“WHY DON’T YOU EVER WEAR PANTS, RUSS? WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH YOU?” Dave yelled again.
Russ put his hands on his hips and glared at Dave.
“I’m not going through this again, Dave,” Russ said, turning and grabbing his car keys. “Fuck you guys. Fuck both of you. Right in the earhole. I’m a sex stallion. And a Jedi knight. I don’t need to hear this shit. I’m outta here.”
“See you at the game, bro,” Dwayne said as Russ stormed off. “The game is at 6:00 p.m., so we’ll warm up and throw some batting practice starting at 5:00 p.m.”
Russ held up his middle finger as he walked away. Dwayne hopped back on his bike to finish his ride before he took Alex to school. He’d been at the ballpark long enough, and the sky was just beginning to get a bit lighter.
“I’ll see you tonight, Dave,” he said as he popped his earbuds back in.
“Later, Dwayne.”
Dwayne finally sat down at his desk after a quickie with Estelle and dropping Alex off at school. In front of him was a list of his biggest past-due accounts, those that hadn’t been responsive to friendly payment reminders.
It was time for a stepped-up approach. Dwayne lit a doob and called the first delinquent customer.
“Eric Schimmy, please,” he said to the receptionist who answered the phone. “This is his doctor.”
Eric Schimmy had been an extremely successful Fort Worth real estate agent before the economic bubble in the market burst. He had purchased several dozen commercial and residential properties just weeks before the shit hit the fan and was financially devastated as a result.
As a favor, Dwayne had helped keep Schimmy’s lawns in shape until he could unload the real estate at a huge loss. Eventually, Schimmy turned it around and found success again. Dwayne was now handling more than thirty properties for Eric.
The whispers on the street were that Schimmy had been offered several million dollars for his agency, and the deal would be closing any day. The whispers also said he’d decided to quit paying his bills a few months back and would walk away from the deal, screwing many folks out of what they were owed. He hadn’t been taking or returning calls, and that left Dwayne having to pretend he was his doctor.
“What’s up, doc?” the voice on the other end of the line said.
“Sorry, Eric,” Dwayne offered, void of emotion. “It’s not your doctor. It’s Dwayne. You haven’t returned our calls. You’re five months behind on your payments. You owe me $137,000.”
“Dwayne!” Schimmy said, having been caught completely off guard. “How’s it going, man? Hey, I heard my boy is playing your boy tonight at the ballpark! That was really good of you to take over coaching after Ricky Dale and the Walmart guy died.”
“That’s great, Eric,” Dwayne replied. “I’m sure it’ll be a great game. And thanks for the kind words. You’re going to love Alex’s pitching. He’s got a great fastball. Hey, I’ve got an idea … How about you bring me all of the money you owe me right now, and I’ll tell Alex not to bean your kid in the fucking head with a baseball tonight? Sound good?”
“Yeah, Dwayne, I just—”
“You just nothing, dick. I helped you when you needed help, and just like so many motherfuckers on this side of town, you don’t know how to do the right thing. You just fuck people. And that’s fine. The only problem is that I dropped out of the game. I’m a freedom fighter now. So bring me my money right now, or I’ll cut your fucking limbs off and give your boy a concussion tonight. Sound good?”
“Jesus, Dwayne, I—”
“Great talking to you too, Eric. Drop off $137,000 with my secretary before noon. See you at the ballpark. Take care.”
Up next was Jimmy Watts. Jimmy Watts had made over a hundred million dollars as CEO of National Bank. He was a king in the arena of predatory loans and risking his customers’ investments. He almost single-handedly took down the entire bank and ruined the lives of many thousands of people around the world in doing so. A government bailout saved the bank, and he stepped down from his CEO position with a fifty-million-dollar severance package.
After banking, he took a brief foray into lobbying for Republican interests, such as deregulation of the banking industry. But that bored him. So he decided to get into the fast-food business and opened Awesomeburger.
He spent nearly twenty million dollars, all from naïve investors, getting forty-five stores opened around North Texas. He made the front page of newspapers and investment magazines, posing with his prize purebred teacup poodles, bragging about his new enterprise in the fast-food world. Dwayne won the bidding war for the landscaping contract at all of them.
