Base Ball Dads

by Matthew Hiley

  “She found a couple of hundred bucks stashed in her ass from when she worked the VIP room at Dirty’s Cabaret?” Dwayne jumped in.

  All of the men looked over at Dwayne in stunned silence.

  “My bad. Too far.”

  Russ cracked open a beer and chugged half of it as he glared at the others, mainly Dwayne. He lit up a cigarette.

  “Are you guys done yet?”

  “No.”

  “Nope.”

  “Not at all, dick.”

  “Fine,” Russ stormed toward the tee box and placed his ball on a tee. “I’m going first.”

  Russ stepped up to his ball without taking a practice swing. He hovered over it, concentrating. He then reared back his club, swung as hard as he could, and sliced the ball over a large house in the neighborhood to the right. There was a crash, followed by a dog barking.

  “WHAT THE FUCK?!” Russ yelled at the top of his lungs.

  Russ was known for his short temper. This had a lot to do with why his friends gave him a huge ration of shit. He stormed off the tee box and back to his cart, where he sat behind the wheel with his arms crossed. The others could barely contain their laughter.

  After the other three teed off, Dwayne offered an olive branch to Russ by pretending to be interested in what he had to say about the previous night. “So,” Dwayne asked with mock sincerity, “are you gonna tell us what the hell happened last night?”

  “I’ll tell you guys on the green. I’ve gotta get my head straight. I can’t lose another round of golf to this group of amateurs.”

  Russ hit the gas pedal on his golf cart and took off down the fairway. The other three watched in anticipation as he drove away, knowing that Tommy had unhooked the strap that held his golf bag onto the cart. As Russ made his first turn after fifty yards, his golf bag came crashing off the back, spilling clubs everywhere until it finally rolled to a stop.

  Russ didn’t look back at the others, who were doubled over in tears laughing. He punched his steering wheel twice, stood up, and gathered his clubs. After placing them back on the cart, he offered a middle finger to the guys before driving toward where his ball had gone out of bounds.

  By the time the foursome reached the green, Russ had regained his composure. He managed to put together an amazing shot from far down the fairway, and was now going for a par. “Okay, guys, so what I was trying to tell you is …” He paused to line up his putt for a moment, leaning down toward the green and finding his line. “Last night, I saw Dave kill a guy at the ballpark.”

  Russ pulled back and took the shot, sending an almost impossible sixty-foot putt on its way toward the hole. The ball broke at just the right time, rode the lip of the hole, and fell in the back side.

  “Fuck yeah!” Russ yelled as he threw his arms in the air. “Back door, bitches! Suck on that, lawn boy! Who’s your daddy now, you friggin’ liberal shitbag? What’s up now, token black guy? Oh yeah! I’m back in this bitch!” Russ offered a few pelvic thrusts as he did his victory dance on the green.

  Dwayne, Steve, and Tommy stood in silence, unable to comprehend what they had heard before the shot.

  “What the hell is wrong with you guys? Jesus, gimme a high five or something! That was beautiful!” Russ said with disappointment.

  “Dude,” Dwayne said. “Did you say that you saw Dave kill somebody? As in Dave the umpire?”

  “Yup. Stabbed him, then twisted that fucker’s neck like a beer cap. It was crazy. Scared the shit outta me. He’s lucky I didn’t call the cops.”

  The guys stared at Russ while he nonchalantly pulled his ball from the hole, wiped the dirt and grass clippings from it, and lit a cigarette.

  “And exactly why didn’t you call the cops?” Dwayne asked.

  “Are you guys gonna putt, or what? Jesus. You have seventeen more holes to hear the story. I gotta finish it now?” Russ snapped, secretly satisfied that he now had them all rattled and not into their golf games.

  4.

  Steve, Dwayne, Russ, and Tommy had not been lifelong friends. They weren’t friends because they worked together, shared similar interests, or recognized any deep connection with one another. No, they were friends because their kids played baseball together. Their kids had all become friends, so the parents were forced to tolerate each other. That forced tolerance developed into a sort of baseball-dad clique through the seasons.

