No Pit So Deep: The Cody Musket Story (16 page)

He lay on his back and stared at the ceiling. “Too much. Not enough.” He rose to one elbow. “But you didn’t have to stay in here. I would’ve been okay.”

“Cody, I’m not a therapist, but I know that something is locked away inside your conscience that needs to escape. It tries to come out in your sleep while your defenses are down. Maybe if you could just tell someone everything you can remember, the night sweats and bad dreams would leave you alone.”

Cody lay back down and stared upward again. “You never know, but we’ll talk about it later.”

*     *     *

By daybreak, segments from the media conference had been beamed across the free world. Networks and social media could not get enough of the couple. Candy Mack of
Valley Fervor
wrote,
“
There are two things you can’t hide — sneezing and romance. It was Camelot Reborn.”

Fox Sports analyst Jesse Franklin referred to the couple as “Brandi and the Babe,” inserting Cody’s military call sign. It caught on.

Individually, Brandi’s face had appeared on every news outlet in America. The
San Diego Pacific News
declared Brandi Barnes to be
“
an overnight international celebrity, whose beauty, transparency and savvy have given a major news story legs — literally.”

The
Pittsburgh Post-Gazette
compared her to Jacqueline Kennedy.
“
The story of Brandi and the Babe is right out of Camelot, certain to become immortalized."

In the Tuesday edition of
New York Times,
one writer declared, “She is
a Pennsylvania girl who refuses to be a victim
,
destined to become the most admired woman in America.”

And Cody was the man of the hour, the guy with the powerful, compact swing both on the baseball diamond and when knocking out bad guys.
Crack! Bam! Oof!
The media hailed him as the union of two superheroes — Batman and Ted Williams.

Reporters researched the details of his short Medal of Honor career. Questions arose as to how one could be discharged from the military, having been declared physically disabled, and then just four years later, play in a major league all-star game.

But instead of questioning his integrity, they called it a modern-day miracle.

Even some backwater tabloids abandoned their usual practice of manufacturing sordid details. The real story was better. The media saw dollars. No one wanted to discredit him. It was money in the bank for Cody Musket to be a good man — the American hero everyone wanted to believe in, a distinction Cody feared the most.

The Major League All-Star Game was a destination he could never have imagined at the start of the season while playing third base at Corpus Christi. And how could he have stumbled into ones so priceless as Brandi and Knoxi?

Good things were not supposed to happen to him. Surely it would end in disaster. After the miraculous healing of his leg, why couldn't he have the faith Brandi has?

He told her he trusted God. But did he? If he couldn't trust God with his past, how could he trust God for a future?

He had promised to tell Brandi everything, but he was terrified, afraid of remembering the missing details, but afraid of
not
remembering. He was afraid of committing to her, and afraid of
not
committing.

Would she be disappointed if she knew what he knew? The last few days had been as close to heaven as he could imagine. Could he bear to lose it now?

Three hours before game time, Cody’s cell rang. He was in the American League clubhouse, preparing for pregame activities. Brandi’s voice was hoarse and uneasy.

“Cody, Dupree is dead. He was found face-down in the Monongahela.”

The annual Major League All-Star Game allows elite players who compete against each other all season to be teammates for one evening that celebrates their accomplishments. Dugout joviality rules the pregame.

Most players did not know Cody because he had not been around long enough, but they had seen the theater video. Some would not come near him at first, but Sly had covertly spread the word that Cody was not looking to smash any mouths or break any necks, and needed as many new friends as he could get.

Players began to reach out, and Cody's friendly response brought on the trash talking — mostly about his hot woman friend. He returned the barbs and began to engage. He was not in the starting lineup for the game but was invigorated by friendship and camaraderie with these great athletes.

Sitting in the dugout, he pondered the dangers ahead. Had the men in black paid the detective a visit? Would they dare attack at a ballpark? Who were they working for? What would Sasha’s killers reveal when questioned?

He scanned the stadium. Would another shoe fall during this game like it had Sunday in Pittsburgh?

In the eighth inning, with the score tied, Angels Manager, Bo Phelps, the American League skipper, called out to Cody.

“Musket, grab your bat. You’re hittin’ for Castillo this inning.”

Cody headed to the on-deck circle. Moments later, with his team trailing by a run, he stepped to the plate with a runner at third base and two outs. Pitcher Adrian Lotus of the Saint Louis Cardinals struck him out on a slider low and away, and Cody was through for the night.

*     *     *

After the game, Detroit police escorted Cody off the field and into the home team clubhouse. After he had showered, he dressed in his street clothes and then learned that at least fifty reporters were waiting for him outside the dressing room.

He called Brandi. “Where are you?”

“Julia and I are still in VIP parking, fighting traffic.”

“I’m hiding in the clubhouse. Must be a million reporters on the other side of the door. Dunno how I’m gonna get outta here.”