The only problem with Awesomeburger was that the burgers tasted like ass, and the project failed miserably. All of the investors lost their shirts, and Jimmy gave himself a big bonus before filing for bankruptcy protection.
This pissed Dwayne off more than most past-due accounts. He hated that white-collar criminals were never held accountable. The company hired by Watts to build the buildings and the advertising agency that launched Awesomeburger in the media both went out of business because they had never been paid. He owed Dwayne a very sizable chunk as well. And he had the money to pay all of them. He just didn’t.
Dwayne picked up the phone and called his office.
“James W. Watts Enterprises,” the young receptionist answered. “How may I direct your call?”
“Yes, this is Mr. Watts’s girlfriend’s gynecologist,” Dwayne said. “I’m calling with some results.”
“But Mr. Watts is marr— … umm … please hold.”
A few moments passed. The religious praise music being played while he was on hold nearly made a vein pop in Dwayne’s head.
“This is James Watts. Who the hell is this?” the angry man on the line demanded.
“This is one of the thousands of people you fucked over in the last few years, Jimmy. The only difference between the others and myself is that I’m not going to take it. My name is Dwayne Devero. You owe my landscaping company $182,000 for several months of work we did at your Awesomeburger restaurants. I need that check by noon today.”
“Sorry, Dwayne. Awesomeburger is under bankruptcy protection by the courts. I’m sure you’ll get a portion of your money someday. So I guess you—”
“You missed the part where I said I’m not going to take it,” Dwayne interrupted. “You see, you’ve got tons of money and tons of power. That’s great. Good for you. And that may intimidate a shitload of people, but—”
“Who the fuck do you think you’re talking to, jackass? Do you know who—”
“Don’t fucking interrupt me, Jimmy. I’m talking now. Yes, I know who you are. Your bank account is a lot bigger than mine. You know many more powerful people. Again, good for you. But I’m a lot bigger than you, and I carry a baseball bat. If I don’t have my money by noon today, I’m going to find all of your cute little fucking teacup poodles and beat the fuck out of them. I will pound them into the ground, brother, and I will enjoy the shit out of it. Those are the stupidest looking dogs on the fucking planet. When I’m done with them, I’m going to find you, break your legs in several places, and knock all of your teeth out.”
“Listen, Dwayne, maybe we got off on the wrong foot.”
“Have it here by noon, Jim. And have a blessed day.”
Dwayne’s heart was racing. He loved being able to speak to people the way they deserved to be spoken to. He was convinced that he had cracked the code to the universe with his new outlook on life. There was no more dancing around shit.
On the corner of his desk, he kept a baby wipes dispenser to remove dirt and sweat from his hands and face. Dwayne loved baby wipes. Noticing that he had worked up a sweat while making calls, he pulled two from the dispenser. The first one came out fine. The second one, however, didn’t attach to the first one like it was supposed to. In a perfect world, each wipe, when pulled out, was supposed to pull the next wipe up through the chute. This lack of perfection pissed him off. No
one cared anymore. No one took pride in their work.
He turned over the dispenser and found the customer service phone number and called them.
“Customer service. This is Lisa. How may I help you?” said the polite female with a Southern drawl.
“Hi. My name is Dwayne Devero. I just pulled a baby wipe from my dispenser, and it didn’t pull the next one up. Now I’m going to have to dig through that little hole with the ends of my fingers and try to pull one out, with the hope that it remains attached to the one that follows it. But you know what always happens? I either tear off a small piece of the next one and pull out a tiny piece, or I end up pulling four or five out, and the last of those four or five ends up not being connected. It’s remarkably frustrating. Why can’t they just get it right?”
“I’m so sorry, sir, I—”
“Get your shit together, Lisa.”
Dwayne set the phone back on the receiver again. As soon as he set it down, his secretary called. Apparently Eric Schimmy had just dropped off a check clearing the $137,000 balance of what he owed, and Jimmy Watts’s secretary had called to get directions to bring a check for $182,000 over. Dwayne could now pay off all of his credit card debt and still have plenty of working capital in the company. He breathed a sigh of relief.