  The relationship had evolved into an odd—but actual—friendship. The men began to hang out from time to time, going to sporting events, playing golf, and so on. They didn’t know each other on anything other than a somewhat shallow basis, however. They were still getting to know each other. So, when Russ mentioned that he witnessed a murder and didn’t think to call the police, it threw the other three for a pretty good loop. What kind of guy does that?

  The foursome walked up to the second tee box with balls and drivers in hand. Not much had been said since Russ made his revelation. Russ cracked another beer, slammed it, and threw the can over his shoulder as he stared down the fairway, analyzing his next move.

  “So, Russ,” Dwayne said, trying to digest what they’d been told. “Why would you not call the police if you saw someone get murdered? That doesn’t make any sense, man. This guy Dave is three feet from our kids several times a week. Help me understand this.”

  “Yeah, I’m having a little trouble with that too,” Tommy added.

  “Hang on.” Russ placed his ball on the tee and stepped up to it. He checked his feet to make sure he was lined up properly. After no practice swing again, he pulled back his club and swung with all his might, sending the ball careening down the left side of the fairway and into a large pond. A small flock of ducks was immediately rattled into flight.

  “FUUUUUCK! Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, FUCK!” he yelled. “This is such bullshit! FUCK this game!” Russ pounded at the ground with his driver, wiping the sweat off his forehead, still staring at the pond. “I need a new goddamn driver. This club sucks.”

  Dwayne, Tommy, and Steve wondered if Russ had any intention of finishing his story and answering their question about the police.

  Russ turned and noticed them awaiting some kind of closure. “Oh, right. Why didn’t I call the cops?” He paused for a moment. “Well, you know, my first thought was to get the hell out of there. Jackson was waiting in the car, for Christ’s sake. Then when I got in the car I was gonna call, but I didn’t want to startle Jackson. I figured I’d wait until I got home. Then I got home, and Jade had popped a little ecstasy. She’d gotten her nipples pierced and wanted to show them off, so you know how that goes, right?”

  Russ looked at the guys for confirmation. He received none. “Okay, fine, never mind. Amazing, but whatever. After laying some pipe, I got into the vodka. So I got a little buzz, and I got to thinking … I don’t know … maybe a guy like Dave is someone you want to have on your side, as opposed to someone you call the cops on. I know, this sounds crazy, but … I just started thinking that maybe a guy like Dave could help us with our baseball predicament. I mean, how much longer can we put up with this ‘daddy-baseball’ bullshit? Tell me that somewhere deep inside you that doesn’t make some sense.”

  Again, Russ turned to them, searching for some level of reassurance. Again, he received none.

  “No, man,” Steve jumped in without any hesitation. “There’s absolutely nowhere inside of me where that makes sense. I’m pretty sure I speak for all of us when I say that.”

  “What the fuck are you saying, man?” Tommy inquired in an almost sedated tone. “You want Dave to snap Coach Dale’s neck? That can’t possibly be what you’re getting at.”

  Dwayne was at a loss for words. He stood back on his heels with his mouth agape. Finally, he cocked his head, waved his arm, and stepped up to take his shot. “He’s fucking with us,” Dwayne said with certainty. “Dave is an asshole, and he definitely hates anyone that makes more than ten bucks an hour, but come on. Russ is just fucking with us.”

  Dwayne took three perfect practice
swings, stepped forward to his ball, and drove the ball hard left into a tree. It ricocheted off and then flew back toward the foursome. Steve dove to the ground to avoid taking one between the eyes. The ball came to rest about thirty yards behind the tee box, on the edge of the cart path.

  “Stupid fucking game,” Dwayne uttered under his breath as he walked off the tee box.

  Tommy pulled a ball and tee from his pocket, set them in position, and took a few swings at the air to limber up. “You had me going for a minute, there, Russ,” Tommy grinned as he pulled back and took his shot. He swung the club with every muscle in his body. The club hit the very top of the ball, causing it to rebound off the ground and pop straight up into the air about ten feet. The ball came down and landed about two inches from the tee.

  “Motherfucker,” he said softly.

  After Steve sent his ball into the same pond that Russ’s ball had ventured into, the men made their way back to the carts. Russ stopped and turned to them before they all took off.

