Mexican WhiteBoy (14 page)

Uno’s Own Vision of a Future

1

Uno winces as he takes in another warm-up fastball from Danny, another shot of pain that shoots up his arm. Lately it seems like Danny’s throwing harder than ever. His numbers would be off the charts on that speed gun they use at the fair. Which is great. Except it’s killing his hand.

He leans forward onto his knees and tosses the ball back. Watches Carmelo tighten both his batting gloves, one at a time. Pick up his bat and flex his fingers around the grip. Uno smiles behind his borrowed face mask, thinks: This cat ain’t got no idea. He facin’ a different Danny this time.

On the bus ride over to Morse High, Uno tried to explain the art of double or nothing to Danny. Again. “Dude’s gotta think he has a legit chance,” he said. “Even as he’s striking out. It’s just like Vegas, man. They let fools feel just good enough so they keep throwin’ down paper. Get it?”

Danny nodded, but Uno knew it wasn’t sinking in.

Since the last Carmelo hustle—the only time they’ve actually lost money in eight hustles—Danny’s been lights out. Sometimes Uno can’t believe the talent he’s witnessing. It’s like playing a video game when you know all the cheat codes. He lays down the sign for fastball, sets his target and the ball pops his mitt perfect. Doesn’t have to move a muscle. Lays down the sign for a curve and preps for something freakish. A pitch that drops right out of the air. Like gravity gives it a sec to play around in the air before sucking it back down to the dirt. But Uno’s favorite is when he calls for a change-up after two straight fastballs. The batter will be so far in front on his swing he’ll stumble across the plate, fall flat on his face. Sometimes it makes Uno laugh so hard he can hardly toss the ball back out to the mound.

Uno knows he’s lucky. Being this close to greatness. Being an actual part of it. He knows Danny’s gonna go off and do amazing things in the future. Get written up in all the papers, all the magazines. Get drafted by a big-league squad and sign a sick contract. And when they show a close-up of him on TV, Uno will be able to point at him and shout: “Yo, that’s my boy, right there! Nah, for real! I used to be his catcher back when we was kids!”

At the same time, Danny can’t just destroy a guy on three straight strikes and expect him to go double or nothing. As the bus pulled up to their stop, Uno tried to put it another way. “Think about it, D. The art of hustlin’ is preservin’ a sucker’s hope. Throw a couple in the dirt. Let him foul off a couple high ones. You ain’t gotta use your
best
stuff to get these punks out. Right?”

Danny nodded again, but Uno could see there was still a disconnect.

2

After Uno tosses the last warm-up baseball back to Danny, Carmelo steps to the plate. “Can’t believe you guys wanna give me more money,” he says, digging his right toe into the dirt and tapping the plate with his bat. His boys in foul territory are hardly even paying attention this time. It’s a foregone conclusion to them. One kid has JJ in a headlock. The other two are trying to throw pieces of concrete from the dugout over the left-field fence and into the street.

“It’s all right there in my hat,” Uno says. “Forty more bones for you. Too bad you ’bout to get got.”

Carmelo laughs, spits over the plate. “You’re a comedian, dude.”

“We’ll see who laughin’ in a couple minutes.”

“Whatever, dude.”

Uno points at Danny, lays down the sign for fastball.

Danny goes right into his windup, fires a heater past a late-swinging Carmelo that nearly rips Uno’s catcher’s mitt off. Uno cringes as another dose of pain shoots up from his left hand into his shoulder. “Strike one,” he shouts, pulling the ball out and tossing it back to Danny. He reminds himself to catch it in the web, not on the hand. He can’t take too many more fastballs on the hand like that.

Carmelo backs out of the box, looks at Uno. “Okay,” he says, nodding. “He’s got a little more juice this time. That’s cool. I like when suckers make me earn my money.”

“How ’bout suckers who
take
your money?”

“Yeah, right.”

“You buyin’
my
meal this time. Me and D.”

Carmelo shakes his head and looks out at Danny. He takes another practice swing, steps back in the box.

Uno puts down the sign for curveball. But he taps his right thigh this time, hoping Danny will figure out he wants it outside the strike zone.

Danny goes into his windup, throws a wild curve that skips past Uno and rolls all the way to the backstop. Uno gives chase, a smile behind his mask. He gathers the ball, throws it back to Danny, watches him walk around the mound like he’s confused. He can’t believe it. They’re on the same page.

