Double Play (19 page)

The
woman turned back. “What did you say?”

“You’re
Patrice. I taught you to read.”         

Patrice
hesitated, panting and rubbing her shaved head. “Fuck you!” she screamed,
kicking the door.  “I don’t owe you nothin’! Fuck you!”

 Something
inside Halee snapped. She lunged out and grabbed the knife from Patrice’s hand,
pulling her backward. Patrice’s shoes slipped on the smooth floor. Her head hit
concrete, stunning her senseless long enough for Halee to regroup.

She
fell back against the wall for several minutes, exhausted. Every muscle in her
body ached; every nerve contracted in pain. She stared at the body lying on the
floor next to her, vigilant against the next attack. She should feel for a
pulse, check and see if Patrice was okay, but she just didn’t care right now. She
pushed her free hand up against her throat. The cut was shallow but bleeding
profusely. Her attacker was moaning, coming to.

Get
up, Halee
, she coached herself. Her breathing came in spurts. Every move
was agony.
You have to make it out of here
. She tried to stand but fell
back against the wall. She heard footsteps approaching and raised the knife.

A
kind face Halee had seen behind the front counter peered cautiously around the
corner, surveying the scene without expression as though it were commonplace. “You
best get out of here,” the cashier said. She glanced behind her. “They gonna
miss her in a hurry and be back for you.”

“I
can’t walk,” said Halee, leaning against the cold wall.

The
cashier stepped forward. She grabbed a paper towel and held it to Halee’s
throat. “It ain’t deep. You gonna live. I heard what they said,” she whispered.
She glanced behind her. “They called Chantrell.”

Halee
tried to catch her breath. The world was spinning in slow motion. “Where’s Ty?”

“She
ain’t had Ty. You need to go home, forget about it.”

“She
took him away from me,” said Halee. “I need to find him.”

The
cashier gazed on her with pity. Rita came crashing in behind her. “What
happened?” she demanded. “Oh, shit! What did they do to you?”

“Ty’s
gone,” said Halee.

Rita
pulled out her cell phone, slammed the bathroom door behind her and flipped the
lock. “Bobby! Send a cruiser! Halee’s been cut. There’s no way outa here
alive.”

***

“You
can’t run around Chicago waiving a gun like some kind of vigilante.”

J.D.
looked down the barrel of a .45 and grunted. “If the law won’t give me justice,
I’ll make my own.”

“You
haven’t tried the law.”

“I
got me a lawyer, don’t I? He says there ain’t nothing to do but wait for
Chantrell to make another mistake.”

“From
what I understand, that won’t take long.”

“Ty
can’t afford to wait. You got any leads on where she might be?”

Bobby
scratched his balding head. “She uses an address down by Midway for her food
stamps,” said Bobby, “but it could be a fake. Or it could be her brother
Demarcus’s place. Hard to tell.”

“Think
I’ll drive over and take me a look.”

“You’d
better have a cop with you,” said Bobby. “You’ll get tossed in jail if they
pick you up with that gun in your back pocket.”

“I
ain’t afraid of jail.”

“Why
doesn’t that surprise me?” Bobby’s cell phone rang. His brief smile faded when
he heard Rita’s pleas on the other end. “Hang up and call 911,” he said,
jumping to his feet. “I’m off duty. I’ll get there as fast as I can.”  He
grabbed his jacket and badge and headed for the door. “Let’s go!” he called to
J.D. “And bring that thing with you!”

J.D.
climbed into Bobby’s old Mustang and locked his seat belt while Bobby pulled
away from his apartment complex and out into traffic full throttle. The police
radio blared out a series of codes and directives.

J.D.
pulled out his gun and loaded the chamber with six bullets. “You always answer
calls on your day off?”

“I
do when a friend’s involved.”

“Anybody
I know?”

Bobby
nodded. “Rita Benedetto.”

J.D.
sat taller. “Rita?”

