sedative in his drink.

The sale of this book without its cover is unauthorized. If you purchased this book without its cover, you should be aware that it was reported to the publisher as unsold and destroyed. Neither the author nor the publisher has received payment for the sale of this stripped book.

POCKET BOOKS, a division of Simon & Schuster, Inc.

1230 Avenue of the Americas, New York, NY 10020

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are

products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance

to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

Copyright © 2006 by World Wrestling Entertainment, Inc. All Rights Reserved.

World Wrestling Entertainment, the names of all World Wrestling Entertainment

televised and live programming, talent names, images, likenesses, slogans and

wrestling moves, and all World Wrestling Entertainment logos and trademarks

are the exclusive property of World Wrestling Entertainment, Inc. Nothing in this

book may be reproduced in any manner without the express written consent of

World Wrestling Entertainment, Inc.

This book is a publication of Pocket Books, a division of Simon & Schuster, Inc., under

exclusive license from World Wrestling Entertainment, Inc.

All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any

form whatsoever. For information address Pocket Books, 1230 Avenue of the Americas,

New York, NY 10020

www.SimonandSchuster.com

ISBN-13: 978-1-4165-1089-5

eISBN: 978-1-451-60466-5

ISBN-10:     1-4165-1089-3

This Pocket Books paperback edition July 2006

10  9  8  7  6  5  4  3  2  1

POCKET and colophon are registered trademarks of

Simon & Schuster, Inc.

Visit us on the World Wide Web

http://www.simonsays.com

http://www.wwe.com

Manufactured in the United States of America

For information regarding special discounts for bulk purchases,

please contact Simon & Schuster Special Sales at 1-800-456-6798

or [email protected].

BIG APPLE

TAKEDOWN

Prologue

PEPSI CENTER

ALBANY , NEW Y ORK

One!

Two!

Three!

From his backstage office, Vincent K. McMahon, chairman of World Wrestling Entertainment, thought the arena eruption sounded like two jet planes roaring overhead a stadium at the end of The Star-Spangled Banner. There were five or so seconds where he couldn’t hear anything except for the noise. Only twenty thousand angry fans make a sound that loud. Just about every one of those fans hated Triple H. Watching him regain the WWE Championship was torture for them, but hearing the passion in their reaction let Vince know that tonight’s show was a winner. The fans were moved by what had unfolded in front of them.

Vince kept his eye on the TV monitor for another few minutes as he packed his briefcase. Once he saw Triple H hop off the ring apron, Vince hustled out of the room.

Backstage at the Pepsi Center looked the same as it did at the end of just about every WWE show. A mixture of Superstars, wives, girlfriends, office workers, stage crew, stadium personnel, and assorted random people who managed to get in were all standing around with smiles on their faces. It wasn’t just Vince. They all knew the show had been a success.

Vince loved this time of the night. Everyone was laughing, having a beer, or hanging with their friends. That meant the show had gone off without a hitch. His Superstars had a blast performing and the fans were ecstatic. More importantly, though, he liked this time of night because it let him look ahead.

Okay, tonight went great, time to start working on tomorrow.

Anyone who knew Vince McMahon knew that no matter what else was going on around him, regardless of what type of meeting he was in or new T-shirt design he was being presented, there was always one question at the front of his mind: What’s next?

As he made his way around backstage, most everyone looked over at him to say something.

Great show tonight, boss.

The Pay-Per-View card is really coming together.

We blew ’em away tonight, Mister McMahon!

Usually Vince would stop, say hello, and thank everyone for the good show. He’d ask them what they thought about it, because he valued every opinion. Most of them he already knew, but every now and then someone would say something that would spark an idea for the future. Tonight he didn’t have time for any of that. He should have been halfway down the New York State Thruway by now, but there was no chance of him leaving a show early, let alone this show. He was just about set to head out to the car, but needed to see his champion quickly before he left.

Mister McMahon! Mister McMahon! someone shouted from behind. Vince knew the voice without having to turn around. It was a voice he’d heard in the backstage of arenas for over three decades.

Yes, Howard?

Sorry to bother you, Mister McMahon, said Howard Finkel, known to generations of WWE fans as The Fink. But I was just talking to Tony, and he said you guys really ought to get on your way as soon as you can with this weather. And I told him that maybe you guys should just stay the night.

Thanks, Howard, Vince said as he pushed past the guy. I’ll take that under advisement.

True to his word, Vince thought about pushing back his trip for the briefest moment, then shoved the idea right out of his mind. Of course he would have preferred to stay in Albany for the night. Any idiot would. Aside from not having to deal with the snow, it would give him some time to gather Triple H and Stone Cold Steve Austin to discuss their match at Madison Square Garden. However, his meeting with the guys at the network couldn’t wait. If he didn’t show, they might take it upon themselves to move forward with their promotional plans without his signoff. And that was not going to happen.

Vince headed toward the catering room, where he knew Triple H would be chowing down on his regular postmatch meal. He could only imagine what Tony, his driver, was thinking right now. Even if the weather predictions from earlier were only partially correct in their gloom-and-doom forecast, there’d be half a foot of snow on the ground already with more piling up. Vince could handle Tony, but if his wife Linda called before Vince got in the car, he knew he’d have a discussion on his hands.

Triple H was sitting alone at a table while the catering guys wrapped up. It was clear that they wanted to get the hell out of Dodge, but no one got between Triple H and his postmatch meal. Triple H barely looked up when Vince approached, but he did kick a chair out for Vince to sit on. Vince waved the offered chair away. He didn’t have time to stick around. I’m on my way out, but I wanted to stop by to tell you a couple things.

