by V. K. Sykes
Tonight, he was dogged by worries about Robbie and what he was going to say to him after the game. The fact that his friend was playing tonight, crouching in the shortstop’s position on the left side of the infield, made it even harder for Jake to put the coming confrontation out of his mind.
From the very first inning, Robbie had been making a hash of things. After Nate retired the first two Braves’ hitters on strikeouts, their right fielder hit a hard grounder in Robbie’s direction. Robbie moved to his left, fielding the ball cleanly, and Cal Jones, the first baseman, moved into position to take an easy throw from him for the out. As Jones stretched to extend his glove toward the incoming ball, Jake had watched in dismay as Robbie’s rising throw passed four feet over Jones’s head, the ball ending up in the stands. Robbie’s careless error led directly to the first run of the game—an unearned one—as the Braves’ player jogged down to second then scored on the next play when the cleanup hitter stroked a single to right.
In the fifth inning, Robbie booted a grounder for his second error. By then, Jack Ault had seen enough, and at the end of the inning benched Robbie for the rest of the night. Robbie erupted like a geyser, kicking his glove across the dugout and hammering his fist into the water cooler, knocking it over. In a second, Ault was practically standing on Robbie’s toes, yelling full in his face as Jake and the other players looked away.
Fuck. He knew that Robbie would now be in a totally lousy mood for their talk, and wasn’t that just special? Jake sat as far away from Robbie in the dugout as he could, hoping the dumbass would cool down by the time the game was over.
Mercifully, the last four innings passed quickly, as Nate mowed down hitters while the Braves’ starter did the same thing to the Patriots. The Patriots got to the Braves’ reliever in the bottom of the ninth, though, and scratched out a hard-earned run for a 2-1 victory. The players celebrated the win with high fives on the field, as always, but Robbie skipped it and headed directly into the clubhouse.
When Jake pushed through the clubhouse door a couple of minutes later, he could see Robbie sitting in front of his locker stall, head hung, staring down at the floor. He wasn’t entirely surprised that the guy continued to sit there, fully-dressed, not moving. Jake knew Robbie had two very different ways of dealing with the aftermath of a frustrating game. One was to rage around the clubhouse, punching anything inanimate and hurling a steady string of F-bombs. The other was to withdraw into a silent shell, filling the whole room with his gloomy negative energy. Today, it was clear he’d picked the latter mode. Maybe he’d already done enough damage in the dugout to fill his rage quota for the day.
Jake took his time showering and getting dressed, not wanting to leave ahead of Robbie. He slowly toweled himself off, dried and brushed his hair, and put his street clothes back on. Robbie was still sitting in front of his locker, obviously hoping Jake would get tired of waiting and leave.
Eventually, only Robbie, Jake, and the equipment manager and his assistant remained. When Robbie continued to mope in front of his locker, head down, Jake’s patience finally ran out and he stalked over to him. “Come on, Rob. I told you I wanted to talk after the game. Let’s go.”
“Screw that.” Robbie shot back with a scowl. “Leave me alone. I mean it, Jake. Go bug somebody else.”
“Sorry, pal, you’re coming with me.” Jake grabbed him by the shoulders, easily pulled him to his feet and shoved him toward the door. That drew alarmed looks from the equipment guys, but Jake waved them off with a grin, as if he and Rob were just horsing around. Holding firmly onto Robbie’s shoulder, Jake marched his unhappy friend down the long passageway that led to the lot where the players parked their vehicles. But well before they reached the end of the corridor, Jake stopped and turned Robbie around to face him.
“We might as well talk here, my friend. There’s nobody around now, and nobody can see us if they’re still hanging around the parking lot. So, this can be a completely private chat.”
Robbie stayed silent, staring sullenly at the ground. His surly attitude was starting to piss Jake off. “I know you’re in trouble,” Jake bit out between clenched teeth, trying to keep his temper. “Don’t bother trying to deny it. And I know why.”
“Piss off, man.” Robbie tried to break away, but his strength was no match for Jake’s iron grip.
