The Boy from Left Field

by Tom Henighan

  “What’s this gang you got after me?” He turned again and speeded up. He was capable of outrunning them, but had hesitated too long, Hawk and Martin wouldn’t let him pass, and the Southern boy reversed his direction suddenly, trying to evade them. He was cutting back across the street, heading for an empty lot, when a small streak of dog, a white muff in motion, caught him and began to nip at his feet.

  “Okay, Chew-Boy, don’t bite him! Come back, Chew-Boy!” Panny ran up and the dog leapt away. Elroy stood in his tracks, glaring at them. Martin came up and took hold of him.

  “We don’t want to hurt you, Elroy. I just wanted to thank you for yesterday.”

  Elroy shook himself free. “I don’t need no thanks. I didn’t want anyone to get hurt, that’s all.”

  They stood around him, trying hard to reassure him. Panny reached out, shook Elroy’s hand, and introduced herself and Chew-Boy.

  “Pretty wicked dog,” Elroy said. “Tore a hole in one of my socks.”

  “We’ll buy you new ones,” Panny assured him. “We just want to talk. Can we sit on one of those iron benches over there?” She pointed to some junk metal in a nearby lot.

  “Come over to my house,” Elroy said. “We can talk there, but you gotta be quick. My mom will come back from church and maybe some of them Rippers will stop by later.”

  Chapter 16

  Elroy in Trouble

  The group followed Elroy back to the old white house with the sagging porch. Inside, he led the way down a dark hallway, one that smelled of cigarettes, hot spices, and burnt coffee. Then into an apartment, dingy, but clean-looking, with some modern furniture and a good-sized television. There was a small, beat-up piano pushed against the far wall, with some music sheets set up on it.

  “You play?” Panny asked, pointing to the instrument.

  “My mom’s teaching me,” Elroy said. “I’m catching on a little.”

  He led them into a small bedroom. Baseball posters covered one wall — Jeter, A-Rod, Jackie Robinson, and a team shot of the Tampa Bay Rays. There was a map of the world on another wall, a full bookcase, and a table with a laptop, a cellphone, MP3 player, and other assorted electronics.

  Hawk glanced at the rumpled bed and shivered. His baseball glove — it must be his! — lay there beside a bat with a chipped, nearly split handle.

  Elroy caught his look, frowned, then walked to the bed and retrieved the glove. He turned it over in his hands, then passed it directly to Hawk. “Here, you take this. I know it’s yours. I didn’t steal it, but it has caused me nothin’ but trouble. I don’t need it. I got another one of my own.”

  Hawk was speechless, and Panny gave him a big smile. To Elroy, she said, “That’s a smart thing to do. But you can be even smarter and get yourself out of big trouble. Just tell us what you know about the Rippers.”

  Elroy shook his head and cast her a doubtful look. “You guys? What can you do? You can’t take on them Rippers. You just better grab that glove and get outta here.”

  But Panny would have none of it. “We didn’t come for the glove, Elroy. We’re here to help you. You’ve got to split with that gang. You’ve got to help us get the police on them.”

  Elroy said nothing. He sat down on the bed and put his head in his hands. “I can’t split with them. That Ringo creeps me out.” He went on in a low voice, not looking at them. “He’s a killer, that Ringo, or near so. Now they got me to meet that Mr. Big, some Chinese guy who runs some of the worst gangs. Martin saw that. Martin tried to help me. But I can’t cross those guys anymore. If I do, I’m done and cooked for sure. I’m a dead boy if I don’t play along.”

  Panny looked around the room at the other kids. She was silent a moment, then she said, “Elroy isn’t exaggerating. We know that, don’t we?” She went and sat down on the bed beside him and spoke to him in a very quiet voice. “We can help you, Elroy. We just need some information. We need to know more about what the gang’s told you, and about Mr. Big. Nobody will know what you passed on to us. They won’t even know we met. Just think, it’s your only way of getting free of this gang. When the police catch them they’ll be way too busy trying to stay out of jail to think of you. You can go on and play baseball, just like you want to. You’ll be out of this nightmare.”

  Elroy pulled his hands away from his face. He sat up straight and looked at Panny, who had picked up Chew-Boy and was holding the dog in her lap.