“Got
herself into a little altercation at a 7 Eleven. Unfriendly territory. Halee’s
with her.”

Bobby
glanced over at J.D.’s expression. It was a damn good thing he was in a locked
car going eighty miles an hour. It was the only thing containing his explosive
reaction right now.

“Are
they ok?” asked J.D. in a controlled voice.

“We’ll
know soon enough.” Bobby pulled into the 7 Eleven parking lot behind three cruisers
and an ambulance. Rita sat on a curb flanked by two female officers, rubbing
her forehead and giving her story. A crowd of local residents gathered nearby,
reporting the incident on their cell phones. J.D. burst from the passenger side
of the Mustang and raced toward the ambulance right before the back doors
closed.

“Halee!”

“Sir,
you can’t be in here,” said the attendant.

Bobby
touched her arm and flashed his badge. “One minute.”

“I
don’t care who you are,” said the attendant. “She’s lost a lot of blood. She
needs to get to the hospital.”

Halee
lay stretched out on a cot in the back of the ambulance, an I.V. drip already
inserted. A spot of blood leaked through the white gauze and tape across her
throat. She looked peaceful. J.D. fell to his knees beside the cot, brushing
her hair from her face and talking softly to her. “Baby…” he said, kissing her
hand. “Baby, I’m gonna find out who did this to you. I’m gonna find Ty. I’m
gonna get him back.”

“She’s
been sedated, Sir,” said the attendant.

“Where
are you taking her?”

“Cook
County. It’s the closest.”

“Take
her to University,” J.D. demanded. “I don’t care how much it costs.”

“Are
you riding along?”

J.D.
leaned down and kissed Halee tenderly on the forehead. “No,” he said in a voice
that scared Bobby. “I have business here.”

He
took one last look at Halee and jumped out of the ambulance, turning in a 360
degree circle, getting his bearings. He pulled a sheet of paper from his pocket
and reread the address. Bobby came up beside him.

“I
know what you’re thinking, J.D. This is a matter for the Chicago P.D.”

“Not
anymore, it ain’t.”

“You
won’t come out alive.”

J.D.
set his jaw. “Neither will Ty. I’m set on saving us both.”

“Take
someone with you,” Bobby called after him.

J.D.
kept walking. Bobby watched him cross the road and climb the tall fence like
Spiderman, his back pocket bulging with deadly steel. “You got a mic on you?”
he asked a cop nearby. The cop tossed him a small recorder. He waited till J.D.
rounded a corner of the building before he followed.

It
took another minute before Bobby found an opening in the steady stream of
traffic and bolted across the four lane highway. Glancing sideways, he searched
for an opening that would allow him entry through the six foot fence. He broke
into a light jog, scoping the perimeter. Finally he got to a place where the
fence had been cut through and rolled back a foot or two. He slipped through.

All
the housing units looked exactly the same, squat dark brown brick trimmed in
camel colored concrete. Unit 506 was likely on the fifth floor of one of these
buildings, forcing any visitors to take internal stairs patrolled by teenage
males up to no good. The same was true for exit. Even if things remained
cordial, they’d be lucky to make it back down to the front doors without some
type of challenge.

He
radioed to backup. “One of you guys wanna tell me the easiest way to get inside
Demarcus Robinson’s apartment?”

“What,
you got a death wish?”

Another
voice came on. “Building 5, sixth door inside. I thought it was your day off,
Bob. You doing some socializing?”

Bobby
blew out a breath of relief. At least he could skip the stairs. “It’s a long
story.”

“You
need backup?”

“Hell,
yes,” said Bobby. “Get your asses over here. No Rambo shit, either. I don’t
want my head blown off.”

Bobby
snuck around the back of Building 5 with his hand placed firmly on the holster
hidden beneath his Cubs hoodie. Maybe there was a better way to approach from
the outside. He listened as he moved from window to window.

Then
he heard J.D.’s voice. He peered carefully through a first floor window. Bingo.