“Rob, you’re in hock to Joey Nazarian, and you can’t pay up. You’re in a hell of a pile of trouble, man, and you’re going to need some friends who have your back.”
Robbie’s head shot up, and he fired back at Jake instantly. “Well, that’s my goddamn problem, not yours, isn’t it? I’ll find a way to pay Nazarian. Anyway, it’s none of your damn business, so just leave me alone.” His voice reached a crescendo. “The last thing I need is you interfering.”
Jake gave him a withering stare. “Yeah, right. Dude, you’re up past your neck in trouble. For God’s sake, you’re betting on baseball! Maybe even on our own games.”
Robbie’s jerked his head back, as if Jake had socked him. Then his gaze slid away with tell-tale guilt.
Shit. You stupid bastard. He’d been holding onto a frayed thread of hope that Nate had been mistaken, but clearly he hadn’t been. Jake wasn’t sure whether he wanted to help Robbie or murder him.
“Have you completely lost your goddamn mind?” Jake’s voice rose and his grip tightened on Robbie’s arm. Robbie paled and swallowed hard, and for a few moments there was dead silence.
“I should have known,” Robbie finally lashed back, looking like he was about to explode. “That asshole Carter must have been listening at the door before he barged in. He overheard Nazarian and me, and then went running to Daddy Jake. Isn’t that right? Good old Jake Miller to the rescue.”
Robbie’s sneering insult hit Jake square in the gut. “Don’t be such a naïve dickhead. You’re damn lucky Nate happened to be there. And he came to me because he cares about the team and what this could do to us, just like I do. Just like you should. You’re not just going to blow me off, Rob. This is way bigger than you. It affects all of us. It affects the team and our fans. Hell, it affects all of baseball, which you’d see if you pulled your head out of your ass long enough to start thinking.”
“Maybe,” Robbie said, jerking his arm out of Jake’s grip. “Maybe not. But it doesn’t matter, because it can all go away if you and Carter can just manage to keep your fucking mouths shut. I told you before that I can take care of this thing. Nothing bad has to happen unless one of you guys starts shooting his mouth off. Just give me a few days and this’ll all be history, Jake. Somehow I’ll find the money to get Nazarian off my back, and then everything will be totally fine.”
Jake glared down at him, deliberately intimidating him with his size. Robbie backed up against the concrete wall of the corridor, his glance darting around as if he was looking for an avenue of escape. It sucked having to pressure Robbie like this, but Jake knew he wouldn’t take him seriously unless he did.
“It’s not good enough to just pay off Nazarian,” he said in a low voice. “You’ve got to stop betting, period. If you don’t, you’re just going to get into the same mess again and again, like a damn crack addict.”
“I repeat. Mind your own fucking business, Jake,” Robbie snapped, glaring.
Infuriated, Jake grabbed Robbie’s shoulder, giving him a shake. “I’m not kidding,” he said, making his voice as cold as he could. “You know me better than that. I’m not going to let you jeopardize the other guys on this team and their families just because you don’t have the balls to stop gambling. You’re going to dig deep and find the guts to do it, you selfish jerk, or you’re going to have to answer to me and to every other guy on this team. Nate and I are really sticking our necks out for you. We’re going to help you keep it covered it up for now, but you damn well better come through for us.”
At that, Robbie’s tough guy act began to crumble. He hung his head again, but not before Jake saw his eyes flood with tears. At first when he tried to speak,
he seemed to choke on the words. Jake loosened his grip and waited patiently.
“Jesus, man, I’m a fucking mess,” Robbie finally managed to mutter. He wiped his sleeve across his eyes. “It’s been getting worse and worse. I keep upping my bets, trying to recover, but now I’ve hit the wall. I have to figure out how to borrow more cash.”
“How deep in hock are you?”
Robbie swallowed noisily. “Deep. And now that fucker Nazarian is threatening to leak it that I’ve been betting on the team’s games.”
Jake expelled an exasperated breath. “What do you expect? Nazarian’s some kind of gangster. He’ll say anything and do anything to scare the hell out of you. Do you really think he’d hesitate for a minute to have you whacked if you don’t pay up?”
