by Paul Hina
long, dark hair. "You smell nice."
"I do?" she asks, turning, and letting his kiss fall on her mouth.
He winces a bit, and backs away from her lips.
"That looks pretty bad."
"It feels worse than it looks."
"You want some ice?"
"Nah, but I could use some time."
"What do you mean?"
"I need to get out of here without that guy on my tail."
"How are you going to do that?"
"I was hoping I could borrow your car."
"Well, sure, but I'm parked in the same lot as you—and him."
"Right, I was thinking you could leave and park down the road, behind the stadium at the vendor's entrance, and I'll duck out the back way to meet you."
"But won't he see me?"
"The way you fill out that dress, he'll definitely see you."
"You like this dress?" she asks, placing her arms over his shoulders.
"The dress is fine, but what I really like is how good you make it look," he says, and lifts her skirt and slip, caresses the top of her thigh, just above the stocking.
"Clay," she says, resting her hand on his hand, stopping him from moving it higher. "What if one of the players comes in?"
"Lock the door then," he says.
She walks to the door that separates her office from the clubhouse and locks it.
Clay goes to the box office window and pulls the blind down.
"What if someone comes?"
"We'll have to try and stay quiet," he says, and walks up to her again. He tenderly kisses her on the mouth, and firmly places a hand at the nape of her neck. With his other hand, he lifts her skirt and slip again as they ease onto the sofa by Maggie's desk.
Maggie starts tugging at Clay's shirt. He starts to take his jacket off, but makes a face that interrupts their kissing.
"What's wrong?" Maggie asks.
"He tagged me over here too," he says, putting his hand on his side.
"Poor baby," Maggie says, caressing his side. "Do you want me to—?"
"No. I just want you to get that dress off."
Eight
As Clay buttons his shirt, standing at a safe distance from the box office window, he watches Maggie walk out to her car. The plan is for her to drive to the back of the stadium and park near the vendor's entrance where Clay will meet her. Then he will take her car, and hope that his tail doesn't get wise about what they've done until Clay is safely back from Kevin's apartment.
Still, there is a chance, if the guy suspects anything from Maggie, that he could follow her around the building just to be sure there isn't anything going on, then circle back to be sure she wasn't just a decoy used to drag him away so that Clay could escape his watch. That's what a good tail would do. That's what Clay would do.
A good tail is always suspicious, always thinking of the various ways that a principal could try to give you the slip. A tail should always assume that it's possible that the principal already knows he or she is being followed, and that, if they know, they'll always be trying to think of ways to shake you. So, a tail should always be a step ahead of the principal. As the tail, you should familiarize yourself with an area's back alleys and hiding spots, just know the general terrain that your principal is moving on. For instance, the guy in the blue Ford should have already gotten out of his car, and walked around the stadium a bit to have a quick look around the building. But it doesn't look like he's gotten out of the car since he arrived. Of course, Clay can't be sure of that, he's been otherwise occupied in Maggie's office.
If Clay were the guy in the blue Ford, and he would've seen Maggie walk out and get into her car, he would've followed her for at least a couple blocks, and then circled back. There's little chance that he would lose his tail in that time anyway, and it would have the added benefit of giving him a new perspective on the area.
But, as Maggie pulls away, the blue Ford doesn't budge.
Clay starts to wonder if Jack deliberately sent someone he knew wouldn't do a good job. It's an effective way for Jack to give Clay that additional space he promised while still appearing to put in the effort if Ramsey were to check his work.
He waits another beat just to be sure the tail doesn't move. Then he leaves Maggie's office, goes through the clubhouse, and into the dugout. The players are out on the field having a practice. Clay takes a quick look out on the field, then looks down the bench of the dugout. Other than Johnny, who is sitting on the bench reading the newspaper again, the dugout is empty.
"What's the news, Johnny?"
"Same old stories. Yankees win again."
"You mind if I borrow one of these?" Clay asks, grabbing one of the many bats lined up against the wall of the dugout.
"What the hell do I care? Do I look like I run the place?"
"Thanks," Clay says, and takes a bat. He runs as fast as his bad leg will let him toward the outfield. Maggie enters the outfield through a door off the right field wall, and he rushes to meet her.