J.D.
stood in the doorway of the apartment with both hands in the air. A black
skinned man the size of an NFL linebacker pointed a gun toward J.D. He was
dressed in a wifebeater and low slung shorts. A fresh bruise ringed one eye like
a raccoon; a doo-rag capped his head. Row after row of scars tagged his
muscular arms, badges of honor in a social structure where repeated survival guaranteed
promotion. Bobby recognized him as the notorious gangster Demarcus Robinson, Chantrell’s
older brother. Chantrell was nowhere in sight.

"Mr.
Johnny Shaw,” said Demarcus. “Back in Chicago. Well, ain’t that convenient. I
get to deal directly with the man.”

“So
let’s do business,” said J.D. “I want the kid.”

Demarcus
grinned. “And I know you can pay for him, too.”

“What’s
your price?” asked J.D.

“One
million cash.”

J.D.
snorted. “Don’t have it.”

“Sure
you do. You top dog now. Federals paid big money for your ass.”

“Not
a million.”

Demarcus
frowned. “You got friends. The price is one million.”

“I
deal directly with Chantrell.”

“You
deal with me.”

“Chantrell
know you’re selling her baby?”

A
thin woman dressed in an oversized tee shirt and flip flops entered from a side
door. Her tangled hair looked as though it hadn’t been washed in months. Her
skin was grey. Ty dangled over her arm like a sack of potatoes, barely
recognizable. His skimpy clothes were filthy and one size too big. He looked
thin, pale and scared. He didn’t make a sound.

“Damn
it, Chan!” Demarcus protested, waving his gun. “Get the kid outa here!”

Chantrell
glanced at J.D. “Letitia says some man be looking through the back window.”

Demarcus
backed toward the window. Bobby slid back out of view.

“I’ll
transfer $500,000 into your bank account,” said J.D. quickly.  “The kid leaves
with me.”

Ty
strained his small head, trying to locate J.D.’s familiar voice. He looked up and
caught sight of his protector and let out a wail.

Chantrell
slapped him across the cheek. “Shut the fuck up!” she screamed. Ty bellowed,
his cheek red and hot. J.D. lunged toward Chantrell, knocking her to the floor.
Ty spilled out of her arms. He grabbed the child and rolled under a table,
narrowly ducking the first round of bullets.

The
back window crashed into a dozen shards of glass. Demarcus shifted his aim
toward the window long enough for J.D. to reach into his back pocket and take
aim. He fired once, sending Demarcus crumbling to the floor. Chantrell screamed
and ran for the back door.

“Chicago
P.D. Freeze!”

Bobby
crashed into the kitchen, breathing as if his lungs would explode, circling
with his gun cocked forward, looking for any signs of life.  Demarcus lay prone
on the floor, his breathing labored. J.D. sat with his back to the wall, the
child wrapped up against his strong chest. They were both shaking, both
clinging to the other.

“You
ok?”

J.D.
nodded. He gestured to Demarcus. “You better get him to the doctor, though.”

“Think
I’ll take my time,” said Bobby. He shook his head. “I’m going to have a hard
time explaining why my gun landed a bullet in Mr. Robinson.”

“You’re
a hell of a shot, you know that, Bob?”

“While
I was recording the whole thing.” He held up the small digital recording unit.

J.D.
leaned back against the wall and closed his eyes. “And fucking brilliant to
boot.

Halee
lay curled in the big soft bed she’d slept in since her mother had died and her
father had set out to drink himself to death. Gus Benedetto’s daughter had
insisted her best friend would do better under their roof, and Rita and Halee
had been like sisters ever since. Now the comforting aroma of Gus Benedetto’s
homemade chili wafted up from the bar downstairs, reminding Halee she was home
again. The little apartment upstairs from Benedetto’s Bar and Grill had been
Halee’s refuge from the ravages of a broken home. It remained her sanctuary
even now. It would be the place she’d put the pieces back together again, one
more time.

