Double Play

by Nikki Duvall

  Gus pulled Ty into his lap and watched as she read the letter.

  Dear Halee,

  You were right when you said I might forget how to tell the truth. Seems I lied to more people than I care to remember. Worst of all, I lied to you.

  I’ve been nursing my shoulder along to finish the season. The future don’t look good. The trainers can’t say whether I’ll be able to come back at all in the spring.

  I have so much to tell you. I’m fixing to buy the ranch where I grew up. Not sure what I’ll do with it yet, but Faye will have a place to grow old without worrying about much.

  I don’t know where I’ll be in a year or whether I’ll have the money to keep the place going, but I intend to call it my home. I’d be honored if you and Ty would join me there. Can’t guarantee we’ll have much, but we’ll have each other.

  For now, I’m back in New York. We got ourselves a spot in the World Series and I aim to help the Feds win the pennant. Come watch me if you can.

  I love you, Halee, and I’m sorry for every time I hurt you. Please forgive me.

  J.D.

  Halee wiped a tear from her cheek and set the letter aside.

  “Good news?” asked Gus.

  “He loves me,” said Halee, as if she couldn’t quite believe it.

  “That’s what he told me.”

  “You spoke to him?”

  “He’s been at your bedside for three days straight,” said Gus. “We had plenty of time to talk.”

  “What did he say?”

  “We talked baseball mostly. He told me about his family and I told him about ours.” Gus studied her for a moment. “Well?”

  “Well what?”

  “Are you going to say yes?”

  “I want to, Uncle Gus. I want to more than anything.”

  “What’s stopping you?”

  Halee tried to sit up, but fell back against her pillows. “We’re…we’re so different…”

  “How so? Besides the usual man-woman thing.”

  “He comes from this tiny town out in the middle of nowhere.”

  “Yeh?”

  Halee smiled. “I think there are two traffic lights in the whole county.”

  “Doesn’t sound like something to come between you.”

  “It’s just that I don’t think we have that much in common.”

  “Well you got this young fella.” Gus bounced Ty on his knee. “That’s a pretty good start. Beyond that, well, seems to me folks who have too much in common just get bitter together. Married people who see things differently improve each other. We all need improving.”

  “I guess you’re right…”

  “I need you to get strong quick, Honey. You need to disappear until this whole custody thing blows over.”

  “Do you think we’re in danger?”

  “Bobby said J.D. offered Ty’s mother half a million dollars for him.”

  “What?”

  “I figure Ty’s mother won’t likely want to pass on that offer. She’ll be fighting hard to keep Ty so she can blackmail J.D. for the money. The faster you and Ty disappear, the better.”

  “She can’t have him back, Uncle Gus. I’ll do anything to protect him from that.”

  “So will your young ballplayer. Luckily a bullet just grazed his leg. He could have lost his whole career if it had been one inch closer. He’s got temporary custody papers drawn up. Wants you back in New York as soon as you can travel. Until then Bobby’s going to stay downstairs with a couple of off duty cops. J.D. has a lot of friends on the force. They’ve been here round the clock.”

  Halee stretched out her hand. “I don’t want you in any danger, Uncle Gus.”

  “Don’t worry about me. I can take care of myself. Soon as you’re ready, I’m driving you to New York myself and hand delivering the both of you to J.D. Federals security will take it from there till the adoption is final.”

  “Why do I feel like I’m in a war?”

  “Because you are.” Gus tickled Ty’s belly. “This little guy would have spent his whole life in a war if you hadn’t rescued him. A short life at that.”

  “There’s a million more like him left behind,” said Halee softly.

  “Some of them will get out, some of them won’t. What you do makes a difference, Halee. I’m proud of you. If you can’t read, you can’t do much of anything. Go see your Mama,” he said, plopping Ty on the bed.

  Ty squealed with delight and rolled into Halee’s arms.

