Dead on Arrival

by R. J. Patterson

  “Roger that.” Tad hung up and quickly got ready for bed before falling asleep.

  * * *

  DOLLINGER AWOKE to the smell of a freshly brewed pot of coffee, the aroma wafting from the kitchen. The early morning sun was already streaming through the windows.

  “Good morning,” Tad said as he handed Dollinger a cup, steam dancing off the top of it.

  Dollinger placed his face over the cup and inhaled the smell. Then he looked at the vast sloping plains stretching out into the distance. Stepping outside, he clutched his coffee mug with both hands. It was the only thing keeping him warm in the chilly October air.

  “Beautiful, isn’t it?” Tad asked as he joined Dollinger.

  “I miss this place,” Dollinger said.

  “You’ve been here before?”

  “I played here one summer right after I signed out of high school with the Cincinnati Reds. It was simpler times, just playing baseball and dreaming big.”

  “And riding in cramped buses across Montana, Colorado, Utah, and Idaho.”

  Dollinger nodded. “I didn’t like the cramped part, but I didn’t mind the bus rides too much.”

  “In light of your current journey, I’m not sure that much has changed. Here you are getting shuttled from one side of the country to the other on a bus.”

  “Actually, a lot has changed, including my team. But I don’t mind.”

  “The Reds traded you to the Mariners. Did that bother you, getting swapped around like some commodity on the open market?”

  “Not really. I always wanted to play at home in front of my friends and family—and do it all the time. Fortunately, I’ve been given an opportunity to do that. Of course, that could all change tomorrow.”

  “I doubt that,” Tad said. “At least, not after what they’re paying me to take you to New York. I think they’re pretty invested in you and think you’re the future of the team.”

  “Until you actually win a championship, you’re always expendable. So, I’ve still got plenty of work to do.”

  Tad slapped Dollinger on the back. “It’s fun to reminisce but we need to get going. The Big Apple awaits.”

  Dollinger retreated inside the RV as Tad retracted the slide outs and prepared the RV for the next leg of their adventure. Climbing into the passenger’s seat, Dollinger buckled up and awaited Tad to slip behind the steering wheel.

  Five minutes went by and then another five. Dollinger glanced at his watch and peered out of the windshield at the surrounding campground. There was no sign of Tad.

  Tired of waiting, Dollinger stepped outside and started combing the grounds for Tad. After a few minutes, Dollinger found his driver exiting the store with an armload of energy drinks and snacks.

  “I was about to send the cavalry looking for you,” Dollinger said, holding the door open for his driver.

  “Sorry to keep you waiting. Just had to stock up.”

  Tad climbed the steps and then dumped the cache of drinks and snacks onto the couch. He took a couple minutes to put the drinks away in the fridge before getting into the driver’s seat.

  “You ready?” Tad asked.

  Dollinger nodded. “This is your show. I’m just along for the ride.”

  “All right then. Let’s get moving.”

  They rolled out of the campground and returned to the interstate, taking I-94 East. Oscillating between reading a book and getting insider stories from Tad, Dollinger eventually nodded off to sleep.

  When he awoke, he glanced at his watch. It was just after 2:00 p.m. Tad slowed down the RV and exited.

  Dollinger rubbed his eyes and glanced at the sign.

  “Bismarck? We’re already in Bismarck?” he asked.

  “Time flies when you’re sleeping.”

  “Is this one of your union mandated breaks?” Dollinger asked.

  “No. Too much coffee this morning. Plus, we need some gas.”

  They pulled into a bustling gas station. Tad had to wait for a pump to open up.

  “Looks like everybody had the same idea at the same time,” Dollinger said.

  “We’ll get out of here soon enough.”

  Tad eased forward as the car ahead of them peeled away.

  “You want to stretch your legs?” Tad asked as he opened the door.

  “That sounds like a good idea.”

  “Just keep your head down,” Tad said. “I was listening to sports talk radio this afternoon while you were napping, and apparently some people are tracking us. I’d hate for you to get mobbed inside.”

