Chapter 32

"You dog, you."

I didn't recognize the voice, but it had a touch of envy, so I looked around. Calvin Bateman was coming out of a room three doors down. I guessed that he'd seen me kissing a half-naked Bobbi saying goodbye.

He walked over and clapped me on the back. "I heard you were a player, but I have to admit I'm impressed."

Calvin was the only sophomore to make varsity and hadn't been my pick for the job. Robbie said he had potential, and I wasn't going to argue.

Calvin grinned. "If she's any good, maybe you could set me up."

I wondered how much potential he'd have with two broken arms.

"Not going there," I said simply. I hoped there was enough edge in my voice to shut him down. I thought about saying that she had a boyfriend, but under the circumstances, didn't think that would help.

"I just thought that you had enough that you wouldn't mind sharing with a buddy." Calvin was still grinning.

"I was never big on sharing." We'd crossed the road and were in front of our own motel. My room was upstairs, and I thought his was on the ground floor, so maybe I could end this without blood.

"I just thought ... I mean, everyone knows you're doing Tami and Robbie. And those cheerleaders, Mikee and Darlene. And last year, you took that seventh grader to the dance, you must have got some action there."

I'd heard a few people on television talk about the whole world turning red just before they killed somebody. I understood, 'cause my world was getting darker by the second. Last year when I'd taken Kelly to the dance, it was to find out what was wrong with her. And what was wrong was she'd been raped.

"Tony!"

The voice dispelled the darkness that had been starting to surround me. Tami and Robbie were coming out of the burger joint that shared the parking lot with our motel.

"We've been looking for you," Tami said as she ran up and gave me a full body hug. "And you don't want to kill anybody," she whispered in my ear proving yet again her mind reading ability.

"How about maiming? Just a little?" I whispered back.

Tami grinned, shook her head and kissed me.

"You do realize that I'm here too," Robbie said after a minute.

I stopped kissing Tami for a second. "And I care why?" I went back to wrestling with Tami's tongue.

Robbie pouted. Something she doesn't do well--not enough practice. "'Cause I'm a redhead and you have a thing for redheads."

I stopped kissing Tami again and pulled back enough to look my love in the eye without going cross-eyed. "She has a point."

Tami grinned. "A pretty good one."

"If only she hadn't cut off all that long beautiful hair," I lamented.

"You said the other day that you'd gotten used to it," Tami reminded me.

"Yeah, but..."

"One more crack about her long-gone hair and I'll dye mine pink."

I cringed and said, "Yes, ma'am."

"Now kiss her before she tries to pout again."

"Yes, ma'am."

I let go of Tami, turned, pulled Robbie close, and kissed her hard. I believe in following orders. Well, as long as they're fun orders.

Tami noticed that Calvin was staring. "Close your mouth already. We've already seen your tonsils."

Calvin followed orders too.

"Calvin, just a suggestion," I said when I'd let go of Robbie. "Concentrate on baseball. It's all you can handle right now."

Calvin stared.

"And Calvin," Robbie added, "drop another easy fly ball 'cause you're one-handing it, and I'll kick your balls into your sinus cavity."

I put my arms around both girls and walked them toward the stairs up to Robbie's room, which, coincidentally, was right next to mine.

Calvin was still staring.

Top of the seventh. Down by two. Two outs and nobody on. And Sims steps to the plate.

Normally a good thing, but not this weekend. I think I was batting about one-twenty-five for the tournament and that might be optimistic. And the pitcher for the Warriors--the Oregon Warriors--threw a wicked fast ball that had already burned me twice. Though my last time up I got a piece of it and beat out a slow roller to third.

I took a couple cuts with my bat, then waited. The pitcher wound up, then seemed to grin as he sent me a fast ball that just cut the bottom inside corner. I knew it was a strike even before the ump yelled.

I nodded to the pitcher and took another practice cut. You had to admire an artist.

The pitcher wound up and fired again. I watched the ball, and it was coming straight for that low inside corner. I swung just as the ball dropped away. Strike two.

I backed out of the box and looked at the coach. He smiled encouragingly and mimed swinging the bat. Easy for him, standing there in the third base box. I stepped back into the batter's box. I didn't bother taking a practice cut.

The pitcher sent me another fast ball on the outside corner, and I fouled it off. The next pitch was perfect, middle of the plate belt high, but all I managed to do was to foul it back, bouncing it off the catcher and the umpire. This was getting ridiculous.

I was hitting good last year. And fair to middlin' in practice. The pitcher fired another one, and I fouled it down the third base line, making the coach jump.

At least I was hitting the damn ball.

Three more pitches and three more fouls. My personal record was thirteen foul balls in a row, and I really hadn't planned to beat that today.

The pitcher was getting frustrated--he wanted to finish me off and get the game over--and he let loose with another fast ball, this one just a little inside.

