Rex Chase: A Novel

by Tim Wheat

  “I surrender.” He said while laughing, but Angela didn’t bring the gun down quite yet.

  “Who are you and what do you want?” She tried to say the words with force, but that feeling was welling up inside of her again. What in the world was it about this kid that made her feel this way? He was attractive, with tousled black hair hanging in his face. At five feet ten inches, he was taller than she, but not by much.

  What drew her to him the most, though, was the physicality of the man. His broad shoulders and muscular barrel chest seemed better suited to a silverback gorilla than a human being. She studied him while trying to mask her obvious interest as she lowered the weapon. Some of the most handsome, rich, eligible bachelors in all of California, had pursued Angela and fallen short. Now, in the middle of nowhere, this peasant boy made her feel like a teenager. He dropped his hands in conjunction with her weapon, and with that big smile answered her.

  “Can’t a guy call on a girl in this country? Hell, I even took a bath and combed my hair.”

  She blushed, and with the glow coming from the cabin he could see her well. With a slight stutter her reply was now soft, feminine; sultry.

  “I, I, I’m sorry. I can get a little jumpy. You know, me being the lone woman out here and all.”

  “I don’t blame you one bit, and neither does that mule deer.”

  She had all but forgotten about the mule deer, and blushed again at the thought of him standing behind her that entire time watching her make a fool of herself.

  “So, you saw all that huh?”

  “Don’t sweat it. I’d like to introduce myself now if you don’t mind. I’m going to have to come up there to do it, and although I know my way around a .357 it’d make me more comfortable if you holstered it.”

  Angela had forgotten that she even held the gun, and in a move she would not have made for any other man in the camp, tucked the small revolver in her boot. As she stood up the young man approached, took her hand, kissed it and said,

  “Ma’am, my name is George Thomas Ahiga, and ever since I first laid eyes on you I knew we were meant to be married.”

  She didn’t think it possible, but Angela blushed again, and even more pronounced than before. Her head felt light and her heart pounded. The blood in her cheeks made them seem like they were almost glowing, and although it was still rather cold, beads of sweat pricked all over her body. She felt giddy, like she was drunk, but no, it was better than being drunk. It must be, but it couldn’t be, love. Her head swam and a single thought formed on her lips.

  “George, would you mind helping me carry some of this kindling inside?”

  “It would be my pleasure.” He said as he gathered more than enough wood for the evening and followed through the front door of her abode.

  They talked for hours and hours, well into the night. As the winds howled and the fire glowed, they stayed near each other for warmth. Angela learned all about George Thomas Ahiga. Born on the Navajo Reservation he possessed few memories of his native land since his parents didn’t adhere to strict tribal tradition. They left the reservation when he was five years old and traveled east to make a life in the “civilized” world. He received a traditional education there, and to Angela’s amazement could read, write, and speak with eloquence. That was something she didn’t often see out of her father’s ditch diggers. The hours seemed like minutes until the couple talked the entire night away, and the sun began to bring light on the new day.

  “I’m afraid I have to head to work right about now,” said George

  Angela hugged him close. “Oh, I wish we could stay in here all day George.”

  “Chief.”

  “Huh?” She gave him a quizzical look.

  “All of my friends call me Chief,” was his hushed reply as he moved his face closer to hers.

  Angela smiled and tapped the tip of his nose with her index finger. “Well, I’m not your friend George. I’m going to be your wife, remember?”

  He smiled, then took her into his arms and kissed her with more passion than either of them had ever experienced.

  *******************

  6.

  Harvard University, Boston, Mass. U.S.A.

  Darkness enveloped Chase, as he fought to keep it from closing in all the way. The commotion of the game still happening around him was evident as he felt a second shock from his body hitting the ground, but the darkness won over the light, and he succumbed. Moments later the fog began to lift, and Chase opened his eyes to see Bobby Poppen, his father Alexei, his coach, and most of the team surrounding him on the mound.

  “I should have thrown the slowball.”

