No Pit So Deep: The Cody Musket Story (13 page)

She wrung her hands.
Why do I always say the wrong thing?

When she opened the door to the room, Ray was waiting. “You don’t look too happy, baby girl. Is there anything —”

“Detroit. He said he would tell me more in Detroit. After that, I’ll let you know if anything is wrong. Don’t really want to talk right now, Daddy.”

On Sunday morning, Ray and Whitney left early driving home to Altoona. Brandi and Knoxi slept in. Brandi had been exuberant about Cody's invitation to accompany him to Detroit, but their hallway conversation about night traps the evening before had stunned her. She awoke under a cloud.

He was afraid to attach himself to anyone. She got that. But if he wanted to fly alone, why did he still desire to take her with him to the All-Star Game? He wasn't making sense.

Cody could be articulate, but he was moody and unpredictable. What would he be like in Detroit? The face on Roberto Clemente’s statue outside PNC Park was easier to read than Cody’s.

A security team accompanied her with Knoxi to the stadium before the 1:00 p.m. game. She had not talked to Cody all day. What was he thinking? Fragile emotions began to grate. How safe were they during these games? Could just a handful of security professionals protect them? She was snowballed by fear.

From her box seat in Section 11, she scanned the crowd. She and Knoxi were surrounded by a multitude of strangers, and suddenly it was the two of them against the world. She battled the urge to retreat into the concessions area where merchants sold popular baseball park specialties such as Cuban Pretzel Dogs, beer, and team gear. Should she hide in the ladies’ room?

Soon, Mia Bustamante, the wife of the Astros right fielder, introduced herself. Others did the same. Felicia Coleman finally made her way to her seat in front of Brandi. Sitting with new friends, Brandi settled in and braced herself.

Knoxi was shy, but Mia was able to make friends with her and tried to teach her to clap her hands and shout, “Yaaaaay!” whenever the Astros did something exciting. The toddler smiled but made no sound.

At the end of nine innings, the score was tied 6 runs apiece. Extra innings were in order. In the top of the fourteenth inning, with the score still tied, a disruption made its way like a whirlwind through the crowd in Section 11. People in the front row stood, staring back at Brandi. Fans in the sections to her left and right pointed. Suddenly, she was the center of attention, and no one was interested in baseball anymore.

She leaned forward. “Felicia, what’s going on?”

“I dunno, but I’m gonna find out.” She pulled out her cell phone, punched the quick dial and raised it to her ear.

Mia Bustamante motioned Brandi to lean toward her. She spoke in broken English. “Did you and your boyfriend…did something happen Friday at picture show when we no play baseball?”

Brandi’s facial skin was burning. Her head was pounding.

“Just act like nothing happen.” Mia was smiling.

Felicia put her phone back into her purse. “Brandi, you got attacked? Girl, are you okay?”

“Oh.” Brandi sighed and placed her hands on her temples. “I guess the news is out. We wanted to keep it quiet as long as possible.”

Mia and Felicia moved close. “What happened? Something about an attempted abduction at a theater?” Felicia asked. “I just now heard.”

Brandi took a deep breath. “It made the Pittsburgh news yesterday — back page. Must have just now hit the national media. Hopefully, they haven’t figured out that Cody was involved. I'm okay. It’s just that —”

“Oh, you no look okay, Ms. Brandi.”

“Yeah, girl, we need to get you outta here right now. Are you in more danger? Something about editorials you wrote? We should get you to a quiet place. I just now noticed the bruises.”

“Crowds like this make me nervous ever since — I should go somewhere and get away from all these people.”

“Well, honey, wherever you go, I’m goin’ with you. You shouldn’t be alone right now.”

“Si, Señorita Brandi. Me too! I can carry Knoxi.”

The three women made their way to the exit from Section 11. When they reached the top of the steps, Julia met them. “I just heard,” Julia said. “Come on. Follow me.”

Brandi introduced Felicia and Mia to Julia.

“I know a place,” Julia announced. She led them to a popular sports bar located beyond left field, which featured twenty flat-screen televisions and an outdoor patio and bar with a perfect view of the game. They sat down, drank coffee, and talked while three more innings went by without a score.

