by Guy Franks
Everyone laughed and Hank took the cue to step into the middle of the group and sum things up. “So let me recap this here,” he said playfully. Papi had done his deal, got jumped by ten or was it twelve hoods, fought them all with his knife and maybe killed a couple, but got taken down and “ganked” of his knife and money. They’d left him alive only because they feared revenge from Papi’s gang. Did he have that right?
“You’d make’a good weatha’man,” agreed Papi.
Hank laughed out loud and called Papi “a lyin’ sack of shit.” That lie was as fat as Papi’s ass, he announced, and with that he pulled Papi’s knife out of his pocket and handed it to the dumbfounded fat man. “Here. I think you fo-got this!”
“Where’d you find that?” demanded Papi, but as he looked about at the other laughing faces he quickly began to catch on.
“Where-u left it,” answered Hank, who was having his fun now. Here was the real story: The twelve hoods? That had been he and Busta. And what had Papi done? He’d lit out like a big fat scardy cat. “I didn’t think yo fat-ass could run that fast. Surpris’d u-didn’ jump in the river,” laughed Hank.
Papi maintained his dignity and simply answered, “If-u haven’t notic’d, I have a pro-pensity for sinkin’.”
“Ha! So take-a deep breath, homie,” said Hank. “Take-a chug a King Cobra an’ come up with anotha’ story an’ it betta be good.”
Papi appeared unfazed. The big man took a long drink of his King Cobra and laughed his own laugh. “I don’t know wat you’all laughin’ at. I’m a mutha-fuckin comedian an’ I make others inta mutha-fuckin’ comedians,” he deadpanned. So, they wanted the straight dope? Sure, he’d tell them what happened. He knew it had been them all along.
He waited for the jeers to die down before he continued. Yeah, he knew it had been them all along. How could he not make out Sweetness and Busta in their hoodies, even in the dark? Of course he could, but he wasn’t going to hurt the bonus baby, so he’d just played along and let them do their thing and made it look good. It was “the Gawd’s honess truth.” But what about the money, he wanted to know. Did Hank have it? Yes he did.
Papi
Ah, yo the man, Sweetness. I could kiss yo cheek for dat. Yo a Prince among Princes. Here, give-me five. Oh, wat a night. They should make-a movie outta it.
Hank
An’ call it ‘Runnin Away’.
Papi
Ah, no mo’ a dat, Sweetness. Let’s light up-a fat one an’ have-a drink, an’ one mo’ time, bro, take it to the brink.
7
CHAPTER
Ah, thou shalt find us ready for thee still;
And know us by these colours for thy foes
Henry VI Part 1
The Kingsmen had dropped the first game in the three game set against the New Haven Admirals and Manager Shake Glover was annoyed by it. It was not that it was a loss—losses were a part of baseball—but it was how they lost. The score was 13 to 3, a blowout for sure, but it didn’t turn into a blow-out until the top of the eighth. That was the first thing that irked him. The fact that it was against their rivals the Admirals and his personal adversary Bennie Jonson, who called a double steal in the top of the ninth with a ten run lead, also irked him. And the fact Hank Prince committed two critical errors in the eighth also added to his irksome mood.
The game was tied going into the eighth when their pitcher Luis Santiago, who had pitched well over seven innings, gave up two walks. Shake pulled him for a reliever who promptly walked the next hitter to load the bases. The following hitter popped up for one out, but the next Admiral hit a long fly ball to the warning track in center. Hank sprinted back and squared up for the catch but, almost as though he were showing off, tried a basket catch a la Willie Mays and dropped the ball. Two runs scored. Shake noticed a group of black fans in the bleachers, and one who was exceedingly fat with a white bandana, playfully dogging Hank after the error. The next hitter sent a rising liner to right center that was more right than center and clearly Manny Ortiz’s ball, but for some reason Hank came streaking across at the last second, clipping kneecaps with Manny, and they both went down as the ball rolled to the wall for an inside-the-park homerun and 8-3 lead. The game pretty much unraveled from there.