  Without hesitation, Poppen replied as expected.

  “Well, I’m not gonna say I told you so, but I did.”

  “Are you OK son?” His father’s voice, in Russian, was the next he heard. Chase’s reply was in English.

  “I’m fine. English out here though please dad. So, did we win?” A giant goose egg was starting to grow just above Chase’s right eye and the indentation of the seams was noticeable.

  “Holy moly Chase, you can even see where the seams of the ball whacked off, on your face.” came the interjection of the first basemen Sam.

  “Ok, nobody whacked off on my face right?” said Chase “So, did we win?”

  “He seems fine to me, shake it off kid, you gave up a run, time to get it back,” said Bobby as he turned and started heading back to the dugout.

  With the help of his father and the coach, Chase got to his feet and left the field under his own power. His father explained to him that after the ball had hit him in the face it had ricocheted just to the left of the third basemen. At the same time, the runner at second had hesitated, though there were two outs and he should have been moving on contact. The third basemen had picked up the ball and at the same time dove into third base with the runner, landing in a heap. The umpire had called him out, but on the tag instead of the force. Since the out was on a tag it was now on the home plate umpire to determine if the run had crossed the plate yet. He decided that the runner had, and Alexei Chase could not disagree with more vehemence.

  “FIRST of all.” he blustered to no one in particular “I don’t know how it’s even possible for the runner to slide into the tag and not push his glove onto third base for the force, and SECOND of all that fat s.o.b. running down the third baseline was still ten feet from home plate when the play occurred. Umpires these days are the biggest sacks of…”

  “Dad” Rex Chase said in a quiet, even tone. “We get it. My head hurts though.”

  “Sorry son, do you want me to take you to the hospital?”

  “No way, I’m up second this inning, and I’m going to drop a bomb.”

  Chase was angry with himself for going against his catcher and letting his pride call pitches for him. Though he had known Bobby Poppen just a few years, he knew that when it came to mathematics, and calling pitches, you shouldn’t question the man. He gingerly rubbed the still growing goose egg on his head and wondered if the shot to his brain would make him any dumber.

  Just a few weeks separated him from graduating with two Harvard University doctoral degrees at the ripe young age of 21. He was already being bred by the dean to oversee Physics departments, and his mother and father were so proud, wanting him to follow their footsteps into the world of academia. Something was calling him away from that world, though. It was a powerful beckoning to other worlds and strange places.

  Chase hadn’t often left Massachusetts, save for camping trips with his father to learn the masculine arts of hunting, fishing, and camping. He had always relished those excursions, the most recent being the summer before. It had been a three week trip to Maine where the men lived off of what they shot and caught, and camped in a tent. They hadn’t showered, or shaved, they farted when they wanted to, and wiped their butts with leaves. It wasn’t glamorous, but he had loved every second of it.

  “Steeeerike THREE” came the call of the umpire. Without realizing it
Chase had grabbed his bat and was now standing in the on deck circle. That bump on the head must have done something, because concentration was not an area in which the young Rex Chase floundered. He strode toward the plate widening his mouth and massaging his jaw with his right hand, trying to shake the cobwebs that still permeated his consciousness. He looked out toward the pitcher, took a couple slow, deliberate practice swings, and before he knew it the ball was by him.

  “Steeeerike ONE” said the ump. Chase backed out of the batter’s box. Something was very wrong. He had lost a few seconds in there. This was a feeling he had never battled before. It was a feeling of helplessness, which can be maddening to a man who is used to being in control.

  He stretched his bat high above his head, widening his jaws and moving them back and forth, while blinking his eyes to try to regain their focus. The cobwebs seemed to be dissipating, but as he stepped back in the box, he noticed that he was having a hard time gauging the distance between himself and the pitcher.

  He could tell the player was winding up, the ball sent on its path, but he couldn’t see it . With all his might, just hoping beyond hope that he might make contact, Chase swung a foot over the top of the pitch. He missed by such a large margin that even the disappointment in the crowd was audible.

