Double Play (25 page)

“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.”

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 York. 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 wasn’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.”

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.”

“I
expect this game will change her mind,” Halee said with pride. She kissed Ty on
the cheek. “I just need to keep this little guy safe.”

“Once
you get into the spotlight, your life isn’t yours anymore. I kept my children
under lock and key when they were growing up. Any idea who’s behind this?”

“None.”

“Well,
I have a couple of ideas worth hearing.” He peered past Halee at the commotion
in the front of the jet. Bobby sidled his way toward the bank of leather seats
situated in the middle of the cabin with the usual dour look of a cop who knew
and saw too much on a regular basis. He tossed his duffle bag into an overhead
bin and peeled off his Cubs jacket. “Robert Pallante,” he said, offering a
strong handshake. “I appreciate the ride.”

“Robert,”
repeated Jack. “Welcome aboard.”

 Rita
skipped down the aisle, the very opposite of Bobby, excited as a kid on her way
to Disney World. She stopped at the circle of plush leather seating and looked
like she might dissolve into tears of joy. Bobby jumped up and slid her tired
suitcase into the overhead bin next to his. “You want the aisle or the window,
Rita?” he asked, almost reverently.

“Window,”
she said with a giggle.

“So
you’re the Rita I have heard so much about,” said Jack, taking her hands in
both of his. “I picked out today’s dessert just for you. Halee told me you like
tiramisu.”

Rita
beamed. “Heck, yeh! I mean, yes. Yes, very much. Thank you, Mr. Keeting.”

“Jack,
please call me Jack.”

Uncle
Gus walked slowly toward them, juggling a cup of coffee, a newspaper, and a
lightly packed duffle bag. He kept his head low and angled himself into one of
the oversized chairs. “I could get used to this,” he said to Bobby. “Mr. Keeting,”
he said, half rising out of his chair and offering a hand. “Gus Benedetto. Grateful
for the use of your airplane.”

“Glad
to be of service.”

Everyone
turned to watch J.D. walking steadily down the center aisle. A thick white
bandage hid his left eye; a band of white gauze held the patch in place. His
exposed forehead was painted in a mixture of red and dark blue with a tinge of
green at the edges. He looked more like a boxer than a baseball player. Halee’s
heart filled with joy at the sight of him.

He
stopped a foot from Keeting and held out his hand. “I hear we have a lot in
common,” said J.D. “Thank you for arranging this.”

“Mr.
Shaw. We meet at last.” Keeting shook J.D.’s hand and studied his battered face.
“And they say baseball isn’t a contact sport.”

“Think
I’ll slide feet first next time.”

Jack
laughed. “I admire your decision to play tonight. Only a champion would put
himself on the line like this. I hate to admit it, but I do believe you’re
worthy of our Halee after all.”

“I’ll
do my best to live up to that opinion, Mr. Keeting.”

“Jack.
Call me Jack.”

“J.D.”

“Why
don’t you use the room in the back, J.D.? You can rest quite comfortably and
save up your strength for tonight’s game. I’ll come see you later, talk
business. I have some news to share.”

“Thank
you.” J.D. headed in that direction, one foot at a time.

Halee
plopped Ty on Bobby’s knee and headed in J.D.’s direction. Jack intercepted.

“You
want him to win tonight, don’t you?” he asked with a coy smile.

“I
just want to be sure he’s comfortable.” She tried to squeeze past.

Jack
took her by the arm. “He’s preparing, Halee. Like a warrior for battle, he’s sliding
into a zone reserved only for him. We all do it. It’s your job to recognize
that, to allow it. You can celebrate later.”

Halee
hesitated, continuing to focus on the door to the bedroom where J.D. had
disappeared. The pilot’s voice came over the sound system, advising them to
buckle their seatbelts for takeoff.  “Come join me,” said Jack, taking her hand
and leading her to a small sofa at the back of the plane. “I’ll tell you about
my grand schemes.”

“I
don’t like the way he touches her,” said Bobby to Rita, adjusting his seat belt
over his bulky frame.

Rita
narrowed her eyes and examined the scene. “All rich guys do that. They like
what they see, they think they own it. Halee can fend for herself.”