It was a new day, and as Shake watched batting practice he kept his eye on Hank. Whether he was hitting, waiting to hit, or shagging flies, Shake studied his body language and demeanor. The kid was a growing concern. The day before he had arrived late to the clubhouse wearing sunglasses (a dead give-away) and had seemed a step slow all night. He didn’t have evidence that Hank was breaking curfew and carousing all night. Not yet anyway. But that kind of stuff eventually revealed itself just like a leaky roof. He was under strict orders from the big club to play the kid every day so benching him was not an option. Fines were an option but it was too early in the season for that. So for now he watched and waited, giving the benefit of the doubt, and resisting the gnawing concern that:
The hope and expectation of thy time
Is ruined, and the soul of every man
Prophetically doth forethink thy fall.
Shake walked back into the clubhouse and into the trainer’s room. Usually the trainer’s room was a zoo, especially deeper into the season, but Shake found the trainer Mike Faust by himself.
“Hey, Mike.”
“Hey, Shake. What’s up?”
“Has Prince been in here to see you?”
“Prince? No… well he came in yesterday to get a couple aspirins. I think he had a hangover.”
“Nothing else? No pulled muscle or bad ankle?” he asked, but before getting an answer from Faust he added: “How’d he look when he came in for the aspirin? I mean, other than a hangover, how’d he look to you.”
“Hungover,” deadpanned Faust. “Not sure what you’re looking for.” He cleared his throat and looked away before adding, “Other than the hangover he looked fine.”
Mike Faust was hired late last season as the trainer and Shake was still learning to read him. He wasn’t sure he liked him or not, which didn’t mean anything one way or another as long as Faust was good at his job, but he had a habit of clearing his throat and looking away whenever Shake asked him a probing question. He’d read somewhere that those were signs of lying. A couple times last year he had asked Faust about the severity of a player’s injury only to get the clearing-of-the-throat with the look-away before getting a guarded answer. It was like he was hiding something. Maybe players were paying him off to lie, but Shake laughed at the thought. That sounded like one of Burton’s conspiracy theories.
“Well, not sure either. If anything pops up on your radar let me know,” said Shake. Faust assured him he would and Shake walked out the door and immediately ran into Speed. The clubbie held out three CD cassettes.
Shake
Yeah.
Speed
I got your seedy copulations.
Shake
All right. Thanks. Think they’ll like it?”
Speed
Though I didn’t get the clap from the copulations, I’m sure they’ll clap for the copulations.
Shake
So you practiced safe sex?
Speed
There’s nothing safe about sex.
Shake
How so?
Speed
It’s all banging and screwing. And from there it gets even worse.
Shake
I hate to ask. Why’s it get worse?
Speed
They get knocked up.
Shake
So they do. What’s on the CDs?
Speed
We got a little Van Halen mixed in with Prince and Michael Jackson, some Willie Nelson for the rednecks, some Public Enemy and Run-D.M.C. for the brothers, Grupo Niche for the Dominicans, plus some other stuff they gave me. I even added in
your Chairman of the Bored.
Shake
That’s Chairman of the Board, smartass. Get thee to a punnery… I don’t think they’ll appreciate Sinatra on there. You’re kidding, right?
Speed
Always and never. I did top it off with Klymaxx.
Shake
That’s always a good way to top it off.
Speed
No. Stay with me. I’m talking about the song ‘I Miss You’ by Klymaxx.
Shake
I get it. Thanks, Speed. Go try ’em out.
Speed
I got a riddle for you first.
Shake
A riddle? Will this take long?
Speed
What does the Prince and Bob Marley have in common?
Shake
Prince the singer? No? Another Prince? What does he have in common with Bob Marely? Beats me.
Speed
Ganja, man.