  Dollinger snatched a hat off the couch next to him and put the cap on, tugging it low across his eyes.

  “No one will recognize you now, especially with the Mariners’ logo on it,” Tad said, his comment dripping with sarcasm.

  “Would you stop giving me grief about this?” Dollinger said with a smile. “Now, go take care of your business, and leave me to figure out a strategy to hide my identity.”

  Dollinger found a fedora in the closet and traded it for his baseball cap. Keeping his head down, he walked slowly toward the store. He wasn’t inside long before someone approached him.

  “Excuse me, mister,” an elderly man said. “You aren’t Chase Dollinger by any chance, are you?”

  Dollinger eyed the man closely, hesitating before answering.

  “Do I look like him?” Dollinger asked, breaking the silence.

  “And sound like him too,” the man said with a grin. He dug into his pocket and pulled out a sheet of paper along with a pen. Then he handed them to Dollinger.

  “Guilty as charged,” Dollinger said as he signed his name on the sheet of paper.

  “I knew it,” the man said. “I had a bet with a buddy of mine over there. I told him it was you.”

  “Are you a Mariners fan?”

  The man shook his head. “Longsuffering Reds fan. We never should’ve traded you away. That was the worst decision our general manager ever made.”

  Dollinger chuckled. “Just wait. I’ll probably blow the final game of the World Series, and everyone in America will be glad I wasn’t on their team, except for Mariners fans who’ll have to live with the consequences.”

  “Smart Mariners fans all know they wouldn’t stand a chance without you. It’s why you’re driving to New York, am I right?”

  Dollinger shrugged. “More or less. I don’t know if everyone thinks I’m that kind of difference maker, but I’ll be ready to play my part when called upon.”

  “Well, stick it to the Yankees for me, will ya? As a Reds fan, I’m still not over the 1961 World Series when the Yankees beat us.”

  “That’s quite the grudge.”

  “When it comes to the Yankees, there’s always a grudge to be held.”

  Dollinger laughed. “I guess so.”

  The man nodded in the direction behind Dollinger. “Looks like your fan club has arrived.”

  Dollinger spun around to see a handful of people standing in front of them, most with their cell phones out. One by one, the crowd shuffled up to him and snapped selfies, some even doing so without even speaking to Dollinger.

  In a matter of minutes, what had initially been a short walk to the store to stretch his legs and maybe get something to eat turned into a flash mob frenzy. Fans surrounded him, leading to a panic attack. Dollinger tried to remain calm but knew he only had a matter of seconds before everything became too much for him.

  “Please, please,” Dollinger said, raising his hands above his head in a posture of surrender. “I need to get some air, not to mention that I have to get back on the road so we can beat the Yankees later this week.”

  Dollinger’s request was met with a few boos but mostly groans from those who’d yet to capture a great photo for their social media pages. However, the crowd didn’t move in any collective manner, keeping Dollinger hemmed in.

  “Please, I need to get outside.”

  More resistance.

  Dollinger’s mouth went dry, and his heart began to race. “I need to le
ave now.”

  But the crowd remained defiant, many of the people still cycling through and snapping pictures next to the famous pitcher, who had lost all color in his face. Dollinger swayed back and forth before crashing toward the ground. His fall was softened by the mass of bodies surrounding him. But that only further exacerbated his panic attack. Seconds later, he closed his eyes and blacked out.

  CHAPTER 2

  TAD EXITED THE RESTROOM and noticed the commotion near the front of the store. He raced straight for it, peeling bodies off the pile in an effort to get to the bottom.

  “I’m a trained paramedic,” Tad said. “Please, give him some space.”

  He knelt next to Dollinger and felt his pulse. Thankfully, it was strong.

  “What happened here?”

  One young woman stepped forward. “We were all just trying to get a picture with him. In all honesty, we probably were the ones who caused it.”

  “What did you do?”