Robbie jerked his head up. “I don’t think he’d kill me. He’s a thug but I don’t think he’s a murderer. But he’d beat the living shit out of me, that’s for sure. Maybe enough to end my career.”
“And that’s the best case scenario,” Jake said. “So, are you going to quit for good or not?”
Robbie shrugged, his face a picture of misery.
Jake sighed. His friend was acting like a jackass of the first order, but he couldn’t abandon him now. “Look, I’ll make you a deal. You promise me you’ll quit right now and go straight into a gambling addiction program, and I’ll lend you the money to pay off Nazarian. Whatever it takes.” His stomach churned at the thought of getting pulled any deeper into this hot mess, but what choice did he really have? If he kept quiet, loaned Robbie the money and got him some professional help, with a little luck this all could go away without anybody having to get hurt.
Robbie stared at Jake as if he couldn’t grasp what he’d just heard. Tears now streamed down his stricken face. “I didn’t know where the hell I’d get the money. I couldn’t tell anybody what I needed it for. Who was going to lend me two hundred thousand, just like that? I guess I should have come to you earlier, but I just didn’t have the guts to own up to it. You get that, don’t you?”
Jake sucked in a startled breath. Coming up with two hundred grand wasn’t a problem for him, but he couldn’t believe Robbie had fallen that far into debt. In fact, he was amazed that a bookie as ruthless as Nazarian hadn’t taken some serious action to recover it already. Nazarian must have thought Robbie was still in the big time, salary-wise. He wouldn’t be the only one not to realize that as a bench-warming utility man, Robbie Benton made fringe money compared to most players.
Shaking his head, he tried to will away the headache starting to pound in his temples. “Yeah, I get that it’s tough, but I always thought you were a damn tough son of a bitch. I thought you had more guts than what I’m seeing now, Rob.”
“Don’t rub it in, for Christ’s sake,” Robbie moaned.
Jake clenched his teeth against a flare of anger. It was useless emotion when it came to Robbie. “Just get out of here and get it done. Go to Nazarian and tell him you’ll pay up, but after that you’re totally done with him.”
Robbie looked at his feet again. “Okay,” he said in a choked voice.
“And tomorrow, you and I are going to get you enrolled in addiction rehab,” Jake said.
Robbie’s head snapped up. “I don’t need any fucking social workers on my ass to stop gambling, man. Give me some credit, and let me do it my way. The last thing I need is to get caught going to some dumbass meetings or counseling sessions. That would sink me with the team if they found out.”
Jake started to interrupt, but Robbie held up a hand. “Look, I already said I’d tell Nazarian I’m done when I give him the money. Isn’t that good enough for now?”
“No, it sure as hell isn’t,” Jake said. “You might think you can do it yourself, but so does every booze and drug addict. Addiction doesn’t work that way, and you know it.”
Robbie grimaced. “Trust me, Jake.”
Jake shook his head. “Not good enough. Like I said, I’ll front you the money, but on condition that you get treatment, period. Management doesn’t have to know—we can find some place totally discrete.”
“Let me think it over for a day or two,” Robbie said.
“Fine, but you’re not getting the money until I get your promise, and know you mean it.”
“Whatever,” Robbie said sullenly.
“Don’t screw this up, Rob, because this is your last chance. If you try to play games I’ll kick your ass myself, even if Nazarian doesn’t.”
Robbie nodded, then turned and walked away.
* * *
By the time the ninth inning was over, Maddie had nearly completed her piece for tomorrow’s paper. While Jake was getting showered and dressed, she’d finish it, file it, and then surprise him by meeting him at his car in the parking lot. She badly wanted them to get away for a while tonight, and she was going to suggest they drop in at an intimate bar in her neighborhood where there were no sports TV’s and the locals pretty much minded their own business. As long as she and Jake kept their hands off each other, they should be fine.