And with that Speed was off, leaving Shake to piece together the clues. The guy reminded Shake of Radar O’Reilly from MASH. It wasn’t so much they looked alike but that Speed always seemed to know what was going on in camp before anyone else. Prince—Bob Marley—Ganjaman. From experience, he knew it probably meant something but Speed had to play his games. He rolled it around in his head as he walked back to his office. Burton thought Speed was a fool but Shake knew better.
This fellow is wise enough to play the fool,
And to do that well, craves a kind of wit.
Game time rolled around and Shake stood in his dugout and watched his players. Some stretched, others laced up their shoes, while a few checked their bats, stuck chewing tobacco into their mouths or filled up their back pockets with seeds.
Shake took the line-up card out to home plate. Three umpires and Bennie Jonson awaited him. The night before, in the blow-out game, Jonson had called for a double steal with a ten run lead. It worked, leaving first base open, and Shake had quickly filled the vacancy by having his pitcher plunk the next batter. That emptied the benches and resulted in both teams getting a warning from the home plate umpire.
“Good even and twenty, gentlemen,” said Shake merrily. “How fares thee, Bennie?”
“Is the warning still in effect for tonight’s game,” asked Bennie, ignoring Shake’s greeting.
“Why should it be,” replied Shake. “It’s a new game, a new world.”
“A fool may talk, but a wise man speaks.”
“The more pity that fools may not speak wisely what wise men do foolishly,” quoted Shake.
One of the umpires chuckled at this and Bennie reddened. “Is the warning still in effect?” he repeated. “I just want to know.” He was rather stout with a rocky face that included a thick nose and curly brown hair.
“No,” replied the head umpire Rob Goodfellow. “I would have told you, but if I see another beanball there will be warnings issued.”
“That’ll be too late. You saw what happened last night.”
“Yeah, you saw what happened last night,” added Shake. “Pitch gets away, accidently hits your guy and you lead the charge outta the dugout.”
“You drink what you brew.”
Shake quickly glanced at each umpire, and with a glint in his eye said, “Why, sirs, for my part I say the gentleman had drunk himself out of his five senses.”
“And I’ll knock you senseless,” said Bennie taking a step towards Shake.
“These words will cost ten thousand lives this day.”
Goodfellow raised his hand for silence and looked up into the sky as if to say “Lord, what fools these mortals be.”
“Ok, enough,” he scolded. “We’re still in April and you’re already going at it. You’ll be worn out by September. Now give me your line-up cards and let’s get this game started before I run you both just on principle.”
On that note, line-up cards were exchanged and the meeting was adjourned. As Bennie walked away, Shake called after him. “Hey Bennie, good luck.” Bennie grinned and winked back at him.
Everybody in the Eastern League knew the history between these two managers. They’d been teammates together in Triple-A—Jonson at short, Glover at second—and had led the league in double plays two years in a row. They hung out together, drank together, competed in everything, and were the best of buds during the season. Somewhere along the line there was a falling out, though the reason was unclear and even Rick Burton couldn’t get the straight scoop out of Shake. It definitely wasn’t over a woman as Shake had made a vow many years before never to let a woman get between friends. More likely the competitive nature of their friendship had burned out the ball bearings until there was nothing left but metal on metal.
And so they became rivals on the field and eventually across the diamond from each other. It was not a vicious rivalry, not even heated really, but it was deep-seated in the same way the rivalry between two politicians—one from the left, the other from the right—was deep-seated. They spoke well of the other in the press, each extolling the virtues of the other’s managerial skills, and even on occasion had a beer together in The Mermaid, but when game time came they were Ali versus Frasier. Neither liked losing but they especially hated losing to each other.
Shake walked back to the dugout and watched three pregnant women throw out the first pitch. It was “Bellies and Baseball Night” and all pregnant women got in free and had their pick of exotic food (like anchovies and ice cream) at the “Cravings” booth. The players had fun with it and yelled out: “Don’t break your water!” and “You know they found a cure for that!” and “You throw like it’s a girl!” The pitches were thrown, the three women escorted off the field, and the P.A. announcer fired up “O Fortuna.”
