The Halfway to Hell Club

by MARK J. McCRACKEN

  The stove was hot and ready. I took a sauté pan and drizzled a little olive oil in the pan. While the pan was getting hot, I scrambled four eggs in a bowl. A pinch of salt and pepper, and into the pan they went, sizzling the moment they touched the cast iron. With a spatula, I glided the eggs back and forth in the pan so they wouldn’t stick. Opening the refrigerator, I took out a block of Roma cheese and grated it over the eggs. I beat the grater with the palm of my hand to ensure that all the cheese was put to good use.

  Finished with the dishes, Petey went over to the espresso machine and made two cappuccinos to go with the breakfast. I flipped the eggs over in the pan, it sizzled again. I waited a minute and onto plates the eggs went. I pulled a loaf of sourdough off one of the cooling racks and cut it into six thick slices. Heaven on a plate. Petey brought the cappuccinos over and a plate with butter.

  I was pretty hungry, but Petey must have been starving; he swallowed two eggs in two bites. He poured a little olive oil on the plate and soaked it up with his bread.

  “Pop tells me you came in with a looker last night. Time to give, Uncle Sean.”

  “Not much to tell, Petey. Her name is Kaitlin and she’s a librarian.”

  Petey gave me a look. “Come on, Unc, you are going to have to do a lot better than that. People in this neighborhood been waiting a long time for you get back into the game.”

  “I had no idea that my dating life was such a point of concern for everyone.”

  Petey shrugged. “Come on, Uncle Sean. It’s been a few years. Everybody wants you to be happy again.”

  “Petey, I’m happy right now.”

  “Quit changing the subject, tell me about the librarian, is she cute, you seeing her again, you know…”

  I swallowed a piece of bread. “You are turning into a little gossip, Petey.”

  “What are you taking about? Momma, Papa and Gramps talk about two things: the weather and when are we going to get Sean a girl. I’m not gossiping, I’m just asking.”

  I took a slug of espresso. “You will get to meet her at ten thirty. Yes, we are going out again, today. We are going to a baseball game. She is very nice, very attractive, very funny, very bright, and apparently she was not scared off by the family. Of course she hasn’t met you yet, paisano, so that could change everything.”

  Petey gave a mock laugh.

  “Ha ha, ha, you should have been a comedian, Uncle Sean. I’m looking forward to meeting her. She can’t be all that bright, though, if she’s going out with you a second time.”

  There was a baseball-size piece of dough on the table; it was in and out of my hand in two seconds. It was covered with flour and exploded into a cloud of white dust when it hit Petey right on the forehead.

  “Okay, Uncle Sean, you have this rule. No grab-assing in the bakery, I believe.” Petey pointed to his face. “This would be considered grab-assing.” He stood with his hands on his hips when I threw another piece of dough. This time he caught it in midair and returned it. He caught me right in the mush, and flour went everywhere. I couldn’t see real well.

  “You are slowing down, old man. Now I believe this also,” Petey said, “would be considered grab-assing, if I am not mistaken?”

  “Okay, Petey, we’re even. Since there are racks of rising dough everywhere, I won’t take your life at this particular time, but that time is coming and soon.”

  The door opened and the bell rang. It was Kaitlin. She looked great. Her hair was tied back and she was wearing a Seals cap. She was wearing a white cotton dress with orange and black trim that matched the Seals home colors. She wasn’t dressed up by any means, but she looked great in whatever she was wearing.

  The ovens were ready to go and the bread smelled great. Petey opened the doors and starting loading bread into the oven. He put about seventy-five loaves in at once.

  She was all smiles. “Are you sure you want to see a baseball game? You two look like you are having a lot of fun right here.”

  “Kaitlin O’Doherty, this little trouble maker is Peter Chiconis. I hate to admit it, but this is Gino and Celia’s youngest.”

  It didn’t take Petey long to pour on the charm. “So this is the fair Kaitlin everyone is talking about.” He ran over and gave her a big family hug. When he was through, Kaitlin has as much flour on her face as Petey and I did.

  “Nice work, genius.” I slapped the back of Petey’s head.

