Hometown Heroes

by Joe Gribble

on the target.

  Julie changes her position so she can see over his right shoulder. “Again,” she says.

  Bob shrugs his shoulders and tries to relax. He gets back into his stance and levels the M-9 again. Bang...bang...bang.

  Still nothing.

  Julie taps Bob on the shoulder. He turns to look at her, pistol still pointed downrange.

  “I think I see your problem,” Julie says.

  Bob pulls his ear protection off. “What?” he asks.

  Julie points at Bob’s right eye. “You're right-eye dominant.”

  “Well, I guess,” Bob says. “I don't know.”

  Julie points at the corner of the wall and ceiling nearest where they stand. “Point at that corner,” she says.

  Bob puts the M-9 on the counter and points at the corner.

  “Now, close your right eye,” Julie says.

  Bob squints.

  “Still pointing at the corner?” Julie asks.

  Bob shakes his head, still with his eye closed. “No.”

  “Definitely right-eye dominant,” Julie says. “Just like you're right-handed ... or were, sorry.”

  Julie puts her ear protection back on. “Let's try again, but this time keep both eyes open when you shoot.”

  Bob gets into his stance and levels the M-9: bang...bang...bang.

  The target pulses twice. One hole within the third ring, the other on the outer edge.

  Bob grins. “Wow. Is that it?”

  Julie smiles back at him. “That's most of the problem. Your left hand isn't as strong or as stable as your right was. We’ll have to work on that, too.”

  “I've been doing a lot of therapy,” Bob says, “trying to gain some strength.”

  “Let's work on your aim first,” Julie says. She grabs a couple of shot bags from the corner and puts them on the firing ledge.

  “Prop your arm on these,” Julie says. “Squat if you have to. Keep both eyes open and give me another few rounds.”

  Bob lays his arm on the shot bags, bends his knees slightly, and aims: bang...bang...bang.

  All three rounds land within the third ring.

  “Hot damn,” Bob says.

  “Excellent!” Julie says. “With a little practice, you'll be at ninety-eight percent before you know it.”

  Ninety-eight percent. That’s what Bob knows he needs to re-qualify to keep his job with security forces. It’s within reach now, with Julie’s help. “Julie, I owe you a ton.”

  “Maybe we can start with dinner?” Julie says.

  Bob grins wide. “Absolutely.”

  ---

  Bandits Baseball Field

  As Aja pitches, Bob can’t keep from thinking about how lucky he was to meet Julie. With her help at the shooting range, his future as a cop, though still not a certainty, might at least be within reach.

  As Aja goes through his gawky windup, Bob keeps losing his focus. He drifts back to the ‘Stan and that fateful day. In rehab they told him about ‘triggers’, things that would send him back to the bad times. For some it was a sound, for others it was a smell, for many it was visual, seeing something that reminded them of the deployment. Was seeing this young Afghani, so similar to the young man he had pitched to in that last game, Bob’s trigger? He had nagging feeling that having an Afghan playing on the Bandits is a bad idea, even if they do need a pitcher.

  Aja fires a fastball at the plate.

  Q swings hard, but only slices through the air.

  Ramiro tosses the ball back to Aja. “Way to bring the heat, Aja.”

  “Try that one again, and I’ll knock it over the fence,” Q says.

  Aja goes through his windup and launches another burner.

  Q swings at air again. “Dangit.” He slams his bat on the dirt in frustration. “I almost had it that time.”

  Ramiro, chuckling, throws the ball back to Aja. “Thought you were going to knock it over the fence, Q?”

  “One more,” Q says, tapping the bat against the dirt and stepping closer to the plate before raising the bat over his shoulder.

  “You’re still swinging too late,” Ramiro says. “That fastball is doing, like, a thousand miles an hour.”

  “I’ll get it this time,” Q says.

  At the mound, Bob coaches Aja. “Try the windup I showed you.” Bob goes through the motions, lifting his leg high.

  Aja nods.

  Q steps back into the box and raises the bat.

  Aja mimics the windup that Bob showed him. This time he’s accurate, and the ball screams at the catcher’s glove.

  Q swings at air again, almost falling over as the bat rotates around unopposed. The ball slams into Ramiro’s glove with a loud smack.

  Ramiro pulls off his glove and rubs his palm. “Make that a thousand and ten miles an hour.”

  Bob looks at Aja. In spite of his disdain for the Afghani, he can’t help but be impressed. “Aja, you might just make a pitcher.”

