“We need a ride,” I said. “Now.”
“Is that so,” said Uncle Spiro. “Got a hot date?” He winked.
“Gotta get to Orchard Field,” said Ace.
Spiro stopped rubbing his head. “Orchard Field? There’s no game today, is there?”
“We gotta talk to someone in the front office.”
Spiro cocked an eyebrow. “So take the streetcar.”
“It’ll take too long,” I told him. “The office might close before we get there. Please?”
Ace piped up. “There’s this contest,” he said. “We’re gonna show that Pete a thing or two, ain’t that right, Nick?” He shadowboxed at the puffs of steam.
Spiro squinted at us. “Pete Costas, from over on Cherry Street?”
Ace and I both nodded.
Spiro disappeared behind the bathroom door for a second, and then reappeared in his bathrobe. “Sorry, kiddies,” he said as he lathered his face at the mirror. “I’m sure Pete deserves whatever you want to do to him, but I can’t help you right now. I gotta get to school.” He scraped the razor across his cheek.
I was ready for this. It was a card I didn’t really want to play, but I didn’t have much choice. “You don’t want me to tell Pop that you don’t actually go to school, do you?”
Spiro’s mouth dropped open.
“We’ll be waiting in the car.” We bolted downstairs before he could say anything.
“Nicky?” called Ma from the kitchen. “You want a snack?”
“Not now, Ma. Uncle Spiro’s gonna take us downtown.” I paced the hallway.
“A snack sounds good,” said Ace.
“Later!”
A minute later, Spiro came rattling down the stairs, buttoning his shirt. “Let’s go. Back door.” He swept past us, trailing the scents of Barbasol and licorice gum.
We hustled after him, through the kitchen and out the back door, leaving Ma to call after us. “Why you go out with wet hair, Spiro? You’ll get sick! Did you take a bath? You took a bath yesterday!”
Once we were in the car and rolling down the alley, Spiro started. “Okay, you little blackmailers. What makes you think I’m not going to night school?”
“We have our waaays, seeee,” snarled Ace from the back seat. He’d been listening to too many detective dramas on the radio.
“We saw you last night, okay?” I’d already blindsided my uncle once. The least I could do was to be honest now. “You said you were going to school, but we saw you driving in the other direction.”
“Oh,” said Spiro, but he didn’t bother putting up a fight. “Just don’t say anything to your pop, will ya? He already busts my chops, and I don’t need any more grief.” He chomped on his gum.
I shrugged. “Where do you go, anyway? I won’t tell.”
“Never you mind,” said Uncle Spiro, rubbing my crew cut. “It’s nothing shifty or anything. I’d just rather not say right now.”
“Fine by me,” I said.
Spiro slowed to a stop at the entrance to the ballpark. Just like Chuck had said, work crews were all over the place, hammering and sanding and painting. Sure enough, Joe Daggett was really going to Shake Things Up.
“How long do you need?” said Uncle Spiro.
“Fifteen minutes?” I told him, and Ace nodded.
“Tell you what,” said Spiro, checking his watch. “I’ll run a quick errand and meet you back here in twenty. Deal?”
“Deal.” We slid out onto the sidewalk and waved.
“How did you know it would work?” said Ace as we watched the Nash drive away.
Finally, I could breathe again. “I didn’t.”
CHAPTER
15
TWENTY MINUTES LATER we were back out on the sidewalk. The Nash was already waiting at the curb, so we climbed in.
“Well?” said Uncle Spiro brightly. “Mission accomplished?”
“No.” I slammed the car door, hard.
“Why not?” said Spiro.
“Joe Daggett was out,” said Ace as he slid into the back seat. “He’s in Sheboygan for the Pups’ road trip. How do ya like that?”
Spiro’s eyebrows shot up. “Joe Daggett? You came to see the new head honcho of the Mudpuppies?”
“Oh yeah, we’re like this with Joe Daggett,” said Ace, waving his crossed fingers in the air. “But his scary secretary doesn’t know that. So we said to that secretary, we said, ‘Tell Joe Daggett that his buddies Ace and Nick want a word with him.’ We left our calling card, if you know what I mean.”