  Kaitlin dusted the flour from her face and smiled. “Come on, Sean, the gates open in forty-five minutes. We need to get going. Then she surprised me by giving Petey a hug and telling him it was great to meet him. Petey beamed, and they dusted themselves off a second time.

  I grabbed my coat and opened the door. Kaitlin went through the door, then turned around and threw a ball of dough at Petey; she had grabbed it off the table when she gave him the second hug. Petey was caught off guard, he didn’t see it coming. The dough hit him in the middle of his chest and made a tiny dusting in the air. Petey laughed and waved goodbye.

  I opened the car door for Kaitlin. She slapped me on the back of the head, the same way I hit Petey. “Be nice, don’t hit your Cousin Petey. He’s a good kid.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  We arrived at eleven twenty, forty minutes before first pitch. Seals Stadium was an unusual ballpark for many reasons, some good and some not so good. It was the only ballpark that I know of that was built with three locker rooms. One for the home team, the Seals; one for the visitors; and one for the Mission Reds. The Reds were also part of the Pacific Coast League, but they folded after the 1937 season. Seals Stadium could seat 18,500 fans, which is pretty good-sized for a ball field. Ebbets Field in Brooklyn, New York, where the Dodgers play, holds about 25,000. I’m sure Kaitlin would remind me that Fenway Park holds 35,000 and Yankee Stadium holds a whopping 72,000. I went to Yankee games when I was stationed in New York. It was a great baseball atmosphere, but it was like watching ants run around on a green piece of bread. I’ll take Seals Stadium any day.

  The grandstand was uncovered. In the summer, we don’t get a great deal of rain, so San Franciscans prefer to sit in the sun in the afternoon or see a game under the stars at night. If it rained, which was rare in the summer, you were expected to tough it out as a loyal Seals fan.

  After we got our tickets, we bought a couple of scorecards and started looking for seats. Kaitlin seemed to know where she wanted to go. We made our way along the first-base side and went right up the middle of the stadium to right below the scorers’ box. This is my favorite area as well. I like it because you can see the pitches coming in to the batters, plus you can tell where the ball is going in a big hurry. Kaitlin said she liked it because she could better judge field play by the infield and see all the outfielders. For a true baseball fan, this is the best seat in the house.

  Kaitlin had a soft book bag. From it, she took a clipboard and put her scorecard on it. She had a portable pencil sharpener and a bundle of rubber-banded pencils. She took one and handed the other to me. She then removed an envelope from the bag; it was filled with hundreds of clippings from the newspapers. Old Seals game box scores. They were all categorized and organized a certain way: by opponents; lineup charts, stats, and several pages of personal notes on player tendencies. This was no time to make any Yankee jokes; this gal had come to the office to work.

  I pointed out to Kaitlin. “Look, Jumbo Carlson is warming up in the bullpen.”

  She glanced up from her notes. “He better get that fastball down in the strike zone or it’s going to be a short day for him.”

  “Give the guy a break, he’s warming up. First, a pitcher has to find the strike zone and consistently hit it, then you start to work on location. Besides, it’s his curve that sets up that fastball. He hasn’t thrown one yet.”

  Just as I said that he fired off the deuce, and baby, it was pretty. It got Kaitlin’s attention. “Woo, that one is going to free
ze some batters today. That was pretty.”

  “Are you a peanuts or popcorn gal?”

  She gave me a stunned look. “Peanuts are for baseball, popcorn is for the movies.” She smiled and reached into her book bad and brought out a small brown paper bag. She opened it and placed it between us on the deck beneath our feet. “For the shells. I hate a mess during a baseball game.”

  It was about ten minutes before first pitch. The Oaks and Seals were done with infield practice, and the managers were about ready to trade line up cards and cover the ground rules with the umpires. When Lefty O’Doul walked out onto the batter’s circle, there was a loud round of applause. Lefty doffed his cap and acknowledged the crowd.

  Fifteen rows down was a vendor selling peanuts. It would be a while before he made it to the top, so I told Kaitlin I was going to run down and buy a couple of bags before first pitch. I got to the bottom of the stairs and purchased two bags.