  ***

  J.D. clutched his shoulder and stretched his arm as far to the ceiling as it would bend. The pain that had plagued him for months had subsided into a chronic ache that told him even though his tear might have healed, his injury was still very real. The Federals trainers had readily embraced the challenge of keeping him functional for the remaining weeks of this season and protecting their investment for the next. Now J.D.’s waking hours were consumed with ice and heat, physical therapy and rest. It was probably a good thing that Halee was still in Chicago. He had plans for his free time with her that left little time for rest.

  The bullet graze to his right calf was healing nicely. Just a flesh wound, no damage to the bone or deep muscle tissue beneath. He cringed every time he thought about the alternative. A bullet to the bone might have disabled him for life, rendering his career as a ballplayer defunct and the new contract with Victoria Pryor broken before it even began. One more inch and it could have all been different. He looked up as Doc Smothers walked into the room.

  “Down to the last few weeks, eh, J.D.?” Doc took a seat in front of the examining bench and folded his hands. “Let’s see what we got. Stretch your arm out to the side as far as it’ll go.”

  J.D. stretched and grimaced. “Hope we take the pennant. All this pain’s gotta be worth something.”

  “You play the way you did the other night, and the Feds will have a real shot. How does that feel?”

  “Different. More of an ache than a sharp pain.”

  “That means it’s healing. Your time off gave you a leg up. Your job now is to make sure the tear doesn’t get any bigger. Continue to do your exercises and strengthen the muscles around the joint. That’ll take the stress off the injury. Are they going to start you tonight?”

  “That’s the plan.”

  “I’ll talk to Delaney. If they’re counting on you for a big play they need to dole you out in small doses.”

  “I don’t think he’ll bench me.”

  “What makes you say that?”

  J.D. considered confiding in Doc Smothers, then thought better of the matter. “Just a hunch, is all.” He put his shirt back on. “I appreciate you coming out to New York with me.”

  “Glad to do it. The Federals made it hard to say no. Can’t make that kind of money in the minors.”

  “How’s Mrs. Smothers liking New York?”

  “Oh, it’s an adventure. She’ll tire of it eventually, being away from her social group, but for now she’s liking it fine.”

  “Well, I hope it’s not too much trouble.”

  “Hear you had some trouble of your own,” said Doc. “Sorry to hear it. Losing a child is devastating.”

  J.D. nodded. “Can I ask you something, Doc?”

  “Fire away.”

  “How soon after a woman loses a baby can you try again?”

  Doc smiled. “Physically, a couple of weeks, unless there are other complications. Women are delicate creatures, though, J.D. It may take a long time before she’s ready to give up the memory of one child in favor of the next.” He patted J.D. on his good shoulder and gave it a firm squeeze. “Let her tell you when she’s ready.”

  ***

  J.D. walked up the ramp from the locker room into the Federals dugout and jockeyed his way toward the center, the best view in the house. There was a chill to the October air that reminded him of the waning season and the significance of this game. Starting tonight, the Feds had as few as four and as many as seven games left toward their quest for the pennant. Rod
riguez, their star southpaw, was just about out of steam after breaking the all-time record for no-hitters. Diaz, their second string shortstop, had managed to break an ankle when a bad pitch nailed him square on the bone. The starting first baseman had a taste for alcohol that kept the coaches guessing and Franklin, the catcher, was a nervous wreck, with his wife ready to go into labor any minute with twins. From the outside, the Federals organization looked like a well-oiled machine, ripe for pennant victory. But J.D. knew that just one stress in a weak spot would send them into the off season short of the World Series crown and end his career for good.

  He parked himself on the bench and slid a fresh ice pack under his jersey. Callahan took a seat beside him. “Favier is drunk as a skunk,” he mumbled. “Coach is eyeballing me for first.”

  “Tough break.”

  “Some of these boys just can’t take the limelight. They smell all that pussy and lose their marbles,” Callahan said, knocking his fist against his cap. “It’s a damn shame.” He leaned back and surveyed the field. “I’ll tell you what. I’ll take centerfield, you take first.”

  J.D. shook his head. “Too much action. My shoulder’s shot.”

  “Christ, who ain’t hurt? End of season we’re all a bunch of wounded warriors.”

  “I can’t take no chances,” said J.D. “I got everything riding on this season.”

  “Shaw!”

