The Closer

by Alan Mindell

  "When I was pitching," Rick continued, "arm troubles weren't my only problem."

  "Drugs?" Terry guessed.

  "Pain killers for my arm. Whatever I couldn't get from our team doctor."

  "They sell pain killers down here?"

  "They sell everything down here," Rick declared.

  "Were they illegal?"

  "No. Only thing illegal was I didn't have a prescription."

  Terry shook his head, no doubt again more from his own ignorance than the information Rick had just imparted.

  "I remember someone once bragging," Rick chuckled. "A famous movie actor or director, I think… That he could score whatever he needed in any U.S. city in forty-five minutes. I could do it in thirty."

  Terry shook his head again.

  "So," Rick went on, lowering his voice, "if Murdoch's got some problem, I'd like to help."

  "Speaking of Murdoch," Terry said after a brief pause, "aren't you following him too close?"

  Rick apparently hadn't noticed that he'd driven within a few yards of the back of Murdoch's car. He slowed down, letting another vehicle enter their lane, between their car and Murdoch's. Then he allowed Murdoch to gradually pull well ahead of them.

  "Heard you're sponsoring a kid for Little League," Rick remarked a few minutes later.

  "I helped get him on a team," Terry answered. "Saw him play the other day."

  "Heard he's pretty good."

  "Tossed a shutout."

  "Bring him out to the stadium before one of our games," Rick suggested. "Like to see him pitch."

  "You sure it's all right? Not against league rules?"

  "I won't tell if you won't tell," Rick grinned. "Anyway...with brass so concerned about PR..."

  They both laughed.

  "Seriously," Rick continued. "Your involvement can make a big difference for a kid."

  "Not just for the kid," Terry replied.

  "Reminds me when I was young," Rick said a little sadly. "My dad used to play catch with me. When he came home every night, that's the first thing we did. I'd wait by the door..."

  Terry didn't answer because he was thinking of his own father. And the impact his father had had on him.

  "Forty years ago," Rick added, shaking his head, "and I still remember."

  They were both silent several minutes while Murdoch continued leading them up and down streets of deteriorated Boston neighborhoods, with no apparent direction or destination. When again they came upon the same group of men surrounding the bonfire, it became evident he was even doubling back into areas he'd already covered. Eventually, he returned to their hotel parking lot.

  "Better give him a few minutes," Terry suggested after Rick parked the car. "Before we go inside."

  "Sure," Rick replied, removing the key from the ignition.

  They waited ten minutes. As they walked from the parking lot to the hotel lobby, Terry couldn't avoid the irony of the last hour or so. They had set out to discover what Murdoch was doing late at night. The only discoveries Terry made, however, pertained to Rick.

  "You guys out cruisin' tonight?" Murdoch asked Terry and Rick the instant they entered the lobby.

  There was no one else present, except a lone desk clerk stationed on the other side of the huge room. Terry could see by his scowl that Murdoch, no longer wearing his disguise, wasn't happy. Neither he nor Rick replied to Murdoch's question. He hoped the expression on his own face didn't look as foolish as the one on Rick's.

  "Or were you guys tailin' me?" Murdoch accused. "I doubled back on purpose...you were still there."

  Again no reply, but Terry promptly remembered passing the bonfire twice.

  "Can't claim you were there by accident. Neither you guys look the type to be chasin' what guys chase in that neighborhood..."

  "Just seein' we could help," Rick mumbled, his foolish expression still present.

  "Oh...I get it," Murdoch answered sarcastically. "Case I'm in some kind of trouble."

  "Yeah," Rick muttered. "Case you're in some kind of trouble."

  "Did it look like I was in trouble?"

  "Just wanted to help," Terry managed, his meager contribution to the exchange no more convincing than Rick's.

  "You can help," Murdoch declared. "By minding your own business."

  Murdoch turned and, without glancing back at them, walked directly to a hotel elevator and stepped inside. As the door closed, Terry could see the scowl still on his face.

  Terry was surprised when Rick called on the Oakland Stadium bullpen phone, asked that he warm up, and soon summoned him into the game. True, it was the ninth inning and the score was close—usual prerequisites to Terry entering a game. But tonight Oakland was behind, not ahead, trailing visitor Minnesota 2-1. Yes, the bases were loaded with none out, and obviously Rick wanted to avoid falling further behind. However, this wasn't a "save" situation. Terry was in a different role tonight.

