Big Leagues

by Jen Estes

  Yeah me, too, even during the semester I couldn’t afford any textbooks—despite working thirty hours a week as Shrimp on the Barbie’s senior deveiner.

  “No, no. I wasn’t thinking that.”

  Yes, yes, I was.

  Kiara stirred her smoothie with the straw. “Anyway, I’m so glad you’re here. I mean, it’s just awful what happened to Brad—suicide, like, yuck city, you know? At the same time, it’s so cool having another girl around the office. The fourth floor is a total sausage fest.”

  Cat let out a genuine laugh, and Kiara cackled along with her. But then Cat hurried to gain control of the conversation before the wandering mind of Kiara took them on another verbal journey to nowhere.

  “Yeah, Brad. That’s awful. So, was everyone in the front office a mess when he died?”

  Kiara shook her head emphatically and leaned in. A straight, shiny strand of ebony hair fell dangerously close to her peach smoothie. “Actually, it was the weirdest thing. They didn’t want to talk about it, like, at all. I was totally scared to ask anything. I’d only been here for all of a freaking month, so it really sucked. It was like everyone was walking around on crab shells.”

  Cat stifled another laugh, determined to press for more information. “Weird indeed. Did they send out a bunch of e-mails about the whole thing?”

  Kiara must have finally noticed her hair’s proximity to the glass because she flipped the black locks behind her shoulder. She looked around the empty eatery before responding. “Yeah, they sent out a few, but they didn’t really say anything you couldn’t just read in the papers. My uncle said they were probably, you know, just wanting the deal to blow over ’cause, like, it was bringing bad publicity to the team and stuff.”

  Cat furrowed her brow as she digested this intel.

  So, why aren’t those e-mails in the history folder?

  Were they permanently deleted?

  Why?

  Cat didn’t like the path where this line of questioning was leading. That path led right back to the trailer park. That path led to disgusting jobs for disgusting pay. That path was a shortcut to hell. She decided it was time to veer in the opposite direction or she’d find herself once again ripping the veins out of shrimp for minimum wage.

  I’m sure it’s nothing, anyway. Like Kiara’s uncle said, it was just an unseemly matter Erich probably didn’t want to keep dredging up. The same attitude he’d adopted on Jamal.

  “Wasser unter der Brücke.”

  Cat didn’t know if the chill traveling down her spine was from the callousness the franchise took on its employees’ deaths, or merely a physical response to her frosty pistachio smoothie. She rubbed her arms and pushed the empty glass away as the pineapple-shaped clock on the wall chimed.

  “Ugh, time flies. We better make our way back to the fourth floor dungeon. First pitch is in a couple of hours.”

  As they walked through the front doors and into the first floor lobby, they passed the large clear windows that encased the stadium’s abundant security headquarters. Kiara sidled up to her. “Just between us, that place gives me the creeps.”

  Cat pushed the elevator call and looked over her shoulder at the sterile office. “I definitely know what you mean.” Behind the glass, a receptionist filed her nails and yawned. Cat stole another glance before the elevator doors shut.

  A maze of cubicles loomed behind the receptionist and a seemingly endless hallway to the side. She guessed it led to the holding cells generally used for inebriated fans, but part of her wondered what else hid beyond the icy glass.

  30

  The entire fourth floor staff received the e-mail from Hohenschwangau Stadium Security Department at two p.m. It wasn’t a message that many would give much thought to, but behind the fancy brass nameplate of the corner office, Cat McDaniel gnawed on her bottom lip and re-read each word.

  Attention Front Office Employees:

  Please take a moment to review the Las Vegas Chips’ policy on Internet and Intranet usage.

  Internet use, on Chips’ time, is authorized for conducting team business. Additionally, under no circumstances may computers or other electronic equipment be used to obtain, view or reach any private, unethical or non-business-related Internet sites, as well as unauthorized material located on the Chips’ Intranet. The Chips own any communication sent via e-mail or stored on company equipment. Management and other authorized staff have the right to access any material in your e-mail or on your computer at any time. Please do not consider your electronic communication, storage or access to be private if it is created or stored at work. Again, any violation of these policies will lead to disciplinary action, up to and including termination.