Julia knew the story already, but the other two did not. Brandi spoke of her feelings for Cody and his invitation to Detroit.

Mia and Felicia sat mystified and tearful listening to Brandi’s romantic story of rescue and love at first sight. Brandi was not accustomed to finding such love among other women her age. Most others had seemed jealous and competitive.

In the top of the eighteenth inning, Cody came to the plate with a runner on base. The four women turned toward the field to watch. On the first pitch, Cody lifted a high fly ball toward the left-field seats.

Brandi immediately realized it was headed their direction. She held her breath as the ball appeared larger and larger descending out of the sky. It struck the patio rail thirty feet in front of them and bounced high as it continued toward their table.

Her three friends scattered, but Brandi reached up and snagged the ball out of the air with her bare hand. The other three laughed and screamed as they reunited around Brandi with hugs and high fives.

“Girl, you made the play of the game!” Felicia was beaming.

The women glanced at one of the television monitors. The broadcast crew was showing replays of Brandi’s catch. It was time to go. In only minutes, the patio would be overrun with media.

It was Cody’s second home run of the game, and he had also hit for the cycle — single, double, triple and home run — a rare feat in baseball. The two-run homer had made the score 8 to 6 in favor of Houston.

Brandi and her three friends headed back to their stadium seats. It was the bottom of the eighteenth inning, the Pirates’ last chance to either tie or win the game.

All the relief pitchers in the Astros bullpen had been used. Aging pitcher Sam McDonough had pitched the previous five innings for Houston and was tired. After two outs, the bases were loaded. The Astros just needed one more out, but McDonough was spent, and everybody knew it.

Astros manager Joe Moran walked to the mound, knowing he had no one left in the pen. Cody had done some pitching in college. Moran had asked him to pitch in another extra-inning game previously, and he had retired all three batters he had faced against the Los Angeles Angels. His fastball was clocked as high as 93 mph, and he had demonstrated a pretty good curve.

McDonough, the veteran, wanted to stay in the game, but Moran had seen enough. “Good job, Mac.” He spat on the ground. “But we all know you got nothin’ left.”

Moran handed the ball to Cody. “It’s all yours, Musket. Just one more out."

This was the last thing Cody wanted. He had been baffled when Brandi had reappeared at her seat with a baseball in her hand. Where had she been for the past three innings? Additional police had suddenly appeared on the field but would not tell him why. They looked nervous.

He knew who the next scheduled hitter was. Tanner stood in the on-deck circle swinging a bat, flexing his muscles and flashing his best Cap’n Sly grin.

Cody looked at Moran. "Why me, Skipper?"

Moran spit on the ground again. “Might as well show that lady in Section 11 what you got. I figure you’re on a roll. She must be treatin' you right cuz you never swung the bat as good as you have the last two days. Fan this guy!"

The manager walked away, never looked back, but had one parting shot. “Don’t let me see you wearing no pink dress after da game.”

Veteran Astros catcher Mike Cannon sensed Cody's distraction and recognized the nearly impossible task thrust upon the rookie. He got in Cody’s face to make him refocus.

“We’re gonna stick with the heater, and don’t under any circumstances shake me off, you feel me? Do I have your attention, rookie?”

“Got it!”

Cody took his allotted complement of warm-up pitches. He managed to get only one of them over the plate.

As Tanner stepped into the batter’s box, he motioned for the next hitter, Kip Caldwell, who was now standing in the on-deck circle, to move back to the
safety
of the dugout. Caldwell played along. Tanner had briefed him about the on-deck story.

This ploy did not go unnoticed by Cody or Brandi. It made her smile, but she would not return Cody's glance. Cody looked toward the plate again. Glaring at him was Captain Sly, with the tight mustache, bulging shoulders, and that wicked grin, wielding his imposing Tanner McNair model thirty-four-inch bat with the dense head and custom tapered handle.

Cody's first pitch blazed over the inside corner of the plate just under the letters. Tanner’s expression was one of shock. He remembered Cody could barely break 80 mph in high school. This pitch was a blur. He never even got the bat off his shoulder. The umpire yelled. “Strieeek one!”