  When Terry got to the mound, Rick, catcher Bailey, and the entire infield were already there. Bailey left for home plate, to catch Terry's eight allotted warm-ups. Rick soon left for the dugout, though not before delivering a cogent message.

  "Top of our order's up in the bottom half. Get 'em out and give us a chance."

  All four infielders remained at the mound. As Terry tossed his first warm-up, he thought he heard a few snickers behind him. Clearly, they hadn't forgotten their little late-night escapade, with him as the target. Neither had he.

  "You heard the skipper," first baseman Phil Steiner smirked. "Get 'em out and we'll win."

  "Yeah," shortstop Felix Oates seconded. "I lead off, then Collie, and Murdoch, and Steiner, and O'Rourke. We'll scratch out coupla runs."

  Terry couldn't help thinking, as Oates rattled off the names, that Oates had a future as a baseball broadcaster.

  "We win," third baseman Jack O'Rourke contributed as Terry tossed his final warm-up, "got a party afterward. This time you're invited."

  "No thanks," Terry muttered.

  "Now, don't be a bad sport," Steiner mocked in a squeaky voice that sounded like a child's.

  The four infielders laughed. Terry, of course, didn't. They returned to their positions. Bailey came out to the mound to quickly review signals, and then returned to behind the plate. The Minnesota batter, a righty who had already collected three hits, stepped into the box.

  Terry fired his first pitch, a knuckler that dived low and outside for ball one. His next pitch, another knuckler, never reached the plate. Bailey blocked it with his chest protector. Ball two.

  Terry took a deep breath and glanced at the runners leading off each base. He knew he had to come in or risk walking in a run. Bailey called for a fastball. Terry obliged. The batter was ready for it. He swung and smashed a low liner screaming toward left field. Oates took one step to his right at shortstop and dove headlong. The ball stuck in the webbing of his glove and didn't topple out when he hit the turf. One out.

  The next batter, another righty, entered the box. Rick, in the dugout, signaled with his right arm for Terry to keep his wrist stiff. Terry concentrated on that for his first pitch, another knuckler. Except the prevailing wind in Oakland Stadium wasn't blowing, and the "diver" didn't dive. The batter swung and blistered a grounder between short and third. This time it was O'Rourke who dove, headlong to his left.

  His timing was perfect. He snagged the ball on its second hop. From his knees, he threw to Quinn at second base. The throw was in the dirt though, and Collie had to scoop it to record the force. As he pivoted to make the relay to first, the runner from first bore down on him. He slid into Collie, disrupting his throw. The ball hit the dirt about six feet in front of the stretching first baseman Steiner. He caught it in mid-hop while keeping his left foot on the bag. Double play, inning over, Minnesota hadn't scored. Rick led the dugout in offering high-fives to all the infielders.

  Oates began the bottom of the ninth with a looping single to right center. Quinn sacrifice bunted him to second. Murdoch, who already had a single and do
uble for the evening, was intentionally walked, even though it meant putting the potential winning run on base.

  Steiner laced a single to right, the runners moving up a base. That left things up to O'Rourke, with the bases loaded, one out and Oakland still trailing by a run. For some reason he couldn't identify, Terry felt tenser than if he were pitching right now. He watched the Minnesota pitching coach go to the mound, and, following a brief exchange, return to his dugout without removing the pitcher.

  O'Rourke took the first pitch, which was inside. He fouled the next pitch over the backstop behind home plate. He dribbled the ensuing pitch foul outside the third base line.

  Finally, he got a pitch he could handle, a breaking ball that hung up in the zone. He drilled it, the ball kissing turf in left center. It rolled all the way to the wall. Oates and Murdoch easily scored the tying and winning runs, to cement a 3-2 Oakland victory.

  Terry, elated, was the first to reach and hug O'Rourke, near second base. He didn't realize it at the time, but instead of a save, he'd just recorded his very first win as a major leaguer. What he did realize right then was how instrumental O'Rourke and his infield mates had been in the victory. Both defensively, in not allowing Minnesota to score off him, and offensively, with a slight assist from Murdoch, producing the winning rally.