  The memo stung like a bean to the backside and, just like an unsuspecting batter, Cat was unsure if the hit was deliberate. Before she took her base and moved on, she rationalized with herself.

  You’ve only been here a few weeks. It’s entirely possible this is simply corporate blather that is spewed out annually, quarterly and maybe even monthly. Nothing personal. Nothing to do with your research as of late. Nothing but a coincidence.

  Cat’s eyes wandered to the screen once more.

  Yeah. Probably.

  She scrolled her mouse around the last sentence, highlighting the last five words with the cursor, “… up to and including termination.”

  I guess they just forgot to add “of employment.”

  * * *

  “Hey, Dustin.”

  Dustin raised his head from the computer, eyes as cold as ever behind the thick lenses. Cat studied the frames closely.

  I bet they’re not even prescription. He probably wears them to distract from his beady little eyes.

  “Gimme a break. I’m about done with the matchups for tonight’s game.”

  She swiped her hand through the air in an attempt at a nonchalant wave. “Oh, don’t sweat it. No rush. I was just wondering about, uh, the e-mail that went out from security. Is that something they do a lot, you know, to r-remind people of policies and stuff?”

  Dustin’s shifty eyes darted around. Leaning back in his chair, he put his arms behind his head. “Actually, no. I’ve been here for three years and it’s the first one I’ve seen. Kinda made me wonder what the fuss is about. Sounds like somebody’s been snooping around where they shouldn’t, getting on the boss’ bad side.”

  “It d-didn’t sound that nasty to me.”

  Dustin let out an exaggerated whistle. “Are you kidding? They take confidentiality very seriously here. They fired the first clubhouse attendant just because he accessed the system to find out a player’s birthday.” He gave her a twisted smile. “Dude wanted to bring in a cake.”

  Cat scrutinized the junior reporter up and down to determine if he was playing her. “That’s awful.”

  He shrugged. “What is it they say? Curiosity will kill you, Cat?” He leaned in toward her. “Oops. I guess I mean the cat.”

  She narrowed her eyes. “Clever, Dustin. Once again, I find myself as the hapless underdog in your rousing game of wit.”

  “Well, you asked for it.” He swung his feet up on his desk, narrowly missing her legs by inches. He took a long swig of his bottled water, swishing it around before swallowing. “All I know is we have a strict whistle-blowing policy here in the Chips family. For the sake of the team, if a staff member sees someone violating the rules, we do what we must to protect the organization. I take that, and all our policies, extremely seriously. The perpetrator had better hope I don’t catch him.” Dustin paused and smiled. “Or her.”

  Cat held her hand up and signaled for him to stop. Then she backed away from his desk, muttering to herself.

  Why, why, why do I talk to this cretin?

  “Cat, you’re still here.”

  Cat turned to see Kiara standing next to the filing cabinets.

  “Where else would I be? Got a game in just a bit.”

  She giggled. “Nowhere, I guess. I just took a smoke break with Lydie and didn’t see yo
ur Jeep in the parking lot.”

  Cat walked alongside the intern back to her office, still frazzled from her encounter with Dustin. “No, I walked to work this morning.”

  “Awesome. I wish I could do that, but I live on campus.”

  Cat shrugged and gave Key a curt smile before entering her office. As she shut the mahogany door, she caught Dustin’s knowing smirk. Leaning against the door to rest her head, she saw the memo on the computer screen and sighed.

  31

  At nine that morning, a leisurely walk to work had seemed like a swell idea. It was going on a month since she’d moved to Las Vegas, and Cat hadn’t yet taken advantage of her apartment’s close proximity to Hohenschwangau Stadium. She’d taken the uncharacteristically cool July morning as a hint to keep her tattered Jeep parked in its spot and embrace its well-intentioned There is no Planet B bumper sticker. Tossing her gas-guzzler’s keys into her bag, she’d strolled down the sidewalk and actually enjoyed the crisp start to the day. Now, however, walking home at ten o’clock at night on the Vegas pavement that had been soaking up the desert sun for a scorching twelve hours, Cat wiped the sweat off her brow and remembered why she drove the pillaging behemoth three blocks every day.

