Las Vegas Gold (11 page)

Molly still had some concerns. She called both young catchers into her office one day and complimented them on the way they had come along alternating as regular catchers. “I don't have a number one and number two catcher,” she added. “I have two number one catchers.

“But,” she added, “there are two areas where I would like to see some big improvements.” Both young catchers sat up and paid attention. “One is hitting. I want to see you both take extra hitting practice every day with Herb Germaine. I've talked with him about it. In fact, he suggested it after watching you bat and keeping some stats on both of you. He and I both believe he can improve your hitting considerably. I know a catcher's primary job is working behind the plate and handling pitchers, but being able to handle a bat is an extra, and if you can improve there, you'll improve the team and your overall ability. Bobby Joe will be coming back next spring, but I don't expect he'll be able to carry the load he has been carrying this year.

“The second area I'd like to see some improvement is the way you handle pitchers. You are both pleasant and easy-going young men. But you aren't taking charge on the field. You should be able to be aware of the situation with each hitter, and in any given game be aware of which of the pitcher's pitches are working and which are not. If your intuition tells you a certain pitch should be the right one for a particular situation, then insist on it. If the pitcher keeps shaking you off, go out and talk to him. Again, if you see he's getting tired, his arm dropping on the fastball, or something similar, go out and tell him. Be aware of what a pitcher is doing, as well as where the runners are and the fielders are playing. Don't be afraid to take charge. That's your job. You've been too nice. Get tough. You're the field generals. If we see a problem and you don't do something, Willie will be out on the mound to talk to you as well as the pitcher. Remember, he was a catcher in his playing days, and a darn good one; he knows both sides of the coin very well.

“I think if you two will work on both of those parts of your game, you'll see a big improvement, and so will the team. Okay?”

Both catchers agreed with the suggestions. Johnny Lighthorn said, as he went out the door, “Molly, that's the kind of coaching I was hoping to find. Thanks.” Grazi Harango, right behind him, added his thanks, and Molly was satisfied with her lengthy sermon.

It was soon evident both suggestions were paying off. Both catchers' batting averages gradually rose, and both began to take charge more on the field. In fact, Damaso Gonzalez asked Willie one day, “Am I imagining things, or are those kids getting better behind the plate?”

15

Disaster for the Las Vegas Gold had not ended. On the 15th of September, as Larry Henderson was turning into his driveway after an afternoon game with the Yankees, an old clunker pulled in behind him. When he stepped out of his car and turned in curiosity toward the driver of the old car, an arm reached out the window with a handgun showing in the hand at the end of the arm. Two shots hit Larry in the chest area. He was dead when he hit the pavement. The old car peeled rubber as it backed out of the yard, and again as it took off down the road, motor roaring as it sped off into the distance.

Molly and Kenny Boyce were sitting in her office, the door closed against the noise from the dressing room as the players celebrated Damaso Gonzalez' 20th victory of the season, a 6-2 victory over the Mariners. When the phone rang, Molly picked it up and recognized the voice of her father.

“Molly, terrible news. Larry Henderson has been shot dead in the driveway of his home.”

Molly turned pale, then red, then she dropped the phone on her desk, put her head down on her arms and began to cry, shaking with huge sobs and unable to say a word when Kenny asked what the trouble was.

He picked up the phone, and began, “Ken Boyce here. Who is this and what's the trouble?” After he heard Mike Malone's voice and got a repeat of the message, he asked for details, adding Molly was too distraught to talk right at the moment. “Hit her like a ton of bricks,” he said.

“Yeah, I guess I wasn't too gentle with the way I broke the news. Stay with her, will you, and keep the team together if you can. The police will be along later. Right now, they're busy at Larry's place. Nobody saw it except Larry's wife and little girl, coming out of the house to meet him. That was a terrible thing for them both. And there was no plate on the car. Likely stolen. The cops expect to find it abandoned in a parking lot somewhere not far away.

“Listen, Ken. Tell Molly when you can I'm sending a car for her. She's not to go home to her house. She can stop there and get some clothes if she wants. There'll be a guard with her all the time. I want her here with me. I've phoned the Commissioner's Office, and the next couple of games are postponed. Eddy Harper is making arrangements. He'll be acting GM for a while, anyway. Thanks for whatever help you can be here.”

“I can do that, Mike. I feel terrible for Molly and for all the organization, as well as Larry's family. This team seems to be jinxed.”

“Huh! And you know who the SOB has already targeted as his next victim.”

“Well, we'll do our best around here to keep her safe. Keep us posted, Mike.”

Ken hung up. Molly was still an emotional mess. He stepped out into the hall and saw Jerry Lyons standing not far away. He called him over and motioned him into the coaches' room, a large space with desks for every coach, lockers and showers. There he told all the coaches the news. The silence from the shock was profound. “Jerry, can you tell the players and ask them all to stay around for the police. I don't know how long that will be. The next two games are postponed.”