  ---

  Coyotes Baseball Field

  A new day. Another game. It’s a better field than before, Bob notices as he walks up to the fence and heads down the first base side toward the visitors' dugout. The grass is somewhat groomed, weeds mowed. The baselines are even marked. A few of the Coyotes fans sit in lawn chairs near their team’s dugout, and a few more have settled in behind the backstop.

  Ramiro greets Bob. “Everyone’s here, Coach,” he says.

  “Good.” Bob ducks his head and follows Ramiro into the dugout. He scans the team. They’re quieter than they were before the last game. Most of the players are smiling, but not Aja. Aja appears nervous.

  “Okay, guys,” Bob says. “Shake off that first game. You’ve all been getting a lot better. We can take these guys.”

  JJ slaps Aja on the shoulder. “That's right, Coach. We can take these guys.”

  Bob looks at JJ, then at Aja. “Okay, we get to warm up first. Let’s go.”

  The team starts out of the dugout, grabbing mitts and baseballs.

  “JJ, you’re pitching,” Bob says.

  The team slows, then stops and turns as one. Their jaws collectively drop.

  JJ is the first to say what’s on all their minds: “Coach, Aja should pitch.”

  Bob shakes his head. “Not yet. He's not ready.”

  “Sure, he’s ready, Coach,” JJ says. “He throws the smoke.”

  “Pitching is more than just throwing fastballs, you know that,” Bob says. “A pitcher has to be able to field, make plays, bat… Aja’s just not ready.”

  It’s JJ’s turn to shake his head. “Then I take back what I just said about beating these guys.”

  “Look,” Bob says, “the Bandits can win this game, I know we can. You just have to play as a team and execute the way we’ve been practicing.”

  The Bandits grumble, and several shake their heads as they take the field.

  Ramiro hands JJ a baseball as he steps out of the dugout. “Come on, bro. Let’s warm up.”

  Aja remains in the dugout, expressionless, watching the Bandits warm up.

  Bob stands at the dugout entry, watching his team. Every few minutes he steals a glance back at Aja.

  ---

  The Coyotes’ pitcher is decent. He only allows two hits in the top of the first inning. Shinji steps into the box, with JJ on third and Ramiro on second. Shinji fails to connect, leaving the runners stranded.

  The Bandits take the field, and JJ faces the first batter. He throws a fastball and the batter connects. Crack. A single.

  The second batter up is a big guy. He swings hard, but the ball barely dribbles off between second and third.

  Santini, playing third, squats and covers the ball just like Bob taught him. He stands quickly and fires it to second. Pauli tags the base and fires over to first.

  Shinji shies away from the hard throw but manages to hang on for a double play.

  Bob steps out of the dugout, pumping his left arm into the air and yelling encouragement. “Way to go! Nice double.”

  -
--

  Both teams play well until—at the bottom of the third and with no score—Ramiro steps up to the plate. He pulls his batting glove tight, then taps the plate with his bat.

  The pitcher sizes him up and nods when his catcher signals for a fastball. The pitcher knows he’s made a mistake as soon as the ball leaves his glove.

  Ramiro waits just long enough. When it’s time, he swings for a homer. Craaack!

  The ball sails over the center fielder and toward the fence. Ramiro races for first.

  JJ, coaching first, watches the ball hit the fence about halfway up. It bounces back into the field and stalls in the grass. JJ sends Ramiro on. “Go for third, Ramiro. Go. Go! Go!”

  Ramiro races to second, tags the base, and takes a few steps toward third. He glances back at the outfield. He sees the center fielder just now catching up to the ball and turning to throw it in. He’ll need to relay the ball in, which should give Ramiro just enough time. He hauls for third.

  Bob, coaching third, holds his hands up for Ramiro to stop at third.

  Ramiro slides into the bag well before the ball gets there from the relay throw by the shortstop. The third baseman throws the ball back to the pitcher as Ramiro stands and dusts himself off.

  “Nice hit, Ramiro,” Bob says.

  “Thanks, Coach. Almost had a homer,” Ramiro says.

  “We’ll take a triple,” Bob tells him. Bob surveys the field, then glances over at Q walking from the batting circle toward the batter’s box. He raises his hands and shouts at the umpire. “Time!”

  The umpire calls the time out, and Bob waves for Q to meet him near their dugout.

  They both turn away from the infield so they can’t be overheard. Bob puts his arm around Q’s shoulders. “I want you to bunt.”

  “But Coach, I can hit off this guy. I know it,” Q says.

  “I know you can,” Bob says. “But they won’t be expecting a bunt.”