“That’s why he’ll never make a team,” Carmelo says when Uno squats behind the plate again. “He can wing it, I’ll give you that. But he’s too wild. He’ll always be right here, with you, pitching on the street.”

“Better hope one of them wild ones don’t get you in the neck,” Uno says. “Could make it hard to breathe.”

“What?” Carmelo says, turning around.

“Nothin’.” Uno sets up in a squat again, gives the sign for another curve. No thigh tap.

Danny goes into his windup, delivers a spinning pitch headed right down the pipe, but at the last second it cuts down and away from a wild-swinging Carmelo.

Uno gathers the pitch off a one-hop and stands up. “Strike two!” he shouts in Carmelo’s ear, tosses the ball back to Danny.

“I can’t
believe
I swung at that,” Carmelo says.

“Thought you was better than that,” Uno says. “Paper said you supposed to make all-league this year. Gotta know when to swing if you gonna make all-league, right?”

Carmelo doesn’t answer. He balances the bat between his knees, tightens his batting glove again. His boys grow a little more attentive in foul territory, get a little louder with their encouragement. Carmelo doesn’t look at them. He’s too busy watching Danny dig at the dirt around the mound.

Uno grins behind his mask. He can tell by Carmelo’s posture that Danny’s got him whipped. When the guy steps back into the box, Uno lays down another curve. This one’s payback.

Danny winds up and spins a wicked pitch. The ball barrels right in on Carmelo’s fists, but as he bails out of the box the pitch spins back over the plate. Carmelo takes an awkward half swing. Misses badly. Slams his bat into the ground.

“Strike three!” Uno shouts, rising out of his crouch. He rolls the ball back to Danny. “See! What I tell you about keepin’ it down, D?” He turns toward his hat, walks over and pulls out the two twenties, goes to stick them both in his pocket.

“Hold up a sec,” Carmelo calls out, reaching down for his bat. “Just…hold on.” He turns to his boy JJ again. “You got any more cash, man? We gotta go double or nothin’ with these punks. I’m not goin’ out like that.”

JJ reaches for his wallet and looks inside, pulls out a folded bill. “I only got one more twenty.”

Carmelo turns to the rest of his teammates, pleads for financial backing. Two guys hesitantly hold out tens.

“You sure?” one of them says.

“Hell yeah, I’m sure,” he shoots back. “I’m about to destroy this street
vato
.” He turns to Uno, holding out the cash.

“Here, dude. Okay? Your boy’s going down this time.”

“Cool,” Uno says, stuffing a fresh forty bucks into his hat.

“All you gotta do is put one in play, dawg. A little dribbler down the third-base line.
Anything
.”

Before Uno gets back into his crouch, he glances toward the bleachers. They’re totally empty. Not even that scout dude who’s always around. Too bad, he thinks. Somebody should be here to see this. People would have to see Danny pitch to believe it.

3

Carmelo steps into the box, a look of pure concentration on his face. He means business now. No more messing around. His teammates slink back toward the dugout to watch.

“Let’s roll, D,” Uno says, crouching behind home plate. He points to the mound, lays down the sign for fastball. No more messing around on their end either, he thinks. Time to go with all fastballs.

Danny fires the first one right down the middle, past a late-swinging Carmelo. It pops Uno’s mitt. “Strike one!”

Danny fires the second pitch right down the middle, as Carmelo swings wildly. Pops Uno’s mitt. “Strike two!”

Danny delivers his third fastball with such crazy velocity that Uno, who doesn’t even have time to shift his weight to the balls of his feet, is literally lifted off the ground and onto his ass. He pulls the ball out of his mitt, on his back, laughing. He holds it up and shouts: “Strike three!”

Uno springs to his feet and goes for the money hat, shoves all the wrinkled bills into his pocket. He spins around half expecting trouble from Carmelo’s camp, but all he finds is Carmelo arguing with JJ.

Carmelo turns to Uno, says: “Dude, we aren’t done. JJ’s going to the ATM for more money. We’re going again.”

Uno looks out at the mound—Danny shrugs at him. He turns back to Carmelo. “Long as you got funds, yo. We’ll stay out here all day.”

“Go!” Carmelo shouts at JJ, and JJ takes off running out of the gate, toward the bank across the street. Carmelo picks up his bat and takes a few practice swings by himself. He’s gone quiet. His three teammates squat near the dugout, talking to each other in low voices, occasionally looking up at Danny.

Uno doesn’t like the way things look.

4

When JJ comes running back, holding the money in his hand, he goes right up to Uno. “Here you go, dude. Eighty bucks. Now pull out yours.”