When Jerry left to tell the players, Kenny turned to the other coaches who had been listening with shocked attention. “Willie, order in pizza and beer for the whole gang, will you. Jerry,” meaning third base coach Jerry Haley, “will you tell the umpires and ask them to stick around too. Willie, can you slip over to the Yankees dressing room and break the news there? Herb and Art, give Jerry a few minutes to break the news to our players, and then maybe you could sort of wander around and talk with the players if they want to. Jerry and Willie will do the same when they finish what they're doing. I'll be with Molly. She's too broken up to leave alone right now.”

The players were shocked, some scared, all of them having even more difficulty than they did when Tabby O'Hara had been murdered during a game, probably because it was the second such terrible thing in the season. Some wanted to talk, some just sat around in silence, lost in their own thoughts. Owen Hansford seemed to take the news the hardest.

Willie Fontana noticed Owen by himself in a corner of the room, sitting on a stool and weeping. He dragged up another stool and sat beside him, saying nothing, just being there. Finally, Owen pulled out a big bandana-like handkerchief and wiped his eyes.

“Can't help crying, Willie.”

“That's okay, Owen, I already did.”

“I just never been treated so good by management anywhere I ever worked, and Larry Henderson was like a big brother to me when I first came here. He was a good man, a real good man. Why are those the kind of guys who have such terrible things happen to them?”

“If I knew, I'd tell you,” replied Willie. They both sat in silence for a while. Then Willie got up. “You okay now?”

Owen nodded, then told him, “Maybe you'd feel a little better if you talked with some of the other guys. There's beer and pizza on its way for supper. Everybody's feeling miserable.”

In about two hours, two Las Vegas detectives arrived and assembled the entire team. Molly joined them, still pale, her eyes swollen from the long period of crying. The detectives told the team members what they knew, which was not much more than the players already knew. The lead detective, Sgt. Michaluk, asked if any of the players had any ideas they could contribute.

“If you don't want to talk in front of the entire team, come and talk to us individually afterward. We're interested in anything, anything at all anyone can tell us.”

Molly spoke up in a rather shaky voice. “I guess you know about the harassing calls Larry's been getting.”

“Yeah, the FBI guy, Turnbull, is working with us, because of the interstate and international aspects of this whole damn thing. I understand you've been getting calls, too, Ms. Malone.” Molly nodded.

Most of the players were taken aback by that statement, because that news had not been spread around.

“What the hell is going on?” asked Mac Driscoll with some heat. “Is there some kind of plot to assassinate the whole team?”

“Calm down, son,” said the second detective. “I think the killer, whoever he is, has a grudge against management, not the players.”

“Then how does Tabby O'Hara fit in?” asked T.Y. Hollinger. “He wasn't management. Has this guy got a grudge against pitchers, too?”

“Lotta' people got a grudge against pitchers, T.Y,” growled Digger Hazen. “You're the guys who lose games!”

That brought a muted laugh from some of the players and broke some of the tension. “We don't know how that one ties in,” Michaluk said. “Right now we're working on O'Hara's death as a separate occurrence, but we haven't closed our minds it may be tied in. Doesn't help that one happened out in New York, so getting all the relevant information is an on-going job.”

The other detective chimed in. “Solving this one could take a while. Once we find the car, we hope we'll get something usable, like prints. Maybe even the gun. By the way, any of you guys, or anybody you know who used to play on this team, carry a gun?”

“I'm gonna.” T.Y. was quite definite. Several other players nodded approval.

“Well, learn how to use them properly so you don't hurt yourself or anybody else.”

“And don't carry it during a game. You might accidentally fire it while sliding into second and shoot the umpire.” Michaluk laughed, and so did most of the players. Molly managed a small smile.

* * *

The funeral service for Larry Henderson was more largely attended than that for Tabby O'Hara had been. The entire Las Vegas team, led by Molly Malone, marched into the church and filled the first four rows behind the family members. Mike Malone delivered the eulogy. He spoke of Larry Henderson's integrity, of his highly rated opinion among the players he dealt with, and the way he had made himself so highly respected among baseball players.

At the cemetery, the team grouped four deep along two sides of the open grave. As the casket was lowered into the ground, each man stepped forward and tossed a handful of sand onto it. Larry's wife and ten year-old daughter followed, and each gently dropped a single long-stemmed rose on top of the casket. Then, slowly, each one made their way to the waiting cars and buses.

There were so many people at both the church and at the cemetery, nobody, not even the police, took particular notice of one man who kept in the background but showed great interest in the proceedings. He was a tall man, carrying himself with the build and movements of an athlete, clean-shaven, dressed in a business suit, wearing sunglasses. He was among the last to leave the cemetery.

