Authors: Walter Knight
VAMPIRE IN THE OUTFIELD
by Walter Knight
Chapter 1
Baseball hasn’t changed much in the three centuries since that first officially recognized American game was played June 19, 1846, in Hoboken, New Jersey. However, pretty much everything else has changed since then. People now live on distant planets throughout the galaxy, and humanity has even fought wars against alien civilizations. There are urban legends rumoring aliens live right here on Old Earth, but that’s not some hokum I’m eager to buy into.
My name is Johnny Black. I am a nineteen-year-old from Tucson, Arizona, and I have always dreamed of playing major league baseball. I would do anything, even sell my soul to the Devil himself, to get to the Big Show. However, there is no such thing as the Devil, so I went with Plan B – steroids. That, and traveling to Mexico to play in the winter leagues. I have talent, just not enough. I’m planning to kick the steroids once I hone my skills and get in shape. All I need is a break. If I could get noticed by a major league scout, I would do the rest on pure talent alone.
A friend got me a tryout with the Sonora Diablos, so I headed on down to Mexico, waving at the soldiers as I passed the border checkpoint. I liked Mexico, but I wasn’t so sure Mexico liked me – everything under the desert moon stings, pokes, or bites. The upside is the year-round warm weather. I can cruise comfortably in my ride, the windows rolled down day or night.
At the tryouts, I had put on lots of muscle, but still struck out a lot. I could feel my dream slipping away. The Diablos were my last chance. Rumor had it that Coach Morales would cut me any day, leaving me washed up at twenty. I don’t have a Plan C. I went all in, blowing through my savings early on. I am even low on steroids right now.
After the game, depressed from sitting all night on the bench, and still wearing my Diablos uniform, I staggered into a cantina, the Chupacabra. Drinking tequila, I eyed a dark-haired beauty sitting a couple stools down the bar, giving her my best major-league smile. She nodded back, and I slid over to buy her a drink.
“I love baseball players,” she gushed, placing her hand seductively on my bicep. “And you are so strong, too. Are you a star for the Diablos?”
“For now,” I bragged. “It’s just temporary while I get in shape, or until the scouts notice me.”
“Then what?” she asked, stroking the back of my neck. “You will leave me to become a rich American baseball player in New York City? You will be like the immortal Alex Rodriguez?”
“Exactly, but I would never leave you, sweetheart.”
“My name is Anita. I have met lots of rich Americans, and they are not so special. But I sense you are different. You are special, and destined for great things. What is your blood type? O-negative?”
“How did you know that?” I asked, the hairs rising on the back of my neck. I shook off a premonition of doom and of striking out with Anita.
Keep up the conversation,
I told myself.
Be smooth.
I could sense my luck was changing, at least in love. “My name is Johnny.”
“Johnny, a proud baseball name!” exclaimed Anita, casually placing her hand on my knee. “You want to be a major league player? I think I can help you get a two year no-cut contract.”
“No more steroids,” I replied abruptly. “All that hype about steroids being a wonder drug is bull. I don’t need drugs for stamina and strength. It’s not the size of your bat that counts, it’s how you use it.”
“Keep telling yourself that,” scoffed Anita, still smiling. She had a beautiful smile with perfect white teeth accented by her dark sun-kissed skin. She had movie star good looks. “Come to my home, my macho baseball player. You won’t strike out with me. You won’t ever strike out again. I will help you score big time in the major leagues. We will be partners.”
“You don’t have to ask me twice,” I said, chugging down my drink and eagerly following her seductive hips out the door. My eyes swayed back and forth, almost hypnotized, as I chased after her. Back and forth, back and forth. It’s a guy thing. We have no control.
I could not believe my good fortune. This sort of thing never happens to me. I glanced both ways as we left the cantina, half-expecting to be mugged in the alley.
Good luck with that,
I thought, smirking.
I’m broke!
But tonight it looked like I was going to hit a home run. ‘My, oh my, fly away,’ as they still say in Seattle.
Anita walked up hill effortlessly in her stiletto heels, while I followed panting and out of breath. She took me up narrow streets atop a hill overlooking the town. Her home was painted up high class, just like her. Red tiles and blue painted brick, it looked down on the mere shanties below.
Anita led me by the hand through the doorway, upstairs to her bedroom, never bothering to turn on the lights. No chitchat, no more drinks, straight to bed. My kind of girl.
“Tonight, I give you a gift,” promised Anita, as we quickly shed our clothes. “And a curse.”
“Curse?” I asked, startled. “No way. I brought protection.”
In the dark, as I fumbled clumsily through my wallet for a condom, Anita caressed and kissed my neck ... and then ripped out my throat! What kind of shit is that? The bitch grew fangs and tore out my throat with her teeth – just like that, quick and neat. I just stared back at her in disbelief, a reflection of her next meal in her beautiful brown moonlit eyes. Damn, you know, some days just aren’t worth getting up for.
* * * * *
I died that night ... sort of. There was no funeral. I woke up on a wooden table in the city morgue, naked, splinters in my ass, with a tag tied to my big toe. Morgue workers approached from down the hallway, but in an instant I was gone, out a window. I flew like the wind, toe tag flapping in the breeze. I needed no explanation. I knew what had happened. I was killed by a vampire, and now I was one.
This sucks!
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Chapter 2
How does a vampire support himself?
I wondered.
Crime? Murder and mayhem? Get a night job stocking shelves at Walmart?
CRACK!
No, not drugs.
CRACK!
The sound of a bat, the cheer of the crowd. I turned to see the familiar lights of Diablo Stadium.