  “TWO.” was the call. Chase was in trouble again. For the second time in one game he found himself in a jam, but now he didn’t know if he possessed the faculties to overcome. Doubt crept into his mind, and his confidence wavered. Two things he hadn’t often felt in his life.

  “Time.” Bobby Poppen, stood in the on deck circle and waved Chase over. “What’s going on over there buddy?”

  “I can’t see the ball. I can’t see it,” said Chase.

  “Are you blind?” Poppen said.

  “No.”

  “Then stop being a girl and hit the damn thing off Conant.”

  Chase smiled and relaxed. Conant Hall, where he lived, was over five-hundred feet away. That guy knew what to say to him. He always knew what to say to him. Chase dug himself back into the batter’s box and looked out at the pitcher. He was a little more fuzzy than normal, but Chase blinked his eyes, relaxed further and concentrated with all his might.

  “OK, here we go E.R.C.,” Chase muttered to himself the pet name his mom had for him when he was young. “This guy is gonna come right at you because he thinks you’re shaken up, but you’re not. You can’t be.”

  The ball was already halfway to the plate when Chase picked it up. His vision cleared out to about thirty feet, and thirty feet was all he needed. Everything seemed in slow motion as he watched the rotation of the ball. It was a four seam fastball, the guy was trying to blow one by him.

  Before his brain even knew what was going on, Chase swung with every ounce of energy he could muster, but not like the previous swing. This time his focus left no room for doubt, and no lack of confidence. The crack of the bat was loud, louder than when the big lefty had bounced one of his head.

  Chase looked up to check its trajectory, and seeing that it should suffice to clear the outfield fence, stuck his head down and began to lope around the bases. It seemed to him that he was floating through the field of play. He didn’t hear the cheering of the thousands there to watch the game. He didn’t notice the Red Sox and Yankees scouts huddled along the fence line. He didn’t notice the other team watching his ball leave the field long after he had considered it gone.

  As he rounded second base, his eyes rested on Mary Elizabeth, who had taken up a perch just behind Harvard’s home dugout. Her long curled brown hair rested on her shoulders, and she wore a Harvard sweater. He observed that it was a letter sweater and wondered what sport, or sports, she participated in.

  Many of the young women at Harvard had grown up privileged and well versed in tennis or equestrian events. He figured it to be one of those, but that was just fine with him. Though he had been quite successful with the fairer sex since he had hit puberty at the age of fourteen, something about this young woman was different. Chase wanted to get to know her better, in more ways than one. As he crossed home plate the last thing on his mind was that he had just won the baseball game, until Bobby Poppen smacked him right on the giant egg over his eye.

  “You did it. You did it.” Poppen said.

  “You hit me right in my eye Bobby, ya lunatic. I did what?”

  “You hit it off Conant. That must be FIVE HUNDRED FEET.” said Poppen, grinning ear to ear.

  A big smile came across the weary face of Rex Chase. He became aware of a dull ache in his head, and although he was happy to have won the game, he just wanted to grab Mary Elizabeth, head to his place, and relax with the radio. That wasn’t going to be an option, though, as his father would want him to run home for dinner. Chase looked in the direction of Mary Elizabeth and could see that she was waiting for him to come over, which he intended to do, until he heard a voice.

  *******************

  7.

  “Edward.” The voice was quiet, yet firm, and he couldn’t fathom how he heard her above the ruckus. One woman in the world called him Edward, though, and that was his mother. Chase looked to his left, and as sure as the sun, there stood his mother.

  Lucille Chase was a woman in her forties who looked to be in her twenties. She had long auburn hair that ended in curls halfway down her back. When she had been a professor in Germany she had been active in rowing and her body still held the lines of an oarsmen. With powerful long legs, and a tight round buttocks she was very tall for a woman and was almost as tall as Alexei, but that’s where their physical similarities ended. She was in every way a beautiful, alluring woman, and had used her physical attributes, along with her ability to adapt, to make money as a nurse during the Great Depression.