  “Okay, I’ll tell you what happened. Baseball is my thing, and when my mom and me came up from Jacksonville, we had hardly no money at all. So I couldn’t buy equipment or nothin’. My mom has a job now, and she wants me to be a piano man or a preacher, but all I want to do is to play ball. So I had to get some money somehow. One day I met Ringo and some guys and they told me it was easy to get money if I wanted it, so I hung around with them for a while.

  “Sure enough, they had plenty of money, and one day Ringo handed me that first baseman’s glove and said, ‘You can get this and lots more, if you want to work with us.’ So I asked them what I had to do, and they said, ‘Just be a watchman for us, and do some small jobs and soon the money will get better.’ The watchman stuff was to watch their getaway bikes while they stole things, and the other job was mostly to lift things they needed from stores. They paid me some money for that and gave me things … like your glove, Hawk.”

  “That’s very sad,” Panny said. “You let them turn you into a thief and an accomplice. But if you help us, you can get out of it. The police will appreciate anything you tell us.”

  “I don’t want to go to jail. I just want to play baseball.”

  “Mr. Rizzuto will help you get on a good team,” Hawk said. “You’re a terrific player.”

  Elroy thought for a moment, and then said, “I don’t know much about the Rippers. They told me that if I helped them I would get cut in on a big job they had planned. There’s something happening on Monday night — tomorrow. I’m supposed to break into this warehouse with them. It ain’t far from here. I can show you. They told me just where we’d look in this warehouse and what we we’d find.

  “They said it was something called the O’Boyle container. Some judge — O’Boyle, I guess — passed away and left something valuable in there. Or maybe O’Boyle is the guy who’s paying them to get the valuables for him. I dunno. But I have to help bring it out for them. It’s a test for me, I guess, so I can be a gang member … a real one.”

  Hawk looked at Panny, then at Martin. “If it’s so valuable, I’m surprised they don’t get it themselves. Why get Elroy to do it?” he asked.

  Panny shrugged her shoulders. “Mr. Big maybe has a few rivals, so he passes the job to the Rippers and keeps his hands clean,” she said. “Then the Rippers put the burden on Elroy. If he gets caught, he gets all the blame. A kid from down south is a good victim to set up. He has no friends and no support. They might even be planning to pin the whole thing on him, once they get what they want. I wonder what’s in this O’Boyle container that’s so valuable.”

  “Probably some jewellery or furs, or something like that,” Albert said.

  “But you’re not doing this job alone, right, Elroy?”

  “No, I’m meeting Ringo and a couple of guys. They’re gonna show me the ropes, they said.”

  “Perfect!” Panny said. “Then we can set a trap. We have to be careful, though. These guys are dangerous. We’d better start planning now. Elroy, let’s go over the location and the layout of the warehouse and get the time right so we can figure out how to deal with them. Albert, we’ll get your cousin and the rest of the police in on this. We won’t take too many chances, but we don’t want to be sent home before the fun starts, do we? We want to catch these guys, and get Elroy in the clear. Well, it looks like we can take care of the school gang on Monday morning and finish off the street gang on the very same evening! Nice way to start the week — right, boys? This is turning into quite an adventure!”

  Chapter 17

  O’Boyle’s Treasure

  W
hen he got home, Hawk was so excited he could hardly sit still. Luckily, his father put his behaviour down to the confrontation coming up with the Ferrets.

  “You told your friends about that Charles’s bullying, like I said?” Jim asked.

  “Yeah, they were shocked. They didn’t know anything about it.”

  “Well, don’t you worry about a thing, son. I’ve got an appointment with Ms. Calloway before class even starts tomorrow. We’re going to knock this Charles for a loop. Tonight, you have to finish the outline for your history talk. Ms. Calloway wants to see it before you deliver it, right? She’s expecting it tomorrow, you told me.”

  “Don’t worry, Dad, I’m nearly finished.”

  “Okay. And you just leave this Charles business to me.”

  Hawk got out the laptop he’d been using at his dad’s and went over his talk. It seemed fine to him, even though he had to leave a lot out. He printed it and put it in his schoolbag to take in the morning.