  I smiled and turned to run back up the stairs. A guy sitting on the end asked for two bags. He handed off his dime and got two bags. It was Righty, with Lefty. I froze for a second; I looked up and saw that Kaitlin was still sitting where I left her. My heart skipped a beat. I had left my .45 in the trunk of the Ford.

  “Are you two following me for some reason?”

  “Relax, boss, we are off today. We’re Seals fans, came to see Jumbo hurl,” Righty said.

  I relaxed just a little. “Enjoy the game.”

  “The redhead, she your wife?” Lefty asked.

  I was suddenly guarded again. “No just a date, why?”

  Lefty looked over his shoulder at Kaitlin. “You’re a lucky man, boss. I should be so lucky.”

  I gave them a smile. “Got to get back, we’ll see you later.” They gave a salute with one finger. I couldn’t quite put my finger on it, but I was starting to like those two guys.

  I got back to my seat and Kaitlin asked. “Who are the two huge guys you were talking to?”

  “A couple of guys I know through work. They are tough customers.”

  “I’ve seen them here at the park pretty regular. They seem like good fans to me.”

  Who would have guessed, a couple of Chinese strongmen working for Wang, and they were baseball fans. Go figure.

  Jumbo had the stuff that day. He only gave up six hits, but the Oaks hit into five double plays. He mixed up his pitches well and had them guessing all day. On the other hand, the Seals didn’t hit the ball that hard, but managed eleven hits and seven walks. They won this day, seven to zero. Watching Kaitlin keep score was like watching a master. A couple of times the official scorer in the box above us stuck his head out and asked Kaitlin how she scored a call. He went with her both times. The second call was a questionable play by the first baseman, very close. It could have been called a base hit or an error by the one-bagger. She called it an error. My sympathies lie with the first baseman, but I have to admit that he should have made the out and she was right.

  As we left the stadium we were holding hands. I don’t know who reached for whom first. It may have been simultaneous, I don’t know. All I know is it felt right and I was happy for the first time in years.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  I took Kaitlin home because I had to take care of some Knights of Columbus business. I spent the remainder of the day, and most of the evening, helping ten other men wrestle a hot water heater out of its place so Tony Balducci could squeeze his little body into a small space to replace a pilot light. It took hours of wrench-turning to remove all the pipes to get the tank ready. We were all covered with soot and grime. It only took Tony fifteen minutes to install the new light, but it took six hours to heft that beast back into place and re-attach the pipes. At eleven thirty, the tank was fired off. It came to temperature in less than an hour. We all staggered out of the church basement at one a.m.

  Vinnie Castellano and I looked like a couple of coal miners. I opened the trunk of the Ford. Inside I had an old bedsheet and a clean pair of work gloves. I was so dirty that I wrapped the front seat with the sheet and put on the gloves for the ride home. When I got home I got right in the shower and watched half a pound of coal dust go down the drain.

  At five a.m. the alarm went off. I shaved, dressed in a suit and tie, and zipped back to the church. My job this Sunday was adding up the collection plate for all four Masses. Mass was offered at 6:30, 8:00, and 10:00 in the morning. The big Mass of the day was the 11:45 in Italian; it’s usually standing-room-only.

  By the time all the collections were counted, it was two in the afternoon. It was like a full workday at the church. Dinner was at six at Kaitlin’s, but I was hungry so I had a little sandwich and an espresso at Molinari’s.

  I went home and shaved, again. I decided to go with the Navy blue suit that I just got back from the cleaners on Friday. A crisp white dress shirt and silk tie, I was ready to go. I ironed a white pocket square and checked myself in the mirror.

  I picked up a bottle of red wine as an offering. I don’t know much about wine, so I went strictly by price: expensive.

  I arrived at three minutes to six. I parked the Ford behind the Rolls-Royce and strolled to the front door. I rang the doorbell. It sounded like a carillon going off.

  Kaitlin answered the door. She was a sight for sore eyes. She was wearing a floor-length velvet-green dress, and her hair was down, red and flowing. She looked like an angel from heaven.

