Chapter 17

Jack came to me first thing in the morning. "Our 'guest' had an uncomfortable night, then he spent the early morning hours revealing his inner most secrets to us. The mob must be running on empty, Brian. They sent complete losers after you folks.

"The bad news is this – they were after Mr. & Mrs. Bell and Colleen. He said their job was to take Mrs. Bell and Colleen and rape them – literally - to death, and then kill the kids." He stopped when he saw my face. I didn't need any more information to make my mind up. They want my family, but they were getting my wrath.

"Who, where, how many, and how much will it cost?" I asked without pausing.

Jack gave me a long thoughtful stare. "I'd like to use the assets you gave us back in the Everglades, and clean them out, right the ground."

"No," I said softly. "You give me a number, and I will get it to your offshore account, and when you find them, wherever they are, whoever they are, whatever they are, you put them down. Every mother's son of them – you leave them where you find them.

"Jack, I don't care what I pay you. Hurt them so bad they never forget the pain. Leave one alive, with enough pain to last a lifetime, and barely enough strength to breathe. Let him go tell the others how horrific it was."

It made me sad to be so furious. No one comes into my home and attacks my family - and lives.

We spoke it about it no more. Jack nodded and walked away.

Life went on. It always does ... at least for those that survive. Jack heard from a 'source' that the mob killed the two jerks who tried to kill my family, that were in federal prison, to stop the interrogations. I wondered what that cost us.

I pitched like a man possessed for the remainder of the month. KC called me up on a Friday night in August. I joined the team in Anaheim, for a weekend series against the Angels. When my jet landed in California, I carried an ERA of under one with me, and a heart full of worries.

Martin Janacone, Manager of the Royals met my jet, and rode to the park with me, giving me the lay of the land. "We couldn't bring you along slow. We have a chance here. It's is small but it is a manageable chance, and we need a killer arm, who can kill a rally. I'm looking at using you for only a couple of batters at a time.

"You bring everything you have for as many hitters as I leave you out there. Our eighth and ninth innings are covered but I don't have a killer to get us to them, and guess what, you're it.

"There is nothing holding you back. Throw as hard as you can. Hit the mitt where Donny puts it. Trust our fielders and don't pussyfoot around. We have your back as long as you have the guts to put it all on the line, on every pitch. Ok?"

Martin was a very good manager, who had a very mediocre major league career. His knowledge of the game was amazing, and Big Bill had schooled me about him, long and often.

"Mr. Janacone," I said. "As long as you can use me, I'll give you everything I've got. Take it all so I have nothing left when we're finished.

Martin Janacone was nothing if not direct, and honest. "We will not keep you on the post season roster. There's too much at stake, and once the rosters shrink back to twenty-five, there's no room for another specialist in the pen. So, this is your chance to show me what you have, looking ahead to next year."

Janacone gave me a long stare and said, "Expect to pitch tonight, and every other night."

That was it. We rode the rest of the way in silence. He had his thoughts to think, and I had mine. When the limo pulled up at the players' gate, we hopped out and he showed me where to find the locker room, and wished me well.

I heard him on the phone, as he walked down the tunnel towards an elevator to take him to the field level, "This kid is a man of few words. If he is as cold on the mound as he is just hours from making his major league debut, he'll be a godsend to us."

That's when I realized they were worried about falling out of contention, and praying I didn't help them drop. The weight of that responsibility hit me like a ton of bricks, but I forcefully shrugged it off and went about getting uniforms, accessories, club issued baseball shoes, warm up gear, and a ton of other things I needed, and still make it onto the field for batting practice.

The visiting dugout in Anaheim is a long walk from the locker room. I used the time to calm myself. No way was I going out there all nerved up. When I popped up the steps from the tunnel, Big Bill was waiting for me. "Hey, Boy!" he shouted like I was a hundred yards away, not ten feet.

"Mr. Bill," I smiled. "You are here? How cool is that. Thanks for making the trip. I hope I don't embarrass you, and let everyone down."

I meant it. If I flamed out, I was still young, rich, talented, and living every man's fantasy. It would hurt all of them if I contributed to burying the team in the teeth of the pennant chase.

We talked for a little while and he gave me a bunch of pointers before I headed out to the field.

To burn off some excess nervous energy, I shagged fly balls for an hour. Running around loosened my up muscles and my mind. When the Angels took batting practice, I was in the photography well behind home plate, watching every move, every swing, every nervous tic, and every dip of the bat.

I noticed Anaheim's biggest hitter had a big hole in his swing in a place no one would have thought to look. I filed that away for later. I learned a lot about their hitters watching them when they thought they were not being watched.

Batting practice is a relaxed, have a little fun, but get your work in, kind of affair. These guys revealed little things about their game that I might be able to exploit in a tight spot.

The middle hitters were all about muscle. They knew they were good. They just KNEW that no pitcher could beat them, and swaggered to prove it to each other.

Their front of the order hitters never tried to be like the other guys. They knew they were in The Show because they did their thing well. Trying to be something else was a fast ticket to obscurity.

I created a lexicon in my head, cataloging all the incidental things I noticed, and concentrated on keeping it all organized. My concentration was so complete, that I didn't realize I had company until Wayne spoke up. "Hey. You look like you're getting ready for "D" day. This is a game. We play games. You're most effective when you're not over thinking things. Let all the data flow around in your brain, but don't overload and end up with paralysis by analysis.

"We're here to keep you grounded, calm, and deadly. Be the killer that Janacone needs you to be. We'll be here to help with the rest.

"Now get your ass inside. You're late for the team meeting."

The locker room was awash with players, trainers, clubhouse boys, and other people I couldn't catalog. My locker was so far back in the corner I felt like I needed to hire a guide to help me find it. On either side of me were relief pitchers that'd been around awhile. They were a little leery of the new kid trying to take their job.

As I changed into the game uniform it struck me how incredible it all was.

I'd gone from a middle aged, divorced, nobody who died in a car wreck, into the body of a fourteen year old who was later murdered by the mafia, into the body of a sixteen year old, murdered by his father, and now a major league pitcher, all in under two years.

It was impossible, but real.

This was real.

It was my life.

For now...

The pitching coach sent me to the bullpen before the game started, and I found a seat where I could see the game. My teammates weren't all that interested in chatting up the new kid, and I was brimming with nervous energy, so the first five innings were pure torture.

Then in the sixth, the Angels loaded the bases. Janacone called down for me and one other reliever to warm up, and I did.

Fast.

They scored two to tie it up. Their big hitters were due up when Martin made the slow walk to the mound and signaled for the right-hander, which was me.

My heart jumped into my throat, but I kept my cool on the outside, as I grabbed my warm up jacket, and headed for the mound. Our bat boy was waiting to take my jacket, and Janacone wanted to give me a little advice before I tried to pitch.