Double Play (21 page)

Instead he flew
out to shallow right.

Cat hung her
head. Outs didn’t have to be a bad thing in baseball. Any fan will
tell you there is such a notion as a productive out—but this wasn’t
one of them.
Joel
Faulk
was stuck on first, still three stations away from the Soldiers
taking the lead, and the pitcher had only thrown two
pitches.

It was Doug
Habing’s turn to be the hero now. With Joel’s generous leadoff of
the first base bag, Chicago’s lanky pitcher began executing from
the stretch. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Joel’s feet
digging into the dirt. A second later, he took off. The pitch was a
strike and once the ball smacked his mitt, the catcher barreled it
to second base. Chicago’s second baseman caught the perfect pitch
and placed his glove down on Joel’s sliding foot. Cat and Spencer
both leaned forward on the desk, as though the extra foot closer to
the window would give them a better visual of the play. The
umpire’s hands waved out in front of him, palms down.

“
Safe!”

Cat squealed. The
battle cry earned dirty looks from a few of the local reporters and
a chuckle from Spencer, but she didn’t care. With the go-ahead
runner in scoring position, she could feel the weight of
Buffalo—not unlike the weight of
a
Buffalo—begin to lift
from her shoulders. Even if it meant that Quinn would be so broke
he’d have to live with her for the next year, she prayed for a win
tonight.

Doug Habing
didn’t mind the interruption of the stolen base, though it didn’t
do much to alleviate the weight from the batter’s shoulders. The
Soldiers needed him to come through. The pitch was delivered and he
laid down a fair bunt parallel to the first base line. He was out,
of course, but the sacrifice was a success. Joel Faulk was on third
base, only ninety feet away from the Soldiers taking the lead.
Unfortunately, the strategically advantageous sacrifice had also
put the Soldiers one out away from handing the game back to
Chicago’s offense.

Jannis Gibson
tapped his bat against his cleats and stepped into the box. With a
slow and impatient bat, he wasn’t exactly the player you’d want in
this spot, but while the God of Wind might be on her side, the God
of Baseball Lineups wasn’t. The catcher gave his signs and the
pitch was delivered.

Her heart sank
when Jannis made contact and the ball bounced off his bat, heading
straight to the second baseman. The defender whipped out his glove
and Cat waited for the inevitable. Her head drooped until she heard
the collective gasps around the press box. When she jerked her
attention back to the field, she saw the ball dribbling out to the
outfield. She whirled around to see the replay on the press box
television. It should have been a routine catch; instead, the ball
deflected off the tip of the defender’s leather glove. Joel Faulk
crossed home plate while Jannis safely made it to first base,
giving the Soldiers the lead and keeping the inning still alive.
She and Spencer shared an excited grin.

Both the inning
and their joy was short lived—Mario Evans struck out with the next
pitch—but as long as the Soldiers bullpen could hold on for three
more outs, their season would continue in Buffalo.

No one in the
press box was surprised when Adam Alvarez wasn’t the pitcher
hustling to the mound. The Soldiers’ manager had attributed last
night’s blown save to fatigue and had mentioned in the pregame
interview that AA’s arm could use a couple days rest. If not for
Chicago’s sloppy defense, his arm might’ve been the recipient of a
few months of rest, but as grateful as she was for the error, all
that mattered now was the next three outs. Kenta Seto was more than
happy to fill in for the closer and get the chance to notch his
first postseason save.

The first out had
come easy, a pop fly easily caught by Damien’s replacement at first
base.

The second out
took a few more pitches, but the hitter eventually struck
out.

The hometown fans
were chanting their last chance’s name and jumping to their feet,
eliciting a wave of enthusiasm from the first row to the bleachers.
Slowly, the press box began to follow. All the reporters
nonchalantly rose to their feet, pretending to stretch their legs
and straighten their desks, but their eyes, which were glued to the
field, belied their nonchalance. The game had come down to this
at-bat and not even a press badge could
stifle
the anticipation.

The batter didn’t
swing at pitch one and the umpire called it a strike. The
Chicago
fans responded
with boos. Cat double-checked on the replay. The pitch was a little
high, but in the strike zone.

The next offering
was even higher and the umpire ruled it a ball. The
hometown
fans applauded in
appreciation.

Kenta Seto put
his pitch right where he had the first and the batter still didn’t
swing.

“
Steeee-rike!”

The fans booed
again.

They were still
jeering when the next pitch was thrown. The batter swung … and
missed.

Cat verified it
wasn’t a dream by taking another peek at the replay. Her view was
obstructed as the other reporters rushed out of the room. She
turned to Spencer, who threw his arms around her. She bounced with
him for a couple jumps and then regained her composure. Pulling
back, she cleared her throat.

“
We
should—”

He nodded.
“Yeah.”

She gave him a
quick smile and grabbed her bag, leading the way to the
stairs.

Not surprisingly,
Joel’s locker was the place to be for all the out-of-towners. The
local media headed to Chicago’s clubhouse but even with their
absence, there was no room in the tiny visiting clubhouse. She
tried to inch past a tall woman on the side closest to the wall,
but the Amazonian jutted out her elbow to stop her. Cat’s usual
tricks wouldn’t work here; the national reporters had seen it all.
She glanced down at the swarm of feet, wondering if she could
tunnel through them to the front of the mob.

Spencer hooked
his arm with hers.

“
Follow me.”

The short but
stout former college soccer player barreled through the middle of
the crowd with no apologies or pardons. Before she could blink, she
was face to face with Joel.

She unhooked her
arm from Spencer’s. “Thanks for the ride.”

He didn’t answer
her and instead directed his attention at Joel, belting out the
question they were all dying to ask.

