Las Vegas Gold (13 page)

On the flight east, Owen Hansford approached Willie Fontana and asked, “Do you suppose Molly would let me and Lynn pitch the next two games? We're both feeling really good, and haven't pitched for seven or eight days. I know that changes the pitching order around, but the way we're going, we can take two from these guys and leave Damaso and T.Y. and Connie fresh for the World Series.”

“Sounds good to me. I'll ask her. You and Lynn been talking this over, have you?”

“Yeah, and I won—or lost—the toss to come speak to you.”

Willie laughed. “Hey, Owen, this ain't no school team. You don't have to be afraid to ask questions like that. If you want somethin', or got some suggestion to make, go ahead and do it. That's the way we run this team.”

“Never played for an organization like it. I just hope I can stick until my playing days are through.”

“Don't worry about it. The way you're going, you're permanent.”

The Gold felt right at home at Rogers Stadium, because Malone Stadium also had a retractable roof. The difference was their home field had open areas when the sun and wind could get in. They had been in Toronto twice during the season and had lost two out of six games. That was on the eastern swing, when Tabby was killed in New York. Now they were two up on a best of seven series for the league championship.

Molly agreed Owen could pitch the first game in Toronto, with Lynn scheduled for the second. “Go for it,” she told them both after calling them into her office. “Make a name for yourselves. You'll do fine.”

And they did. Owen pitched eight innings in defeating the Blue Jays 5-3, allowing two earned runs. The other came as the result of an error by Jerry Lyons, of all people, on a dropped toss to first. Owen walked two and allowed seven hits. The next day, a Saturday afternoon, before a packed house, Lynn Meriweather did even better: nine complete innings, four hits, no runs, no walks, and the Gold's 7-0 win gave them the series sweep and the championship.

The team celebrated in big style after the game. The champagne sprayed around and Mike Malone stood up on a stool and made a little speech. “No expansion team ever won the league championship in their first year before. That's worth a ten thousand dollar bonus to every player and coach!” He looked at Bobby Joe on his crutches. “Ten thousand and one for you, Comingo. Your coaching is worth the extra buck.”

That cracked up everyone, especially when Mike pulled a dollar bill out of his pocket and handed it to Bobby Joe. In doing so, he lost his balance and fell off the stool, and only the fact a couple of players standing close caught him saved him from a nasty fall. The place was in an uproar, and the sports TV stations, all of them with camera crews in the dressing room, carried clips from his episode on every show for a couple of days.

The Gold were the American League Champions, ready to meet the National League Champions, when their playoffs were decided, in the World Series.

Molly later received another phone call in her hotel room. She was so frustrated, angry and scared she threw the phone across the room, where it bounced off the wall.

17

“Jeff.” Molly was speaking to the FBI man from her office next morning in Las Vegas. She was tired, having flown home on a late night charter. “Listen, I've had it. These calls are getting to me, and here we are coming up to the most important part of the season. I don't know how much more I can take of these harassing phone calls.”

“Molly, we're working as hard as we can on the case. We have ten agents on it right now, and the Las Vegas cops have every spare man out showing photos of this character, before and after shots made from a police artist's drawing of him after he shaved his beard. I don't know what more we can do. There are guards on your house, guards traveling with you and staying near you when you're working.”

“Yeah, they were there in Toronto, too, but it was a player who saved us all.”

“Molly, all I can say is we're doing the best we can. If anyone has any ideas how we can do better, we'd sure like to hear them.”

Molly decided about all she could do that day would be to attempt to concentrate on plans for the Series. Their opponents would be either the Giants or the Cubs, and at the moment it was a toss-up as to which one it would be. She had scouts watching both, and all the reports they sent had been encouraging:

“We have better pitching.”

“We have better hitting.”

“Neither of these teams try stealing very often, and neither one has laid down a bunt in the series against each other. Strange for a National League team.”

She called a meeting with her coaches after lunch. They talked about the scouting reports. “Herb,” she caught the hitting coach's eye. “Have you got the pitchers taking batting practice?”

“They're taking more batting practice than pitching practice, I guess. T.Y., Meriweather, Driscoll and Freddy Greeley are the best of the bunch. And yes, I'm getting them all bunting. More bunting than hitting for singles, although they're doing that, too.”

“Get everybody bunting,” suggested Kenny Boyce. “The scouting reports say nobody on either the Cubs or the Giants is doing any bunting. We can sacrifice 'em crazy if our players can bunt. Even a surprise bunt from a slugger once or twice can get a man on base if they aren't expecting it.”

Herb nodded. “Yep. We'll be doing it. Starting tomorrow, all batting practice for the day will be—bunting. I hope the Cubs win it. They've got the slowest third baseman in both leagues, I think. Good arm when he gets to the ball, but the thing that's keeping his job is his bat, not his fielding.”

Willie Chavez grinned. “Tommy Ortiz. I played a couple of seasons with him. Sucker for a slider, but don't let him catch a fast all on the outside. And Herb's right about his speed.
I'm
faster than he is!”

