by Joe Gribble
before he lost his arm.”
“He might be able to pull it off,” Airman Jones says.
“Not a chance,” George replies. “You want to go out on a call with him? Think a one-armed cop can have your back?”
“Back when I was in uniform, they wouldn't even think about letting a one-armed guy be a cop,” Paul says. “He'd be out on the street in a heartbeat.“
“I don't know what the Air Force is coming to,” George says.
Out in the hallway, Major Kepler steps out of his office, right across from the break room. Kepler’s normally calm face is flaming red. Kepler sees Bob in the hallway, staring at the break room door, his jaw clenched. Bob steps toward the break room door, and Kepler tries to stop him. “Bob, don't pay any attention to...”
Bob ignores the major and walks into the break room, his hand closed tightly in a fist.
Paul has his back to the door, but George and the Airman both see Bob storm in.
Bob kicks a plastic chair, hard, and it slams against the wall.
Paul jumps halfway out of his seat, knocking what’s left of his Danish onto the floor.
Bob puts his hand on Paul’s shoulder and pushes him back down into his chair, then towers over the table and his detractors.
Both rent-a-cops shrink away from him, expecting the worst.
“You don’t think I can be a cop?” Bob asks. “I’ll take either one of you on. Anytime.”
The rent-a-cops say nothing, just continue to stare at their coffee.
Bob glares at them briefly, then turns and leaves. Walking into the hallway, Bob almost runs into Major Kepler. He stops.
Kepler is smiling. “You handled that well.”
Bob pumps out his chest. “Major, I’m going to be the best cop you ever had. And I’m going to teach those boys how to play baseball!”
Bob walks back past the break room door, glaring at the men inside.
The men inside see Bob walk past. They squirm in their chairs, staring down at their coffee.
Major Kepler stomps into the room and stands with his fists clenched on his hips, leaning forward, towering over the men.
The Airman jumps to attention, the two rent-a-cops cower.
Kepler stares at each of them in turn. “Do you gentlemen understand the concept of additional duty?”
---
Bob’s Apartment
Bob carries a box into his apartment, then into the empty spare bedroom. He pulls a dartboard out of the box and hangs it on a nail he had previously hammered into the wall. He puts a picture of an Afghan warrior over the board with pushpins. Smiling, he steps back to the other side of the room and begins launching darts at the photo.
Many of the darts miss the board completely, piercing the wall. Bob doesn’t care, as he continues to attack the Afghan. After an hour, the picture is shredded. Bob takes another picture from a folder filled with similar photos. Another Afghan. He pins the photo over the dartboard and resumes his attacks. He continues for several hours, destroying almost a dozen photos.
---
Bandits Baseball Field
Another typical, overcast day at the Bandits’ baseball field. The team is practicing. JJ is at bat.
Bob walks up to the fence, wearing a full baseball uniform, right sleeve pinned to his shirt. The only thing that isn’t regulation is his zip-up combat boots. He carries a heavy bag over his shoulder.
Shinji spots Bob first, and shouts at the rest of the team. “Hey, don't Coach look the part?”
Bob steps through the broken gate in the fence and waves the team in.
The Bandits trot toward first base and gather around Bob.
“All right,” Bob says. “We've got a lot of work to do before our first game.”
“That mean you're going to be our coach? “Ramiro asks. “For real?”
“Yeah,” Bob says. “We're going to pull this team together. It's not going to be easy. You’re all going to have to work hard.”
“We will, Coach,” JJ says for the team.
The rest of the team mumbles agreement.
Bob eyes them harshly. “Don't tell me you're going to work hard, then wimp out on me.”
“We'll work hard, Coach” Pauli says. “Promise.“
Bob scans the players. “Just so you understand, when I say 'hard,' I mean really hard. Hard like you've never worked before.”
“Yeah, sure, Coach,” Josh says. “No problem.”
“We're going to start with a lot of drills,” Bob says. “I want everyone out here every day, for the next three days.”
“We'll be here, Coach,” Saunders says.
“All right,” Bob says. “Let’s get started. Line up for fielding practice, just like we did before.”
The team lines up. They start throwing their single baseball across the lines, then fielding it and throwing it back.
Bob picks up the duffel bag he brought and dumps it. Bats, balls, gloves, and helmets fall on the ground. He picks up a ball and tosses it clumsily to JJ, standing at the end of the line.