  Sleep didn’t come easy that night, especially when his father came into his bedroom and told him he’d forgotten to pass on a message. Mr. Rizzuto had apparently telephoned earlier. He was going to pick up Hawk after school. “Something very important,” he’d told Jim.

  “You have a pretty busy life these days,” his father said. Hawk thought guiltily that Jim didn’t know the half of it.

  He woke up bleary-eyed the next morning. His father, who had put on a jacket and a fresh white T-shirt, said he had to drop in at the Native Centre office for a few minutes. He’d be at the school, though, before Ms. Calloway got started.

  “She’s probably in for a shock,” his father suggested.

  “Not as big a shock as Charles, I hope.”

  When Hawk left for school a short time later he was both excited and a bit scared by his prospects — The Ferrets and Mr. Rizzuto, not to mention the Rippers hovering in the background. Hawk’s heart beat fast as he walked, quickly leaving The Pocket and its bustling everyday life behind. When he saw his solid old red-brick school rising up among the trees at the end of the street, it seemed to him for the first time a real place of adventure. This might be the biggest day of his life, he realized. He hurried his pace and glanced up and down the street, looking for but not spotting his father’s car.

  When he arrived in the classroom everything seemed normal. Albert was busy doing something at his desk. Panny came over and asked if he’d finished his outline and he told her he had. Then Charles appeared, a confident smirk on his face. He slipped past Hawk’s desk, whispering as he passed, “Morning, Princess. You’d better have that dollar ready by the first recess.”

  Ms. Calloway appeared at the door and the bell rang. The class settled down and Ms. Calloway asked if Hawk had the outline of his personal contribution ready.

  He murmured a quite yes, and carried the paper up to her. She thanked him and placed it in her inbox. She hardly looked at him and Hawk wondered what was going on.

  Minutes later, however, instead of the usual session of private “teacher talk,” Ms. Calloway made an unexpected announcement.

  “Pay attention, class! I have to go to the principal’s office for a short while. Mr. Jackson is going to step in for me. Just do your work and pay attention to what he says. I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

  Hawk waited with baited breath, and then she said it: “Oh, Charles, would you mind coming with me, please.”

  At first the boy didn’t move, and just sat there looking puzzled. But after a few seconds he slowly got up and followed Ms. Calloway out of the classroom. Panny leaned over and whispered to Hawk, “Now the fat’s in the fire!”

  Mr. Jackson, a burly young teacher from down the hall, entered, smiling, and waved for the kids to be silent.

  Ms. Calloway came back after the first recess, thanked Mr. Jackson for stepping in, and then called Hawk up to her desk. “I’d like to talk to you privately at recess,” she told him. “I’d like you to tell me about all your conversations with Charles Wainright. Just tell me what he said to you and describe the contents of all of his messages. Don’t mention this to anyone else in the class right now, please.”

  At the break, Hawk told her everything he could remember. She asked a few questions. After that, the day went on as usual. Charles didn’t come back to class. Hawk didn’t see his father. As he was leaving school, Panny approached him and said, “I wonder if Charles will be expelled.”

  “I hope so,” Hawk said. “Otherwise I might get in big trouble.”

  “Not a chance of that,” Panny said. “But look over there — isn’t that your friend Mr. Rizzuto in the big car, waving at you as if his arm will fall right off?”

  Hawk sprinted down the sidewalk and jumped into Mr. Rizzuto’s car.

  “Have I got news for you!” his friend said excitedly.

  ‘What is it? What’s happened?” All thoughts of Charles vanished from Hawk’s mind.

  “Let’s go back to the shop and I’ll tell you there.”

  They drove on in silence, although Hawk was bursting to ask questions. Only when they’d settled down in the back of the shop and Hawk was sipping a tall lemonade did Mr. Rizzuto go into action.

  With a pleased smile and a few knowing nods of his head, he lifted a large manila envelope from a nearby shelf and spread out a bundle of papers, photographs, and computer scans on the big table in front of Hawk.

  “It’s about Babe Ruth’s baseball,” he said. “I think we’ve got a breakthrough. I think it’s maybe a home run with the bases loaded in the last of the ninth.”

  Hawk said nothing, but nearly choked on his lemonade.