The Cubs did win in seven games. They would be tired, whereas the Gold were fresh, eager and ready to go. The opener was set for October 21, a Sunday night, and would be in Malone Stadium, as would be the second game. Then a traveling day, and three games—if needed—at Wrigley field, with the remaining games back in Las Vegas.

Molly and Willie worked out their pitching rotation: Damaso Gonzalez, T.Y. Hollinger, Connie Armstrong, Lynn Meriweather, Owen Hansford, then back to Damaso. Kenny Sykes and Quincey O'Donnell would be the primary relievers, unless something went wrong early in a game, in which case Jimmy Brandon would be the long man.

She and Herb and Kenny Boyce decided Horace Mayhew would be the DH in the games played at home, because the Cubs two best starting pitchers were right-handers. Judd Matthews and Jiggs Kelly would be doing pinch-hitting duties, Judd against left-handers, Jiggs against right-handers. Steve Hostetler would be kept in reserve in case an outfielder went down with an injury. Grazi and Johnny Lighthorn would alternate catching. Bobby Joe suggested Johnny was actually the better catcher these days, and Molly filed that away for consideration.

* * *

Malone Stadium was packed, every seat sold, for the first two series games. The TV networks quickly got over their disappointment the teams involved were not in prime viewing areas. The fact the Gold had had such a spectacular year and the two murders was so sensational that millions of viewers would watch even if no Yankees, Red Sox or California teams were involved.

After the usual opening introductions, first ball, and all the other hoopla that went along with a World Series opener was over, the Gold took the field to welcome the Cubs batters. Damaso Gonzalez took exactly six pitches to send them back to the dugout in order, and Danny Johnson stood in the batter's box to try to get things going for the Gold. He succeeded. He laid down a bunt on the first pitch and was standing on first base almost before Tommy Ortiz, the Cubs slow-moving third baseman, got the ball in his glove. The crowd came to its feet in applause when Corry Van Dyk, batting second, followed with another bunt and moved on to second when Ortiz threw the ball away over the first baseman's head. Danny was standing, grinning, on third. Diego Martinez, like every other member of the team, playing in his first World series game, watched three wide pitches go by, then, knowing he had the green light from Molly on a 3-0 count, sent the fourth pitch over the left field wall for a three-run homer.

The game became a rout. The Gold blasted every Cubs pitcher sent up with hits or ran-out bunts, including drag bunts along the first base line. By the time the game ended, the score was of little concern: Gold 14, Cubs 0. The Chicago team was reeling under the shock of the assault.

The second game was a little tighter. T.Y. Hollinger pitched a five hitter, the Cubs had replaced their third baseman, but they still couldn't get any closer than the short end of a 7–2 score. The Gold were ecstatic. Never in their wildest dreams had any of them expected, when they began spring training, that this would be where they would be in October. Most of them had signed for the money, but now every last one was playing for the sheer thrill of being out on the field halfway toward winning the World Series.

After a travel day, the two teams were ready to play in storied Wrigley field. Connie Armstrong was on the mound, and he could have lobbed the balls in for all the good the Cubs batters could do that evening. They couldn't hit the broad side of a barn door, becoming more and more frustrated as the game wore on. In the meantime, the Gold mixed their game, playing little ball with bunts, hit and run and sacrifices, and in between booming drives for doubles, a triple by Digger Hazen, two home runs by Diego Martinez and another by Jerry Lyons. The final score was another laugher: 17-0, and Las Vegas was one game away from their goal.

Molly did not receive a call that evening, which confused her. What was in Mendoza's mind? She slept a troubled sleep.

The word got around to the players pretty fast. Lynn Meriweather was scheduled to be the pitcher in the fourth—and what the Gold hoped would be the final game of the series. Winning would make them the World champions, something no other expansion team had ever even aspired to be, let alone accomplished in its first season. While he was warming up in the bullpen before the game, Lynn stopped and said to Willie and Bullpen Coach Art Bandano, “I think I just pulled a muscle in my lower arm. That last pitch hurt like hell.”

Willie immediately called Molly on the phone to the dugout. She wasn't there, so he sent whoever had answered the phone to get her. When he told her what had happened, and that he had shut Lynn down, she replied with no hesitation, “I'll send Owen. Tell Art to have relievers ready early. Owen is going to be as nervous as a cat having kittens.”

She was wrong. Owen Hansford was as calm, at least outwardly, as the clichéd millpond on a windless day. He warmed up, told Willie he felt good, and when the last half of the first came up, he took the mound and promptly struck out the first three batters he faced. In the second, the Cubs loaded the bases on two singles and a walk, but a great play by Danny Johnson with a quick throw home on an infield grounder brought the first out and saved a run. Then the pitcher's best friend, an inning-ending double play, the long way—third to second to first—ended the inning with no damage done.

“What was that all about?” asked Molly as Owen came into the dugout.

“Dunno. One of those things. My arm feels good. The pitches are working good. They got lucky, I guess, especially on the walk. Two of those balls the ump called were strikes for sure.” Molly nodded, and turned to Jerry who was to lead off.

“We need some runs, Jerry. Lots of them.”

