Hardball

by Steven Barwin

  “My life is officially over.” Carson opened his door.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Finding out what he’s doing.”

  I watched him approach Club 21 Fitness and slip inside. One tense moment turned to five, and the front door finally opened. It was Wade. I turned my car on and when he took off, I pulled up closer to the gym.

  Carson burst out the doors and hopped into my car. I zipped onto the street and stayed in the middle lane, looking for Wade.

  “There he is!” Carson pointed.

  I checked my blind spot before making a sharp turn down a small street. We were about ten car lengths behind him, but it was just the two of us on the road. He made another turn. Then he stopped on the dried-out lawn in front of a green house. I kept driving, hit a dead end and turned around. I parked two houses down from Wade’s car.

  “Did you know he lived here?” Carson asked.

  “No. He never talks about his family at all. I didn’t even know this area existed.”

  We walked toward the house. A sign was dug into the dead lawn that read Foreclosure. Best deals in town! A broken wind chime hung by the front door, and a white patterned couch sat on a slab of pavement on the side of the house. A loud noise caught our attention. It was hard to make out the words, but it didn’t take long to realize it was a screaming match between a man and a woman.

  “We might get a better look if we go to the backyard.”

  I held out my hand. “After you.”

  Turning the corner of the house, I spotted something in the dead grass. When it stood up on four legs, I recognized its brown and black fur. A Doberman. It showed its teeth, and I shouted out, “Run!”

  I sped to the front of the house and toward the road, Carson close behind me. I could hear the dog snarling and barking in pursuit. It was closing in. I wished I hadn’t parked so far away. In full sprint, I pulled my keys out, fumbled and unlocked my car. My door shut just as the Doberman reached me. I quickly unlocked the passenger door for Carson.

  He jumped in. “Oh my god! Where’s the dog?”

  “I don’t know!”

  I heard a noise, and the dog clawed its way onto my hood. My heart raced as the dog stared me down, slobbering all over my windshield. It was like watching a 3-D movie.

  “What are you waiting for? Hit the gas,” Carson said, still panicked.

  “I’m not going to run over Wade’s dog!”

  I turned the car on and sprayed some windshield-wiper fluid. It did nothing except jam the wiper blades against the Doberman’s giant paws. “Knowing Wade, he probably hasn’t fed this thing in a while.”

  I revved the engine and the dog just stood there, its loud bark penetrating the car. I slid into first gear and inched forward slowly. The Doberman turned like it had heard a noise and took off. “It scratched my car!”

  “I would have run it over.”

  I did my best to ignore Carson and drove slowly up the road. I spotted Wade in front of his house. He was petting the Doberman while screaming at somebody inside. Then Wade slammed the door of his Jeep, leaving his dog behind. I followed Wade all the way to Old Naples, past expensive stores and restaurants. He found street parking close to the beach, and I double-parked. Wade walked past some beachfront homes close to the Naples Pier. Most of them were older bungalows, but because they were on the beach they were probably worth millions. They were all painted bright colors. He turned and walked into a pink bungalow. It was the only home that looked like it was under reconstruction. Parked to the side was a large green Dumpster filled with drywall, broken doors and sheets of metal.

  “So all of a sudden Wade’s living in a beach house?” Carson asked.

  “Looks more like he’s slumming it in this fixer-upper.” Everything I thought I knew about Wade went out the window. I shrugged my shoulders, more confused than ever.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Tensions were high as we geared up for a team practice. Rafael had heard that the drug-test results were in. My gut instinct told me that Wade was dealing, working out five days a week and using too. I just hoped the results would nail him. It seemed to take forever for the coaches to arrive.

  Coach Brigman wasted no time. “I can’t express to you guys how much it hurt to think that you were messing around with drugs.” He cleared his throat. “I’ve lost sleep over this test and what it means to this school. The results are in…”

  I looked at Wade. He stood there looking confident, even sporting a slight smirk.

  “Well, imagine my surprise,” the coach said, “when you all came back clean!”

  The Sharks, minus me, cheered loudly.