  “Take it easy, kiddo.” Mr. Rizzuto smiled. “This is no time for us to have to call 911. In fact, I’m going to give you 911 right there in your chair. You see, I heard from Mr. Wingate, and it’s dynamite news.”

  “Did he find Babe Ruth’s baseball?” Hawk stammered out.

  “Not quite, but, listen, here’s the story. Once upon a time — it was during the First World War, as I told you already — there was a baseball field out there at Hanlan’s Point on Toronto Island. And yes, on a fine June morning in 1914 a young player named Babe Ruth did hit his first home run there. Oh, it must have been quite a scene — an amusement park, families having picnics, and the baseball game going on right beside them next to the lake. And, as Mr. Wingate has figured out, a good number of home runs hit back then went right into the lake. He also figured out that there were always kids swimming around out there, eager to grab anything that floated. But there was also someone else …”

  He paused and Hawk bent closer to catch every word.

  “That’s right!” Mr. Rizzuto continued. “There was an enterprising harbour rat, an Irishman with a little motor boat, a fellow named Danny O’Boyle who hung out around there. He was called ‘Skimmer O’Boyle,’ in fact, because he cruised around the lake picking up anything he thought was of value. He also paid kids, swimmers, divers, anyone, to find things for him. There was actually an article about this in the Toronto Star newspaper — it had a different name then — and Mr. Wingate found it.

  “Anything O’Boyle could dredge up, he did, and I suspect he wasn’t above helping some of the stuff get lost, if you see what I mean. Anyway, as the story goes, old Skimmer was on the lake almost every day. He had a great collection and was always hoarding things “for his old age,” as he told the newspaper. But you know how it happens, and one day he drowned trying to salvage some cases of whiskey. That was not long after the Babe’s home run in 1914.

  “Skimmer’s whole collection went to his wife, and later to his son and grandson. His son ignored his dad’s treasures, but his grandson was pretty proud of old Skimmer — nice to have a colourful character in your family, so long as you don’t have to live with them! And his grandson was quite the man — he became a judge and got very rich. Turned most of his estate over to the church, but his sister, who was a nun, got a houseful of mementos and family treasures, most of which she put in a warehouse somewhere
in Toronto.”

  Hawk felt his pulse beat a little faster. A warehouse somewhere in Toronto!

  “Mr. Wingate even managed to get a partial list of the O’Boyle effects,” Mr. Rizzuto continued. The tally includes, it says, ‘miscellaneous sporting goods, including items connected with football, hockey, soccer, and baseball.’ Rumours have spread over the years — mostly since the judge’s death — that there might be some valuable things in the O’Boyle collection. It seems that old Skimmer was relentless. He went out almost every day, and even mentioned picking up baseballs from the lake in the newspaper article they did on him at the time. No question that he was active in 1914, and salvaging any souvenirs he could get. And the islands were his favourite haunt, and sports gear one of his favourite trophies.

  “Babe Ruth’s baseball!” Hawk almost shouted. Then, in a calmer voice, he added, “But wouldn’t the judge have known the value of the baseball?”

  “The judge never got around to having the warehouse stuff properly evaluated. It was sorted out, but experts haven’t seen it. He was thinking more of the family connection, and he probably assumed he had a stash of junk — old toys, sporting goods, beach umbrellas, bits of boating gear, with a couple of valuable items maybe shoved away in the boxes somewhere. And think about it. If one of those harbour kids picked up the baseball in the lake, or the Skimmer himself retrieved it, why should they make a fuss? The Babe only became famous later on.”

  “I’m thinking about that warehouse in Toronto,” Hawk said. He thought of what he and his friends would be doing this very night, and shivered. Could there be a connection? There had to be! Elroy had mentioned the O’Boyle container. That’s what the Rippers were after!

  “I’ve been thinking about it, too,” Mr. Rizzuto said. His face wore a serious expression. “You see, Mr. Wingate gave me this information early last Friday when I met him for brunch. And he also told me something a bit scary. Those other people he mentioned that were interested in the O’Boyle treasure — you remember, I told you about them before? He wouldn’t tell me who they were when I first consulted him, but this time he told me something that worries me a bit.”