Double Play (18 page)

Cat buried her
head in her hands, following Spencer’s lead.

“
Game
three, there we went.”

Spencer finally
came up for air. “Damn. Thirty minutes of work
squashed.”

“
Same
here.” Cat pulled her laptop closer and began to systematically
dissect her article. She had been all ready to post the postgame
recap directly below the automated box score on the team website.
All she had to do was press one button. All Adam Alvarez had had to
do was the same thing he’d done all season long. When
that mohawked mutt had
come in for
the save, the Buffalo fans had started celebrating. The joke was
that when “AA” was on the mound, the other team was going to need a
drink. They did, but this time that drink wasn’t for drowning their
sorrows, but for celebrating a win. He’d only had a one-run lead
but was due to face the bottom of the order, typically a team’s
weakest hitters.
It should've
been a cakewalk.

Cat had watched
the inning over the top of her laptop as her fingers continued the
victorious article on the keyboard. She’d done so with a smile on
her face because despite the setbacks, everything was working out
in the end. The first round of playoffs is a best-of-five series. A
Soldiers win tonight meant both teams would meet right back here
tomorrow and Buffalo would go for the series win here in Chicago.
Sure, it would’ve been nicer to clinch the divisional series at
home in front of their own fans, but the sooner the Soldiers could
move to the next round, the sooner she could stop being their
scapegoat. Besides, a win in the fourth game of the series would
give the team four days of much needed rest before facing the
winner of the Los Angeles/Houston matchup.

She’d finished
the article just as Chicago’s aging catcher had come to the plate.
Once upon a time, he’d been a hitter to be feared. Now his swing
had slowed and his timing was off. Add that to his miserable stats
against Adam’s arm and this would be an easy first out for the
All
-
Star
closer.

Or
not.

Like he had done
so many times in the previous decade, the slugging catcher sent the
ball flying clear out to the bleachers. The hometown fans roared as
he strolled around the bases with a big grin under his helmet. The
Soldiers didn’t share in his mirth; their shoulders sagged and
heads drooped. Their can’t-lose game had just been tied
up.

Cat snuck a peek
at the home team dugout. They’d been deflated until now, but the
solo home run had rejuvenated their spirits. Players hung eagerly
on the fence and Chicago’s rookie manager had a sort of relaxed
smile as he leaned on the dugout stairs. When she saw the pinch
hitter step out of the dugout, she knew why. Chicago
was
going to win.

Jason Holmes
sauntered up to the plate. He couldn’t catch a ball with three arms
and he ran like a one-legged ostrich, but he had a purpose in this
game and that was to hit the ball and hit it far. Any other year,
he would’ve been a great designated hitter for the other league,
but Chicago had picked him up before the trade deadline for
situations like this. His late inning heroics were the reason the
Windy City had snagged the wildcard away from Miami.

Cat’s head had
turned to Spencer and the two reporters shared a worried gaze. She
shook her head to
calm
his fears, because the same nasty thought had already crept into
her mind.

“
No,”
she’d told him. “That was the first home run Adam Alvarez has given
up this year. He’s not going to give up another—”

The pitch left
Adam’s hand. She was cut off as Jason’s heavy bat connected with
his offering.

Spencer’s jaw
dropped.

Both of them
followed the ball’s path as it sailed over the bleachers, heading
for the street behind them. The ball-hawks outside on the street
were in for a treat.

“
What
the hell happened?”

Cat hadn’t
answered him. He knew, she knew, the other Buffalo reporters knew
and the jubilated Chicago media knew, too. The national reporters
were already on their way down to the clubhouses.

Cat stared at the
article and decided none of it was salvageable. She pounded the
delete key.

Spencer ran his
hands through his
thin sprouts
of
hair and rested them on top of his
shaved
head. “I’ve followed Adam Alvarez
since the minors. I’ve never seen him miss his mark like
that.”