Uno takes the money from JJ, counts it out again. Eighty. He pulls out the wad in his pocket, counts all the bills together. One-sixty. Shoves the money in his hat and turns to Carmelo. “You sure you up to this, money? Lot of paper on the line.”

“Get your ass behind the plate, dude.”

Uno walks out to the mound first, stops in front of Danny. “Listen,” he says, “there’s gonna be a little friction after you strike ’im out this time.”

Danny looks back at Uno, confused.

“After the last strike, I’m goin’ straight for the money. You take off for the bus stop and I’ll meet you there.”

“But what if—”

“I’ll handle it. Trust me. You just concentrate on these three pitches. Then hop the centerfield fence and get to the bus stop.” Uno gives Danny a quick pound and makes for the plate. But he stops suddenly, turns back around. “You promise you’re gonna do what I said, right? Head for the bus stop? I’m gonna be pissed off if you hang around here.”

Danny nods.

Uno stares at him for a couple seconds, then heads for the plate.

Carmelo is oddly silent as he steps back into the batter’s box. Uno glances over at the guy’s teammates. They’re all squatting by the dugout still. JJ is standing between them and the money hat, his arms crossed.

Uno lays down the first sign: fastball.

Danny goes into his windup, fires the first pitch right past a hard-swinging Carmelo. “Strike one.”

Uno watches Carmelo step out of the box and slam his bat into the dirt. He looks at Carmelo’s teammates again. Still squatting together, but they’re no longer talking. Just watching.

Uno lays down the second sign: fastball.

Danny kicks and delivers his hardest fastball of the day. The ball rips right past Carmelo again, pops Uno’s mitt. Uno cringes as the pain from catching it on the heel of his hand runs up his shoulder again, into his neck. He tosses the ball back to Danny, takes off his mitt and shakes out his hand. Looks at Carmelo’s teammates.

Carmelo squats outside of the box, looks out at Danny. He takes a couple deep breaths and glances at JJ. Then he steps back into the box.

Uno checks out JJ, too. He’s a couple feet closer to the money hat now. Uno stands up and shouts, “Yo, back away from that shit, dawg!”

JJ holds his hands out, acts like he doesn’t know what Uno’s talking about. He takes a couple steps back, looks at the other guys. Looks at Carmelo.

Uno crouches again, lays down his sign: change-up. He glances back at JJ, the other three guys. Turns back to the mound.

Danny goes into his windup, delivers the pitch with the same exact mechanics as his fastball, but his change-up comes out molasses-slow.

Carmelo is so far out in front of the pitch he steps and swings awkwardly before the ball is halfway to the plate. He misses badly, spins himself and goes down on one knee.

“Strike three,” Uno calls out, flipping off his mask and turning to the money hat. But JJ’s already there, pulling the money out and shoving it in his pocket. The other guys have stood up and are walking toward JJ with their bags. Uno sprints over to JJ, shouting: “Let go the money, bitch!”

JJ tosses aside Uno’s empty hat and turns to take off, but Uno’s already on him. He shoves JJ to the ground and reaches for his pocket. But one of the other guys slugs him in the back of the head. Uno spins around, narrowly avoids a wild right from another kid and punches the kid who hit him in the jaw. The guy goes down hard but quickly gets back to his feet. Two other guys wrap Uno up.

“Get off!” Uno hears Danny shout from behind him. But Carmelo’s there, too. Uno turns to watch Carmelo shove Danny to the ground and kick him in the ribs.

Uno breaks free and pounces on Carmelo. He gets him in a tight headlock, tries to choke the life out of him. But the other guys pull Uno off, hold his arms while Carmelo punches him twice in the stomach, doubles him over. JJ and the other kid start working over Danny on the ground.

Uno tries to wrestle free, but he can’t get away. He shouts at Danny to run, watches Carmelo rear back and throw a punch right at his face, but he ducks it and the punch grazes the face of Carmelo’s own guy. Uno wrestles free and pounces on one of the guys on Danny. He swings a vicious right and hits him on the side of the face, sends him sprawling onto the ground. Blood starts coming from the guy’s nose.

But there are too many of them and soon Uno and Danny are both being held and pummeled. They take a few blows each and then, out of nowhere, the big Mexican scout rushes through the gate and dives at the Morse High kids. He takes three of them to the ground at one time. Grabs two of their heads and slams them together. They both spin around, one of them falling to the grass.