  The forty thousand Chips fans who’d flooded the neighborhood only four hours earlier were now long gone, or at least adding another drink to their tally at one of the bars on the north side of the stadium. Surrounding the other three sides of the stadium were shops, parking garages and the residential real estate that had refused to surrender to the strong arms of König Development. Cat walked toward the latter and enjoyed the tranquility of the peaceful night. A warm breeze brushed her face and whipped her hair off her neck.

  Maybe this wasn’t such a bad idea after all.

  The light vehicular and foot traffic allowed her to sort out her thoughts about the game—unfortunately another Chips loss. Cat looked up at the night sky and, for a second, thought she saw a star or two.

  Or a helicopter or two.

  The twinkles vanished beyond the haze of the Strip’s bright lights as she rounded the corner and entered the residential subdivision. A large figure emerged from a palm tree’s shadow. Cat flinched and hopped back, banging her back into a property gate. Gasping and clutching her chest, she waited for the “Excuse me, miss” the man would surely offer, expecting to experience the embarrassment that came with a gasping overreaction. Seconds passed and Cat realized with horror that her response hadn’t been excessive.

  She stepped to the side as she examined the figure. In the ninety-degree weather, he wore a black leather jacket, black driving gloves and a wool ski mask. The figure—a man, she guessed from his linebacker mass—snatched her bare arm with a gloved hand and yanked her so hard she lost her footing. He shoved her against the tall iron fence, where the hard metal prodded her spine. She opened her mouth to alert the neighborshood with a scream, in case the shadows concealed yet another unseen figure in the night. Before the cry could escape, his hand clamped over her mouth, forcing her to struggle for air. His leather glove smelled like an ashtray and filled her mouth with the taste of stale menthol.

  “Gimme your goddamn purse.”

  She stood still and blinked fat tears that rolled down his glove.

  His free hand pulled at the bag under her arm. “Now! Or I swear you’re going from the byline to the headline, ball bitch!”

  She grasped the strap crossed over her chest, and he released his hand from her mouth. Gulping the thick night air in panting breaths, she pulled the bag over her head. He snatched it as soon as the strap passed her ears, taking a few strands of her hair with his grab. He held the bag in his left hand and shoved her into the iron fence with his right. She shrunk into the gate and whimpered. She heard her heart pounding in her ears and wondered if he could hear the thumps, too. He ripped her right wrist up to his face, dropped it and looked down to her left.

  “The watch. Where’s your watch?”

  “I don’t— I’m not wearing it today.”

  His hand lunged out and grabbed her gold Celtic pendant. She stilled as the crisp leather scraped the top of her breasts. Her eyes dropped to the logo on the top of the gloves before he ripped his clenched fist back; the chain dug into her throat and snapped at the back of her neck.

  “If you say one word—”

  The purr of an approaching engine cut off his threat, as they both focused on the road.

  Headlights!

  The attacker pushed her back once more, then leaped over the top of the gate. She fell to the ground, her knees scraping the hard cement. She crouched on the sidewalk, unsure if it was safe to move. The car sped by without a single flash of its brake lights. She stood up. Her trembling hands felt her shoulder for the purse strap before realization sunk in. She had no purse. No cell phone. No computer. No wallet. No keys to her apartment. No keys to her office. Her entire life was in the hands of a masked crook. She looked down at her secondhand dress and cheap shoes, the only possessions she had left. She’d never been so grateful to have just the clothes on her back.

  Cat shook off the haunting ‘what-ifs’ that could have resulted from the situation, turned from the scene and ran as fast as her wobbling legs would carry her.

  “Winston! Winston, thank God.”

  Cat ducked under the parking lot gate and ran around to the guard booth’s entrance. The guard jumped off his chair and opened the door for her.