  J.D. looked up at the batting coach.

  “You’re third order batter.”

  “Who am I filling in for?”

  “Nobody. You’re starting at center. Callahan, you’re at first.”

  Callahan sighed. “See what I’m saying? Callahan takes the fall.”

  J.D. slipped the ice pad from his shoulder and stood. “Coach, my trainer says he talked to you about my shoulder.”

  “You’re at center, Shaw. Go warm up.”

  “Listen, Coach…”

  “The order came down from the front office, Shaw. You’re starting. Now get your ass on the field.”

  J.D. stared at the coach, speechless. So Victoria Pryor was sticking to her guns, after all. Tony had warned him the first time he met her. No one handles Victoria Pryor, he’d said. Her evil is practiced. J.D. was just beginning to find out how much.

  He slid on a Federals cap, grabbed his glove, and headed for the outfield. The stands were filling up quickly, with only a few patches of red shining through a sea of gold and black jerseys. As usual, the Federal fans had bought up most of the tickets, leaving the Hawks fans little opportunity. Unfortunately, the Hawks had secured the first couple rows in the bleachers, close enough to make their opinions heard loud and clear in center field. It was going to be a long night.

  J.D. looked up toward the Federals owner’s box and spotted Victoria Pryor and Tony King sipping cocktails. Victoria waved. He nodded. Message received loud and clear.

  Franklin hit a long ball to center field. J.D. caught it easily, then tossed it weakly to left field and waited for the next practice ball.

  “Pussy!” A wave of laughter emanated from the bleachers. “My sister throws better than that.”

  J.D. caught another ball and rolled it toward Simone in right field.

  “Aw!” chirped a Hawks fan. “We got a million dollar baby out here!”

  Simone ran over. “You ok, man?”

  J.D. rolled his right shoulder, attempting to loosen it up. “I’m still iced up. Didn’t expect to start.”

  “We cannot lose today,” said Simone. “We have the home field advantage. Hawks fans are very tough. It won’t be easy winning in St. Louis.”

  J.D. glanced behind him. “Tell me about it.”

  “I cut you a deal. Fly ball comes between us, I call it.”

  “Thanks, Simone.”

  The announcer called for the National Anthem. J.D. lined up with the rest of the Federals and removed his hat as Billy Joel crooned out the nation’s favorite ballad. He took in a deep breath and stared up into the lights of Federal stadium, wondering how a kid from Kadele, Oklahoma had made it to the World Series. Faye would be watching on her small black and white television, probably recalling every frigid rainstorm and blistering afternoon she sat through when J.D. played little league. The game was sure to be on every big screen at Fat Jimmy’s, as well. No doubt the whole town was stuffed into the bar, downing pitchers of Fat Tire and chomping on hundreds of pounds of ribs, hoping their home town boy would make them proud. Billy hit the last high note and J.D. headed for the outfield, determined to do just that.

  The first inning started well. After two ground outs and an infield fly, the Feds were ready for at-bat. J.D. picked out a mid-weight Louisville Slugger and headed to the on-deck circle. His shoulder was back to room temperature and feeling surprisingly supple. Maybe he wasn’t swimming in deep water after all.

  Simone was first at bat. He took a swing too quickly on the first pitch and chocked up a strike. “Relax, Simone,” the batting coach called from the dugout.

  His second swing struck leather and Simone raced to second on a stand up double. The crowd went wild.

  Franklin approached the plate, crossing his chest in a dramatic plea to a higher power. He spit left and sunk down into an aggressive stance. The Hawks pitcher threw a fastball by him. Franklin tapped his cleats with the bat and looked toward the third coach base for guidance. The second pitch was low and outside but Franklin took the bait. “Strike two!” shouted the ump. The Federals fans grew impatient.

  Franklin hit the third pitch toward first, an easy out for the Hawks. Simone, with a good lead-off, advanced to third.

  J.D. sucked in a deep breath and approached the plate. All bets were against him, he knew. The guy on the mound was Raphael Tecura, the best of the best. The fact that J.D. was in the starting lineup was nothing short of a miracle. The fact that the coaches had placed him at the top of the batting order was an act of God.