  “Just wait a minute and it’ll probably be all over social media, and then you can see for yourself.”

  Tad frowned at the girl.

  “We just wanted a photo, and I think we overwhelmed him. He started rocking back and forth before he collapsed.”

  “Okay,” Tad said. “Stand back. He needs to get some air.”

  The crowd barely budged, most of the onlookers remaining there to film the passed out pitcher.

  “Would you mind?” Tad asked. “Have some common decency.” He leaned over Dollinger, tapping him lightly on the side of his face. “Chase, are you all right?”

  Dollinger opened his eyes and blinked several times. He squinted as he looked up at the people surrounding him.

  “What happened?” he asked.

  “You passed out,” Tad said.

  “How’d that happen?”

  “You don’t remember all these people pressing around you with cameras as they tried to take a photo with you?”

  Dollinger nodded. “Yeah, I remember. I think I’d kind of like to forget it now.”

  “Too late for that,” Tad said. “These folks are going to post this footage to social media, and it’ll be there forever.”

  “Gotta love the internet,” Dollinger said as he sat up. With Tad’s help, he climbed to his feet.

  “Please clear the way,” Tad said. “We need to get this man out of here for further medical evaluation.”

  Those appeared to be the magic words as the crowd parted, allowing Dollinger to pass with Tad and make their way back to the RV still stationed at the pump. Tad helped Dollinger inside the vehicle only to turn around and find several people had followed them outside and were still filming.

  “I mean really, people? You’d rather get a video of someone instead of showing him just a modicum of respect?” Tad barked.

  Everyone dropped their phones except for one guy, who shrugged and kept filming. Tad wanted to slug the guy into next week but refrained. The money was too good on this assignment to tarnish his brand as a driver for the stars. Instead, he settled for a sneer at the lone rebel before climbing into the driver’s seat.

  He inserted the key into the ignition and turned it, but nothing happened. The engine didn’t make a sound. Slamming his fist on the steering wheel, Tad looked out to see the man still filming him.

  “Punk,” Tad said aloud.

  He popped the hood and took a peek at the engine. Nothing appeared unusual to him on the surface. But something was definitely wrong. He pulled out his cell phone and called the tow service his company had. Within minutes, a truck showed up and pulled Chase’s vehicle to a nearby RV repair shop.

  Tad slumped into a chair in the waiting room next to Dollinger, who’d pulled the fedora so low over his face that he ran into two chairs and a table while trying to find a seat.

  “You sure you don’t want me to take you somewhere to get some food so we can get out of here?” Tad asked.

  Dollinger shook his head. “I’m fine.”

  “How do you feel?”

  “Better than I should given the fact that I just passed out on the floor of an interstate gas station.”

  “There are worse places to pass out,” Tad said.

  “Such as?”

  “Hank Williams Jr’s kitchen floor.”

  “Did that happen to you once?” Dollinger asked with a wry smile.

  “A friend of mine.”

  “What happened?”

  “Just trust me when I say you don’t want to know. Please—take my word for it.”

  Dollinger shrugged. “Okay, I’m not going to argue with that.”

  “Good. Now you sit tight without anyone else around trying to film you, and I’m going to go find out when we might get this RV fixed.”

  Dollinger meandered around the store until he found the employee in charge of the repairs. The man’s stomach hung over his belt buckle, and a yellow stain dotted his white button down shirt. His wispy dark hair was disheveled, and an unpleasant stench emanated from him, leading Tad to wonder how long ago the man last showered.

  “Are you Mr. Wilson?” the man asked.

  Tad nodded. “Got any news for me?”

  “Not good news, if that’s what you mean.”

  Tad studied the man, who wore a patch with the name Phil embroidered on it.

  “I sure could use some today, Phil—for both me and my client.”

  “On that note, it looks like you and your client are going to be grounded here in Bismarck for the next few days.”

  “What are you talking about? We have to be in New York in less than three days.”