“Ladies and Gentlemen, the 1984 and 85 Eastern League Champs, here come your New Britain Kingsmen!”
Chuck Davis finished his warm-up pitches, the throw went down to second, and the Admirals lead-off man Hank Percy strode to the plate. Shake liked this kid. In many ways he was the mirror image of their own Hank. Both were five-tool players and centerfielders batting lead-off, but this Hank played with more fire and was even a bit of a hot-head. Hank Prince had yet to show that fire, and Shake caught himself wishing, with a little guilt, that their Hank was his Hank.
Percy beat out an infield hit, stole second and moved over to third on a ground-out to second. The next Admirals hitter lifted a medium fly ball to right and Percy tagged up and scored easily. At the end of the first half inning it was 1-0.
The Admirals pitcher was a new-comer that no one knew much about. Shake had read the scouting report but it was mostly based on spring training and had gaps in it. He had a good fastball and slider but there was no mention of other secondary pitches. They’d have to feel him out.
Shake watched Prince stroll to the batter’s box and dig in. His routine (and everybody had a routine) was to stand outside the batter’s box, swing three times, then straddle the outside line of the box while he twisted a hole in the dirt with his back toe. With the hole dug, he stepped fully into the box, rolled his head around, and then raised his bat up before settling it down on his back shoulder.
Hank was ready and popped up the first pitch to the shortstop. He touched first and veered off towards the dugout with his head down.
“What kind of stuff’s he got?” asked Coach Burton. Hank ignored the question and sat down while a number of players nearby sniffed a laugh.
It stayed 1-0 until the bottom of the fifth when Estrella hit a two run homer. In the sixth, the Admirals got two on with no outs but Hamilton and Hoffman turned a nice 4-6-3 double play. With a man on third and two outs, Davis struck out the designated “beer batter” to the delight of the crowd. Before every home game, the P.A. Announcer revealed the “beer batter.” It was a player on the other team, usually the seventh or eighth hitter, who triggered a half-off beer sale w
henever he struck out. On strike three a louder than normal cheer would go up as a crowd of people, mostly men, jumped out of their seats and rushed to the nearest beer stand.
In the bottom of the eighth with one out and the score still 2-1, Prince lined a single to right. That brought Hoffman up who usually put the ball in play. Paranoid of the steal, the Admirals left-hander threw numerous times over to first to keep Prince close. On the fourth throw over, the crowd began to boo loudly. When the count got to two and one, Shake signaled for a hit and run. Prince did not break on the pitch but it didn’t matter. The first baseman was holding Prince on, leaving a big hole on the right side, and Hoffman grounded the pitch through for a hit. Prince raced to third.
The next hitter Goff chopped a slow grounder to second. Prince broke for the plate. The Admirals second baseman was playing back for the double play but got caught between charging the slow grounder or waiting on it. The hesitation cost him as he was able to get the force at second but not the back end as Goff beat the throw to first. Prince scored and it was 3-1.
Shake liked 3-1. He had his ace reliever Cappadona warmed up in the bullpen for the top of the ninth. 3 to 1 felt warm, and when Burks hit a two run homer to make it 5-1 he felt even warmer.
Estrella settled into the box with two outs and none on. The first pitch buzzed the tower, a fastball high and in, and Estrella hit the ground. He popped back up and glared at the pitcher while both benches came up to the rail and screamed at one another.
“What the hell’s that!” yelled Burton. “That’s bush league, Bennie!”
“Never seen a fastball up and in before!” Bennie yelled back. “Gimme a break!”
“I’ll give you a break! Bring it on!”
“You’re talkin big. Anytime you like, Burton!”
“Hey, enough!” shouted the home plate umpire. Goodfellow took off his mask to better make his point. “The next idiot to make a sound is gone! Hear me? Gone! Now shut-up and play ball!”