He had never seen Vince out of control. Normally he was so poised, so confident, arrogant even. But now his entire body was shaking. Tremors rattled the large man’s broad shoulders. His coifed hair was frayed mussed. Little sparkles of sweat glinted of the owner’s forehead.
“You…you can’t say anything,” Vince exclaimed as he wiped the blood from his face with his fingers. He removed a silk handkerchief from his front pocket. He wrapped his jittering hand in the cloth and mopped his brow again. The combination of fear heavy breathing made for an odd smell. Sheamus stood back and surveyed the scene. Vince hadn’t meant to kill her, that much was clear. But McMahons, usually a masterful planners by nature, were known for fits of passionate outbursts. Sheamus peered out of the Penthouse window on to the Vegas Strip. The Bellagio Fountain show would be starting any time now. There were people congregating.
The large Irishman snapped out of his trance, returning his attention to the situation at hand. All he had wanted was a sit down with his boss to discuss career options. He had never expected this.
“Ok. Ok. Ok. I…it was an accident. I don’t…I wasn’t even here,” Vince choked. “You weren’t even here. Right?”
Sheamus looked at this man who possessed his entire livelihood in his hands. Twelve minutes ago, Vincent K. McMahon could have squashed his career and dashed his dreams. But wrestling had taught him that there was always an angle. Always a move to get leverage on an adversary. He took a deep breathe and reminded himself that success only comes to the bold. Sheamus let a smirk come over his face and he casually shrugged his shoulders.
“You bastard,” Vince whispered. “Ok. What will it take? How much money is your silence worth?”
Sheamus looked out again and the fountains were dancing. “I never got in this business for the money. I got in it for the show. And from now on, no matter how much I suck, no matter how uncreative I am in the ring, no matter how much the crowd boos, you have to put me on top. Always. I want you to force-feed me to the audience until they thing I’m part of a balanced breakfast. D’you hear me FELLA?”
Vince gulped. He took one look at the bulky red-headed wrestler and another look back at the girl.
“Ok” he said. “Now grab her feet.”