  He slouched down, narrowed his eyes, and waited for the first pitch. “Ball!” shouted the umpire.

  J.D. stepped back and regrouped. He looked toward third base and read the coach’s sign to swing. “Maybe,” he mumbled.

  He stepped inside the batter’s box and took his position. The pitch came in fast and low. “Strike!” called the umpire.

  “Swing your bat!” shouted a coach from the dugout.

  “Maybe,” J.D. mumbled.

  The third pitch was another ball. J.D. was getting comfortable, feeling confident. Tecura squinted toward him and delivered the pitch he was waiting for. Crack! J.D.’s bat hit the ball square and low, lifting it toward center field. The Hawks centerfielder raced back toward the warning track, reached into the sky, and caught it right before it the skimmed the top of the wall.

  J.D. turned first base and watched Simone slide across home plate. A cheer erupted from the dugout. J.D. grinned ear to ear. All the jitters were gone. His shoulder felt warm and comfortable. Just below the surface, he knew every game could be his last. Right now, if this was the way it ended, he knew he’d survive.

  Eight more innings and much of the same. The Hawks were kind, lopping balls left and right of him, but never forcing a big play. When the ump called the game, he strode into the locker room confident of his place on the team.

  “Great game!” said Franklin, slapping his back.

  “Yeah, maybe we’ll keep your rookie ass after all,” said Callahan.

  J.D. turned toward the showers and stopped dead in his tracks. Demarcus Robinson stood in front of his locker, his head cocked to one side, wearing a gangsta beret and a sneer. He was dressed in black leather and lots of silver chains. He looked pale and a bit thinner, but showed no signs of breaking.

  J.D. took a quick glance around the locker room, searching for security and coming up short.

  “Superstar Shaw.” Demarcus looked him up and down with obvious contempt. “Long game. Made me impatient.” He shifted. “I don’t like feeling impatient.”

  “I thought I shot you,” said J.D., moving toward his locke
r.

  Demarcus stepped in front of him. He smelled like reefer and cheap laundry detergent.

  “Here I is.”

  “Guess I need to practice my aim.”

  “You owe me a half mil.”

  “I owe you an ass beating.”

  “Bring it on,” said Demarcus, standing taller. “I got men. Lots of men.” He cackled like a crazy hyena. “You wanna sleep at night, you pay up, you hear what I’m saying?”

  “Don’t hear a word.” J.D. continued toward his locker, undaunted, forcing Demarcus aside. He brushed up against hard steel. A deep rage rose to the surface, one he couldn’t control. “You dare bring a gun into this house?” he demanded, inches from his assailant’s face. “You dare threaten me?”

  A general hum built across the locker room and a crowd of Federals formed nearby. “Everything ok, J.D?” asked Simone.

  J.D. rammed Demarcus up against his locker with his bad shoulder. A blast of pain ripped through his muscles from his neck to his hip. “You stay away from me, you hear me?” he said through clenched teeth. “You stay away from my family!”

  Demarcus fumbled for his piece. J.D. grabbed his arm and twisted it up and behind, causing Demarcus to cry out. He could feel the strength in his right shoulder give way. “Somebody call security!” he shouted.

  A rush of bodies descended upon Demarcus. Callahan reached inside Demarcus’ jacket and lifted the pistol high above the crowd. “I got the gun. Check him for knives!”

  “We got him,” cried two security guards from behind.

  J.D. doubled over and leaned against a nearby locker. The pain in his shoulder had returned with a vengeance.

  “You ok, J.D.?” asked Callahan.

  “No,” said J.D. through gritted teeth. “Call Doc Smothers.”

  ~TWENTY- ONE~

  The drive from Chicago to New York had reached its eighteenth hour and Ty had been awake fifteen of them. Dozing off for no more than one hour at a time, he would wake in fits, announcing his displeasure at ten decibels. Uncle Gus was coping with airplane regulation ear plugs. Halee’s nerves were frayed. Despite the fact that Gus kept his truck immaculate, right now it smelled like sour milk, McDonald’s wrappers and soiled diapers.