by Nikki Duvall
By the time they reached the ambulance, they’d laid J.D. on a backboard and were sliding him into the back of the truck. She arrived just as the doors were closing.
“Fiancé,” Tony explained, helping her climb into the back.
The attendant glanced over her with an expression of doubt. “Stay out of the way,” he said with an air of annoyance. “Sit over there and use your seatbelt.”
Halee narrowed her eyes. “Is there anyone friendly in this town?” she hissed. She knelt down next to J.D., ignoring the attendant’s instructions. A puffy mass of red and blue replaced his left eye. A line of puncture wounds from the shortstop’s cleats patterned his forehead. A neck brace covered his throat. His chest was bare and she watched the regular rise and fall of his breaths, mimicking them herself as if to coach him along. Despite the obvious trauma to his head, his expression remained calm as if he were simply sleeping.
“J.D.,” she whispered, bringing his hand to her lips. “I’m here, Baby.”
“Ma’am, we can’t leave until you’re buckled in. He needs to get to the hospital.”
Halee sat back and snapped her seatbelt into place. The ambulance moved forward carefully toward paved road, pulled out of the stadium, and sounded its sirens through the back streets of St. Louis. Halee continued to hold J.D.’s hand while the attendant attached a cardiac monitor to his chest.
“Why isn’t he awake?” she asked, trying to mask the panic in her voice.
The attendant ignored her for a moment, finishing his procedures. He made a mark on a chart next to J.D.’s head and looked up. “The body’s instinct is to protect the brain,” he said. “If the brain experiences trauma, it lowers activity, gives it a rest so it can heal better. It’s not a bad sign,” said the attendant in a softer tone. He considered her for a moment. “It’s better than it looks.”
Halee nodded, continuing to stare at J.D.
“You okay?” asked the attendant.
“Yes…yes, of course.”
“Don’t let the blood fool you. The face always bleeds a lot. It also heals quickly- that’s the good news. He should be good to go in a day or two.”
“Good to go?”
“On his feet. Unless there’s internal damage. Then it’s anybody’s guess.”
Halee frowned, pushing back a strong sense of dread. “He’s tough,” she insisted, as if saying the words would make it so. “Nothing can beat him.”
The attendant nodded and looked away. They rode the rest of the way in silence, the attendant focused on J.D.’s vital signs, Halee watching for the moment when J.D. would open his good eye. A part of her knew he would experience pain if he were conscious. She just needed one moment to gaze into his warm brown eyes and convince herself that the sun would rise again tomorrow.
The ambulance pulled under the overhang of the emergency room entrance several minutes later. The back doors of the ambulance flew open and someone pulled Halee out of the back and pushed her gently aside. Several workers in scrubs hovered around the gurney, asking for any details the attendant could provide. In another minute J.D. was whisked into the E.R., past a line of grim faces. Halee made a bee line for Gus and fell into his arms.
“Aw, Honey, it’ll all work out alright,” said Uncle Gus, holding her close.
Ty let out a shrill scream and lunged toward Halee. She turned to catch him just in time.
“He knows who Mama is, that’s for sure,” said Rita. “How’s J.D. doing?”
“The attendant said it’s not as bad as it looks,” said Halee. “I guess we’ll know pretty soon.”
“Did you talk to him?”
Halee shook her head. “He was sleeping,” she said, avoiding Rita’s eyes. She looked past Rita’s shoulder with a worried expression. “What’s Bobby doing?”
Rita turned, following Halee’s gaze. Bobby stood on the edge of the parking lot, engaged in heated conversation with two kids who looked like characters from a Spike Lee movie. He had his fists in his hoodie pocket, and so did they. Halee wondered what they were holding on to.
“Maybe we should…”
“I’m on it.” Rita disappeared into the E.R. in search of security. Halee moved a little closer, despite her better judgment, hoping to pick up a word or two. She heard Ty’s name and watched in horror as one of the juveniles pointed toward her son. Her blood ran cold.