All of a sudden, life was working out. Dwayne was hopeful that the baseball game that night would go as smoothly. With the big accounts in order, it was time to get to work on the lineup and field positions. Dwayne would’ve gotten right on the baseball work, too, but Estelle showed up wearing pretty much nothing.
They destroyed his office for the second time in a week, making passionate, crazy love on every desk, window, chair, phone, one-year-old-but-now-obsolete computer, and file cabinet in the room.
Aside from sex, Estelle had another reason for stopping by. She tried to break it to Dwayne gently, because she knew what his feelings would be to this news.
“Like three months ago, I agreed to sponsor a table at the ‘Helping Hands for the Homeless’ event downtown,” Estelle said apologetically. “We both know it’s just another bullshit event, babe, but I bought a table for eight. It’s one of those silent auction things for blue bloods and social climbers. It’s tomorrow night. I’m really sorry. I totally forgot. Things have been so good between us, I forgot about the life I’d been living before, which is a good thing. I really feel like we need to go, though. We’re on the sponsorship list. But you don’t have to suffer alone. I called your buddies’ wives.”
“Fuck,” Dwayne muttered. “Well, babe, you gave your word, so we’ll honor it.”
He loathed these situations. The crowd that would be in attendance had a lack of sincerity for helping others. It was such a dishonest gesture. But because he loved Estelle again, Dwayne tried to put a positive spin on it. “At least we can tie on a good buzz together and laugh at people. Hell, it may even be fun.”
Dwayne sat down once again to prepare his baseball strategy. Game time was just hours away. And then his phone quacked.
RUSS:
WHAT THE FUCK DID YOU GET US INTO, DWAYNE? A FUCKING FUNDRAISER??? NOT COOL, BRO.
TOMMY:
No shit! Kelly just called me! I mean, really Dwayne? Do you know how uncomfortable it is being black at an event like that? Do you know how many drink orders I’ll be taking, or how many cars I’ll be asked to park?
RUSS:
Here goes Tommy with the race card again.
TOMMY:
Really, Russ? How many people there have gotten back-room lap dances from Jade in the last couple of years, huh? Maybe a tug job too? Isn’t that uncomfortable for you?
RUSS:
I’m typically way too high to care.
STEVE:
We’ll be there, Dwayne. Thanks for the invitation. We don’t usually get invited to these things.
RUSS:
That’s because your wife looks like a silverback gorilla in an evening gown, and you voted for Obama.
TOMMY:
LOL.
STEVE:
What the hell, man?
DWAYNE:
Sorry, guys. I didn’t know about it until a few minutes ago. But we’re Jedi now. We’ll be fine.
STEVE:
I’m not sure it’s a good idea for the Jedi Alliance to show up. We need to be low key. I don’t want the bodies to stack up any more than they already have.
RUSS:
That reminds me. I’m bringing a gun and a shovel.
STEVE:
Goddammit, Russ, don’t joke about that.
RUSS:
Joke?
TOMMY:
Ah, screw it, I’m in, D. I’ve sucked fat out of half those asses anyway. Probably be good for business.
RUSS:
I’ll be there, but I’m taking a bunch of acid first. And I’m bringing a ton of blow.
DWAYNE:
Great, so everyone is in. If anything, it will be interesting, and I bet it will ensure that none of us get invited to fundraisers anymore. See you at the game tonight.
TOMMY:
Later.
STEVE:
Peace.
RUSS:
Suck it, homos.
36.
Dwayne pulled up to the ballpark ready to play baseball. His assistant coaches were already there, which made him proud. To make things even better, Alex had never been so excited to play.
Russ, Tommy, and Steve were already at the batting cages. They sported tiny coaching shorts, tube socks pulled halfway up their calves, team-color athletic shirts, aviator sunglasses, and whistles. Russ and Tommy were working the batting cages, and Steve was working on throwing technique. Dwayne smiled when he saw them. They had become a full-blown coaching unit overnight.