“No,” said Spiro, looking at Ace in the rearview mirror. “What do you mean?”
“He means that the scary secretary told us to write our names and phone numbers on a card,” I told him.
“Oh,” said Spiro. “What kind of contest is it, anyway?”
I didn’t want to say too much. Uncle Spiro was being a good sport right now, but he was still a grown-up. If push came to shove, he’d have to side with Ma and Pop. I think that’s a rule.
So of course Ace said, “The winner gets to be Mudpuppy for a Day! There’s a field skills contest, but it’s next Saturday and Nick has to work.”
Ace and his big mouth.
“So that’s why you tried asking your pop for the day off,” said Spiro as we pulled away from the curb. “At supper last night.”
“He didn’t even hear me,” I muttered. “And then when I asked him again, he said no.”
Uncle Spiro shook his head and chomped his gum. “Sorry about that, kid. I wish I could help, but my Saturdays are booked solid.”
“It’s all right,” I said, but I didn’t sound very convincing.
We stopped at a red light, and Spiro glanced over at me. “Your pop means well, you know. He’s just kind of tone deaf when it comes to kids. He didn’t have much of a childhood himself.”
“What do you mean?”
The light changed to green, and Spiro rolled forward. “You’ve heard about how his pop came from Greece first, and then sent for the rest of the family?”
“A million times,” I said.
“Well,” said Spiro, “did he ever tell you that it took your grandfather ten years to save up enough money to send for them? That whole time, your pop and grandmother were still in Greece, in that little village with no running water. Going hungry. I don’t think George will ever get over the fear of having nothing. That’s why he works so hard.”
“Wow,” was all I could say.
“Anyway, I know that doesn’t help you with your problem,” said Spiro. “I’d put in a word for you, but you know what that’s worth.”
“I know,” I said. “Anyhow, that’s why we went to see Joe Daggett. He knows I work on Saturdays. I figured I’d ask him if I could try out another time. But he wasn’t there, so I left him a note, with my name and telephone number, and the scary secretary said she’d give it to him. She said he might get back to his office tonight. Maybe he’ll call.”
“Maybe he will,” said Spiro cheerfully. “Things usually have a way of working out. How about we get some frozen custard? What’s your favorite, Happy’s or Roger’s?”
“I’m not a little kid anymore,” I told him. “I don’t need custard to help me feel better.”
“I do,” said Ace from the back seat. “Let’s go to Roger’s.”
Good ol’ Ace.
“Happy’s custard is better,” I said.
“Is that so?” said Spiro. “I suppose there’s one way to find out. Who’s game for a taste test?”
I snorted. “Ma will kill us for snacking so close to suppertime.”
Spiro grinned. “So, we won’t tell her.”
Maybe I was wrong about whose side my uncle was on, after all.
Then I looked at him sideways. “Don’t you have to get to school?”
He winked at me and chomped his gum. “School? What school?”
Half an hour later we were stuffed full of custard and still arguing about whose was better.
“Happy’s is creamier,”
I said. “You gotta admit.”
“Yeah, but Roger’s is more chocolatey,” said Ace.
“That’s all well and good,” said Spiro. “But wait’ll you try South Side Lenny’s.”
“Thanks for the ride,” I said as we rolled into the alley behind the house. “And for the custard.”
“It’s okay, squirt,” he said. “Now that I, uh, missed my first class, might as well stay for supper.”
“Yikes! Supper!” said Ace as he slid out of the car. “See ya later!” He vaulted over the hedge that separated our backyards, and disappeared through a cloud of bedsheets that were hanging out to dry.
Spiro stared after him. “For a little guy, he sure can pack it away.”
“That’s Ace for ya.”
“Nicky!” said Ma as I opened the back door. “Supper, it’s ready, come and wash up, your father is hungry! Spiro! Supper!” She was carving a chicken, and Pop was already sitting at the table, smoothing his napkin onto his lap.
“Nicky!” He smiled and wiggled his eyebrows, which made me think of jumping black caterpillars. Then Pop pulled something out of his shirtfront pocket and waved it at me.