The other juvenile turned toward her with an icy stare. Even from this distance, she could read the drug induced haze to his expression, the emptiness behind his eyes. She pulled Ty closer and backed up one step at a time until she could feel the warmth of her family behind her. “I need to get inside,” she murmured to Gus, leaving her eyes focused on the juvenile’s threatening stare. “Take my phone from the outside flap on my purse,” she instructed. “Go inside and call 911.”
“What are you talking about? Is something wrong?”
“Please, Uncle Gus. Just do as I say.”
Gus followed her gaze. Without another word he strode past her and over to Bobby. “You fellas got a problem?” he demanded.
“Uncle Gus!” cried Halee. “Don’t!”
In an instant, the cagy kid pulled a switchblade from his pocket and took a swipe toward Gus’ large frame. Halee screamed. Gus nimbly ducked out of harm’s way. Bobby lunged toward the other kid before he could pull out his weapon and forced him to the ground.
“Now that’s where you miscalculated, young fella,” said Gus, a cocky smile forming on his lips. He circled his assailant, one careful step at a time. “Once a Marine, always a Marine. I may be old, but I’ve still got some fight left in me, just waiting for a punk like you.” He curled down in an attack position and stared at the kid with all the intensity of a soldier in battle. “What about you? You know how to fight? Or does that knife do all the work for you?”
The kid glanced sideways at his friend on the ground and began to back up. His face still held no emotion, as if the drugs had wiped his brain free from any instinct about what to do next. He began to dance in his oversized basketball shoes and slashed the air like Zorro. He lifted his chin in defiance. “Still can’t catch me, old man,” he taunted.
Then, as if he’d just been bitten, he leaped into the air with a warrior cry and darted toward the opposite end of the parking lot. Bobby reached out and grabbed his baggy pant leg just in time. Gus lunged out from behind and pinned him to the pavement. The switchblade slid across the slippery surface and under a car.
Rita came rushing out just as two cop cars pulled into the parking lot.
“Where are the security guards?” asked Halee, breathless.
“On break,” said Rita. “What’s going on?”
“I don’t know. But they knew who Ty was and they knew who I was.”
“Looks like Demarcus left instructions behind.”
“In St. Louis?”
“Guess the drive from Chicago is worth it if you collect half a million bucks.”
Halee began to cry. “When is this nightmare going to end?”
“I don’t know, but you’d better keep Ty close by. Bobby and I are going to camp in your hotel room tonight.”
Halee glanced back toward the E.R. “The hospital will be safer. Ty and I are staying with J.D. tonight.”
“I’ll call Frank,” said Rita. “We need to settle this once and for all.”
~TWENTY NINE~
Tony King stood in the corner of J.D.’s hospital room and stared at ESPN’s recap of the night’s game in horror. “They choked,” he said, as if he knew it all along. “The minute you left the field, the Hawks grabbed their balls and twisted.” He glanced over at J.D., sitting up halfway with an ice pack over his left eye. “Are you awake?”
J.D. groaned affirmative.
“Victoria’s going to have your head.”
“Shame on me for sticking that shoe in my eye,” J.D. said one syllable at a time.
“The Series is shot.”
“Says who? We got two more chances and they’re both in New Y
ork. We got the advantage.”
“There’s nobody left!” Tony rubbed his balding head and paced the floor. “Victoria’s been systematically selling off every second string player worth a grain of salt. The bench is empty.”
“Simmer down, King. I got another day to get ready. The swelling will be down by then.”
“What are you, suicidal? Your left eye is lucky to be intact and your concussion is a five on a scale of ten with ten being death.”
“Not so loud,” whispered J.D. with the best grin he could muster. “My head is killing me.”
King dropped into a chair at a comfortable distance from J.D.’s bed. “We need to talk business,” he said.
“Talk.”
Tony shifted and stared at his shoes. “Are you going to try and make a comeback next season or throw in the towel?”