  “Ms. McDaniel? Heavens to Betsy, you look—oh, never mind that. If I’ve learned one thing in my sixty-plus years on God’s green earth it’s that you never tell a pretty woman she looks terrible.” His jovial smile dropped when she passed through the doorway and stood under the florescent scrutiny of the guard shack. “My dear, what’s happened?”

  Between gasps, she choked out, “I— I guess— I w— I was just m-mugged.”

  “Mugged?” He led her to his well-worn chair and helped her sit. She clung to his comforting arm as his eyes fell to her bloodied legs. “Oh my. This is just unthinkable. Are you hurt? Let me call the police. Do you need an ambulance?”

  She shook her head from side to side, stopped, and then wobbled it up and down. “No. I mean, y-yes, I’m okay. I think. No ambulance. He took my purse, my computer, my everything.”

  Winston nodded sympathetically. “Well, none of those things matter now. The only thing that can’t be replaced is you.” He ran his hand over his perspiring brow. “I can’t believe this. You poor thing.”

  Tears began to form in Cat’s eyes as her pulse steadied.

  Winston picked up his phone. “Mr. Snow, our reporter was just mugged. Right outside the stadium … No, she’s not injured ... Uh, her purse, I believe … Okay … Yes sir.”

  Winston slammed the phone down and draped his jacket over her shoulders.

  “All righty, dearie, I’m going to walk you down to the security office. They’re gonna make a report and notify the police. We’ll get you all taken care of.”

  Cat gave him her best attempt at a smile and followed him to the tunnel.

  “Ow!” Cat winced and pulled her leg back.

  “I’m sorry, Catriona. I know this must sting, but it’s important to clean the wound.”

  She glared at Dr. Goodall, whose kind words didn’t soothe the burn of antiseptic on her skinned kneecaps. He chided her with a teasing wink.

  “You can’t chase me all over the ballpark if your knees fall off from infection, can you now?”

  She chuckled politely, and he smiled.

  “Ah, I knew I could get a grin.”

  He applied a bandage and gave her a pat on the shoulder. “There we go, good as new.”

  Otis Snow cleared his throat. His grubby index fingers pecked at the keyboard.

  “All right, Red. So he got your computer, your cell phone, a gold necklace, anything else?”

  “Uh … I don’t—well, my keys, my wallet.”

  “Was there any cash in the wallet?”

  “No, just my ATM card and a c
ouple of credit cards.”

  “You should cancel those. He could go on a spending spree,” Dr. Goodall said.

  Her lips curled into a sardonic smile. “I’m not too worried about that. Unless that spending spree is with the McDonald’s Dollar Menu, he won’t get far.”

  Otis’ head shot up from his computer with a hearty laugh. “My kind of shopping!”

  The security office door blew open, and Erich König rushed in.

  “Catriona! Ach, du meine Fresse!” He shot an accusatory glare to Dr. Goodall. “I thought you said she was unharmed?”

  “A few scratches from the concrete. I treated the wounds. Nothing serious.” Dr. Goodall sank back into the corner.

  “Boss, we’re going over all the stuff he snatched from her. Looks like her laptop, cell phone, a necklace, wallet, keys …”

  Cat wrung her hands. “Everything.”

  Erich shook his head. “Do not concern yourself with that, Catriona. I will have a new computer and cell phone on your desk before morning.”

  She smiled gratefully.

  “We will call the police to report the incident. No need to worry yourself. Otis, call a locksmith and schedule a time tomorrow to have Catriona’s home locks changed. Her address is in the database.”

  Cat shook her head. “You don’t need to—”

  Erich reached out and put his hand on hers. “We are a family here. I insist.”

  Otis took a bite of the sandwich on his desk and pointed a mayonnaise-covered finger in her direction. “Ya know, ya should take one of them karate classes down at the Y.”

  Cat rolled her eyes. “Too late now.”

  Also, thanks to my awesome interviewing skills, my fall schedule will be full of remedial German classes.

  Erich nodded. “Perhaps I should see about planning a self-defense assembly here for all the female employees, a seminar of sorts.”

  Cat wrinkled her nose as she watched Otis pick the lettuce from his teeth with an ink pen.