It was Joe Daggett’s business card.
CHAPTER
16
HIYA, POP,” I said. “What’s up?”
“Guess who telephoned me?” announced Pop, still waving the card. “Mister Joe Daggett!”
I stood there with my mouth hanging open, like a dope. “He did? When?”
“A few minutes ago,” said Pop. “Long distance, all the way from Sheboygan!”
“How about that, squirt?” said Spiro as we soaped up at the sink. “His scary secretary must have given him the message.”
Ma set a platter on the table. “Sit! Eat!”
“I gotta eat quick, Athena,” said Spiro, pulling up a chair. “I’m already late for school.” He shot me a warning look, but my lips were sealed. A favor for a favor.
Pop slammed his fork onto the table and glared at his brother, but didn’t say a word.
Spiro sat down and helped himself to a chicken leg. “You’ve outdone yourself again, Athena. Where are you buying your meat nowadays? Over at the A&P?”
Ma gasped as if he’d said a swear word. “The A&P? I buy meat only from Mister Mancini’s on the Frederick Street. He is the best butcher in town.”
“Ya don’t say.” Spiro nodded as if he was actually interested. But I knew he was just trying to change the subject, as usual.
“Pop,” I said, trying to sound casual. “What did Joe Daggett want?”
But Pop just said, “You know why that butcher is the best? Because he works hard, that’s why.” He dragged his stare away from Spiro and landed it on me. “I had a very nice talk with Mister Daggett,” he said, his face relaxing. “He wanted to tell me about the contest for the boys. The one in the newspaper. He told me anyone could win the contest. He said you could win, maybe. And I told him, ‘My Nikko can do anything, if he tries!’ ”
Pop is always saying stuff like that. I bet he’d say it even if you told him that if I flapped my arms really hard, I could fly.
“And you know what Mister Daggett said to me?” Pop lifted his chin and shook his fork. “He said to me, ‘George, you are a very smart man.’ ”
Uncle Spiro heaped a pile of potatoes onto his plate. “This Daggett fella sounds like quite a salesman, if you ask me.”
Pop scooped some peas. “He is not a salesman, if you must know. He is the big boss of the Mudpuppies. He said he hopes to see you at the Orchard Field on next Saturday morning, Nicky.”
Was I hearing this right? Had Joe Daggett actually gone to bat for me? I tore into a chicken wing. I was pretty hungry after all.
“How about that, squirt?” said Spiro. “What d’ya say, George? Give the kid the day off.”
Pop dabbed his mouth with his napkin. “Of course, I remind Mister Daggett that you work on Saturdays. He said he wishes you could try out another time, but that wouldn’t be fair to the other boys. I tell him that you don’t want special treatment, anyway.”
“You told him that?” I groaned through a mouthful of chicken.
Pop nodded and helped himself to the potatoes. “I tell Mister Daggett that you are a smart boy. You know that baseball is fun to play, but work must always come before play. You know that you have responsibilities. Mister Daggett is a businessman. I know he must understand this too.”
“For crying out loud, George.” Uncle Spiro tossed his napkin onto the table and scraped his chair backward. “I gotta get to school.”
And just like that, he was out the back door.
“He didn’t eat much,” declared Ma, sighing. “I don’t think he liked it.”
And there I sat, left to fend for myself. It was time to face facts: Joe Daggett had gone to bat for me, but he struck out swinging.
“That’s okay, Pop,” I said with my most casual voice. If I had to fend for myself, then I’d fend as hard as I could. “I like baseball and all, but contests aren’t for me.” I speared a forkful of potato, but I couldn’t eat it, and it wasn’t only because of all that custard. But then my mouth took on a life of its own and said, all by itself, “And anyhow, didn’t I tell ya? There’s a big school field trip next Saturday.” I gulped. What was I doing? “To the state capitol.” I shoved the potato into my mouth to keep it from saying any more stupid stuff.
Ma gave me a suspicious look. “All the way to Madison?”
“I never hear of the school trips on a Saturday,” said Pop, scratching his head.