  Then I saw them at the end of the hall, motionless and expressionless, eyes were locked on me like a beam of light. Not one hair moved. I was being observed, sized up and evaluated, and they both didn’t like what they were looking at. I could see the hate in their eyes. Kaitlin slowly held my right with her left hand and laced her left arm in mine. The two pairs of eyes burned at me. Then they went insane.

  The barking and growling started and did not stop for one minute. Then Kaitlin told them to stop and they did. Before me stood a matched pair of West Highland White Terriers. They seemed a little confused; they looked at each other, then me.

  “Sean this is McGregor and McTavish. They are my dogs, they love and protect me.”

  I kissed Kaitlin on the cheek and they lost their minds again. Kaitlin told them to behave and they stopped instantly.

  Kaitlin looked at me.

  “If you are going to love me, you have to love my dogs.”

  She looked at me, hard, for a moment. “Well?”

  “I’m thinking about it,” I said.

  She mockingly gave me a punch on the arm.

  I leaned over and addressed the dogs.

  “Hi boys, let’s get something straight. When we get married, you two get to live in the back yard in a dog house.”

  I sensed they understood what I was saying, because they lost their minds collectively. I got the full show, complete with teeth and growling.

  From the end of another hall I heard a male voice with an Irish brogue call to the dogs. “Lads, that’s enough.”

  Joining the dogs at the end of the hall was Shamus O’Doherty, Kaitlin’s father. He was in his late fifties, I guessed. He was dressed in a smart tweed suit, with knickers, a four-in-hand made of tartan, with brown and white spectators. He walked down the hall like a man with confidence. He shook my hand and about broke every bone in it. I did my best to return the favor.

  “Mr. O’Farrell, I am Shamus O’Doherty. Welcome to our home. I see that you met the lads. Do you like dogs, Mr. O’Farrell?”

  I looked at Mr. O’Doherty, then at the dogs.

  “I do if they are properly cooked,” I said.

  The dogs lost their minds again. This time they barked so hard that they were rocking back and forth between front and rear legs. Mr. O’Doherty called to them.

  “Enough, lads, Mr. O’Farrell was just pulling your leg.” He looked right at me. “You are right, my dear, a wee bit of a smart ass. I like him.”

&
nbsp; I gave Mr. O’Doherty the wine.

  “Excellent choice, I’ll serve it with dinner. Why don’t you come in the parlor and have a drink.”

  The parlor, as he called it, was the size of Uncle Gino’s restaurant, and his place seats two hundred. When we entered the room, a beautiful, gracious woman was sitting on the sofa. She rose as we came in. It was clear where Kaitlin got her looks from.

  “Mr. O’Farrell, may I introduce my wife, Catherine O’Doherty.” She warmly shook my hand. She was the same age as her husband, but had gray and silver hair. She wore it in beautiful Gibson Girl style from the Victorian era. It was old-fashioned and outdated, and it looked perfect on her. Her full-length gown was royal blue and it made her hair even more stunning.

  Mr. O’Doherty poured his wife a sherry, and followed with three generous scotches and handed one to Kaitlin, and one to me. He took a chair facing me. Kaitlin was seated next to me on a sofa. Mrs. O’Doherty was seated in a large wingback chair. She appeared to be settling in for the show. I sensed the questioning was about to begin.

  “Why don’t you tell us about yourself, Mr. O’Farrell.”

  “Please call me Sean.”

  “All right, Sean. I know Katie has probably warned you that we would probably grill you prior to dinner. I figure we should get to know each other a little. I know, for instance, that you and Katie are the same age.”

  “I was born here in San Francisco. I grew up in North Beach. My father was a bread baker and my mother stayed home and raised my sister and me.”

  “Katie tells us that you are a private detective. Did you get into that game after high school?”

  He was a smooth old buzzard, all right. “No I picked that up in the Navy.”

  “Oh, so you enlisted after high school, then?”

  Kaitlin was enjoying the serve and volley.

  “No, I went to the University of San Francisco. I was a criminology major. I was a Navy ROTC candidate and became a commissioned reserve officer; I was the base security officer in charge of the Shore Patrol at the Brooklyn Navy Yard, where I did my first police and investigative work.”