“
Twice.” Cat held up two fingers in Spencer’s face. “I’ve seen
him miss lots of times but it usually results in bruised butts, not
home runs. Adam always misses in his favor. He never screws up by
throwing money down the center of the plate.”

Spencer wiggled
his two fingers in front of her nose. “Twice.”

The Chicago
reporters had finally stopped celebrating before busily typing away
on their computers and smartphones. They began to pick up their
belongings and flood the doorway.

“
I
don’t want to do this.”

“
Me,
either.” She took a deep breath. “After you?”

They moved toward
the door behind the mass of local reporters. Cat wasn’t worried
about getting past them; they were sure to head straight for the
home team’s clubhouse. The national media, however, loved to cover
heartbreak. The playoff postgame madness was crazy enough, but
factor in Chicago’s tiny visiting clubhouse and it was going to be
a mad dash to get to Adam Alvarez, who was never very forthcoming
for an interview to begin with.

A newscaster from
B-TV stopped Spencer right inside the clubhouse. “Hey Spence, AA
agreed to a press conference.”

Cat and Spencer
shared a confused frown. She spoke for both of them. “The King of
Grunts offered to man a podium and answer all of our
questions?”

The newscaster
shrugged. “I don’t know about all of your questions, but he’ll be
up in Conference Room B in ten minutes, right after the skipper.
I’d go now if you want a seat.”

“
Thanks.” Cat smiled, but he’d already turned away.

Spencer pulled
her to the side so a few suits could pass them by. “Guess he’s
feeling chatty.”

“
Come
on.” Cat didn’t need to be prodded; press conferences were her
preferred choice of interviews, even before the players had issued
her a vow of silence. By the time she and Spencer had made it into
the conference room all the plastic chairs were taken, so they
filed to the back and leaned against the wall.

Cat fished
her cellphone out of her purse and readied the
camera option. She liked to keep it handy just for situations like
this, when she ended up in the back. The zoom function might be
useful for observing some subtle nuance in a player’s
expression.

Spencer elbowed
her when the manager came in. His postgame press conference was
protocol, win or lose. The former player was a fan favorite, mostly
because even the younger fans remembered when he used to man third
base. He wasn’t the Soldier legend that Roger Aiken had grown to
be, but he was popular.

The lanky man
pulled out the chair
and solemnly sat down. Now that the game was over, he’d changed out
of his uniform and wore a black Soldiers sweatshirt and an equally
dark frown
under his graying
beard
. When he wasn’t smiling, he looked much older than the
guy who was only ten years out of the league.

He slapped his
hands on the table, ready to take his lumps. “Well, we had that
one. We had it up to the ninth inning and it slipped out of our
hands
,
”
he said, his gravelly voice sounding even
gruffer than usual.
His scowl matched the ones she’d seen on
the few Soldiers
’
fans
that she and Spencer had passed on the way down to the clubhouse
level. “What else can I say?”

He didn’t need to
say anything. The reporters would take care of that. Hands shot up
and he pointed at a woman in the first row.

“
Adam
hasn’t been as sharp since the infamous poker game, do you
agree?”

Oh, come
on
.

There were about
thirty other questions that she could’ve asked, but the old
battleaxe from
New York Sports
had to choose the one inquiry
that implicated Cat in yet another loss. Cat
tried to
melt into the wall as all the
heads turned to
observe
her. Heat suffused her cheeks and neck. She blinked, holding her
eyes shut for an extra second, and when she opened them, the nosy
reporters were facing forward again.

“
No. I
don’t believe there’s any correlation between the two.” The manager
pointed at a male reporter a few rows back.

Cat exhaled,
utterly grateful for his dismissal of the ridiculous
claim.

“
Skipper, you think Alvarez’s performance has anything to do
with his missing teammate?”

“
I’m
not looking for excuses. The guys are worried about their friends,
there’s no question about that.”

Cat felt her
gratitude slipping away.