  One of the things Chase most admired about his mother was that she had reinvented herself in this new land. She hadn’t complained about her lot, she had just done what she needed to better his life. It was something that he did not nor would not ever take for granted. Of course, when you have a mother as beautiful as she, you take more than your fair share of ribbing from friends. They all wanted to date her, or worse. It was all in good fun, though, and none of them even had a hope of getting past the mountain that was Alexei Chase.

  “Mom.” Chase smiled as he came over to the fence. “Let me get my stuff and come around.”

  “Ok honey,” she returned his smile.

  Chase gathered his things from the dugout and exited the far side. As he came around, he saw Mary Elizabeth standing by herself on the first steps of the bleachers. She was looking for him to exit the other end of the dugout, though, and didn’t see him as he swept her off the bleachers with his right arm and kissed her. Although she had just met him, sort of, earlier in the day, she showed no resistance and allowed him the most passionate kiss of her young life. After almost thirty seconds she pulled away, an almost embarrassed smile on her face, as she caressed his wounded eye with her left hand.

  “You poor baby. Does it hurt?”

  “Nah, it’s fine. Wanna meet my parents?”

  His face wore the easiest, most natural smile she had ever seen. Once again she looked into his eyes and saw the most sincere man she had ever met. Those blue eyes that seemed to go on and on forever entranced her in a spell, even though her logical brain told her that kissing people and meeting their parents before you knew anything but each other’s names was crazy. It was crazy, but she was going to do it.

  “I’d love to, when do we meet?”

  “Right now. My mom is the one waving.”

  Chase motioned about fifty feet to his left where his father stood beaming, and his mother smiled and waved. With them was a tall slender man who seemed neither happy to be along, or impressed by much of anything. Mary Elizabeth felt a sudden wave of panic sweep over her. She had just met this man, kissed him in front of God and the whole world, and that list now included his mother and father. They must be thinking

  that she was some whore when th
e truth was far from it. Unbeknownst to most, the nineteen year old had never truly kissed a man until a few moments before. Although she was beautiful, and not backwards in any way, her powerful father had often scared away would be suitors. Maybe that was why she found herself falling for Rex Chase with such speed and ease. Maybe he would be scared away when he found out who her father was, or maybe he already knew and didn’t care? Either way she was going to have to meet his parents in the next ten seconds and as that dawned on her even more, her cheeks turned crimson as they had in the classroom. Chase, seeing her apprehension, leaned over and whispered in her ear.

  “Don’t worry. He’s a big teddy bear, and she’s harmless. They’re gonna love you.” The words were soothing and he added. “Oh, I should know your last name though.”

  She looked up at him. This moment was already here. Everything was happening so fast.

  “It’s Castle.” She said.

  “Excellent. Mary Elizabeth Castle. A beautiful name, but I guess the true beauty is that when we get married you won’t have to change your initials on your embroidered bath robes.”

  Mary Elizabeth managed to blush again as Chase took her by the hand and they made their way toward his parents. She felt like she was floating the entire distance, and Chase, to his own disbelief, felt much the same.

  *******************

  8.

  The young spy wasn’t sure why he was watching the two men and didn’t know either of them. He noticed the big one go onto the field and then exit from the dugout when the hurt player moved off the field. The other man, the one he had started calling the eel, because he thought he looked like an eel, seemed bored with the whole event.

  At last, the baseball game came to an end, and the spy watched his quarry with more intensity. His orders were to report if the men contacted anyone, and the young man trained himself on the task. He deduced that the man who had hit the game winning home run and the big guy and his wife must be related. Earlier he had seen her approach and give the big one a kiss and now the home run hitter spoke to her through the fence. The spy watched as the ballplayer exited the far side of the dugout, but before walking over to his mother and father, stopped and kissed a girl. Even at a distance of a hundred feet the woman’s beauty was evident. The spy had become resentful of beautiful women during his lifetime, because, except for his mother, none had ever given him the time of day. He was small in stature, and not a very smooth talker, but none of that mattered now.