JJ catches it and just stands there, not knowing what to do.
“Go,” Bob says. “Keep it going.”
JJ throws a grounder to Pauli.
Pauli fields it and throws it to Josh standing next to JJ.
Bob keeps tossing balls to JJ, who throws grounders to Pauli. Balls are flying back and forth as the players continually work the exercise.
Then they start screwing up. First Pauli misses a grounder and has to chase it down. Josh throws the ball back to Shinji, but he was supposed to throw it to Saunders, and Shinji misses it.
They all start laughing.
Bob isn’t laughing. “Next one to screw up does a lap. All the way around the outfield.”
“No way, Coach,” Rocket says. Not paying attention, a grounder scoots past him.
”Take a lap, Rocket,” Bob says.
“Awwww, man,” Rocket says as he turns and starts to trot toward first base.
“And no lollygagging,” Bob shouts. “I want you to run. Go!”
Rocket grins. He tags first, then heads for right field, running hard.
The other players laugh.
“JJ, step into Rocket's place,” Bob says. “Keep it going.”
---
An hour later Bob is still running the team through basic baseball exercises.
The Bandits are lined up, side by side, at first base, clothes covered with dirt.
Bob stands near second base. He digs a line in the dirt with his shoe, scraping a 20-foot-long scar in the dirt. He checks his team, standing near first waiting for his signal. “Go!” Bob shouts.
The team races toward second base, Rocket leading the pack. They all slide into the line, feet first. Dust and dirt fill the air.
They slowly stand, brushing the dirt off their clothes.
“All right,” Bob says. “Third.”
The team lines up, ready to go again.
“Go!”
They sprint for third. Slide in again.
“Going home,” Bob shouts, still standing near second.
They line up again.
“Go!”
Off they go. Rocket still flies, but the rest of the Bandits are much slower this time. Several of the Bandits are breathing hard.
Bob walks to home plate as the team struggles to their feet. They're filthy, scratched, bruised.
“Enough,” JJ says, pleading.
“I'm done in, Coach,” Josh says.
Bob smiles. “You guys did pretty well for our first real practice.”
The team is sucking air, several bent over with their hands on knees, heaving for their breath.
“Tomorrow you're going to be sore, you’re going to hurt. You aren't going to want to come back out here.” Bob pauses, lets his words sink in. Then he closes. “If you want to play on this team, you better be here.” Then he smiles, and points at first. “First base.”
The Bandits stagger into a line.
“Go!”
The team heads for first. They’re all dragging, but their hearts are in it. They’re trying hard.
---
Government Office Building
Bob steps out of the elevator and faces the door to the Immigration and Naturalization Office. He considers turning around, not sure whether or not this is the right move. After talking with Ramiro, though, he feels he has to do something. He checks his uniform and steps into the government office.
Bob has seen many military offices, but he hasn’t ventured into many nonmilitary government buildings. While the office is much nicer than any military office he's ever seen, it still has the sterile feel of a government facility. A receptionist sits beyond a half-wall. Bob steps forward and waits in front of her for several seconds before she looks up from her computer.
“Can I help you?” she asks.
“I have an appointment with Ms. Kuznieski,” Bob replies.
The receptionist points toward the plastic chairs lining the wall in the lobby. “I'll let her know you're here,” she says.
Bob sits down across from an elderly, Latino gentleman. Bob grabs a magazine and settles in, knowing it could be a long wait.
Not much time passes before an attractive blonde with short hair, about Bob’s age, steps out of a door near the receptionist and walks up to Bob.
”Mr. Williams?” she asks.
Bob stands.
Julie extends her hand.
“I'm Julie Kuznieski, case worker,” Julie says.
Bob looks at her hand, extends his left to shake. Awkward.
Julie senses his anxiety. “I'm sorry,” she says.
Bob shakes his head. “It’s okay. I'm still getting used to shaking with my left.”
Julie smiles. “I think you’re doing very well.”
Her smile is beautiful, mesmerizing. Bob stares, takes in her beauty, probably a little too long. He finally responds. “Thanks,” is all he can manage to say.
“Come on back, sir,” she says.
“Call me Bob, please.”
Bob follows Julie through the door and past a cubicle farm to a