‘Who’s askin’?”
“Your agent.”
“You thinkin’ about droppin me?”
“I need to hedge my bets. I can’t put all my efforts into one player who can’t even get a contract. My attention is better focused on rising talent.”
“So Pryor’s gonna cut me lose, eh?”
Tony nodded.
“Well, I’ll be damned if I win her a Series for nothin’.”
“What do you mean?”
“We got an all or nothin’ bet. I don’t show up by game time in New York and I don’t get paid. Which means you don’t get paid.”
“Oh, I get paid,” said Tony, rising from his chair. “We have an agreement.”
“Can’t get blood from a turnip, King,” said J.D.
“You will pay me,” Tony bellowed. “Come hell or high water.”
“I pick high water,” said J.D. in a calm voice. “I’ll see you in New York.”
Tony snorted. “You don’t really think they’ll let you play.”
“Even broke I play better than Talmey. You got pull with Victoria. Talk to her.”
“She won’t take on that liability.”
“She will if you’re the one askin’.”
“What are you implying?”
“I ain’t implyin’ nothin’, I’m statin’ facts.”
“You could get fired for making accusations like that.”
“Sounds like I already am fired. I might as well call in a favor.”
“No.”
“No, you ain’t sleepin’ with Victoria, or no, you won’t ask her to play me?”
“You just crossed the line, Shaw.”
“I reckon it’s my turn.”
Tony stood and headed for the door.
“Why don’t I make it easy on ya?” J.D. called after him. “Why don’t we just call it quits right now?”
Tony turned back. “Let’s see where the contracts land, then I’ll decide.”
“Now that’s where you got it all wrong, King,” he said with a chuckle. “In fact, you always did get that part wrong. You work for me. I’m your bread and butter. Looks like you’ll have to butter that bread somewhere else from now on.”
“You can’t…”
“I can and I do. You’re fired.”
Tony hesitated by the door, conjuring up a reply. “I expect payment in full within thirty days,” he said without looking back. “I don’t care what your contract says.” He turned the corner into the hall and disappeared.
J.D. focused on his cell phone with one eye and tapped the top number in the list of recent calls. “Mr. Harrington?” he began. “This is Jonathan Dillon Shaw. I believe I just became a free agent. I’m willing to entertain offers.”
***
Tell J.D. to come clean or baby Ty goes back to Mama.
Halee stared at the text message and felt her stomach tie up in knots.
“What’s wrong?” asked Frank.
“Nothing. Listen, Frank, I really appreciate you driving down here. I’m sorry you had to leave the kids behind for this.”
“No reason to be sorry. Grandma is spoiling them rotten every minute I’m away.” He leaned in a little. “Are you sure you’re okay?”
Halee bit her lip. “Can I ask you a question?”
“That’s why I drove five hours, so you could ask me questions.”
“If J.D. failed to report an injury when he signed on with the Federals, is that fraud?”
Frank knitted his brows and studied Halee’s face. “What does that have to do with the kid? I thought you needed somebody to get you a protection order.”
“I think the effort to extort J.D. for money is being fueled by revenge.”
“Yeah, cause you got the kid.”
“No, because I got J.D.”
Frank shook his head. “You lost me.”
“It’s a long story.”
“So let’s get started.”
Halee stood and paced the patterned blue carpet of the hospital waiting room. It was three in the morning and the place was morgue quiet except for the whir of the floor polisher in the main hallway. Bobby had insisted on taking Ty to the hotel with him. Rita had insisted that her attorney ex-husband advise them on what to do about the threats. Halee had reluctantly agreed to both.
“J.D. signed his contract with the Federals the day he injured his shoulder. According to his trainers, he’d been having trouble with it, but he really strained it right before he signed.”
“Players get hurt all the time. What’s the big deal?”
“The big deal is the media. They smell a scandal, and they know that sells papers.”
“So what do the Federals say?”