* * *

Once more, Curly Joe Agostino had to confess to Achille Ricci somebody had beat his man to the job. Killing Larry Henderson had been the work of somebody unknown to him.

“Well,” growled Ricci, “that ain't your fault. Somebody's doing us a favor. So try again. This one will be harder and should be worth more money. Get Malone's daughter. That will really hit him, and maybe he'll be ready to get rid of the team. Keep in touch.”

Curly Joe left the room.

* * *

The day after the funeral, Molly spoke to the team as they were on their chartered aircraft on the way to Chicago. She used the flight attendants' microphone.

“When the season opened, I said I would not call a second team meeting until we had won the AL Pennant. I broke that promise after Tabby O'Hara's death, and now I'm breaking it again, after a similar occasion. Listen guys. We have a new goal. We're not going to stop with winning the AL pennant. We're going to keep right on until we win the World Series. That's something no expansion team has ever done in its first year. We've lost Tabby to death and Bobby Joe to injuries, and we've found some first class replacements. We can't replace Larry, although Eddy Harper will do a good job. But nobody else can be Tabby and nobody else can be Larry. We're going to dedicate the rest of our season to Tabby and Larry. We're going to win it all, and we're going to do it for them!

“A little good news. Bobby Joe is going to rejoin the team in Chicago. He'll either be on crutches or in a wheelchair; we won't know until we see him. He won't be playing any more this year, but he'll be helping with the coaching, particularly with Grazi and Johnny. And just having him around should be a big boost to the entire team.”

“You can see I have high expectations for you as a team. I want you to have high expectations for yourselves, individually and collectively.” She put the microphone down and resumed her seat.

Connie Armstrong was slated to open the series against the White Sox. The Gold had been wearing Tabby's Number 22 on their right sleeves since his murder. Now, they also wore a patch with the black initials LH on their left sleeves. Connie talked to Bobby Joe before the game. Bobby Joe was on crutches, but in uniform and on the bench. After their conversation, which lasted until he left the bench to take the field, Connie went out and pitched a no-hitter, his first ever. His teammates slammed five home runs and walked away with a laugher, 14 to 0.

The Gold swept the White Sox and went on to sweep Kansas City and the Twins in Minnesota before returning to Las Vegas. Lynn Meriweather and Owen Hansford each won two games, Damaso Gonzalez won his 21st of the season, and Quincey O'Donnell and Kenny Sykes each picked up a victory in support of T.Y. Hollinger and Connie Armstrong. Jerry Lyons hit four home runs to run his season total to 48, and Diego Martinez was right behind him with 47. The team was in high spirits. They had long ago clinched a berth in the playoffs, winning the Western Division in a breeze.

Molly was not happy. She received two more phone calls from whomever it was who was threatening to kill her. She finally decided to take the team into her confidence. Once more, she called them all together.

“This is the third time I'm breaking my ‘no more team meetings' promise. I'm not doing it lightly.” She reminded them about the calls and the threats and the FBI and police investigations, all the way back to Tabby's misadventures. “You can see why I'm worried, upset and short-tempered from time to time. I'm not expecting you to solve the problem, but I wanted you to know detectives from the Las Vegas Police are going to be around here for the next few days again, interviewing each of you—players, coaches, trainers, everybody. Please give them any help you can. Even if it sounds like nothing important to you, every little piece of information goes into the computer and, who knows, some tiny bit you tossed off as probably unimportant may just turn out to be the thing to put it all together. I'm not scared, but I would be unreal to say I'm not worried. This thing is slowly but surely getting to me, and I need all the help and support you can give me.”

She patiently answered the various questions that came up, and eventually the meeting ended. The players talked among themselves in small groups even as they practiced. They were still coming to grips with the problem as they realized the full extent of the deaths that had stricken the team.

It was T.Y. who began the process of solving the mystery. Molly was helping Bobby Joe hold pick-off and throw-out drills with the two young catchers. Willie was pitching, Steve Hostetler and Jiggs Kelly, the reserve infielder who had come from the Dodgers in the O'Hara trade, were taking turns running, and Tubby and Danny were in the second and short positions, alternately receiving throws from the catchers. Molly was standing at the plate with the bat, swinging at everything with no intention of hitting the pitches. As the practice session ended, T.Y. called Molly off to one side. He had been idly tossing the ball with Owen on the sidelines and was facing the stands behind the plate.

“Molly, what was the name of that pitcher Larry traded to the Dodgers for Tabby O'Hara? He didn't stay long with the Dodgers because he was too mad at them for getting him back after not signing him in the first place, and he was mad at Larry for trading him. He went to Japan to play. I can't remember his name, but he was here this morning.”