Tanner and Cody both glanced at the radar screen — 92 mph. Cody refused to look back toward the plate, nor would he look at Brandi. He walked toward first base a few steps, removed his cap and wiped his eyes. The crowd was so quiet he could hear Sly’s menacing chuckle.

Pirates first-base coach Willie Moton had fun with it. “Trow dat agin! Trow dat pitch agin! Tanny gonna eat you lunch rookie! He-he! G’bye baseball! U gone be lookin’
downtown, rookie!
Downtown!”

Catcher Mike Cannon flashed the sign for another fastball, this time over the outside corner, but this 93 mph pitch cruised in over the heart of the plate. Tanner was ready. His swing was a thing of beauty, grace, and unbridled rage. The ball took off like a moon shot. Cody couldn’t bear to look, but it passed inches outside the left field foul pole — strike two.

“Time out!”
Cannon trudged back to the mound, his lip snarled, his mask resting on top of his head, and a dirty, sweaty smudge where the mask had pressed against the sides of his face for eighteen innings.

“Look, Musket, I know this guy is your childhood sweetheart, but you throw another one down the middle to him, and you and me gonna have problems. You think you can snap off the Charlie as good as you did in LA?”

“I can throw it,” Cody assured, summoning all the gusto left in his tank.

Mike held his catcher’s mitt over his mouth and scowled into Cody’s face. “Okay. I need the curve in the dirt. In the dirt! You got that?”

“I got it!” Cody pounded his glove. “As good as done. Take it to the bank!”

Cannon turned to walk back toward the plate. He was grinning when the umpire met him halfway. “What the heck’s so funny?”

The tired, smiling catcher shook his head and muttered. “No tellin’ where this next friggin’ pitch is goin'.”

“You gonna warn Tanny?”

They walked back to the plate. “Watch yourself,” Cannon said as he crouched behind Tanner for the next pitch.

The catcher called for the curve and swiped the dirt with his mitt as a reminder. The strategy was to throw it toward the middle of the plate and make it curve away and down into the dirt. This pitch, if thrown well, could fool a hitter into swinging over the ball.

Things did not go as planned. The ball started toward Tanner’s shoulder. Expecting a fastball, he flinched away. As his knees buckled, the ball curved down over the center of the plate.

“Strieeeke three!”

Sly stood there in disbelief watching Cody high-five with his teammates. Finally, with his lethal bat still resting on his shoulder, he left his swagger at the plate, turned around, and lumbered back toward the Pirates dugout. Just before leaving the field, he splintered the bat over his knee. It took him three tries, but on the third, it snapped like a toothpick.

As the game ended, Brandi’s friend, Vic Cantouri of the
Gazette
, pulled her aside. “Reporters are waiting at the top of the stairs to ask you to confirm that the guy in the video is Cody Musket.”

“What? What video?”

“You haven’t seen it? It’s gone viral just in the last hour.”

“I have been tied up for eighteen innings. What video?”

“Take a look.” Vic pulled out his cell. A witness in the theater on Friday night had recorded the entire event on a smartphone.

“That’s what the buzz was all about? It’s hard to recognize Cody in that video,” she insisted. “I know one thing. I can’t watch it again.”

Vic told her some other bad news, “Detective Dupree’s wife has reported him missing.”

“Missing? Are there any clues? Do they suspect foul play?”

“I don’t know. So far no leads. His car was abandoned, so it doesn’t look good. And by the way, do you know a twenty-two-year-old woman named Sasha Williams?”

“Don’t know her, but I knew her sister, a former teammate at Stanford.”

Vic showed her a brief text —
Sasha Williams, African American female, found dead in her apartment. Throat cut. Hands tied. Tortured.

“
What! Tortured?”
Brandi looked around nervously. The crowd was pressing on her. “Um, any motive? Any suspects?” She clutched Knoxi to her chest with both hands.

“They have three suspects in custody. That’s all I know.”

Brandi’s stomach was aflutter.
Detective Dupree missing? Sasha dead?

“Vic, I gotta find Cody. We must get out of this town.”

“Okay, okay. Just breathe slow. I'll help you. You think the murder of the Williams woman is related to your attack?”