"All clear?" Clay asks.
"I didn't see him," she says, and then she grabs his hand and presses her body against him. "Promise me you'll be careful."
"I'll be careful," he says, and kisses her. He walks by her, but turns back, "See you in a little while?"
"Sure, I'll be around," she says. "Hey, what's the bat for?"
"A guy I know might need a little convincing."
Maggie just shakes her head at him as he walks out the right field door.
Clay peeks around the corner of the vendor's entrance. No blue Ford. Nobody. Maggie has kept the car running. He gets in, shuts the door, throws the bat in the back, and takes off.
He obsessively checks the rearview mirror as he moves through town. It looks like he's successfully shaken the tail, but he doesn't know how much time he's bought himself. Clay knows that if he started to suspect he'd been shaken by a principal, he'd look for the person in the place he most feared that person would go.
In this case, Clay suspects the place they most fear he would go is Kevin's.
When he gets near Kevin's apartment building, he eases slowly down the road, checking all the parked cars for watchers. Since Jack told him about Ramsey's paranoia—that Ramsey sometimes has his watchmen watch the hired watchers—he needs to keep a lookout for anything suspicious. He'd like to avoid another run-in with Ramsey's goons.
Once he's reasonably sure that he's in the clear, he parks the car about a block away from Kevin's apartment and grabs the bat from the back seat.
He walks down the alley, where he can get easy access to Kevin's place through his backyard. He needs to find out if he's even home first, and, if he is, he wants to get the lay of the land so that he minimizes the risk of Kevin making a run for it again.
Kevin lives in a big building close to downtown San Jose. It's only a couple blocks from the business district, and close enough to Gene's garage that he can walk to work. It's a large house that is separated into four units, two on the bottom floor, two on the top. Lucky for Clay, Kevin occupies one of the bottom units. If he lived on one of the top floors, Clay wouldn't have the access to his windows to be able to get an idea of what's happening inside.
Clay walks into the backyard and starts scanning the perimeter of the building. Other than a shed in the rear of the yard with some garden equipment inside, it's a pretty sparse space. He walks around to the back window of Kevin's apartment, careful not to look too sneaky about it. It's important in these situations not to appear too obvious, though carrying a ball bat might not be the best way to appear inconspicuous. He tries to hide the bat by tucking the handle into the sleeve of his jacket, all the way up to his elbow, leaving the fat part of the bat hanging over his hand.
He peeks in the window by the back door. It's the kitchen. There's no sign of Kevin, but he can hear the buzz of a radio from another room inside. He walks around the corner of the house, and stops at the next window—another kitchen window. He moves down to the next window, peeks
in. The window is open a few inches. It's a bedroom, and the noise of the radio is clear as day now. Still, though, no Kevin. Clay starts to move past the window when, out of the corner of his eye, he sees a figure enter the room. He ducks beneath the window, waits a beat or two before he eases back to look in the room. It's Kevin. He's standing by the bed folding clothes. He has his back to Clay, and when Clay stands up to get a better look, he can see that Kevin is folding some clothes into a suitcase.
"Not yet, you son of a bitch," Clay whispers as he moves to the back kitchen window again. He stares at the backdoor. It's strange. It's an exterior door that opens out instead of in, which, for Clay's purposes, works out pretty well. He looks around the yard. On the other side of the backdoor's small four-step stairwell is a metal trash can. He pulls the ball bat out from his sleeve, leans it against the building. Then he puts his arms around the trash can and lifts it. It's pretty heavy. It has a lot of trash in it, which, again, works out perfectly for Clay. He carefully carries the can—fighting his thigh and rib pain the whole way—up the stairs to the back door. He sits it in front of the door as quietly as he can, then looks around the yard, and spots a rake resting on the wall inside the shed. He walks to the shed, grabs the rake, and brings it back to the stairwell by the back door. He slides the long wooden pole of the rake in between two of the handrail's vertical spindles closest to the door on both sides of the staircase, and then he rests the pole on top of the trash can.
Then Clay grabs his bat, slides it back into his jacket sleeve, and moves