I turned my body, brought the bat in front of me, and let the ball bounce off it and roll down the third base line. I dropped the bat and took off for first. The Warriors were caught flat-footed. Nobody expects a bunt with two strikes. It was too stupid. If the ball rolled foul, it was strike three.

Their coach started yelling from the dugout, and the Warrior's pitcher, catcher, and third baseman all charged the ball, but I was safe on first before anyone got a hand on the ball.

I grinned. My batting average just jumped almost a hundred points.

The pitcher was back on the mound and looked at me. I stepped off the bag and smiled. He threw the ball from his hand to his glove. He was still staring, so I took another step. He stepped onto the rubber, looked at the catcher, and took his sign. I took another step. He slowly brought his hand and glove together over his head, lowered them in front of his body, and came set with his hands in front of his sternum. Then he turned and fired to first in one fluid motion that I would have admired if I wasn't busy diving back to the base. I lay on the dirt, my left hand on the base and waving at him with my right.

The first baseman threw the ball back, and I climbed to my feet, dusted myself off, and took three big steps again.

The pitcher glared, so I took another small step and he fired back to first. The first baseman took the throw and slapped a tag down on my shoulder--a little harder than necessary, I thought--but again I was lying on the ground with my hand already on the base.

The first baseman walked to the pitcher and handed him the ball, whispering something, then walked back. I stood, dusted myself off again, and took three big steps.

The pitcher watched me.

I took another step.

"Sometime today!" Robbie yelled from the plate. The pitcher glanced at her, then back at me. He stepped onto the rubber. He took another look at me, and as he did, I took another small step toward second.

The pitcher came set, then spun and fired to first, but I was already on my way to second. The first baseman caught the ball cleanly and fired to second, but the throw was high. It went over the second baseman's head and into the gap between left and center fields.

I hit second without stopping and headed for third. I had no idea where the ball was, so I went down, sliding headfirst, my hand outstretched toward the bag. Just as my hand clamped the canvas bag, the third baseman's glove slapped down on top of it.

"Safe!" yelled the umpire who'd run up behind me. I held my other hand in the air and he added, "Time!"

I stood and dusted myself off for the third time.

"I guess the memory is really the first thing to go," the coach said from his box.

I shrugged.

"I don't even remember giving the signs for bunt or steal."

I grinned. "Seemed like a good idea at the time."

I looked at the pitcher, who seemed frustrated. I considered curtseying, but he seemed like a good guy and I didn't want to rub it in. Robbie ain't so nice.

"Can I bat now?" she yelled. "Or did you two want to play one-on-one some more."

The pitcher went from frustrated to mad.

I decided that Robbie wasn't the only one who wasn't nice. I caught the coach's eye and gave him a signal. He thought about it, then nodded, though not as enthusiastically as I'd hoped.

The pitcher stepped on the rubber. Now, as he came set, he was looking straight at me. I took a big lead. I could see him thinking about me and smiled.

"Go ahead and windup!" his coach yelled from the dugout. The pitcher stepped backward off the rubber with his right foot, then back on with both feet. He glanced at me, and I waved. He made a face, then started his windup. As soon as he was in motion, so was I.

Someone behind me was yelling, "He's going!"

I'd had a big jump, so the ball and I were going to get to the plate at the same time. I went down, sliding head first again as Robbie laid down a perfect bunt and took off for first. I lay on the plate and watched as she beat the throw by at least a step-and-a-half.

Okay, life was getting better. Still two outs, but only down by one, and the tying run was on first. And the tying run was Monster Girl. I got up and started walking toward the dugout, then changed my mind. Ricky was coaching first. I went over and took his place, giving the pitcher another friendly wave.

Robbie took a big lead off bag even before the pitcher stepped on the rubber. He glared at her. Then me. "Another step," I said loudly as he stepped on the rubber. He ignored us, turning his back and coming set. I caught Robbie's eye and shook my head, then yelled, "Big step!"

The pitcher turned his shoulder and looked.

"Balk!" the umpire yelled.

Robbie gave me a grin and trotted to second. I'd swear her ass was wiggling more than usual, but maybe it was my imagination.

The pitcher was obviously shook up. He glared at Robbie, but she was standing on the bag chatting with the shortstop and second baseman and not even looking at him. Then he glared at me, and I shrugged. Then he stepped on the rubber with both feet facing the batter.

'He's not going to throw from the windup, ' I thought, but a second later he'd started his motion. Robbie had seen it too and was heading for third before I could even yell, "Go!".

The pitch to Chet was outside. The catcher snagged it and fired to third, but Robbie was already there.

Their coach was yelling traditional coach things from the dugout. "Settle down." "Get the batter. He's the one we want." "Three strikes and we're out of here."