  Q shakes his head. “I don't even know how to bunt.”

  “Just grab the end of the bat and hold it in front of the ball. Nothing to it,” Bob says.

  “Okay, Coach. I’ll give it a shot.”

  Q steps toward the batter’s box, and Bob trots back over to the third base coach’s box.

  “Play ball,” the umpire calls.

  The pitcher looks Q over, then takes a glance at third where Ramiro has taken a long leadoff. The pitcher winds up and fires.

  Q steps into the plate and slides one hand down to the fat end of the bat. He holds the bat across the plate, waiting for the impact of the ball.

  The ball hits the bat and dribbles out toward first base, barely in fair territory.

  Q sprints for first, watching out of the corner of his eye as the pitcher races for the ball. Both men are on a collision course, but Q doesn’t let up.

  The catcher has to stay put at home, guarding against Ramiro. He glances at the Bandits’ catcher, a short, wide freight train charging down the third base line.

  The pitcher gets to the ball, barely inside the baseline, at the same time Q arrives on his sprint to first.

  Q deviates slightly toward infield, putting himself on a path to run over the Coyotes’ pitcher. Q even slows just a hair to make the pending impact even more inevitable.

  The pitcher has a choice—he can dive for the ball and risk an interference call or wait for the runner to pass and try to make the throw to home in time. He opts to avoid the infield error and slows, watching the ball meander around Q’s feet.

  A split second after Q goes past the ball, the pitcher grabs at it. He finally snags it and spins, trying to tag Q. Too late, as Q is just out of reach. The pitcher continues his spin until he sees his catcher, standing between third base and home plate, right in Ramiro’s path. The pitcher fires the ball to home plate, trying to save the run.

  Again, too late. Ramiro steps around the catcher and stomps on the plate well before the ball arrives.

  The catcher windmills the ball as soon as it hits his glove, firing it back to first, but again, it's too late. Q is safe.

  The Bandits dugout erupts in shouts.

  The scoreboard updates. Bandits lead one to zip.

  ---

  The scoreboard shows the bottom of the ninth inning. The Bandits are still leading one to nothing. The Coyotes are at bat, two outs, runners on first and second. Their biggest player steps up to the plate. He taps the bat on the plate and then points to left field.

  Bob steps out of the dugout and shouts at JJ on the mound. “Don't pay any attention to him, JJ. Just fire 'em in.”

  JJ winds up and throws one across the plate. The batter swings for the fence, but hammers a line drive just left of first. Shinji runs and dives at the ground, reaching...snagging the ball before it can get past him.

  JJ races the runner to first. Shinji, still on the ground, tosses the ball up to JJ as he runs by. JJ catches the ball and continues the race to first base. He gets there first and tags the base.

  The Bandits erupt in shouts, tossing their gloves in the air as they jog in from the outfield, congratulating each other on their first win.

  At the dugout, they swarm around Bob, high-fiving each other. Even Aja seems excited and joins in the fun.

  Bob grins at his team and their enthusiasm after winning their first game. “Pizza's on me!”

  ---

  Marion’s Pizza

  Inside Marion’s Pizza, the team sits along both sides of a long table, excitedly recapping the adventures of their first win.

  A pair of servers brings over a stack of pizzas, scattering them on the tables in front of the ballplayers. Bob sits between Ramiro and JJ. They all grab for a slice of pie.

  Julie comes inside. She searches the crowded restaurant, finally spotting the Bandits at the far end. She walks over to Bob. “I hear congratulations are in order.”

  Bob jumps to his feet. He grabs Julie in a one-armed hug.

  The rest of the Bandits hoot and holler as their coach grabs the gorgeous woman.

  Their coach looks back at the team, somewhat sheepishly. “Cut it out, guys. This is my friend Julie.”

  The team shouts their greetings while fighting over the pizzas.

  Bob turns back to Julie. “Thanks for coming.”

  “Sorry I couldn't make the game,” she says. “Sounds like it was a good one.”

  Ramiro stands. He shoves Q, sitting on his right. “Shift.” Q and Shinji move down one, opening a space for Julie to sit next to Bob.

  “Thank you,” says Julie.

  Bob and Julie sit down.

  “Julie,” Bob says, pointing at Ramiro, “this is Ramiro Sanchez.”

  Ramiro flashes a huge smile and shakes her hand. “Very pleased to meet you, ma'am.”

  Bob introduces the rest of the team, pointing them out one by one: “JJ, Shinji, Q, Pauli, Roger, Josh, Aja, Rocket, Saunders, and Mayday.”