Halee shrugged. “I think they’re waiting to see how it all turns out. If J.D. plays hero and wins the Series for them, they’ll back off. If he can’t finish the season, they may want to pin the blame on him for losing and sue.”
“I still don’t see the connection between J.D.’s injury and extortion attempts surrounding Ty.”
Halee paused, then handed Frank her cell phone. “Read this.”
Frank did a quick read and sat back. “Wow. Who sent this?”
“Someone who knows my number.”
“Federals?”
“I don’t think so.” She crossed her arms and sighed. “There’s more to the story. The Federals signed J.D. on with one stipulation- he had to settle down, meaning he had to produce a suitable candidate for marriage and demonstrate he had his head in the game.”
Frank snorted. “I’ll bet that went over well. I never even met the guy and I knew all about him. Not the settling down type. Sorry,” he said, catching himself.
“You’re right. It didn’t go over well. Stubborn J.D. decided to pull a fast one on Federals management. He convinced some bimbo to pose as his fiancé long enough to prove himself.”
Frank laughed. “Awesome! Did it work?”
“Almost. Except the bimbo decided she liked the role a little too well. When J.D. ended the agreement, she threatened to reveal both the truth about their relationship and the truth about his injury. She went nuts.”
“You think that’s who’s behind this?”
“I think it’s likely. Can you track down the number this text message came from?”
“Maybe. This bimbo have a name?”
“Catrina Hiett.”
Frank wrote the name down on a piece of paper and slipped it into his lapel pocket. “I’ll check it out.”
“There’s more.” Halee perched onto the seat next to Frank. “Catrina told Victoria Pryor, the Federals owner’s wife, every sordid detail. She knows J.D. tried to dupe them.”
“So the Federals think they’ve been duped twice. That can’t sit well with aggressive people like the Pryors.”
“Victoria has her own version of revenge in play. She’s trying to buy the land J.D. was born on. Plus she’s changed his contract. If he doesn’t play in every game and if they don’t win the Series, he gets nothing- no sign-on bonus, no regular pay.”
“Did he sign that contract?”
“I don’t know. I saw version one and two but the last one was
n’t in his file.”
“Well, the law is in our favor if he didn’t sign the new one. Otherwise what Pryor is calling an agreement is just hearsay.”
“Maybe. J.D.’s likely to testify against himself if they agreed face to face. Where he comes from, deals are still made by shaking hands.”
Frank slipped his pen and paper into his briefcase. “I need some rest. I’ll make a few phone calls in the morning, see what I can find out about this Catrina person. Hopefully if we corral her we can end the threats on you with a protection order.”
“Frank.” Halee touched his sleeve. “I’m sorry for what happened between you and Rita. You’re a good man.”
Frank gave her a weary smile and stood. “I’ll be at the Hyatt if you need me. Let’s meet up for an early lunch. I should know something by then.”
~THIRTY~
Halee climbed the stairs of the Leer jet and ducked into the narrow cabin. The inside was pristine, just as she suspected, decorated with almond colored leather and polished wood trim. The aroma of fresh seafood and the finest white wine wafted forward from the back galley, indicating Jack had not forgotten lunch. And then there was the familiar scent of the millionaire, memorable even now, months after they had first met.
“You made it!” A freckled face met her halfway down the aisle, beaming as though reuniting with an old friend. He leaned in and kissed her cheek warmly, rubbing Ty’s small head with his oversized hand. “Just look at this fellow grow,” he said. “He’s a different kid than the first time I saw him.”
“I can’t thank you enough for this, Jack,” said Halee. “Until we find out who’s after Ty, I need to keep my family around me. Mrs. Pryor pulled her support when she decided not to re-sign J.D., so I’m on my own.”
“You’re never on your own.” Jack took her coat and handed it to a young woman in uniform. “And I’ll talk to Victoria. She’d be out of her mind to lose Shaw. She normally has better sense than this.”