  “I’m not joking,” he told them. “You’re right. I probably should’ve called the cops. It’s too late now, though. And I never once thought we should have Ricky Dale’s neck broken. Jesus. Give me a little credit. I just thought we might entertain the idea of having someone put a scare into him. That’s all. Bad idea, I know. I’ll drop it.”

  The next few holes for the foursome went quietly. Russ’s words lingered, especially with Dwayne. The thought of scaring, or even harming, someone who treats your kid badly might not be that uncommon. Everyone has thoughts like that, right? But acting on those thoughts … that was an entirely different matter.

  Still, they were all thinking about it. A doctor, a money manager, a successful landscape artist, and a blue-blood high school principal—upstanding members of the community … they were the last people who would act on such thoughts. Trouble like this was typically reserved for trailer dwellers. Tornado bait did things like this, not guys like them. Not normally. But how much happier would they be if their sons were having a blast at baseball again?

  The men finished the round of golf in just under five hours. Russ won with a score of 101. This killed the other three. Russ was a horrible winner.

  5.

  “Jesus, you guys are terrible,” Russ said to the others as they walked into the clubhouse for lunch and drinks.

  “Seriously, Russ?” Dwayne snapped back. “I just want you to know that you still suck at this game, and if the people who invented golf had known that your hairy ass would be playing it so poorly and embarrassingly, they probably never would have invented it.”

  The foursome took their seats at the clubhouse, ordered drinks, and examined menus. They pretended to be watching the baseball game that was playing on the large flat screen in the men’s lounge, but their minds were preoccupied.

  “So, Russ,” Dwayne said. “Just for grins, I was wondering what your plan was. Dave hates you. How in the world did you think that you could get a guy like him on your side? Why would he do a favor for you that could land him in jail?”

  Tommy and Steve looked at Russ. They had been thinking the same thing.

  Russ finished his second vodka tonic since arriving back at the clubhouse. He had drunk a twelve pack of beers by himself on the golf course. He was feeling no pain as he thought about his answer. The white powder had returned to his nasal area. He leaned in so as not to be overheard. “Here’s what I was thinking. Dave doesn’t know that anyone saw him kill that guy. I was thinking that I could scare him anonymously … call him and disguise my voice or something. Just tell him that someone saw what he did, and if he’ll scare Coach Dale into letting other kids play good positions, the cops will never be called. I won’t be exact about which kids play which positions, I’ll just be vague and see what happens.”

  Just then, the waiter appeared to take the men’s food orders. It was obvious that the shaking, pimple-faced redheaded young man had heard of Russ before. All the waitstaff had, due to his well-known penchant for being an asshole. “Good afternoon, gentlemen,” the waiter said apprehensively. “May I take your order?”

  Russ glared. He just loved to fuck with people.

  “May I take your order?” the waiter repeated.

  “Yeah, my gay friend Steve here was wondering if the carpet matches the drapes,” Russ spoke loudly while throwing a hand on Steve’s shoulder.

  “Pardon me, sir? I don’t understand,” the waiter responded.

  “I said my gay friend Steve here wants to see your junk,” Russ stated with a bit of a drunken slur. “He wants to bump mushrooms with you. You in?”

  “No … sir … I’m, um, not exactly gay,” the waiter replied, looking like he was on the verge of a nervous breakdown.

  “You don’t have to play with his balls or anything,” Russ continued his assault. “You can just—”

  “Jesus CHRIST, man!” Steve interrupted. “Have some class!”

  “Sorry,” Russ said to the waiter. “He’s still coming to grips with his sexuality.”

  “What the hell is wrong with you, man?” Tommy asked. “I’ll have a Reuben sandwich, please.”

  “He’ll have the hotdog, obviously,” Russ laughed as he nudged Steve.

  Dwayne, Tommy, and Steve apologized for Russ’s behavior. The poor, abused waiter hung his head, making his way back to the kitchen.

  “Listen, guys,” Tommy broke the silence. “I’m black, okay? And …”

  “Wait a minute!” Russ jumped in. “Are you fucking serious? What kind of country club is this? We allow black people?! That’s bullshit!”