Of course! I am still on the team, still a Diablo. Can a vampire hit? Play baseball? I don’t see why not.
I ran faster toward the stadium, still naked, toe tag still flapping. I stopped. My senses were heightened. Such power. Such speed. I could be a lead-off hitter. I would never get caught stealing second base. But I needed clothes. I couldn’t play baseball naked. I passed a bum and, in a blur, snatched his clothes. His shoes did not fit.
The bum just stood there naked, crying, not knowing what happened. He looked down at the toe tag I left. “What the hell?” The bum shrugged, took another swig from his bottle, and staggered away.
The bum’s clothes itched. I could feel lice crawling everywhere. And the smell. I dismissed it. My newfound power was intoxicating. In an instant, I was in the stands. Fans all around cheered as the Diablos prepared to bat in the bottom of the first inning.
“Aye, you’re blocking my view. Find a seat,” snarled a burly fan as I gazed down at the field.
He had popcorn in one hand, a beer in the other, and wore a Diablo team shirt. Reflexively, I snarled, baring my teeth. Anita had given me a gift, but I was not wasting it killing the likes of this fool. In an instant I snatched his Diablo shirt and the popcorn. The popcorn needed more butter and salt, but the shirt fit perfectly. I leaped over the dugout fence and into the company of my teammates.
“You’re off the team,” shouted Coach Morales, noticing my disheveled appearance, blood still on my neck. “Get out or I’m calling the police. You’re nothing but a drunk!”
“I’m pinch hitting,” I demanded, snatching a bat from the on-deck hitter. “Don’t mess with me, Morales. I know where you live!”
Morales backed off, crossing himself as I snarled and bared my teeth. I strode confidently to the plate. The umpire took of his mask to confront me, pointing to the ground.
“Where are your shoes?” he asked. “You cannot play without shoes!”
“Didn’t you ever watch Field of Dreams?” I snarled. One of my fangs glistened from the stadium lights. “You remember Shoeless Joe? I’m Shoeless Johnny!”
“Crazy gringos,” relented the umpire, nervously turning his back to me and donning his mask. “Play ball!”
The pitcher, Miguel Dominguez, only threw fastballs. I knew I could easily hit off him. But the bright reflection from a cross dangling from his gold chain blinded me. I put my hand up to shield my eyes as the first pitch was thrown.
“Strike!”
“Time out!” I shouted, backing out of the batter’s box. I trotted over to third base. The fans booed. I snatched the third base coach’s sunglasses and returned to the plate. The glare from the cross was still too much. The next pitch, up high and inside, brushed me back and into the dirt. “That bastard,” I snarled, rushing the pitcher’s mound. Both benches cleared, but I was to the mound first, snatching Dominguez’ gold chain and throwing it to the stands. It burned red hot in my hand. Steam rose from my blisters. I recoiled.
Diablos tried to save me from the other team. Maybe I was just a crazy gringo, but damn it, I was
their
crazy gringo, and no one from Nogales was going to kick my ass and get away with it. Being a home game, the fans were with me, cheering wildly and throwing beer bottles. One fan, shirtless and drinking a beer, caught Dominguez’ gold chain. He waved back at me like a long lost friend, holding the chain up for all to see, like a trophy of war.
After much shoving and shouting, the players settled back to their dugouts. The umpire allowed me to stay in the game because I snarled at him again, and because we were the home team.
“Play ball!”
The next pitch, another fastball, was in my sweet spot. CRACK! I easily hit the ball over the left field fence.
That’s what I’m talking about! This vampire thing is going to work,
I told myself as I rounded third base, headed for home, and returned high-fives and congratulations from Morales and my teammates.
Cameras flashed. Video ran. I would be all over the local news tomorrow. I hit three more home runs and ended the night with a bunt just to show off. A scout from the Seattle Mariners was waiting for me in the locker room after the game, with a two-year no-cut contract in hand.
“That was a hell of a game, son,” exclaimed Ronald Hassle. “Call me Ron. I see a bright future for you in the Seattle Mariners organization.”
“Seattle?” I asked. “Does Seattle have a domed stadium?”
“Oh, don’t worry about the rain,” insisted Hassle. “It’s hardly noticeable, once you get used to it. Think of it as moist Washington air. It’s good for the skin, too, and you don’t have to worry about getting cancer from sun spots.”
“It’s the sunlight that bothers me,” I replied. “I hate sunlight.”
“No worries there,” replied Hassle, pushing the contract across a table for me to sign. “The sun never comes out in the Pacific Northwest.”
“What about day games?” I asked, as I read the fine print.
It’s all in the details.
“Do I have to play the California Angels? I hate that ‘Big A’ with that stupid halo on top.”
“Of course we play the Angels,” advised Hassle. “Now, see here. What kind of question is that? Do you have a history of mental illness? Have you ever been institutionalized?”
“Never,” I said, quickly signing the contract. “Is that it? Am I in the major leagues now?”
“You might have to play for Tacoma a short time, but I see no problems,” promised Hassle, just now noticing the blood on my neck and shirt. “You are a natural. If you pass your physical, and the blood test, you’re in!”
“Blood test?” I asked.
“It’s just a formality.”
“Great!” I replied, shaking Ron’s hand. “I thought I would never get noticed. I was so desperate, I almost joined the Foreign Legion. Ron, you saved me from a fate worse than death!”
Remember, we are partners,
announced Anita, her voice all around, but only for me. I looked about, but the vampire vixen was not to be seen.
Partners for life, she repeated, my soon-to-be rich American baseball player!
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