Every member of the team had a “game day” look on his face. Dwayne hadn’t seen that before. Even the kids who sucked appeared ready to give it their all. The parents kept their distance. Just the way Dwayne liked it.
The team listened when they were told about loading up, making a level swing, coming down on the ball, timing the swing right, stepping out of the batter’s box to throw the pitcher off his pace, and trusting their own abilities. A few even learned how to read the pitch by the way the pitcher held the ball in his glove and entered the windup. It was a thing of beauty. They were pounding the hell out of the ball in the cage.
Before they were set to take the field, the coaches went through a quick refresher course on fielding the ball.
“Keep your body in front of it,” Tommy said. “No side-arm catches. Don’t let anything by you.”
“And outfielders,” Steve added, “make sure you hit your cutoff man on a deep ball.”
“Don’t forget to point your front shoulder where you’re throwing the ball,” Russ jumped in, with a cigarette dangling from his bottom lip. “Take that extra split second to make a good throw. That’s what keeps a single from being a triple.”
Dwayne looked at his coaches and nodded approvingly before stepping in front of the kids. He felt like General Patton addressing his soldiers.
“Take a knee, kids,” Dwayne commanded. He walked back and forth a couple of times, looking each player in the eye. He wanted their undivided attention.
“Today, we get the honor of playing America’s sport. Many people take this honor for granted. Many people dishonor the baseball gods by doing it wrong. That is not what champions do. And make no mistake, team, we are champions. We’ve been doing it wrong for too long, though. But I shit you not, guys, if you’ll put your trust in me and play this game in a way that honors it, we will claim a victory here today.
“Are we outmatched? If you’d asked me a week ago, I would’ve said yes. But not today. No way. Not up in here. We can put the wood on the ball every bit as well as these guys. Probably better. We can make defensive plays every bit as well as these guys. Probably better. Know this, team. Believe this. Today, the gods of baseball will shine favorably on our team.
“If the pitcher throws
a strike and you miss, spit on home plate and smile at him. If the first baseman talks smack to you when you’re on his base, laugh at him and tell him you’re going to beat his ass today. If someone is blocking the base you’re running to, lower your shoulder and mow their ass down. Forget our record. Forget their record. Just get out there and own them. We came to kick ass today, gang, and I will accept nothing less than that. Do I make myself clear?”
“Yes, sir!” the team responded.
“I can’t hear you!” Dwayne yelled back. “I ASKED IF I MADE MYSELF CLEAR!”
“YES, SIR!” they screamed in unison.
“Good! Now go get some water and get ready to whip some ass!”
Dwayne headed toward home plate. The umpire was waiting for the coaches to have the coin toss that decided who was Home Team and who was Visitor. The assistant coach for the opposing team, Ed Snyder, walked out to greet them, looking disheveled.
Ed Snyder owned a very shady home-warranty company and was known throughout the baseball community to be as much of a hothead and asshole as his missing predecessor, the late T-Bone Sprinkle.
“Hello, guys,” Ed offered to Dave the umpire and Dwayne. “I’ve got an issue here. T-Bone hasn’t made it yet. I have no clue where he is. His wife said he goes on a bender every couple of months, so I’m assuming he’s hammered in a bar somewhere. Problem is, he’s got all of the team notes, lineup, and so on, and I was wondering if—”
“You wanna postpone the game?” Dave interrupted.
“Well, yeah, if I—”
“Go fuck yourself,” Dave replied. “Suck it up, buttercup. Dwayne’s head coach, Ricky, got pancaked on the road and his head flew off. Ricky’s assistant coach, Pete, got abducted at a Walmart. Do you see Dwayne bitching? Nope. It’s time to play ball. Heads or tails, Ed?”
“Whatever, dick. My boys could beat this sorry-ass team with no coaches. Heads.”
Dave flipped the coin, and heads it was.
“We’ll take home,” Ed snarled as he walked away without shaking Dwayne’s hand.
Dave the umpire and Dwayne shook hands, though. Not shaking hands was like spitting in the eye of the baseball gods. You just weren’t supposed to do that.
Base Ball Dads Page 15