She loved having Jake come to her apartment night after night, but she’d been starting to wish for a life together that felt, well, more normal. After all, they really weren’t doing anything wrong—they were two consenting, unmarried adults, and they rarely talked baseball when they were together. That part had been surprisingly easy. Rather than running into tricky questions around conflicts of interest when it came to their work, she and Jake generally talked about everything but baseball. Okay, they did have a lot of sex and hooray for that, but they also found plenty of things to talk about when they weren’t acting like hormonally-crazed teenagers. It was yet another indication of how good they were together, and Maddie was beginning to struggle with a certain impatience to move ahead, to deal with the obstacles standing in the way of a true relationship.
And sooner or later, someone would out them. It made sense to her that she and Jake control how that happened, instead of leaving it up to chance.
By the time she made her way down from the press box and out to the staff parking lot, most of the players and team staff had already left. The lot was virtually empty but for her Fusion, Jake’s Tahoe, and a few other cars scattered about. She moved her car a few spaces away from the Tahoe, and settled in to wait.
But after fifteen minutes, her nerves began to jangle. Jake still hadn’t appeared and she hadn’t seen any other players leaving the entire time she’d been waiting. What could be keeping him? Maybe she should get out and walk toward the clubhouse. Meeting him like that would surprise him—pleasantly, she hoped—even more than waiting for him in the parking lot. And if anyone spotted them, she could say she’d left something up in the press box, and had simply bumped into Jake on the way back. Reporters and players had that kind of casual contact all the time. As long as they kept it light and brief, team management didn’t make a fuss about it.
In any event, she didn’t want to sit in the car any longer, sticking out like a sore thumb. Something was bothering Jake, and it was starting to gnaw away at her nerves, too. The sooner she found him, the better.
She got out and passed through the wire fence that separated the concourse area from the parking lot. As she neared the corridor that led to the clubhouse, she heard voices—loud, angry voices. Disconcerted, she slowed her pace. She had no desire to run into players or staff in the middle of an argument, nor would they appreciate a reporter walking into that kind of scene.
As she began to turn on her heel to go back to her car, the voices rose again. She stopped, almost dropping her purse when she recognized Jake’s voice as one of them. It held a cold, lethal tone that caused shivers to ripple down her spine. She’d never heard him so angry, and it sent her low-level anxiety about him shooting into the stratosphere. Who was he fighting with, and why? Could somebody have already found out about them and confronted him? Her stomach cramped at the idea that they might have already lost control of the situation.
Before she could decide wha
t to do, the other man cut Jake off, yelling back. Maddie suddenly recognized that voice, too. It was Robbie Benton’s, and he sounded just as angry as Jake, maybe even more so.
She frowned, clutching her bag tight against her body. That didn’t make a lot of sense. Jake and Robbie were old friends, and this was clearly no minor disagreement. Unable to resist, she inched down the corridor, squeezing behind a concrete support column. Of course she shouldn’t eavesdrop, but the raw anger in the men’s voices spiked both her curiosity and her sense of alarm. She didn’t know what she could do, but there was no damn way she was leaving Jake alone in case the situation really went south.
Seconds later, their words nearly stopped her heart. Had she heard right? Robbie Benton gambling on baseball? Betting on his own team’s games?
No wonder Jake sounded like he wanted to kill the guy. For a player to engage in that kind of betting was the worst possible offense. It ruined careers and a team’s reputation, causing havoc from top to bottom in the organization and bringing disrepute to the whole sport. There were few things a team’s management hated more than illegal betting, and the consequences for anyone involved were dire.
But things went from bad to worse when she realized that not only was Jake going to help Robbie cover up his problem, he was going to loan him the money to do so. She swayed, light-headed, grabbing at the concrete column to steady herself. If Jake wound up caught in the middle of this mess, his brilliant career would be over in a heartbeat, his legacy tarnished for all time. How could he be so stupid as to take such a risk, even for a friend? No true friend would even ask it of him.
Stunned, her mind raced through a dozen possible scenarios, all of them bad. There was no way she could face Jake right now, not before she had a chance to pull herself together and come up with a plan. And trying to talk some sense into him in the heat of the moment would very likely be a disaster. No, she had to get away before either Jake or Robbie discovered her.