“I dunno. I don’t see how. But I must get my daughter away from here.”

“Come down to field level. I can get you through with my pass, and we can avoid the press.”

She followed and tried to call Cody. Her hands were shaking, so Vic punched the numbers for her.

“Come on, man of steel, please pick up! Come on Cody.” She left voicemail. “Sweetie, we have big trouble. Call me back as soon as you get this, and whatever you do, avoid the pressroom. A video is making waves.
We’re busted!”

*     *     *

Cody already knew about the video. Players were watching it in the clubhouse.  He called Brandi. “I think we’re in deep trouble here.”

“I know. I just voice mailed you.”

“I’m expecting a call back from my agent. I wanna see how to handle this.”

“Who’s your agent?”

“Derek Tyler.”

“You’re kidding. The former Justice Department guy?”

“Same guy. Former Marine. Smart negotiator. Look, call Tanner and tell him what’s up. We gotta figure a way out of town without facing the press. Wait, my agent’s calling me back.”

“Cody, Dupree is missing.” Her voice trembled.

“When did you hear that?”

“Just now. Reliable source. Word is that his wife reported it today.” Brandi was now light-headed.

“Slow down, you sound out of breath."

“Cody! You don’t know what I’ve been through during the last five hours since you started playing your silly game. I also found out the sister of a former teammate at Stanford was murdered this morning.”

“Okay, okay. Sorry. I guess we know why Dupree never called back. This is getting too interesting. Listen to me,
breathe slower.
You’ll hyperventilate. Everything’s gonna be okay. Hear me?"

“Okay." She exhaled slowly, tried to relax. "Talk to your agent.”

Just hearing Cody’s concern calmed her. Vic ushered her into a private room and stayed with her to wait for Cody’s call back.

Fifteen minutes later, her cell rang. “I talked to my agent.”

“Well?”

“He said some lady at the outdoor pub caught my second home run. He was watchin’ on TV. You got any idea who the lady was?”

“Did he give a description?”

“Yeah. He said she was hot.”

“Well, it was pretty warm up there. We were sitting outside.”

“I don’t think that’s what he meant.”

“
Cody!
What about strategy? Get serious.”

“He saw the video. Thinks we need to get out of town incognito. We can make a statement in Detroit tomorrow after we analyze the situation.”

“So you still want me to go with you?”

“What? Of course. I…I mean, it’s the best way to keep you safe.”

“Okay. Security reasons. I get that. How are we going to sneak out of town without facing the press?”

“Cap’n Sly can think of somethin’.”

“I see what you meant about adventures turning into nightmares.”

Thirty-five minutes later, they drove away clean. The press was not aware of their plan to drive to Detroit, and had canvassed the airport instead. The McNairs had brought their three-year-old son Jeremy along.

As soon as Cody got into the Escalade, Tanner had words for him. “You struck me out!”

“Well, since I’m so humble I wasn’t gonna say —”

“
You struck me out!
Your boyfriend with the mitt told me to watch myself, so I saw it comin’ toward my chin and figured it was the high queso! Ain’t gonna fool me next time!”

Cody scooted forward and leaned his head over the front seat. “Prolly won’t be a next time. Just call it even.”

“Even? Call that even?
I hear you have a pink raincoat and pink rubber booties for your little feeties!”

When Cody glanced at Brandi, she hid her face. “You told these people? Do you know what they can do to me? How many other people have you told?”

“Nobody. I swear it. Well, ‘cept Mama and Daddy.” She giggled.

“
Your dad? You told Ray
?”

Sly was clearly out for revenge. “Someday, I gonna tell your grandkids how great you look in a pink raincoat and boots,” he cackled as he turned onto the freeway. “
Ha-ha!
I gonna tell ‘em you
turned pink
when you wore dem boots.”

“Fine. So I’ll tell
your
grandkids you
turned white
when I struck you out with my Uncle Charlie.”

“Turn white? Me?
I should stop this car right now!”

Cody leaned back in the seat and folded his arms. “Some other time, Sly. I’m too tired to get beat up. Just drive.”

Julia looked back at Brandi with an “I told you so” expression. Brandi felt secure for the first time all day — something about being with Cody and his unhinged friends.