She
yawned and stretched her legs, rolling toward the window. An overwhelming sense
of peace washed over her, remnants of a dream so real, she could still taste
and touch every moment. In her dream J.D. lay beside her, his body warm pressed
up along her back. In her arms lay Ty, safe from harm, giggling when J.D.
tickled his chubby feet. As the baby fell into a gentle slumber, J.D. kissed
her hair, her lips, and breathed the words she longed to hear. “I love you,
Halee.”

She
groaned and smiled, falling back into a dreamlike state. The light in the room
came and went. She continued to sleep.

The
next time the light returned, so did the dream. Voices surrounded her, Uncle
Gus and Rita, people she knew, people she didn’t. Ty began to fuss and push
against her, fighting for release from her arms. She pulled him back, but he
continued to seek his freedom. He pulled at her hair and screamed. She opened
her eyes, blinded by the light of midday. There was a man sitting in a chair
next to the bed, a man large enough to block the light from the only window in
the room. He set down a magazine, removed his glasses and leaned forward.

“Uncle
Gus?”

“It’s
me, Honey,” said the familiar voice.

And
then she caught sight of a small brown baby. Ty pulled himself up to a stand,
gripping Gus’ pant legs. He grinned and released a loud yelp, then lost his
balance and crashed back to the floor on his padded behind.

Halee
rolled toward the edge of the bed, desperate to touch her child. “Ty!”

The
child gurgled and giggled, rolling onto his back and kicking.

“Ty!
Baby! You’re here! Oh, Uncle Gus, how did you…?”

“Wasn’t
me,” said Gus. “Your ballplayer managed to spring him loose, nearly got shot in
the process.”

“J.D?”
Halee searched the room.

“He’s
gone back to New York,” said Gus. “Only had a few hours left before he broke
his contract. Asked me to give you this.”

Halee
took the letter from Gus’ hand tentatively, afraid what she might find. Was
this J.D.’s way of finally saying goodbye? Or was it an invitation for the rest
of her life?

Gus
pulled Ty into his lap and watched as she read the letter.

Dear Halee,

You were
right when you said I might forget how to tell the truth. Seems I lied to more
people than I care to remember. Worst of all, I lied to you.

I’ve been
nursing my shoulder along to finish the season. The future don’t look good. The
trainers can’t say whether I’ll be able to come back at all in the spring.

I have so
much to tell you. I’m fixing to buy the ranch where I grew up.  Not sure what
I’ll do with it yet, but Faye will have a place to grow old without worrying
about much.

I don’t know
where I’ll be in a year or whether I’ll have the money to keep the place going,
but I intend to call it my home. I’d be honored if you and Ty would join me
there. Can’t guarantee we’ll have much, but we’ll have each other.

For now, I’m
back in New York. We got ourselves a spot in the World Series and I aim to help
the Feds win the pennant. Come watch me if you can.

I love you,
Halee, and I’m sorry for every time I hurt you. Please forgive me.

J.D.

Halee
wiped a tear from her cheek and set the letter aside.

“Good
news?” asked Gus.

“He
loves me,” said Halee, as if she couldn’t quite believe it.

“That’s
what he told me.”

“You
spoke to him?”

“He’s
been at your bedside for three days straight,” said Gus. “We had plenty of time
to talk.”

“What
did he say?”

“We
talked baseball mostly. He told me about his family and I told him about ours.”
Gus studied her for a moment. “Well?”

“Well
what?”

“Are
you going to say yes?”

“I
want to, Uncle Gus. I want to more than anything.”

“What’s
stopping you?”

Halee
tried to sit up, but fell back against her pillows. “We’re…we’re so different…”

“How
so? Besides the usual man-woman thing.”

“He
comes from this tiny town out in the middle of nowhere.”

“Yeh?”

Halee
smiled. “I think there are two traffic lights in the whole county.”

“Doesn’t
sound like something to come between you.”

“It’s
just that I don’t think we have that much in common.”