I took a few gulps of milk, to buy some time to think. There was no going back now. “Yeah, well, it’s a long way, that’s right, but my teacher, she said we got such great scores on our civics test that she’s gonna take us as a reward, and if we go on a Saturday we won’t miss regular school.” I shoved another hunk of potato into my mouth.
They both sat there, rolling the idea around in their heads. Then Ma’s face relaxed. She reached across the table and pinched my cheek. “You are a lucky boy, to have such a good teacher who works so hard to help you learn.”
“Your mama is right,” said Pop. “The work is important, but the school? That is the most important.” He beamed at me. “Don’t you worry about the shop. You just go and learn.” He stabbed another piece of chicken and pulled it onto his plate.
And that’s what happens when you’re left to fend for yourself, and when you let your mouth talk without first checking in with your brain.
But you know what? I thought my mouth was pretty smart just then.
I ate a couple more bites of dinner and asked to be excused.
“Only one helping?” Ma said. “Are you getting sick?”
“I’m fine, Ma, thanks.”
And before they could ask me any more questions, I ran upstairs to practice forging my pop’s signature.
CHAPTER
17
BY THE NEXT DAY, word of the contest was out. Everybody and his brother was staking out their practice territory.
Me and Ace headed to the zoo, and claimed Mountain Goat Mountain for ourselves. The goats were skittish, so they steered clear. Lucky for us, there weren’t many people around, since the zoo wasn’t officially open yet. Anyhow, if anyone saw us up on the rocks, we’d be through the fence and gone before they had time to find a zookeeper.
We decided to take turns. I started on the flats, and Ace climbed up with the baseball (to toss me high fly balls) and a pair of binoculars (to act as lookout). If Pete or one of his toadies was sneaking around to spy on us, Ace would see them coming.
Meanwhile, Pete set up his base of operations near the bear dens, on the other side of the zoo. (Ace’s binoculars came in handy for that, too. There’s nothing wrong with spying if you’re the ones doing it.) Between us sat the Scramble field: neutral territory. If the whole team wasn’t playing there, no one was playing there.
“What’s up with Pete?” I asked after we’d tossed the ball a few times.
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p; Ace checked with the binoculars. “I can’t see him anymore. Hang on.” He climbed all the way to the top of the rocks, sending a couple of mountain goats scrambling down the other side. He settled himself and checked the binoculars again. “There he is. He’s showing off to Chuck and Charlie. Calling his shot like he’s Babe Ruth. What a knucklehead!”
“What ya doing?” I heard this other voice behind me. A sickly, singsongy, girl voice.
I turned in the middle of winding up, and there she was, on the other side of the fence: that dark-haired girl with the bubblegum and saddle shoes. Penny, I think she said.
“What’s it look like we’re doing?” I answered. It was supposed to sound tough, but it came out kind of squeaky instead.
She tilted her head and blew a bubble. “Everybody’s playing baseball,” she said. “It’s because of that contest next week, huh?”
I nodded and ignored her at the same time. Why was this girl hanging around? I needed to practice.
“Want some help?”
I looked up. “Huh?”
“With the fly balls,” she said. “Want me to throw you some?”
So she could humiliate me all over again? “No thanks,” I said. “Ace and me, we’re practicing.”
She stood there and blew another bubble. “It looks like Ace is busy with his binoculars. I don’t have a mitt, though. And I don’t think I can use yours.”
Darn right she couldn’t use mine.
Then I figured, if I let her try and catch one or two, maybe she’d leave us alone. I sighed really loud, to give her the hint, and then I hollered for Ace to toss down his mitt.
“Is he supposed to be up there?” said the new girl, pushing back her mess of hair.
“Sure,” I said, squeezing out through the opening in the fence. “He lives there. His mother’s a mountain goat.” I handed her Ace’s glove, but she just stood there staring at it, like she didn’t know what it was for.
“It goes on your left hand,” I said. “So you can throw with your right.” Gee whiz. Girls.
She pulled on the mitt, looking clumsy. Probably it was the first time she’d ever used a baseball mitt. Or maybe it was the thought of Ace cooties (and who could blame her?).
The Rhino in Right Field Page 5