“
It’s
a close clubhouse and these guys stick together, so I guess it’s
possible that Adam was a victim of the stress of the playoffs and
all the chaos going on off the field.”

A
victim?

She was inwardly
fuming. Adam Alvarez wasn’t the victim of anything but a stupid
haircut
and a slack jaw
.
The mohawked pitcher hadn’t shown a bit of empathy toward Ryan
after his accident. Last night, Soldiers
'
fans had held an unsuccessful search
party for Damien Staats. Roger had sent out an email, encouraging
players who wanted to participate to do so and take a later flight.
Cat and Benji had swung by on their way home from the Snow Bird,
but Adam, the so-called “concerned friend,” hadn’t bothered to show
up. The snub wasn’t out of character, because he didn’t have any
character. In the past year, Adam had fought and lost two paternity
suits
, gotten arrested
for an assault and been sued by his condo board for destruction of
property.

Another reporter
spoke up from the front of the room. “It’s weird though, isn’t it,
Skipper? First your team loses its ace, then a player goes missing,
then your lights-out closer gives up back-to-back homers. Call me
crazy, but that’s some bad luck.”

Call me crazy,
but that’s a stupid question
.

Cat shifted on
her feet, shooting Spencer a knowing glower. All of these
questions, yet no one was asking why the hell Adam hadn’t thrown
his best pitch.

The manager
chuckled in response. “Are you saying they’re cursed? I think
you’re thinking of the wrong dugout, son.”

Laughter
reverberated throughout the room. Cat joined in, relieved to have
the pressure taken off of her and her apartment.
She tucked her cellphone back in her purse. This
guy was good. His expression wasn’t going to reveal anything,
especially with his scraggly playoff beard covering half his
face.
Over the chortles, a low rumble sounded and her
purse
vibrated. She took
advantage of everyone’s amusement to peek at her cellphone screen.
It was a text message from Benji.

“
Call
me ASAP!”

Exclamation marks
were not a good sign, especially coming from the laid-back Benji.
In fact, the only time she’d seen him use such punctuation was in
his comic doodles, after a
POW!
or
BANG!

She leaned over
to Spencer and whispered, “I really need to make a call. I know
it’s a lot to ask, especially since you already bailed me out once
but—”

He waved her
quiet. “Go on. I’ll give you my notes.”

“
I owe
you one.”

“
Two,
actually.” He winked. “But who’s counting?”

She slipped out
the side door, her finger already on the SEND button. Benji picked
up on one ring.

“
Hey
hon, thanks for calling back so quick.”

“
No
problem.” She stole a quick look behind her to make sure the door
shut. “It’s kind of a bad time, though.”

“
Here,
too. The police are back.”

“
No!”
She dropped her voice down and added, “Don’t let them
in.”

“
They’re already in.”

She sighed. “Well
you need to ask them to leave. No warrant, no search. Tell them
that.” It was another dad-ism. Cat had never heard Michael McDaniel
utter an “I’ll turn this car around” or “When you live under my
roof …” but damn if he didn’t patent his own Father Knows Best
catch phrases. “No warrant, no search” was second in his repertoire
of aphorisms to “It ain’t a crime if you don’t do time.”

“
Cat—”

“
They
can’t step a foot inside if they don’t—”

“
Cat!”

“
What?’

“
They
have a warrant.”

“
Oh.”
She leaned back on the cinderblock wall. “Let me guess. Detective
Kahn?”

“
Yeah.
He brought along some officers and a court order signed by the
Honorable Judge Sur.” Papers crinkled in the background. “It
basically gives them access to everything but my car. They’re
taking pictures from every corner of the apartment and are
stretching measuring tapes from wall to wall. He’s got guys on our
balcony reenacting the fall. They’ve even got some guys downstairs
playing in the grass where Ryan hit the ground.” Benji paused to
catch his breath and then gasped, “Oh! How could I forget this?
They also took my fingerprints.”