“Well
you got this young fella.” Gus bounced Ty on his knee. “That’s a pretty good
start. Beyond that, well, seems to me folks who have too much in common just
get bitter together. Married people who see things differently improve each
other. We all need improving.”

“I
guess you’re right…”

“I
need you to get strong quick, Honey.  You need to disappear until this whole
custody thing blows over.”

“Do
you think we’re in danger?”

“Bobby
said J.D. offered Ty’s mother half a million dollars for him.”

“What?”

“I
figure Ty’s mother won’t likely want to pass on that offer. She’ll be fighting
hard to keep Ty so she can blackmail J.D. for the money. The faster you and Ty disappear,
the better.”

“She
can’t have him back, Uncle Gus. I’ll do anything to protect him from that.”

“So
will your young ballplayer. Luckily a bullet just grazed his leg. He could have
lost his whole career if it had been one inch closer. He’s got temporary
custody papers drawn up. Wants you back in New York as soon as you can travel.
Until then Bobby’s going to stay downstairs with a couple of off duty cops.
J.D. has a lot of friends on the force. They’ve been here round the clock.”

Halee
stretched out her hand. “I don’t want you in any danger, Uncle Gus.”

“Don’t
worry about me. I can take care of myself. Soon as you’re ready, I’m driving
you to New York myself and hand delivering the both of you to J.D. Federals
security will take it from there till the adoption is final.”

“Why
do I feel like I’m in a war?”

“Because
you are.” Gus tickled Ty’s belly. “This little guy would have spent his whole
life in a war if you hadn’t rescued him. A short life at that.”

“There’s
a million more like him left behind,” said Halee softly.

“Some
of them will get out, some of them won’t. What you do makes a difference,
Halee. I’m proud of you. If you can’t read, you can’t do much of anything. Go
see your Mama,” he said, plopping Ty on the bed.

Ty
squealed with delight and rolled into Halee’s arms.

***

J.D.
clutched his shoulder and stretched his arm as far to the ceiling as it would
bend. The pain that had plagued him for months had subsided into a chronic ache
that told him even though his tear might have healed, his injury was still very
real. The Federals trainers had readily embraced the challenge of keeping him
functional for the remaining weeks of this season and protecting their
investment for the next. Now J.D.’s waking hours were consumed with ice and heat,
physical therapy and rest. It was probably a good thing that Halee was still in
Chicago. He had plans for his free time with her that left little time for
rest.

The
bullet graze to his right calf was healing nicely. Just a flesh wound, no
damage to the bone or deep muscle tissue beneath. He cringed every time he thought
about the alternative. A bullet to the bone might have disabled him for life,
rendering his career as a ballplayer defunct and the new contract with Victoria
Pryor broken before it even began. One more inch and it could have all been
different. He looked up as Doc Smothers walked into the room.

“Down
to the last few weeks, eh, J.D.?” Doc took a seat in front of the examining
bench and folded his hands. “Let’s see what we got. Stretch your arm out to the
side as far as it’ll go.”

J.D.
stretched and grimaced. “Hope we take the pennant. All this pain’s gotta be
worth something.”

“You
play the way you did the other night, and the Feds will have a real shot. How
does that feel?”

“Different.
More of an ache than a sharp pain.”

“That
means it’s healing. Your time off gave you a leg up. Your job now is to make
sure the tear doesn’t get any bigger. Continue to do your exercises and
strengthen the muscles around the joint. That’ll take the stress off the
injury. Are they going to start you tonight?”

“That’s
the plan.”

“I’ll
talk to Delaney. If they’re counting on you for a big play they need to dole
you out in small doses.”

“I
don’t think he’ll bench me.”

“What
makes you say that?”

J.D.
considered confiding in Doc Smothers, then thought better of the matter. “Just
a hunch, is all.” He put his shirt back on. “I appreciate you coming out to New
York with me.”

“Glad
to do it. The Federals made it hard to say no. Can’t make that kind of money in
the minors.”

“How’s
Mrs. Smothers liking New York?”