  Russ looked around for shared laughter and found none. He made a more serious face and turned back toward Tommy.

  “As I was saying,” Tommy continued, “black people who don’t break the law, such as myself, have an unspoken code. If someone around us mentions breaking the law, we have to remove ourselves immediately from that group of people. Now, I’m not going to do that right now because I’d be sitting by myself in an all-but-me white country club. The last thing I need is to stand out any more than I do or have motherfuckers coming up to me asking for a sandwich like I work here, which happens every goddamn day. But I will say this, Russ: You need to proceed with caution.”

  Not a word was said again until the waiter brought their food. The waiter delicately placed everyone’s order in front of them, praying to go unnoticed.

  “You know, I’ll rip your face off if you put pubes in my food, Ginger,” Russ mumbled to the waiter. “It won’t be hard to tell if they’re yours.”

  “Sir, I would n-n-never—” the waiter stammered. “Of course you’d know, I mean, … but I …”

  “A-HA!” Russ yelled as he pointed at the waiter. “So the carpet DOES match the drapes! You have a bright red man muff! AAAAAAAHAHAHAHA! That’s awful! Your little pink guy down there dangling in a sea of red! Oh God, that’s gross!”

  A tear rolled down the waiter’s cheek. The other men sat in total shock as Russ laughed and wheezed simultaneously. Russ didn’t care. He smashed out his cigarette and tore into his sandwich.

  “Jesus, you’re not even human,” Steve said.

  The foursome ate like they hadn’t had a meal in days. The thought of hiring Dave to scare Ricky Dale was still at the front of their thoughts as they finished the rest of their food.

  Dwayne decided to play out the scenario a bit with the others.

  “You really think you could make this thing work? Having Dave scare Coach Dale?” Dwayne asked.

  “Of course I could,” Russ replied with complete cockiness. “I’ve brought billionaires to their knees on four continents. I think I can get that jackass to shake things up on a baseball diamond.”

  Dwayne looked at Tommy and Steve. “I know this sounds crazy, guys, but it would sure as hell get Estelle off my back if Alex played a good position. And he’s talking about remaining totally anonymous while just putting a little scare into a guy who is making our kids’ lives miserable.”

  �
�Part of me wants to slap you right now for taking Russ seriously,” Tommy said. “But another part of me wouldn’t mind seeing my boy in the infield.”

  “I’m out,” Steve threw in. “I’m totally out.”

  “Yeah, but your kid sucks, Steve,” Russ offered. “No offense, of course, but he’d probably be riding the bench anyhow.”

  “Screw you, Russ.” Steve tossed his napkin on the table. “I’m outta here. You guys are idiots if you let this hairy little anti-Christ put something like this into action.” Steve walked out the door without ever turning back to the others.

  “What a nutless little twerp,” Russ said. “We can do this, guys, and no one will ever know.”

  Dwayne and Tommy looked at each other, trying to read the other’s expression in order to know how to proceed.

  “I say we table the idea,” Dwayne concluded, rising from his seat. “We can’t make a decision as off-the-wall as this over a game of golf and a burger. I need to think about it.”

  6.

  Dwayne drove around for a while before heading home. He needed to clear his head. The world was caving in on him. He had a loveless marriage to a coldhearted bitch, who had begun to make a regular habit of spending more than he could earn. She blamed her spending habits on his inability to earn enough to make her happy. He couldn’t stand her friends, either. When they weren’t shopping, they were sitting around at one of their houses or at the club, drinking and gossiping about people in the cruelest manner imaginable.

  Alex was the only person that truly made Dwayne happy. If only his son could play a good position on the baseball team …

  As Dwayne turned his truck onto his street, he couldn’t help but notice the string of luxury vehicles parked in his driveway and in front of his house. “Goddammit,” he said to himself. “Bible study.”

  Dwayne parked his truck down the street as Estelle had insisted and sparked up a half-smoked joint that had been resting in his ashtray. He took a few long pulls and then prepared himself, squirting his eyes with eye drops, popping gum in his mouth—and with a long sigh, he walked the block to his house.