Big Leagues (32 page)

“Wow.”

“Yeah, they’d always said they’d do that when
they retired.” He smiled. “I figured they’d at least try
shuffleboarding and puzzles first.”

She inhaled a shaky breath. “They’re nice
people, right?”

“The best.” He shook his head. “Cat, I don’t
understand why we’re wasting time talking about my
parents.”

Cat caught her reflection in the dark window
and recoiled. “I might as well tell you. I’m not from nice people.”
Her eyes met his. “My dad’s in prison for stealing a car. Well,
attempting to steal a car.”

“Oh.” Benji looked down for a moment. “Well,
what about your mom?”

“Haven’t seen her for a quarter century. She
left when I was a baby.”

“That’s awful.” He reached for her hand. “What
does this have to do with tonight?”

She pulled her hand away and wiped a tear from
her cheek. “Opportunities don’t fly in my direction. This job, this
is it. This is my only chance. I can’t blow it.”

“That’s not true.”

“I appreciate you trying to make me feel
better, but trust me. This is a career you’re born into. You have
to either be somebody in baseball or born to somebody in baseball.”
She threw up her hands in frustration. “I’m the spawn of a career
criminal and a would-be porn star, not exactly the best networking
connections.”

He took her hand. “Cat, no you’re— Don’t you
get it? This just makes you better.” He reached up to caress her
cheek. “Anyone can succeed when life is handed to them on a silver
platter, but to rise above and to overcome your parents’ mistakes,
well, that just makes you even more amazing.”

She offered a small smile. “How do you do
that?”

“Do what?”

“You always make me feel special.”

His lips responded to the invitation in her
eyes; then he pulled away and met her forehead with his. “Because
you are amazing. That’s why you can’t let them bully you into
keeping their secret.”

She pulled away and reached for a tissue. “It’s
not just me. Some of these players are good, decent guys, who
finally got their break, too. I’d be jeopardizing everyone’s
dreams.” She sniffled. “I can’t afford to throw away everything
we’ve worked so hard for on a matter of principle.”

“Principle? This isn’t looking the other way
when your coworker tells a bigoted joke or staying quiet when your
boss rubs up against you in the break room. This is
murder.”

They stayed silent, letting the word
reverberate in the quiet living room.

Cat clenched the wadded towel in her palm.
“It’s all the same. Didn’t you hear me? I’m not like you. I don’t
have an encouraging mom and dad who can be my safety net while I
embark on a hellraising mission of justice like a renegade
superhero. I have to tread very lightly because one wrong move and
I go from the baseball park to the trailer park …”

She stopped and stood up, placing her hands on
the top of her head. “Oh my God. I get it now. That’s why he picked
me.”

“Picked you?”

“This job. Like we were talking about. Why I
was selected. It never made sense. This is it. This is why Erich
König picked me over Dustin. He wanted someone who’d be so grateful
to be chosen they wouldn’t ask questions. He probably thought that
if I found out, I’d be too scared to do anything.” The conversation
in his office about moving on from Jamal’s death popped in her
mind. “He wanted a puppet.”

“Are you going to let him pull your
strings?”

She paced back and forth. “I don’t know what to
do.”

“You have to go to the police.”

“Nobody’s going to listen to somebody like me
over somebody like him.”

“Hey.”

She felt the sting of tears in her eyes again.
Her lip started trembling. “It’s true. Erich König practically owns
this town. For all we know, his cronies in the police department
would tip him off before we hung up the phone.”

“What about the league? There’s a chain of
command, right?”

Cat stopped sniffling and sat up. “I could call
the commissioner. I mean, his office, at least. I don’t know that
he’d speak to me.”

“Call. What are you waiting for?”

“Tomorrow. They’re in New York so I’ll call
from the office.”

He eyed her warily. “Are you sure?”

“It’ll be fine. Erich’s out of town and nobody
suspects me of being anything more than his pretty little
puppet.”

“Promise me you’ll be careful?”

She pulled him in for a hug. “I
promise.”

Her eyes focused on the syringe behind him. It
was going to take a lot more than a mysterious droplet to get the
commissioner to listen.

Cat played the game all day. She waved to the
morning guard on her way in. She greeted every employee with a
perky “Beautiful day for a ballgame!” She amused her colleagues
with a few Yogi-isms at the watercooler. She offered to bring lunch
back when she ran to the sub shop down the block. As she played the
role of a perfect worker, she watched her coworkers. Each and every
one of them. Their mannerisms, their conversations and most
importantly, their behavior with her. She stood behind her small
window and stared out at the fourth floor bullpen.

Any of them could be involved.

Well, except Dustin.

In this game of hardball, the one person in the
office she truly despised had become the only teammate she could
trust. Cat shook her head at the thought and closed the
blinds.

Mostly out of incompetence but hey, trust is
trust.

The day had proved one thing her players
already knew: being on the defense was exhausting. She tensed every
time her name was called, she questioned every phone call and she
jumped with every ding of the elevator. A knock at her office door
nearly caused a heart attack.

“Y-yes?”

Dustin popped his head in. “You heading down?
Pregame’s in five.”

Cat smiled in relief. “Be right
there.”

There was one more thing she had to do. She
picked up her framed Ron Santo card and frowned. “Sorry, Ronnie.
This is going to hurt me a lot more than it hurts you.”

She pried open the frame and pulled out the
card, gently wiggling it from the protective plastic sleeve. Once
she had it out, she placed the fragile cardboard card back in the
frame, snapping it shut and sitting it back on the desk. She
reached for her scissors and sliced through the middle of the clear
sleeve, putting both halves in her pocket and double checking to
make sure she was still alone in the office.

Cat scurried to the press box. She’d been
waiting for these three hours all day, and they proved to be worth
the wait.