Yeah, Triple H said as he rested his fork on the plate and leaned back in his chair. Much as he and Vince had their problems from time to time, Hunter would not disrespect the man by eating through their conversation.

First off, that was great shit. I mean, you guys tore the damn roof off this place.

We did, didn’t we? Triple H said with a self-satisfied smile.

I’m shocked you got out of there without a full security detail. Sounded like they wanted to rip your head off.

Bring ’em on, Triple H said, and the two shared a laugh.

"I’ve got some ideas for what you and Austin can do next, but they’re all … let’s just say they’re quite involved. Vince stressed that last word as a challenge, the implication being that he wasn’t sure they could pull any of those ideas off. Vince knew this would be tantalizing enough to energize his WWE Champion. Few Superstars worked harder for the success of the company than Triple H. When you and Austin get into the city tomorrow, we’ll talk it over."

Any reason we can’t start talking about it now? Austin’s still in the building. I can drag his ass in here. Give me two minutes.

Vince held up his hands, basically telling Triple H to back off. The truth was that Vince couldn’t talk about the idea right now, because he didn’t have the whole thing figured out yet. He was sure he would work it out eventually. I’m running down to New York. I have that eight A.M. meeting with the network tomorrow and can’t risk leaving in the morning with this weather. I should have been out of here hours ago, but wanted to watch the end of the show live. What you guys did will make the five-hour trip worth it.

It’s snowing like a bitch out there, Triple H said.

I know. If anyone hears from Linda, tell her that I left here two hours ago.

Vince could hear Hunter laughing behind him as he walked away. Was getting in a car during a snow-storm the best idea Vince ever had? No. He knew that. But Vince gave the network folks his word he’d be there by eight, and he was determined to be there.

By the time Vince reached the arena exit, his car was waiting there for him, dug out and idling with Tony behind the wheel. Vince slipped into the backseat without waiting for Tony to get out and open the door for him. They had long since dispensed with that pretentious bit of business. Vince was perfectly capable of opening a door on his own.

It took them almost a half hour to fight their way out of the snow-covered parking lot past the crowds of people who had just watched Triple H reclaim his title. Vince knew that if any of them guessed he was behind the tinted windows of the town car, many of the fans would rush the car for his autograph, though probably more of them would pelt it with ice balls. He didn’t mind. Their hatred for him was just one of the things that kept bringing them back.

By twelve-thirty they were slowly moving along the New York State Thruway. It had been tough negotiating the side roads, but the thruway was still passable, more or less.

Vince stared out the darkened windows. From the little he could see, he knew it was official—they were driving through a blizzard. Snow was falling or blowing around in every conceivable direction. The yellowish glow of the sporadic overhead road lights was the only reason Vince could see enough to know what was happening on the other side of the glass.

There was something about the swirling white storm that he found relaxing, and Vince allowed himself to shut down his mind and just enjoy the rare moment when people weren’t pulling him in every direction. But right in the middle of thinking about nothing, both literal and figurative lightning flashed as he was struck by inspiration for what Triple H and Stone Cold could do the next night at the Garden.

But it was no lightning. And his inspiration wasn’t the only thing that had been struck.

Tony managed to yell, Hold on, Mister— before Vince’s head slammed against the window. The bright flash of light had faded, but he could sense the car was sliding down a hill. His own car’s headlights were circling around him, so they must have been spinning. A warm taste ran over his lips. His head was bleeding. Vince hoped that was the worst of it. His stomach wobbled as the car began its third rotation, or maybe it was the fourth. He’d lost track. Cold air rushed in from the front passenger door as it flew open. The car finally slammed to a halt, sending Vince’s left shoulder crashing into the glass partition between the passenger and driver.

Worse than the cut on his head or the searing pain in his shoulder was the realization that the idea for Triple H’s and Stone Cold’s next match had left him. Gone. Just as quickly as it appeared. Before he could worry too much about that, he heard Tony calling out through the cracked glass partition. Mister Mc Mahon, are you okay?

More or less, Vince yelled back. He grabbed his briefcase and kicked his way out the driver’s-side back door. How ’bout you?

Yeah, Tony said as they met outside the car. The front end of the Lincoln was resting up against the tree it had slammed into. "I’m fine, sir. I am so sorry. His eyes went wide. You’re bleeding! Oh, God, I’m sorry! I didn’t even see that snowplow. It came up on us so fast."

Is that what it was? Vince asked. Damn crazy driver. Probably didn’t even see us on the road. It wasn’t your fault. Let’s just be glad we’re okay. This cut is nothing. Let’s call nine-one-one and get out of here. Vince reached into his jacket pocket, pulled out his cell phone, and flipped it open. Son of a bitch!

What’s wrong, sir?

No service. Damn storm. Let’s check your phone.

No luck.

The two men stared at each other briefly. Vince could tell that Tony was afraid for his job. But firing Tony was the furthest thing from Vince’s mind. It wasn’t his fault.

Suggestions? Vince asked. Other than the snowplow, they hadn’t seen another car in the past twenty minutes. Waiting it out by the side of the road seemed foolhardy.

Well, Tony began, sounding about as confident as the captain of the chess team asking the head cheerleader to the prom. I saw a diner about a mile back, right off the exit. We can probably get there in twenty minutes.

Let’s go, Vince said as he started walking. He didn’t give a damn if the diner was open or not. They’d probably have a pay phone he could use to call for help. Moving was a much better option than sitting around freezing their asses off in the snow.

The two men hardly spoke during the trek. With the freezing air it was just easier to keep their jaws clenched and walk. It took longer than Tony said it would, but Vince was downright shocked when they shuffled down to the end of the exit ramp. Visible through the driving