  “I’m proud of you boys.”

  Everyone high-fived. I wondered what they were thinking. Were they happy they didn’t get caught or relieved that Wade didn’t frame them like he did Carson?

  “Now it’s time to refocus on baseball and look ahead. This year’s Blue Diamond Skills Showcase event was supposed to be at Bonita Bay. But because they only have one diamond and the signup for this event is bigger than expected…it’s going to be held here.”

  Again, the Sharks cheered.

  “As in years past,” Coach Brigman said, “you can expect college scouts to attend. The events are laid out on both fields. I will be on the bigger field and Santos and McKay will be on the smaller field. Today, I want you to make sure you get to each spot. We have fastest ninety feet, longest toss, three-man relay, pitcher accuracy and homerun derby. Have fun and give it your all.”

  Everyone jumped to it. I wasn’t in such a rush, feeling defeated with the whole Wade situation. I made my way toward the second field, hoping to avoid him for a while. Coach Santos stood at home plate. It was just me, Adrian and Tom. They were probably happy to get away from Wade too.

  Coach Santos got our attention. “Fielding, arm strength and hitting ability are some of the things college coaches are looking for. And then there’s speed.”

  He paused. I wondered if he was upset that only three of us had chosen him first.

  “In my opinion, this is one skill that can help separate you from the pack.” He stepped on home plate and took a swing with an invisible bat. “Ninety feet could be what’s standing in your way to college ball.”

  “What speed are they looking for?” Tom asked.

  “Great question. Mickey Mantle played for the Yankees in the 1950s and ’60s. He was able to run from home to first in threepoint-one seconds. If you can do it in four seconds, coaches will salivate over you. Fourpoint-four seconds is considered average. Who’s ready to try the ninety-foot dash?”

  Tom was first to jump at the opportunity, even though he had three more years before he had to worry about this. Coach Santos showed him the stopwatch, and Tom didn’t look pleased.

  I stepped to home plate. Some loud oohs and ahhs echoed from the main field. I was certain that Wade was knocking them out of the park. When it finally died down, Coach Santos held up his stopwatch and gave me the thumbs-up. I pushed off the plate. Then, halfway to first, Wade popped into my head and I bailed on my first attempt.

  When it was my turn again, I told the coach that I needed to stretch more. I was really just buying time to wipe Wade from my mind. Adrian and Tom ran twice more, and I had done all the stalling I could do. I was just getting my focus back when Wade showed up.

  “What’s the time to beat?” he asked.

  “Five seconds.”

  Adrian and Tom cleared out, replaced by Wade, Darren and some other followers.

  “Let’s do this,” Wade announced.

  Coach Santos must’ve sensed that I was off my game, because he offered everyone some pointers. “Keep your head up, elbows in and shoulders slightly forward. Toes should be straight, and you want a pumping motion with your arms. The faster they go back and forth, the faster your feet will move.”

  It was a lot to think about. With my eyes locked on first base, I took off. I passed Wade and Darren and they said something to try and distract me
, but I couldn’t make it out. Halfway there, I felt like I was really hitting my stride. Arms pumping, I propelled myself forward, hit first base and started to fall. I was out of control. I hit the grass and rolled a few times. Back on my feet, grass stains and all, I hurried to Coach Santos. He held up the stopwatch: 4.3. I was a sliver better than average.

  Wade jumped onto home plate, ready to go. He had a faster takeoff than I did, gracefully blowing past first base. I could tell from Coach Santos’s stunned reaction that the college coaches would be drooling over Wade.

  At the end of practice, I sat with my back to the outfield fence and finished my jug of water. It was nice to sit in the late-day shade, but I was really avoiding the team. Everyone would be getting changed in the locker room, and Wade would be boasting about his record-breaking outing. When I saw most of the team heading to the parking lot, I moved to the locker room to grab my backpack. I could hear my phone beeping in my bag. Then a voice behind me made me spin around.

  It was Tom.

  “Hey.”

  “Just so you know, Griffin, I was here.”