“
How’s
it feel to be a hero?”

Joel wasn't much taller than Spencer and
was several pounds thinner.
What the outfielder lacked in meat, he made up for with
speed, grit and determination. Spencer referred to him as “the
quintessential scrappy white guy.”
Joel
took off his orange Soldiers’ ballcap to display
his sweaty auburn hair, clinging to his freckled, pinkish face.
He
grimaced and took a look around the clubhouse. “Don’t use
that word, man. I’m not a hero. It’s not like I yanked somebody out
of a burning building or whatever.”

Cat was taken
aback by his modesty, but Spencer didn’t flinch. “Tell that to the
City of Buffalo. They’re probably creating a mold for your statue
right about now,” he said.

Cat giggled along
with a few other bystanders, but Joel didn’t break a smile. “I just
did my job. I got on base, I saw a chance to take second and the
guys behind me did the rest.”

Cat butted in, a
little nervous. The last time she’d talked to Joel was when he’d
rushed past her to spew Leinekugel all over her kitchen
sink.

“
That
was a good steal. Did you do it on your own or was there a sign
from the dugout?”

“
No
sign.
Not from the dugout,
anyway.
” His face paled and his eyes darted to their
recorders, shoved just below his mouth. He took a step backward,
almost jamming his body into his locker.
His hand felt for the silver chain around his neck
and clenched its cross pendant.
“I mean, I wasn’t instructed
to do it but it was almost instinctive. I didn’t realize I was on
my way until I was already halfway down the baseline.”

He looked around
the clubhouse again. Cat observed his tense mannerisms. Her
curiosity was piqued. This wasn’t like Joel. He was a camera
hog—one of those rare players who sought out the media. He might
never break any records, at least no good ones—he’d come pretty
close to a golden sombrero last year—but he made himself known to
the public. He was sure to land a career in broadcasting, whether
the network wanted him or not. Tonight, however, he was the one to
cut the interview short.

“
That’s all I got for tonight, guys. I’m really
tired.”

A few
disappointed groans sounded from the back of the mob, but they
cordially backed off. No one was going to hassle the hero tonight.
As they backed away, Cat turned to thank him again, but he was
already gone.

Cat used the
shuttle ride to the airport to finish up her work, so that the
redeye charter flight back to Buffalo would be free for an hour of
shuteye.

She took the
first seat she could find. The closer she sat to the door, the
sooner she’d be hailing a taxi back to the loft. She’d already put
her carry-on bag in the overhead compartment and slammed the lid
shut when she spotted
the
freckled face of
Joel
Faulk
in the next seat. She hesitated for only a
second, but dismissed any escape plans. There was no sly way to
grab her bag and switch seats. Besides, the rows on each side were
full. She plopped down with a polite smile.

“
Hey
Joel.”

“
Are
you sure we should be sitting next to each other?” His
hazel
eyes darted around the plane,
flashing from seat to seat before landing on the door where players
continued to file in. “You know, after everything that’s happened?
I don’t want any more trouble for either of us.”

Now
you’re worried about that? Where was this concern when accusations
were being flung at me like Feller fastballs?

“
As
long as I don’t get out a deck of cards, I don’t think anyone will
mind.”

He didn’t smile.
She playfully nudged him with her elbow.

“
That
was a joke. Kind of.”

“
Funny,” he replied, with a tone as flat as his
expression.

“
You
know, for a guy who singlehandedly saved the series, at least for
two days, you look like ….” Cat cut herself off. She’d been about
to say “like you lost your best friend,” but given the
circumstances, she let the sentence trail off. “You seem
sad.”

“
I’m
just worried about Damien.”

“
Me,
too.”

Joel leaned his
seat back and turned his head toward the window. Cat followed his
gaze. There wasn’t much to see outside in the black night, but the
overhead lights provided just enough glare to reveal his worried
reflection in the glass.

It was two in the
morning when she made it into the apartment building. As was her
ritual for late games throughout the season, she
unzipped her boots and slipped them off
as
soon as she got up the stairs, quietly stuck her key into the door
and grasped the handle with a slow turn. She gingerly pushed open
the door until she saw the apartment walls light up with the glow
of the living room television. No longer worried about awakening
Benji, she let the door fling open so she could drag her luggage
in. She left it in the hallway and made her way to the living
room.

“
You’re still up?” She turned the corner and saw Quinn, not
Benji, on the couch. “Oh. Of course
you
are.” Benji had to
work in the morning, but Quinn wouldn’t be up before
noon.

“
Yeah.
Benji tried to wait up, but he ended up hitting the sack about an
hour ago. He said to tell you congrats.” Quinn raised an eyebrow.
“That’s from him, not me.”

“
Let
me guess, you lost money tonight?”

She plopped down
next to him. She’d only recently pledged her allegiance to the
Buffalo Soldiers and it wasn’t as though she’d be getting their
logo tattooed on her lower back or naming her firstborn Soldier;
however, she was a fan of the team that signed her paychecks. So,
like any fan, she took pleasure in her right to gloat. After all,
half the fun of rooting for your team is bragging to those who
didn’t.

“
Do I
need to work on my poker face?”

“
Nah,
you just need to get a new game. What are you doing anyway? I
thought you used to say betting on baseball was a sucker’s
game.”

“
In
the long run, yes, but sometimes you get a hunch.”

She gathered her
hair at the nape of her neck and
fastened
the
dark red strands
into a ponytail. “You had a hunch about the
Soldiers?”

“
No.”
He turned down the volume on the television and dropped the remote
on the coffee table. “But I had a pretty good feeling about
Chicago.”