“We’re listening to CNN in the car. The FBI has taken over the investigation of Dupree’s death. They think it may be related to my attack. That’s what has the press stirred up tonight.”

Just then, Cody heard a loud, booming exclamation behind him. “
Snap ding, yo!”
He turned around.

“
Dawg?
What’re you doing here?” Cody yelled. “I thought you were in Mexico.” Then he put his phone back to his ear. “Brandi, I'll call you back. An old college buddy just walked in. Tanner is right behind him showin’ his Cap’n Sly face. Must be cookin' somethin’ up.”

JD Blue, former Baylor All-American basketball player, had returned three days early from a trip south of the border. Tanner had walked behind him into the clubhouse but was hidden at first behind JD’s imposing six-foot-ten, 290-pound frame. After six years in the NBA, JD was now a megastar with the Detroit Pistons.

“Hello, my brotha Cody! How long’s it been?”

“Too long!” Cody answered. “And speakin’ of
too long,
I see you haven’t gotten any shorter since the last time we saw each other.”

“And I see you still ain’t tall enough to reach da toppa you own head! Tanny cawled me and said you might need some help gettin’ outta here. I was already here, man. I was sittin’ right behind da dugout for da game. You didn’t see me? Man, dis here my playground now. I’m tight wid evabody here.”

JD was a great athlete and wannabe entertainer. Despite his upbringing in the hard streets of New Orleans, he spoke as articulately as any head of state and was fluent in Spanish and French.  He could speak like a New England-born Harvard professor, but liked to talk in his "native language"— a well-oiled New Orleans drawl — which he preferred in public. His favorite act was to unexpectedly switch back and forth with his speech styles to the delight of friends and fans.

“Put dese on, man. You know what a hawd time I had findin’ gear shawt enough fo you?” He handed Cody a pair of Detroit Pistons warm-up pants, matching jersey, and a motorcycle helmet with a hand-painted pink heart on the side. The paint was still wet.

Cody pitched his eyes toward Tanner. The pink paint was a dead giveaway. Whatever these two were planning had Sly’s signature all over it.

“Change into this Pistons gear,” Sly swagged. “You gonna be Dawg’s bodyguard.
You got that?”

“What? You kidding?
I’m
the one who needs a bodyguard!”

“Come on, will you just listen for a minute? You gonna escort JD to his bike, and then y’all gonna meet me and the girls at the hotel.
Smoooth as cake, man!”

Cody shook his head. Cap’n Sly was living the dream — anything deceptive or underhanded, especially for a good cause.

Then Dawg switched gears. “You had better be a good actor, Cody, because this is one of Sly’s most ingenious flashes of romantic deception ever to be perpetrated upon Homo sapiens since women got the right of suffrage in the state of Texas! And, in case you didn’t understand all that, Homo sapiens is the binomial nomenclature for the human species, and suffrage means —”

“Yeah, yeah. I know all that.” Cody waved him off. “You haven’t changed much.” He had forgotten how wide Dawg’s face could get when he grinned that way. “You better not let that wife of yours hear you talk about women’s voting like that.”

Cody called Brandi back and told her what was happening.

“How would you like to meet Jungle Dawg?”

“JD Blue? Detroit Pistons? You know him?”

“Yep! I’ll introduce you. You won’t have to get very close to him though cuz his arms are long enough for you to shake hands with him across the room.”

Cody donned the gear, including the helmet, and then he and JD went out the door.

“Make way, make way for Mr. Blue,” Cody said. “Excuse us. No, Mr. Blue will not be taking questions right now. Make way. Excuse us. No interviews, no autographs.” The disguise worked.

Finally, they mounted JD’s fourteen-foot-long custom-built Harley, navigated out of the stadium lot, and rumbled toward the hotel. It was the biggest bike Cody had ever seen. They cruised into the casino parking area and loaded the bike into JD’s trailer, which Silverbelle, his wife, had just brought to the hotel. Cody invited them up to his suite.

JD’s real name was John David, but the Baylor fans called him “Jungle Dawg” because of his dogged tenacity on the basketball court. The nickname, which matched his initials and his physical assets, had also caught on in Detroit and with the national media.

One ESPN columnist, pointing out that JD had founded nonprofit organizations to feed the homeless, house orphans, and provide literacy programs, had declared that his heart was as big as his hands.

Silverbelle was two years older than her husband. She was a master of finance and was the creator and spokesperson for the couple’s three charitable foundations. At five foot ten with a photogenic smile, she had become a front-page favorite, having appeared on several women’s magazine covers.

They entered the hotel through a back entrance and then took the service elevator to the twentieth floor where they joined the others in Cody’s suite.

“
Ha-ha!
How you doin’ my man? I see you survived the ride.” Tanner slapped Cody on the back and then flashed his sly grin around the room.

“That was quite an act you boys pulled off.” Julia sported a grin of her own, making eye contact with JD and Cody
but
not
with her husband
.