“What
did she have to do to get him to take us to New York?”

“What
are you talking about?”

“This
guy has prick written all over him. He’s gonna want the favor returned. We
shoulda rented a car and driven to New York.”

“Right.
Have you ever driven across country with an infant?”

Bobby
smirked. “No, but I heard all about it from Gus.”

“Just
cool your jets. Big man isn’t gonna try anything with a Chicago cop on board.”

Bobby
sat back with a satisfied expression, but continued to watch the scene
unfolding on the sofa. By the time they’d climbed to 37,000 feet, Gus was
snoring and Ty was sprawled out on the floor, doing the same. There was no sign
of J.D. An attractive young waitress appeared from the front of the plane with
a cocktail tray and some napkins. “May I get you a drink?” she asked Bobby
brightly.

“No,
thank you.”

“Beer,
wine, soft drinks.”

Bobby
waved her away. “Nothing.”

“Lunch?”

“No.”

Rita
considered Bobby with a look of suspicion. “I’ll have a beer,” she said. “And
I’ll take lunch, too.”

“Yes,
of course.” The waitress glanced toward Jack and Halee for a moment, and then disappeared.

“Since
when do you turn down a beer and lunch?” asked Rita in a hushed whisper.

“I
don’t trust this guy as far as I can throw him,” said Bobby, focusing his steel
gaze on Keeting. “Never eat in the house of someone you don’t trust.”

Rita
rolled her eyes.

“How
did they meet again?”

“On
an airplane.”

“What’s
he doing flying commercial when he’s got his own jet?”

“How
do I know?” Rita grinned widely as she dug into a full plate of fresh sushi,
fruit, and salad. “Ah, this is great,” she said, raising a forkful to Bobby’s
lips.

He
turned away.

“What
a grouch.”

“I’ve
had enough of this bullshit.” Bobby pushed off his chair and walked
deliberately toward Keeting, never taking his eyes off him. He towered over the
sofa where Keeting and Halee were deep in conversation. “I have some
information about the kids in St. Louis,” he bellowed without apologizing.

Keeting
ignored him, continuing to talk. Halee raised her hand. “Please, Jack,” she
said, inching closer to the sofa’s edge.

“Seems
there’s no connection between Demarcus Robinson’s gang and the kids in St.
Louis,” said Bobby. “The Chicago gang has laid the matter to rest. That means
this incident is fresh.”

“So
it’s not Chantrell?”

“Not
from what I can tell.”

Rita
approached from behind. “That’s good news, right?”

“Maybe.”
Bobby studied Jack’s reaction. “What did Frank find out?”

Halee
shrugged. “The number was masked. It can’t be traced without a court order.”

“So
let’s get one.”

 “Please,”
said Jack, rising from the sofa. “Too many people in the rear of the cabin. We
need to redistribute weight.”

Bobby
crooked his finger toward Halee. She followed him to the circle of chairs in
the center of the cabin. He poked Gus on the shoulder. “Wake up, old man.”

Gus
grumbled and stretched. Bobby leaned over. “Look alive. We got trouble,” he
said in a low voice. He straightened, meeting Halee’s worried expression head
on.  “The kids said a blonde woman paid them a hundred bucks to threaten you.
That’s all. No kidnapping, no violence. They were just supposed to scare you.”

“Catrina
Hiett?”

“Was
that the woman at the ballpark?”

Halee
nodded.

“Maybe.
The kids said they didn’t get a good look at her. Said she was in a stretch
limo a couple blocks away from the ball field. Said there was a man in the car
with her. A guy with red hair.”

Halee
swallowed hard. “What did she say to them?”

“She
told them to go to the hospital emergency room and look for a white woman with
a black baby.”

“So
she had to know where we were going.”

“She
had to know you were going at all.”

Halee
gasped. She shook her head. “No.”

“Who
wants J.D. to come clean about his shoulder?”

“Catrina.”

“Who
else?”

Jack
came up behind them and slid his arm around Halee’s waist. “Everything
alright?”

Bobby
strode to the cockpit and knocked on the door.

“You
can’t go in there,” Jack shouted from behind.

Bobby
entered the cockpit and shut the door behind him, flipping the lock. “Where are
you taking us?” he asked.