Nine innings of being surrounded by a stadium
of rowdy fans and a game of Ruthian proportions was just what she
needed to take her mind off the impending felony she was about to
commit. After the game, she retreated to her office to pore over
the six home runs that seemed to be the end of the Chips’ offensive
slump. Pretending to be buried behind a desk of files with looming
deadlines, she checked each of the fourth-floor employees off her
list as they grabbed their things and headed for the elevator. The
window would be short. Customarily, the night cleaning crew arrived
at nine o’clock and started from the fifth floor down, but she
couldn’t take the chance they’d be in the mood for a change of
pace. At twenty-five after eight, she packed up her bag, took one
last look around the empty office and headed for the
elevator.

The ride went so quickly she feared the
elevator cables had snapped. She stepped out into the lobby;
however, instead of turning right for the tunnel, she darted left
and slunk down the corridor. The hallway was once again desolate.
The silence verified that all the players were long gone. No
surprise there. Twenty years ago, it wasn’t unusual to find the
players still hanging out for hours after the games ended. They’d
lounge in the clubhouse, swigging beers and playing poker while
they rehashed missed signs and wicked pitches. Those days had
disappeared with stirrup socks and dollar draughts. Now most
players were out of the ballpark even before the custodians had
swept away the hot dog wrappers from the bleachers.

Dr. Goodall and the training stuff would be
long gone too. While they sometimes stayed later than the players,
tonight they’d left to attend some banquet for sports medicine
professionals.

Cat knew the real test would be Ernie. The
devoted clubhouse manager didn’t leave until every uniform was
pressed and the sunflower seeds were ready to go for the next day.
She rounded the corner and confirmed the clubhouse was dark. Cat
smiled and continued down the hallway to the corner door marked
“Dr. Kevin Goodall.” She gave the handle a test jiggle, unsurprised
when it didn’t give. That would’ve been too easy.

She reached into the deep pockets of her
sweaterdress and pulled out one of the halves of plastic from the
baseball card case. She slid it between the jamb and the door and
down to the latch, pulling on the handle while pushing the door
with her palm.

It didn’t give.

She gave it one more shot, this time pushing
the door more firmly. Still nothing.

Balls.

This method had worked so well last spring when
she and Tams had arranged a surprise party inside the operation
director’s office! Apparently the Vegas Chips’ locks were even
fancier than the Porterville Bulldogs’. She tapped her foot on the
floor.

Ernie!

The shaggy-haired man jingled with every step,
thanks to a plethora of keys hanging from his belt clip. She crept
into the clubhouse, flipped on the lights and snuck to the alcove
Ernie made into his office. Her eyes dropped to the side of the
small desk, where the key ring dangled a mere two feet away. She
hesitated, weighing the ramifications of what she was about to
do.

This is the moment. The one that takes you from
announcing lineups to being picked out of ’em.

Cat took one more look around the empty
clubhouse before snatching the key ring off the hook. Her eyes
widened when she saw the quantity. There were more keys than doors
in the stadium.

One of them has to open the doc’s
office.

She carried the ring back to the doctor’s door.
Cat chose one and tried the key in the handle’s lock. When it
proved unsuccessful, she went to the next one.

Time was becoming an issue. Cat huffed and
tucked her hair behind her ear for the hundredth time. The
messenger bag was beginning to weigh heavily on her shoulder. She
was more than halfway through the loop, and while a few keys slid
into the keyhole with ease, none turned in the lock. She was
reaching for the next when she heard a squeak from behind. She
froze.

Oh God.

She held her breath. She stared down the
shadowy hallway, praying the noise was simply a mouse that had
snuck in from the stands.

Or settling. This is a new stadium, the
foundation’s still settling, right?

Cat inhaled slowly. She thought about throwing
out an innocent “Hello?” but figured if someone was there, then the
snoop already knew she was up to no good. She remained in the same
position for another minute. Her thighs screamed for a release from
the agonizing squat in front of the doctor’s door. She broke her
hold and stood up. She backed against the wall and squinted at her
watch. She still had twenty-five minutes before the cleaning crew
arrived. Security shouldn’t be roaming around, either. As far as
she knew, manning the parking lot’s guard shack was their only
responsibility once the drunken frat boys left the park. Even after
all the late night games, she’d never encountered a member of the
security staff making a round through the empty stadium
offices.

Well, except for Otis.

It seemed the head of security came to and from
the fifth floor at all hours of the night. Cat shook out the
unnerving image of Otis Snow from her head.

The squeak had yet to produce a threat, neither
a hungry rodent nor a mobilized SWAT team. She flipped through the
key ring and cringed at its loud jingle. She clenched the spares to
quiet them, crouched back down and plugged the next key in line.
She was so used to being denied that when the lock turned with an
animated click, she almost missed the sweet sound of victory. The
door scraped the floor as the slab passed the frame, and she
silently screamed with delight. There was no reason for
celebration, though. With one step into Dr. Goodall’s office, she
would officially be breaking and entering.

Like father, like daughter.

Cat hobbled into the room. She closed the
doctor’s door, shushing at its guard dog creak, and tried to get
the feeling back in her numb legs. The glow of an emergency exit
sign had provided the only source of ambient light, but now that
the door was closed, the tiny room was pitch black. She reached
into her other pocket and pulled out her LED pen light. It wasn’t
exactly a Maglite, but the tiny flashlight hid in her flat pocket
without stretching out the sweaterdress. A girl had to have
priorities when it came to cashmere. She blinked as she directed
the light around the office. She was tempted by the doctor’s desk
lamp, but it was too risky. There was a possibility a player could
come back to retrieve his lucky sock, discover her snooping through
the good doctor’s medical records, and make a quick call to
security. Then she’d spend the rest of the night explaining an
“invisible drug” to the police while the culprits destroyed the
real evidence.