“Julia told me you boys could get quite colorful,” Brandi snickered.

Julia slapped Tanner on the shoulder. “Now if you two adolescents can just stop fighting for a minute, these kids are hungry, and so are us girls. Let’s hit a drive-thru.”

Soon, after a fast meal, the toddlers fell asleep, and the grown-ups engaged in quiet conversation. Julia drove because fatigue had overtaken Tanner, and he could not keep his eyes open.

“Before you go to sleep, Tanner, there is something else Cody and I need to tell you both.” Brandi finally spilled the story about the missing detective.

“Also,” Brandi continued, “I got some other bad news. Sasha Williams, the younger sister of a former teammate at Stanford, was murdered in Pittsburgh this morning.”

Cody widened his eyes and sat straight up. “Sasha? Her name was Sasha? Real pretty, about twenty?”

“She was twenty-two. Vic said she was tortured. You knew her?”

His eyes glassed over, face contorted.

“Cody, what’s wrong?”

“It’s my fault,” he gritted. “She approached me Friday after you left.” His dark eyes stared through the tinted window, his fists clenched, the back of his neck ablaze.

“Cody? What did she say? Was someone after her?”

He turned back toward her. “I may have gotten her killed. They must have seen her talking to me. I was just with her for a minute!” He put his hands over his ears. “
Nooo!”

Cody erupted into a blind rage, flexing every muscle in his upper body like the Hulk. He pulled back his right fist as if to drive it through the glass window, but Brandi grabbed his forearm with both hands and held on with all her 130 pounds.

Julia swerved onto the shoulder and slammed the brakes. Cody got out and ran about fifty feet forward of the car and stopped beside the road.

A second later, he was bent over, his hands on his knees, vomiting. Brandi could only watch in shock, but now things started to add up.

“I get the feeling he was ready to do that all weekend, but he held back for my sake.” Brandi was trembling and hoarse.

Tanner got out of the car and followed Cody cautiously. The two women watched as Tanner approached slowly and then put his arm around Cody’s shoulders. In the headlights of the passing cars, they could see Tanner speaking, but had no idea what he was saying.

“I have never seen Cody blow up like that,” Julia said. “But I do know about his nightmares. Counselors haven’t been able to help. The problem is that he’s alone even when he’s with the team — no family, few real friends, little support, and he doesn’t trust anyone.” Julia wiped a tear from her eye.

“Now I understand why he’s afraid,” Brandi said, as she brushed hair out of her face that had been rustled when she had caught Cody’s arm.

“Cody’s afraid?” Julia was focused on her husband escorting Cody back toward the car.

“Something he said last night outside my room,” Brandi answered. “Now I understand.”

Julia looked back. “He’s afraid he’ll hurt you?”

Brandi nodded.

“It was a brave thing you did, grabbing his arm like that. You may have saved his baseball career. What if he had put his hand through that window?”

“I didn’t think about it. I just grabbed his arm.”

“You may not realize it, girl, but he could easily have thrown you through that glass. If you ask me, it wasn’t your strength that stopped him. It was his own.”

“You mean —”

“I mean he stopped himself because you were the one holding on to him.”

The two somber men arrived back at the car and got in. As Julia pulled onto the highway, Cody was apologetic.

“I’m sorry. The people I touch. Bad things happen. She was so . . . so sweet, so pure. She was crying. I wish I had at least hugged her. I started to but —”

Cody turned his head toward the window, held his hand over his eyes, and shed tears he could no longer restrain. It was awkward for him to show emotion, so Brandi nestled next to him, leaned her head on the back of his shoulder and held him.

“You are with people who love you, Cody. We feel your pain, but it wasn’t your fault.”

A sanguine smile eased across Julia’s lips as she beheld the scene in the rearview mirror. Brandi’s heart was on full display. It was breaking. Breaking in a good way. Julia tried not to watch, but couldn’t help herself. She reached over and took Tanner’s hand.

Cody and Brandi finally leaned against the back cushion. The two children in the utility seat behind them had slept through it all. Cody was exhausted and fell asleep. Brandi never closed her eyes.