“You
can’t be in here,” the pilot said, reaching for his gun.

Bobby
flashed his badge. “Where did Keeting say we were going?”

The
pilot hesitated. “My orders are to fly to Mr. Keeting’s summer home on Cape
Cod.”

“Change
in plans,” said Bobby. “New York LaGuardia. Call ahead and have a helicopter
waiting to take us to Federal Stadium.” He pulled out his cell phone. “This
thing work in here?”

“Yes,
but…”

“Detective
Rory O’Brien,” Bobby barked into his cell phone. “It’s an emergency.”

***

Faye leaned back in the chair at Carly Gershall’s beauty
salon and closed her eyes. There was really nothing as soothing as getting your
hair washed. After a week wondering what to do about Hank’s proposal, it was
good to surrender to Carly’s comforting touch.

“Why ain’t you in New York, Faye? I’da thought you’d
have a front row ticket to tonight’s game.”

“I’ll be truthful with ya, Carly,” said Faye. “I just
can’t stand the big city. Me and Hank are fixin’ to watch the game on the big
screen down at Fat Jimmy’s with everybody else.”

“So
you want to look nice for your picture in the paper?”

Faye
grinned.

“I
have a good feeling about this,” said Carly, squeezing Faye’s shoulder. “I just
know J.D. is gonna win the whole thing tonight.”

“I
know it too,” said Faye. “I know it clean to my toes.”

“That’s
nice of Hank, taking you down to Fat Jimmy’s. It can get pretty wild down
there. Best to go with a man.”

“Mmmhmm.”

“I
suppose he needs some cheering up. He can’t be feeling all that good, what with
losing the ranch.”

Faye
opened her eyes. “What did you say?”

“Hank
losing the ranch. Betty Fraser told me. She and Hank broke up a few weeks back
after he asked her to marry him. Turns out they was courtin’ quite a while.
Surprised us all.”

“Hank
courtin’ Betty Fraser?”

“Why
yes, didn’t you know? Her cousin works down at the clerk’s office. Says his
taxes are overdue a couple of years now. Betty said she ain’t marrying no poor
man.”

Faye
started to sit up.

“Hold
up now.” Carly placed a warm towel over Faye’s freshly washed hair and rubbed
lightly.

“That
can’t be right,” said Faye. Her hands were shaking; her breath was stuck in her
lungs. “Hank’s selling. He’s gonna sell to J.D.”

“Well
he’d better hurry up. Some business out of New York is fixin’ to get the place
for the price of the taxes. Betty’s cousin says that’s all it’ll take. There
ain’t no note on it, been paid off for years. You know the government. They
want their damn taxes.”

“Dry
my hair!” said Faye.

“But
I ain’t cut it yet…”

“Dry
it, Carly, or I’ll walk outa here with it wet and everybody will wonder what
kinda operation you’re running!”

“Well, I’ll be!” Carly hurried over to her station and
grabbed a blow dryer. “What are you in such a hurry for?”

“I got business to take care of.”

“All’s I need is twenty minutes and you’ll be pretty as
a picture.”

“I ain’t got twenty minutes.” Faye pulled the cape from
her shoulders and stood. “I’m sorry, Carly. I’ll make another appointment.” She
rushed to the door and let it slam behind her.

The
old Buick was burning up to about one hundred degrees inside when Faye slid
herself onto the front seat. The contrast felt good with the chill of her damp
hair. Her fingers shook as she tried to grip the hot steering wheel. Taxes? Why
hadn’t Hank told her? Why had he lied to her about the ranch?

And
then it came to her. Her stomach tightened into a ball and squeezed. It had
taken thirty years and a rejection from Betty Fraser to make Hank Long
desperate enough to ask her to marry him. And she’d fallen for it, just like a
school girl.

She
rolled the window down all the way and dipped her head out, hoping not to throw
up before she reached the clerk’s office. The rich aroma of newly cut hay
filled her nostrils, comforting her with the familiar smell of home. She pushed
her face out further, allowing hot air to sandblast her dry skin. Somehow pain
was what she needed right now, physical pain to remind her she was alive. For
better or worse, she was alive.