“Yep, Cap’n Sly strikes again.” Cody bumped knuckles with Sly. “That was definitely one of your better ones.”

Sly looked at Julia. “Man, that ain’t nothin’ compared to what I got planned for later on when —”

“A’right, a’right. Before you go completely funky on us, we all appreciate your unique skills, sugarplum. And we all love you for it, especially me.” Julia kissed her husband on the cheek.

Brandi opened the drapes, unveiling a magnificent cityscape. The large room and death-defying view were perfect for hosting friends at midnight. They munched from a massive fruit basket, courtesy of management.

After thirty minutes, the ladies became weary of hearing the men swap sports stories, so the conversation turned to more serious matters.

“Cody, when Silver called me and said you were shot down, I was at Charlotte in the playoffs. It was halftime, and we were gettin’ ready to go back on da court. I gathered my teammates around, and we said a prayer for you, man. Right there in the locker room, man.
It was sweet
.”

“I knew you’d be there for me, Dawg. I felt it.”

Brandi’s emotions were getting away from her again. She put her hand over her mouth. Silverbelle noticed. “So, Brandi, you’re goin’ back to Pittsburgh tomorrow?”

Brandi glanced at Cody, who hastily took her hand. “I’ve asked her to go with me to Houston,” Cody said, “but we need to go through Pittsburgh tomorrow and get some of her stuff out of the apartment first.”

Dawg’s face came alive. “
Snap ding!
We gonna hear ‘bout weddin’ bells purdy soon?”

Brandi’s face flushed, but Cody masterfully resorted to his standard response, “You never know.”

They decided to break it up just after 1:30 a.m. Silver hugged Brandi and then Cody. “Don’t stay away so long, Cody. Come see us, and bring Brandi with you. We used to be really tight. We’re still your friends, you know.”

“Roger that,” Cody said. After handshakes and hugs all around, the two guest couples left the room.

Sly and Julia had decided to leave their son in the room since both toddlers were snug asleep on the foldout bed. Cody followed them down the hall a few feet to ask if they would keep Knoxi the next morning after breakfast so that he and Brandi could talk. They agreed.

When Cody reappeared, Brandi had his phone. “Sweetie, you must have ten text messages here. They are from two different people — Chavez and Sabre.”

“Don’t worry about reading my text messages.” He grumbled as he took the phone back from her. “Let’s just get some rest. I’m wrecked.”

“I’m a big girl, Cody. I’m guessing these are people you served with, right? And they want to help?”

“They want to get involved if I say the word.” Cody took a deep breath. “When I disappeared before the news conference yesterday, I went to call them. That’s why I was AWOL.”

“Involved? How involved? You mean like bodyguards?”

“Maybe.”

Brandi glanced at the two toddlers asleep on the foldout. “Do you sometimes wish you could go back to their age and start over? Don’t you wish we could’ve met under other circumstances?”

“We don’t get to choose the circumstances.” He sat down on the sofa. “We can only choose where we go from here.” Cody stared at the floor.

She waited a moment, then sat next to him and changed the subject.

“I enjoyed meeting Dawg and Silver. They love you. What’s their story? What’s your history with them?” She rubbed his right shoulder and hoped he would raise his head.

“Our freshman year in college, Dawg and I were thrown together as roommates. He had been one of the top three high school basketball stars in America, so there was lots of pressure.  I was just an unknown scholarship athlete. We ran in different circles and played different sports — not much in common."

Brandi got up, walked to the entry, and turned the knob to soften the lights. “I’m listening, Babe. Keep talking.”

It was the first time she had addressed him with his military call sign. He lifted his head.

“Midway through the first semester his mom died. She had raised him by herself and worked three jobs to support her family. It hit him hard. Then he tore an ACL in his first game. Several months later, the knee hadn’t healed as fast as expected and he got depressed. His grades dropped. I helped him study. We became friends.”

Brandi seated herself on the recliner across the table from him. She placed her white tennis shoes next to the chair and removed her knee socks, which she had worn to hide the still painful burns and abrasions.

Cody continued, “When summer came, he called me from New Orleans so depressed that he wanted to end his life. He was drunk. His girlfriend had left him. His knee still hurt. Somehow, he believed he would never play basketball again.”

“Wow. Hard to believe it’s the same guy I met tonight.” She reclined and raised the footrest. Her left foot, both ankles, knees, and shins were inflamed.

Cody stood, moved to the front of her recliner and sat on the edge of the coffee table.

“How do you walk without limping? That’s gotta hurt. Your skin looks gross. You gotta stop wearin’ the tennis shoes. You got any more of that Blue stuff.”

She creaked out a hoarse response. “Blue Tech? In my purse. Didn’t want to wear the flip-flops to the game cuz my feet looked so bad.”

He reached for her purse and dumped the contents onto the table.

“Cody, don’t you know you should ask a girl to open her own purse and let her get what you need?”