The big first baseman smiled. “Okay, ma'am. Whatever you say.” Then he went out and hit a double up the gap in right. Corry Van Dyk was next and he slapped the first pitch down the right base line that the Cubs first baseman couldn't reach. Jerry scored easily. Corry steamed toward second and slid in safely, but the Cubs shortstop, taking the throw, stepped on Corry's leg as he finished the tag. Corry could just barely stand up, and after the trainer had checked it, he said two words, “Probably sprained.” They helped him limp off the field, and Steve Hostetler trotted out to take his place, both as a pinch runner and as the new left fielder. Tubby Littleton dropped a surprise drag bunt down the first base line and beat it out, catching both pitcher and catcher by surprise. On the play, Hostetler moved to third. The shaken pitcher walked Digger, and then came the play of the series.

The pitcher was paying no attention to Hostetler at third, and he took a long lead. Porter Kipping, swinging from the right side, caught the signal and swung wildly at the next pitch to distract the catcher while the runner stole home. There was no doubt about the call. He was safe, sliding in under the catcher's wide swinging tag attempt. Digger went all the way to third on the play.

Molly decided to keep it up, and she flashed the same signal to third base coach Jerry Haley, who passed it on to both Kipping and Hazen. Kipping on the next pitch faked a bunt and Digger also slid in safely. Consecutive steals of home, unheard of! From then on, the Cubs fell apart. The Gold went on to tear the cover off the ball. Owen pitched the entire nine innings, and the Gold swept the Cubs in four with a final score of 10-0.

The players poured out of the dugout, out of the bullpen, swarming Owen, swarming anyone who wasn't already covered. The scene was chaos. Molly mostly stood to one side and watched, occasionally getting caught up in the joy. After about five minutes a man in a Gold uniform came up beside Molly and growled, “You ready to die?”

She felt the hard barrel of a gun in her ribs. Harry Mendoza. Molly felt panic! For the first time in her life she was faced with instant death, and could do absolutely nothing to save herself. Mendoza didn't notice T.Y. step behind him. When the young pitcher had seen what was happening, he jumped the gunman with his arm around Mendoza's neck in a choke hold and yanked him off to the left of the yelling mob of celebrating players. As he did, the gun fired, but straight up in the air and not toward anyone. T.Y. hit Mendoza's left arm with a vicious judo chop and the gun flew out of his hand. The players stopped when the gun fired and looked in amazement at the struggle. Johnny Lighthorn saw the gun on the ground, threw his big catcher's mitt on top of it and stood on it.

T.Y. lifted his knee, bent Mendoza's left arm over it and chopped it again, obviously breaking it. The killer screamed in pain. “My pitching arm! You broke my arm!” First base coach Willie Chavez reached the two struggling men, grabbed Mendoza's feet and lifted them off the ground.

“Throw him down, T.Y.,” he yelled, and they both dropped Mendoza to the ground, where Willie promptly turned him over onto his stomach. “You move, Harry, and I'll break the other arm!”

By this time the police had arrived and took over, hustling the man off the field, his broken left arm dangling. One of them took time to pick up the gun Johnny had been guarding. The wild celebrations on the field had stopped by this time as the players watched in amazement. Molly had collapsed into Kenny Boyce's arms and he was walking her off the field. Several thousand fans had ceased their melancholy trek out of the stadium to watch, attracted by the gunshot. TV cameras were everywhere and reporters were trying to talk to any players they could reach, but without success. They wanted to know how Mendoza happened to have a Gold uniform. The answer was obvious. He walked in and helped himself, because the clubhouse man, like everyone else, was watching the game, those not allowed on the bench standing in the gangway from clubhouse to bench. But everyone just replied to media questioning in one way or another, “Go away. We're busy.”

The clubhouse was quiet. The predominant question there was, “How's Molly?” Neither she nor Kenny were anywhere to be seen. Finally, Eddy Harper, the Acting General Manager came in. He was besieged by questions.

“Molly's okay. She just fell apart from the shock and the general letdown over her danger being finally over. Kenny and her father took her to the hospital. Doctors will probably give her a sedative and keep her overnight.

“Hey guys,” he switched tones, “we just won the World Series; T.Y. just caught a murderer. We got a few things to celebrate!” And they did celebrate! The celebration began rather quietly, but as the Commissioner came in and presented the trophy to Harper and the TV cameras came in along with print media and other baseball people, the place gradually worked up to the bedlam expected after such a huge event. Mike Malone and Kenny Boyce returned from the hospital, and Mike stood up again on a stool to make a speech. First he was squirted with champagne.

“This time, I'm not falling off the stool,” he said to the general cheers and laughter. He attempted to wipe the dripping champagne from his hair and face with his coat sleeve. “I want you to know Molly's all right. She's gonna' be sorry she missed out on this celebration. I want to tell you all I am damn proud of my daughter. She's a great manager!” That brought cheers. “I'm just as proud of my team. You're a great team—every one of you. You all, all of you, did everything we hoped you would do when we set out a couple of years ago to build this team. There's no denying it's been a rough year, but you came through, and here we are, the World Series champion Gold! Let's hear it for everybody!” There were loud cheers, yells, whoops of joy.