  I looked at him, waiting for clarification. When I didn’t get any, I said, “Okay. I’m here too.”

  “Nothing happened.”

  “Are you okay, Tom?”

  “People fall all the time.”

  Had Wade finally cracked him, or was it heat stroke?

  “So you can go and report what you want, but no one’s going to believe you.”

  What was this? Was he threatening me?

  “You know, Tom, I always thought you’d rise above Wade…stand up for yourself.” I grabbed my backpack, but when I turned back around, Tom was gone. Wade was standing in his place.

  “Your monkey…I mean, dog, just left.”

  “Griff, this could’ve been the year for you.”

  “What do you want?”

  He stepped closer. “I had a lot of respect for you. Even thought we’d both go to U of Miami. Play ball for the Hurricanes.”

  “Well, things don’t always go the way we plan.” Was he fishing for an apology? He wasn’t going to get one after everything he’d done.

  He continued to stare at me.

  “It’s been nice. I gotta go.” My phone beeped again. When I reached for it, Wade’s fist appeared in front of my face. He slugged me on my right cheekbone, and I went down like a featherweight.

  Chapter Fifteen

  The smell and taste of blood kicked in as I did my best to break my fall. Sprawled out and at eye level with Wade’s baseball cleats, I quickly reviewed my options. I could fight this animal pumped up on ’roids, or I could make a run for it.

  The choice was obvious.

  I got to my knees, and Wade was ready to deliver another blow. I stood, wiped some blood from my lip and broke into a sprint. Halfway to the door he tackled me. I tried to struggle free, but he pinned my hands down.

  He was seething. “You think you can take me on?”

  The more I tried to escape, the more he pressed his weight down on me. I twisted my arms and wrists around. That didn’t work, so I tried to push my waist up, hoping to bounce him off me. He was too heavy.

  He smiled, staring down at me. “Helpless now, right?”

  I hoped he’d realize that he’d proven his point and just let me go. The more I laid there, the harder it became to breathe. “You win, Wade.”

  “Are you even listening to me? You brought this on yourself.”

  I was out of options and somehow making him even madder. I couldn’t take him staring down at me anymore. One lastditch, Hail Mary plan came to me. I used my tongue to draw in as much bloody saliva as I could and spat it at him.

  Wade let go of my right arm to wipe it away, and I used my free arm to elbow him off me. I jumped to my feet, grabbed my backpack and ran as hard as I could. I must’ve beat Mickey Mantle’s record. In my car, I screeched out of the parking lot and didn’t stop driving until I made it to the closest mall. I parked in front of Target and looked at my face in the rearview mirror. I had a swollen bloody lip. There was no sign of Wade. I grabbed my backpack and used the restroom to clean up. I glanced at my phone and saw that there was a text from Carson.

  I’m @ support group. Derek squealed!

  I didn’t sleep all night and did my best to hide from my dad, telling him I was cramming for a big test. I blew through school, making sure to dodge Carson and to take my lunch off-site. It wasn’t until last class that he finally found me.

  “It’s over,” I told Carson. “I can’t help you anymore.”

  “What happened to your face?”

  I thought back to Tom’s warning the night before. “I fell,” I said sarcastically.

  “Did you get my text?” Carson asked. “Derek went right to Wade and told him everything we said.”

  “Doesn’t matter. Wade wins. We lose. Game over.” I brushed past him to my seat. I had much bigger concerns. I was scheduled to work that afternoon, and I was scared that Wade was too. I thought about calling in sick, but I needed the money.

  I was first out the door at the bell. When I got to the golf club, I circled the parking lot for fifteen minutes, looking for Wade’s Jeep. Maybe my luck was turning around… for today at least.

  My boss, some college kid, assigned me to bag drop-off.

  I stood under a green tarp and greeted members as they returned from an afternoon of golf. I tried to act cheerful even though I wasn’t in the mood.

  After an hour and a half, I was moved to the golf-cart drop-off area. Adrian worked the shed, and I did my best to keep up the small talk. Even though my top lip hurt, I continued to force a smile for tips. One out of every twenty people would ask about my injury. Most of them would joke about me losing a fight, and I played along.

