Chapter 2

"Thunder FM. This is Travis in the AM broadcasting your love and well wishes for DJ Classy, who's hanging by the most delicate of threads right now. Joey Masterpiece from the rotten apple, you were down with Classy for a hot minute, right?"

"Yeah, man. Classy, Rich Boy Link and I were part of a set called Masterclass. Didn't make it national, but we set the underground on fire here in the east."

"What can you tell us about Classy that the average listener wouldn't know?"

"Classy wasn't just a name that the man randomly gave to himself one day. It's a lifestyle. From the top of the chain to the bottom of the barrel, he treated everyone with the utmost respect. It would be a damn shame if the world lost a man like him. Stay strong, Classy. Pull through!"

Seven Hours Prior

In a rare example of being proactive about a situation, Max met W at the door of Club Modern Epic and pulled him inside for a talk.

"Page B-3 of the Review, W. Have you seen it?"

"I didn't pick up the paper today," responded W.

"You're in it," said Max.

"How? Did they interview me in my sleep?" asked W, heaping on the sarcasm.

"Your thrilling example of self-defense twisted a few panties and they took it to the press."

"Now every part-time boxer in the city is going to line up with the intention of throwing down with me," said W, shaking his head. "Great."

"It's okay, though. For the next week or so, you're going to be put on booty duty for DJ Classy."

W was surprised. "Isn't that your gig? Well, outside of running the place."

"Yup, and it's all yours until things die down. That said, I need you to do me a big favor," said Max, lowering his voice and getting even closer to W.

"What's that?" asked W.

"Classy has been hitting the hot stuff more frequently than usual, and it's starting to affect his judgment. I don't want you to hover over him, but I do want you to make sure he doesn't become a liability to us or himself," said Max.

"Shouldn't be too hard," responded W.

"There are lots of enablers around. I'm talking lower members of staff. Be sharp and don't be afraid to use your radio. I'm here if things get out of hand."

As W walked out on a vacant dance floor, DJ Spin, who had been in the finishing stages of his soundcheck, looked up from his turntables and waved.

"It's about damn time Max pulled you off the front lines," said the perpetually excited DJ Spin into his microphone.

"I was spilling so much blood that the doorway looked like the aftermath of a cage fight," said W after walking over to the DJ booth.

"To your credit, I never see any problems with the people you let in," said Spin as he adjusted a few knobs on his mixer. "My only issue is that the girls are starting to look like they all came off of an assembly line."

"That's all Max," said W. "Hey, I've got a question about our headliner."

"Classy?" asked Spin.

"Yeah. I heard he has been acting funky," said W

"I'm no fan of the guy, but I'm not going to lie and say that he's been mixing like warmed over dirt just to satisfy my desire for longer sets."

"So, there isn't any real reason to be concerned? Drugs, maybe?"

Spin laughed. "Who here isn't on a little bit of something?"

W left the DJ booth and hovered around the club until it officially opened. It took a while, but the vacant dance floor and empty seats were eventually filled with young individuals who wanted nothing more than to party as hard as possible. After getting a good look at the revelers on display, W decided that it was finally time to go on the aforementioned "booty duty." In other words, proposition young, hopefully single women on behalf of DJ Classy, who rarely left his palatial room in the club's basement. W approached what appeared to be a trio of sorority sisters that seemed to judge him harshly before he opened his mouth.

"Welcome to Club Modern Epic," greeted W with the fakest smile in the world. "I'm with management. Is there anything I can do to make tonight your best night in Vegas?"

"Maybe speed up time so that I don't have to listen to any more of DJ Boring up there," said the tallest of the three.

"Ah, so you're here for DJ Classy?"

The three were so excited by the mere mentioned of the man's name that W knew what he had to do next.

"So, I have some bad news and some incredibly good news for you girls," said W, face hurting from maintaining the false smile for so long. "The bad news is that DJ Spin still has a few hours left in his set, and he isn't leaving early for all the money in this town. Trust me, we've tried! The good news is that DJ Classy is waiting in his room as we speak for girls like you to hang out with before he takes the stage. The question is, do you want to take him up on his offer?"

W could only laugh to himself after getting hit with a wave of rejection. A few parting words later, W left the trio and continued on with his duties. Right as W was going to openly complain about how ludicrous it was to offer young flesh to an overrated DJ as if he were some kind of hostile god, W was approached by a short, thick woman with her hair in long braids.

"I heard that DJ Classy is doing a meet and greet," said the lady.

W liked what he saw, but was trying hard not to leer. "I wouldn't call it that,"

"That seems exactly what it is. I've been paying attention," said the lady.

"Maybe you should pay more attention to DJ Spin. He's putting on a good set."

"I'm here for Classy. I've come a long, long way to see him."

W sighed. "Okay, what's your name?"

"Wendy," she said before pulling a candy cane out of her purse and biting down hard on it.

"As in square patties and biggie fries?" asked, W, trying and failing to be humorous.

"Not sure what that is," said Wendy, uninterested in W's jokes.

W was slightly disappointed. "Anyway, we're going to be taking the service elevator over there. Afterwards, it's just a few steps until we hit Classy's room."