  Bob grabs a cup from the stack and fills it from the pitcher of soda. He hands it to Julie.

  Julie holds her cup up in a toast. “To the winners!”

  The team goes wild.

  ---

  Security Forces Headquarters

  Bob walks proudly into the break room, ignoring the two rent-a-cops sitting at the table drinking their usual coffee.

  He takes a large marker and puts a big W on the butcher paper hanging from the bulletin board.

  He turns and glares at the two men, then walks out.

  ---

  Bandits Baseball Field

  A home game this time—the Bandits are playing on their own turf, such as it is. The scoreboard shows the Bandits winning, eight to two. Bottom of the eighth inning. Several onlookers are watching the game, mostly from lawn chairs they brought with them.

  Shinji steps up to the plate.

  Bob shouts from the third base coach’s box. “Okay, Shinji. Just look it over before you swing.”

  Three young teenagers, two black and one white, approach from the street, strutting up to the few fans watching t
he game. The teens are loud, profane, and obnoxious. One of them pushes a little kid down.

  Bob spots them from his coaching position just outside third base. He watches them briefly, then waves at Ramiro who’s hanging on the fence near the rest of the Bandits sitting on the bench. Bob points at the teenagers. “You know those guys?”

  Ramiro nods. “Yeah. Bunch of punks.”

  Bob looks back over at the plate. Shinji swings. Misses.

  “Shinji!” Bob shouts. “Keep your eye on the ball!” He glances back at the punks.

  The teens walk up behind an older woman, sitting in a lawn chair by herself.

  The taller black kid, wearing a thick gold chain, grabs the woman's purse. She tries to hold on, but the others jump in. The white kid grabs the lady’s arm and the other black kid, wearing a sideways ball cap, kicks at her. They wrestle the purse from her, yelling profanities as they run away.

  Bob hollers to Ramiro. “You guys stay here.” Bob leaves his post and runs through the gate. He spots the three thieves heading back toward the street. Bob launches into hot pursuit.

  The thieves hear him and glance back. They pick up the pace of their escape, crossing the street and up an alley.

  Bob turns the corner and races into the alley. The three punks are spread out, waiting for him. Bob quickly slows and scans the area, watching the three jerks. He knows better than to get trapped in their circle, so he moves around them as they all jockey for an advantageous position.

  The black kid wearing the sideways baseball cap is the first to speak. “Yo, yo, yo... one-armed dude wanna’ be a hero.”

  The white punk rushes Bob, taking a swing at him.

  Bob easily dodges, pops out with his left fist. He connects, snapping the kid's head back. The kid goes down on one knee.

  The kid with the hat is in the center. He appears to be the leader, motioning for the other two to circle Bob. He becomes Bob’s primary target and Bob moves quickly toward him.

  The kid with the gold chain is still carrying the purse. He gets in behind Bob and swings the purse at Bob's head.

  Bob sees it coming out of the corner of his eye, but too late to dodge it completely. It lands across his right eye. Stinging and clouding his vision, Bob loses momentum. He swings around to address the new threat.

  The white kid, back on his feet, closes in. While Bob’s attention is on the kid with the purse, the white kid hits Bob in the back of his head.

  Bob kicks backward—misses.

  The leader of the group jumps into the brawl—he swings a rapid hook and connects with Bob's chin.

  Bob staggers.

  The gold chain kid and the white kid, still behind him, flail away at Bob’s back. The white kid connects solidly with his fist. Gold chain kid jabs Bob’s kidney.

  Bob goes down to one knee.

  “One-armed dude ain’t so tough as he thinks,” the kid in the hat says with a snarl. All three thugs circle, ready to pounce, when a small rock comes hurtling by and…

  Smack.

  ...the kid with the hat goes down, dropping the purse, and clutching at his chest, sucking air.

  Aja approaches, calm as can be. He tosses a heavier rock in the air casually, catching it and tossing it up again. He stares the punks down, daring any of them to approach.

  Gold chain kid drops the purse. Holds his hands up. “Easy, bro.”

  Aja gets closer and closer, still tossing the rock in the air.

  The kid with the gold chain backs up, splitting his attention between Aja and Bob. He gets close to the wall and stops. He shifts gears and lurches at Aja.

  Aja’s left arm pistons forward in a blur, fist crunching the kid's nose.

  Gold chain kid squeals with pain and surprise. He grabs his face, blood spurting from beneath his hand.

  The three punks re-group, wounded. They back quickly away and run out of the alley, leaving Bob