  Two carts rolled in, and I recognized one of the players. The man with thinning blond hair pulled into a ponytail and serious muscles was Wade’s uncle Jim.

  “How was the game?” I asked him.

  “Be careful with the clubs,” he said. Then he walked off without even looking at me.

  “Just like Wade,” I muttered. I pulled the clubs off the cart and handed them to Adrian. I slammed on the gas and whipped the cart around the corner and into the recharging bay. They had left the cart a mess, with empty cans of beer and halfeaten sandwiches. I tossed them into the bin and started to clear out the back basket. At the bottom was a driver cover. I brought it back to the front and asked Adrian to switch jobs with me.

  “Why?” he said.

  “Because. Just do it.”

  Adrian’s attention turned over my shoulder. “Check out the awesome car.”

  I turned to see Uncle Jim drive off in a gleaming yellow Porsche with the roof down.

  “Sweet ride. You know how much those babies cost?”

  “Yeah.” My dad’s dream was to sell Porsches. “Over a hundred thousand dollars, fully loaded.”

  “Man, I need to play for the major leagues.”

  “That guy”—I held up the cover—“left this here. Show me where you put his clubs.”

  “I can take it for you.”

  “Just show me.” I followed Adrian into the shed, and he stopped in front of the clubs. They were on the second shelf. “Switch with me. Cover the front.”

  “You sure?”

  “Yeah, you deserve to make tips too.”

  “Thanks, Griffin. Wade was wrong about—” He stopped midsentence, looking embarrassed. “Thanks.”

  He took off and I pulled the set of clubs down. I found the driver that was missing its cover and put it back on. I thought about what Adrian had said and how Wade was badmouthing me to the rest of the team. For all the times he’d stolen from members’ golf bags, I should have reported him. I hoisted the golf bag, steadied it on the shelf and paused. I brought it back down, checked to see that no one was around and started going through the pockets. I didn’t even know what I was looking for. The first pocket had a golf glove and a dollar bill. I left it. A long zippered p
ocket had a rain jacket and a couple of old scorecards. The next section had golf balls, tees, ball markers, a small towel and a divot repairer. I pulled out the towel to get a closer look and saw that it was rolled up and secured by two elastic bands.

  I checked over my shoulder and could hear Adrian talking to a guest. He was probably wondering why I hadn’t come out to put away the clubs.

  I pulled the elastic bands off and unraveled the towel. Inside were several ziplock sandwich bags, and each had about twenty small pills. Some were green and white gel capsules without any markings. Others were white pills with writing. On one side, they had an italicized W in a box. The other side had the letter D over the number thirtyseven. I snapped some pictures with my phone, making sure to get the membership number tag in the shot.

  I didn’t know what the pills were for, so I decided to do some research on my break. The gel capsules looked a lot like the steroid pics, although without markings it was hard to be sure. I did find the white pill though. It was Demerol—a kind of painkiller. The website said it was a narcotic, and there was a big warning that it was a habit-forming drug.

  Maybe Wade’s uncle had chronic pain or something. But why would he carry so many pills with him, hidden away in a towel? Hadn’t he heard of a bottle? I thought back to his argument with Wade and wondered if there was any connection.

  Chapter Sixteen

  I waited impatiently for Carson at his locker. When he showed up, I grabbed him, maybe a little too forcefully, and hauled him to the closest restroom.

  “What’s your problem?”

  I banged the base of my fist on each stall door, opening them to make sure no one was around.

  “Paranoid much?” Carson asked.

  “We can’t trust anyone.”

  Carson’s eyes lit up. “What do you know?”

  “I am not exactly sure how all the dots connect.” I checked the entrance one more time. “Wade’s using and dealing. He’s living in a dilapidated shack soon to be taken by some bank. Yet somehow he has access to a beach house.” I was on a roll. “I saw his uncle Jim at the club and found out that he’s hiding drugs in his golf bag.” I held out one of the pictures I’d taken on my phone.