"Good."

W led Wendy to a large elevator in the corner of the club. They descended a floor and walked out into the dank, smoky, dimly lit basement.

"I'm assuming that the room is down this hall?" asked Wendy's completely unfazed by the state of the basement.

"Yeah," responded W, feeling antsy about the situation. "You sure you want to go along with this?"

"I can't wait," responded Wendy, licking her lips.

The two reached a shabby door with the word "Classy" written on a plank of wood that had been nailed below the peephole.

"Hey Classy, it's BD. Have fun," said W after giving the door a pounding.

The door was quickly opened by DJ Classy, who was tall, muscular and tanned to the point that his skin was a dark shade of orange. He looked at Wendy and nodded approvingly.

"This is some prime quality beef you got here, man. They need to start using you more often," said Classy to W as Wendy smiled at the complement.

"My name is Wendy. I've been a fan since Masterclass,"

Classy's eyes widened. "You come from Brooklyn?"

"No, but I lived close enough to buy Cup a Tea from Rich Boy Link's trunk," said Wendy.

"I can't lie," started Classy. "These backstage sessions usually end in me blowing a girl's back out before lighting up the dance floor. I don't want to get one of my old fans caught up in that."

"But that's what I'm here for," retorted Wendy.

Classy fell silent and W could see the gears in his head grinding away. If it were up to W, the whole thing would have ended with a high-five and a signed record.

"Wendy, was it? Come right on in," said Classy with a large smile.

"That's my kind of language," said Wendy, entering the room.

Classy turned back to W. "What's DJ Spin playing tonight?"

"Sounds like disco," responded W.

"That's not disco. It's house, man," admonished Classy. "Anyway, I'm going to go talk to my leading lady here."

Classy closed the door and W started his walk out of the basement. The lights flickered for a moment, but he thought nothing of it. W then went on to spend a little over two hours nodding his head to DJ Spin's set, which was most definitely not disco. Right when W found the groove pushing him towards the dance floor, he heard the voice of Max on his walkie-talkie.

"Please tell me Classy is setting up."

"Negative, boss," responded W.

Max tossed a few expletives into the air before composing himself. "Go wake him up before he chokes on his tongue or something."

On his way to the service elevator, W ran into Wendy, still alone, and proceeded to pick her brain.

"Hi, Wendy. How was your time with Classy?" asked W, not exactly wanting an explicit answer out of the young woman.

"He talked too much," said Wendy, seemingly disinterested in the topic.

"Was he still going on about the old days when you left him?" asked W.

"Thankfully not."

"But he was okay, right?"

"I don't know if he'd say that, but I'd say so."

"And when did you leave?"

"Maybe an hour ago."

W sighed and continued on to the service elevator. He descended into the basement, navigated the hall and reached Classy's door, which was ajar. After silently hoping that all he had to deal with was a slumbering star DJ, W's heart sunk as he walked into a crime scene.

Seven Hours Later

As W took a cab back home, he tried to displace what happened in the basement from his mind. Unfortunately for him, Thunder FM's late-night show, which had broadcasted out of Club Modern Epic in the past, decided it was the proper time to hold a memorial for DJ Classy, who wasn't dead, but was so broken that there was no way he was going to spin records ever again.

"Your club can't stay out the news for a night," said the cabbie in a thick accent.

"Isn't my club anymore, Sal," said W.

"What's up?" asked Sal as he focused on the rather empty road.

"The palooka that runs the place had me both look out for DJ Classy's health, as well as pieces of ass for Classy to rub up on. I left him with a girl and returned a little later to guy half-buried in what I think were candy hoops and looking like a living compound fracture. It was disgusting. The idiot boss then wasted half a damn hour yelling at me over not doing my job when Classy getting screwed over was a direct result of me doing my job. He then angrily kicked me off the property and, well, here I am," replied W.

"I hate to see a good man out of work. Maybe you should be a taxi driver,"

"I'm not out of the game yet, but you know what? That isn't a bad idea. I'll give you a ring if I decide to go down that path. Right now, I have another idea."

"What is it?" asked Sal.

"I had a set of crazy neighbors that tuned me into an opportunity out of town."

"How crazy?"

"Always in these expensive looking costumes."

"That's not crazy to me. Maybe they're mascots," said Sal.

W nodded his head, though he was sure that Sal didn't see him. "Anyway, I was told to go to a certain address if I ever needed some work."

"I guess the life of a team mascot is a way to never have to deal with the drunks at the club," responded Sal.

"They're not mascots, Sal."

"Then what are they?"

"I…don't know, but I plan on going to this address and finding out."

W pulled out the large, partially soiled card that he was given by the costumed freak that called himself Bowser. He then read off the address that was printed on It and immediately got a laugh from the cabbie.

"That's a junkyard," said Sal. "Real far out."

W winced in pain at that revelation. "Wait, really?"

"I don't think you'll leave the site of that opportunity with both kidneys. Just forget about it and start driving. Plenty of tourists. Lots of money. It'll finally get you out of that damn motel."