“Oh,
it’s an adventure. She’ll tire of it eventually, being away from her social
group, but for now she’s liking it fine.”

“Well,
I hope it’s not too much trouble.”

“Hear
you had some trouble of your own,” said Doc. “Sorry to hear it. Losing a child
is devastating.”

J.D.
nodded. “Can I ask you something, Doc?”

“Fire
away.”

“How
soon after a woman loses a baby can you try again?”

Doc
smiled. “Physically, a couple of weeks, unless there are other complications.
Women are delicate creatures, though, J.D. It may take a long time before she’s
ready to give up the memory of one child in favor of the next.” He patted J.D. on
his good shoulder and gave it a firm squeeze. “Let her tell you when she’s
ready.”

***

J.D.
walked up the ramp from the locker room into the Federals dugout and jockeyed
his way toward the center, the best view in the house. There was a chill to the
October air that reminded him of the waning season and the significance of this
game. Starting tonight, the Feds had as few as four and as many as seven games
left toward their quest for the pennant. Rodriguez, their star southpaw, was
just about out of steam after breaking the all-time record for no-hitters.
Diaz, their second string shortstop, had managed to break an ankle when a bad
pitch nailed him square on the bone. The starting first baseman had a taste for
alcohol that kept the coaches guessing and Franklin, the catcher, was a nervous
wreck, with his wife ready to go into labor any minute with twins. From the
outside, the Federals organization looked like a well-oiled machine, ripe for
pennant victory. But J.D. knew that just one stress in a weak spot would send
them into the off season short of the World Series crown and end his career for
good.

He
parked himself on the bench and slid a fresh ice pack under his jersey. Callahan
took a seat beside him. “Favier is drunk as a skunk,” he mumbled. “Coach is
eyeballing me for first.”

“Tough
break.”

“Some
of these boys just can’t take the limelight. They smell all that pussy and lose
their marbles,” Callahan said, knocking his fist against his cap. “It’s a damn
shame.” He leaned back and surveyed the field. “I’ll tell you what. I’ll take
centerfield, you take first.”

J.D.
shook his head. “Too much action. My shoulder’s shot.”

“Christ,
who ain’t hurt? End of season we’re all a bunch of wounded warriors.”

“I
can’t take no chances,” said J.D. “I got everything riding on this season.”

“Shaw!”

J.D.
looked up at the batting coach.

“You’re
third order batter.”

“Who
am I filling in for?”

“Nobody.
You’re starting at center. Callahan, you’re at first.”

Callahan
sighed. “See what I’m saying? Callahan takes the fall.”

 J.D.
slipped the ice pad from his shoulder and stood. “Coach, my trainer says he
talked to you about my shoulder.”

“You’re
at center, Shaw. Go warm up.”

“Listen,
Coach…”

“The
order came down from the front office, Shaw. You’re starting. Now get your ass
on the field.”

J.D.
stared at the coach, speechless. So Victoria Pryor was sticking to her guns,
after all. Tony had warned him the first time he met her.
No one handles Victoria
Pryor,
he’d said
. Her evil is practiced
. J.D. was just beginning to
find out how much.

He
slid on a Federals cap, grabbed his glove, and headed for the outfield. The
stands were filling up quickly, with only a few patches of red shining through
a sea of gold and black jerseys. As usual, the Federal fans had bought up most
of the tickets, leaving the Hawks fans little opportunity. Unfortunately, the
Hawks had secured the first couple rows in the bleachers, close enough to make
their opinions heard loud and clear in center field. It was going to be a long
night.

J.D.
looked up toward the Federals owner’s box and spotted Victoria Pryor and Tony
King sipping cocktails. Victoria waved.  He nodded. Message received loud and
clear.

Franklin
hit a long ball to center field. J.D. caught it easily, then tossed it weakly
to left field and waited for the next practice ball.

“Pussy!”
A wave of laughter emanated from the bleachers. “My sister throws better than
that.”