The beeps of the medical equipment in the hospital room never seemed to stop for Shotcaller. He’d been laid up in one of these rooms before and he always hated it. The sense of being dependent on others to keep him alive made his blood boil.

Blood.

That’s what he was; a Blood gang member from LA now stuck up in some damn Memphis, Tennessee hospital room.

He cursed inwardly to himself for ever taking Parker Meloche up on the offer to come wrestle.

“I’m sorry, buddy, but if you can’t provide us with any details, we’re going to have a hard time finding the guys who tried to kill you.”

Shotcaller looked over at the Memphis PD detective and scowled.

“I told you, yo, I don’t know who da fuck doze guyz were.”

The detective looked over to his partner and shook his head as if non-verbally communicating that this was going nowhere. The two men stood up and put their small notepads back inside their jacket pockets before the lead detective gave Shotcaller one more look.

“Listen, son, I know you guys never want to talk to us, but we believe there’s something else going on here besides a one-time hit. Again, I’m Detective Maddock, and let me give you my information in case your change your mind and want to cooperate.”

The Memphis PD officer placed his card on the hospital room table and left with his partner. A nurse quickly entered the room and went about resetting the chairs and checking on Shotcaller’s vitals.

“You okay there?” she asked.

“Ya, yo, I’m good.”

After finishing up, the nurse left Shotcaller alone in the room with his thoughts.

He knew those Japanese men from the arena hallway were the ones who tagged him, but he didn’t know why. Him and the Bloods hadn’t had beef with that crew before, and in fact, they never knew they were even in Memphis.

Shotcaller knew the Yakuza weren’t to be trifled with, but he was already thinking about he was going to get payback, and how he was going to stay on track for the Pure Gold Championship.