  “I’m no magician,” Phil said, “or else I’d send you there myself with the wave of my magic wrench. But unfortunately, you’re either going to have to fly or find an alternate mode of transportation.”

  “What’s wrong with the RV?” Tad asked.

  “The alternator went out. There are several parts we need to get your vehicle working again. And it’s going to take some time to rebuild it.”

  “Like how long are we talking? A couple of days, a week?”

  “Something like that. It shouldn’t take longer than a week, maybe ten days. It’ll take at least two days just to get all the parts in here. In case you haven’t noticed, we’re not exactly in the mecca of the United States.”

  “Ever heard of overnight shipping?”

  “Our order deadline has already passed for today, so the earliest we’d get this would be two days from now. And then based on our workload, we might be able to get to it within two days.”

  Tad scratched his head. “What about renting another RV?”

  “I bet you’ll be hard pressed to find one available to rent within five hundred miles of here. I don’t know of a single RV dealer in town with one right now.”

  Tad sighed and closed his eyes, plumbing the depths of his mind to figure out another alternative. He was coming up with a blank. Zilch.

  “Is your client afraid of flying?” Phil asked.

  Tad nodded.

  Phil chuckled. “You could always do what the A-Team did to Mr. T—just jam a tranquilizer into his arm, knock him out for a while, and wake him up in a new city.”

  “Don’t you think we already thought of that before we left?”

  Phil shrugged. “I don’t know. Perhaps the thought never occurred to you.”

  “I pity the fool,” Tad said, shaking his head as he mimicked Mr. T’s famed line.

  “I wish I had a better idea for you, but I can’t make those parts appear out of thin air.”

  “Thanks for your help. We’ll think of something.”

  He sauntered into the waiting area and awoke Dollinger, who’d fallen asleep with the fedora tilted over his eyes.

  “What’s the word, Chief?” Dollinger asked.

  “I need to make a call first, and then I’ll give you a full update,” Tad said.

  “When are we going to be able to get back on the road?”

  “I’m working on it. Just give me some time.
”

  Tad slipped outside and dialed a number on his cell phone.

  CHAPTER 3

  “GREYHOUND?” DOLLINGER ASKED, his eyes bulging. “You want me to ride a Greyhound bus the rest of the way to New York City? Are you out of your mind? Do you know what it’s like on those things?”

  Dollinger didn’t wait for Tad to answer. He muttered to himself as he paced around the lobby of the RV showroom.

  I’ll stop playing right now. I’ve made more than enough money to move out to the country and just coach a high school team somewhere. I’m going to call my agent and see if I can quit.

  Tad reached out and grabbed Dollinger’s wrist.

  “What are you doing?” Tad asked.

  “I’m calling my agent. I’m done with this game. It’s bad enough that the club subjected me to this road trip, much less that I have to now do it on a Greyhound bus. You know I’m claustrophobic too.”

  “Put the phone down,” Tad said.

  Dollinger shook his head. “No, I’m not getting on that bus. Look, I’ll just buy an RV first.”

  “I won’t be able to drive it—and the team has already said it doesn’t want you driving.”

  “Why can’t you drive it?”

  “Legal reasons. I have to get approval from our insurance company to drive a vehicle—and that can take days. It’s the same hoops I had to jump through to drive yours.”

  “Then I’ll just pay you out of my pocket and we don’t have to tell them anything.”

  “As much as I appreciate the gesture, I can’t do that contractually. I’ll still need work after we’re finished—and I love my job.”

  Dollinger growled. “Then I guess I’ll have to make that call after all.”

  After dialing his agent’s office, Dollinger stared off in the distance and waited for someone to answer.

  “Burton & Associates,” a woman said.

  “This is Chase Dollinger. Is Nick in?”

  “Hi, Mr. Dollinger. He’s finishing up another call and will be with you in a moment.”

  He was so focused on calling his agent that he didn’t notice the little boy standing a few feet away. After seeing the kid, Dollinger closed his eyes and shook his head, ashamed that he’d been acting so petulant.