When W returned home, his mind remained on Bowser's proposition and whatever was supposedly waiting for him in the apparent junkyard that was Dark Land. Thoughts turned into plans of action when W exited his shower, turned on the radio, and noticed that all talk was about the sudden turn for the worst and subsequent early-morning death of superstar DJ Classy. W knew that the situation was going to get incredibly messy, so he threw on a yellow, long-sleeved shirt, went back outside and hailed a cab despite having Sal's number on him at all times.

"Where you heading?" asked the driver, surprisingly cheery at nearly four in the morning.

"Got this address here. I think it's near a scrapyard," said W before reading off what was on the card.

"There's a diner up there open 24-hours. Good place," responded the driver.

W went along with the cabbie's hunch and accepted the long, expensive ride to the diner. After a strong cup of coffee and a fun conversation about overzealous parents at a tee ball game, W left the place and walked over to the junkyard that was a block south. As it was way before business hours, the front gate was locked and tended to by a lowly security guard who looked incredibly bored until he made eye-contact with W.

"Wilfred?" asked the guard.

W shuttered at the use of his birthname. "I have no idea who that is. You have the first letter right, though."

"Well, whatever your name is, the boss has been expecting you. Said you'd probably stop by around this time."

W thought about returning home on the spot, but, with his luck the boss would probably be sitting on his couch as he opened the door.

"He'll be in the office," continued the guard. "Oh, and welcome to the team."

W nodded as the gate loudly clanked open. He then entered the junkyard and approached the office after a few minutes of walking. Right as W was about to open the door, he was stopped by a somewhat familiar female voice.

"Hey."

W turned around and was surprised to see Wendy, of all people.

"The hell are you doing here?" asked W, thinking more for her safety than his own.

"Same thing you're here for," replied Wendy with a faint smile.

"I'm here because I let my curiosity get the better of me. This might be my last few minutes alive, for all I know," said W.

Wendy burst into laughter. W swore he saw her entire body distort, but he convinced himself that it was lack of sleep finally getting to him.

"You aren't dying. Father likes you far too much for that," said Wendy.

"You're one of them too?" asked a surprised W.

"Yep."

"But you don't look like them."

With a wave of what looked like a toy magic wand that materialized in her hand, Wendy, the short, buxom, young woman whom W had a bit of a thing for, turned into a female-looking creature sporting lipstick and a bow on her head. That transformation was officially the strangest thing that had happened in front of him in his extended time in Las Vegas.

"What do you think of my natural loveliness?" asked Wendy, attempting a seductive pose.

"About what?" asked W..

"What you saw versus what you see."

W remained silent. The newly reptilian Wendy pouted.

"It's okay. I'll get the answer out of you later."

W turned away from Wendy and knocked the office door.

"Come on in!" commanded the naturally loud voice of Bowser.

W entered the office and nearly ran into the massive being, who was seated on an equally large couch.

"We meet again, ox!" exclaimed Bowser.

"You run this place?" asked W.

"I own the property. I won't get into the logistics of that. Moving on, I must offer condolences on the loss of DJ Classy. He will be missed by many," stated Bowser in a disingenuous tone. I must also apologize from the depths of my heart on the loss of your position at Club Modern Epic.

W's mouth hung open for a moment before he responded.

"There's nothing official about that," replied W.

"Trust me, ox. You returning to that place will only result in the police being called," said Bowser." To add to that, your old boss is throwing around some wild accusations about you."

"I'm not going to ask how you know that, but I will ask why?"

"Because I'm interested in you, ox. And when I'm interested in someone, it becomes an obsession."

"Nice to know," said W, fearing for his future.

"And right now, I'm interested in getting you back to Dark Land and knocking a whole lot of birds out with one stone!"

"So, we're just going to leave right now? No packing of bags or tearful goodbyes or two-week notices for my first job?" said an incredulous W.

Bowser let the question hang for a moment. "Yes."

W was led to what looked resembled a large storage unit with an entryway that provided a good nine feet of vertical space. The two were joined by Roy, Wendy, and six other strange beings.

"This is my family of troublemakers," said Bowser, proudly. "Outside of Roy and Wendy, you have Iggy, Lemmy, Larry, Morton, Ludwig, and Junior, who was keeping you up all those nights."

"Aw! Why'd you tell!" chirped the youngest of the flock

Bowser chuckled and continued. "To be honest, ox, I've heard stories of humans getting real sick their first few days in Mushroom. You should be fine since you're built like a damn tank. Just in case you do fall ill, we have a supply of magic mushrooms to snap you right out of it. Sound good to you?"

"Sure," responded W.

Bowser opened the large door of the structure and revealed what looked like a giant, green drainage pipe.

"This is a warp pipe, ox. That stable connection between the worlds I was talking about the other day."

"So, Dark Land is in the sewer?" asked W.

"Of course not," retorted Bowser. "You won't believe it until you get there, so let's hightail it. Distinguished guests first," he said before motioning towards the gaping maw of the pipe.

Already realizing that "no" was no longer an option, W walked towards the pipe and felt himself being pulled forward by an unseen force. Before he could mount any kind of resistance, W was snatched off of his feet and fell face-first into darkness.

And with that, we enter the Mushroom World! Catch you later!