  "I'll go to the party," Terry had to shout to O'Rourke because by that time they were all surrounded by yelling, backslapping teammates.

  Even with all the excitement, Terry was able to spot O'Rourke's wink in his direction.

  Chapter Twelve

  “I think if you change your grip, Billy,” Rick told the boy.

  While standing next to him and Terry on the left field bullpen mound in Oakland Stadium, Rick demonstrated by taking the ball and gripping it across the seams. Then he placed Billy’s hand the same way. Maple, the bullpen catcher Rick had recruited earlier, crouched and gave Billy a target with his glove. The youngster wound up and fired a fastball, hitting the target perfectly.

  “Great, Billy,” Rick praised.

  The boy smiled his usual shy smile. Something he’d already done seemingly a dozen times since joining Terry and Rick on the field while Oakland players took batting practice. Clearly, Billy was thrilled to be there. Which in no way was diminished when Rick presented him with a new green and gold Oakland cap once they got to the bullpen.

  It was well over an hour before the afternoon game with Anaheim was to begin, the second of a short homestand. Terry had wasted little time taking Rick up on his invitation to bring Billy out to the stadium. In fact, Terry had invited the entire Riley family, introducing them all to Rick prior to Billy going on the field. The workout had gone well, except for Billy experiencing brief periods of wildness, prompting Rick’s suggesting the change in grip.

  “Try one more, Billy,” Rick said.

  The boy fired and again hit Maple’s target perfectly. Except this time the ball bounced off Maple’s glove. Terry glanced at Rick, who winked back, indicating he recognized what Terry discovered during previous workouts with the boy—Billy’s pitches had unusual movement.

  Rick shook Billy’s hand before Terry walked with the youngster to the gate leading to the grandstand, where Lauren, Karen and Tammy waited. Billy quickly showed them his new cap. Then, predictably, they were all bombarded by a horde of kids seeking autographs. Even Billy was asked to sign a few before the youngsters finally dispersed.

  “I’m sure Billy didn’t tell you,” Lauren said to Terry once they were alone with only her children.

  “What?”

  “Today’s his birthday.”

  “Really.”

  “We’re having a little party later this afternoon. Just the kids and me at a pizza parlor near the house.”

  “Nice.”

  “Would you like to invite Terry?” she asked Billy.

  The boy of course smiled, and then he nodded eagerly.

  “Why don’t you ask him?”

  Billy kept smiling and nodding.

  “Go ahead and ask him,” Lauren said insistently.

  “C…C…Come,” the boy stammered.

  “I’ll be there,” Terry answered enthusiastically, realizing this was the first time Billy had spoken in his presence.

  “Mommy, can I have another piece of pizza?” Tammy enthused.

  “Sure, honey, go ahead,” Lauren replied.

  “That’s the last piece,” Karen interjected. “It’s for Mama.”

  “That’s okay,” Lauren said. “Let her eat it.”

  Five year old Tammy did, very quickly. Little girl, big appetite. Her brother, wearing his new cap, and sister had eaten plenty. Terry also. Only Lauren hadn’t.

  “Not very hungry?” Terry asked her.

  “Pizza isn’t my favorite dish.”

  “Let me get you something else.”

  “No thanks,” she said. “They don’t have much else here.”

  A nearby corner was devoted to video games, and their constant noise made hearing somewhat difficult. But of course, reminded patrons of their presence. Lauren took money from her purse and gave some to each of her children, who got up to go play.

  “Great kids,” Terry said to Lauren now that they were alone at their table.

  “Thanks,” she smiled.

  The same shy smile he recalled from Billy’s Little League game. He was also aware of her outfit—simple, yet attractive. Light-blue pants and blouse, with a matching sweater.

  “You seem at home with children,” he said.

  “I should be…I’m always around them. My own kids and at work.”

  “Work?”

  “I’m a social worker. In Texas I counseled teenagers. Mostly troubled kids from broken homes.”

  “Are you working here?”

  “No,” she answered after brief hesitation.

  “Planning to?”

  He wasn’t sure of her reply. Partly because of the noise from the video games, partly because Tammy returned right then, interrupting them. No surprise, she had a stomach ache. Not that it kept her from ice cream after he suggested it, once Billy and Karen came back to the table.

  A while later, sitting there with the Rileys, the children eating ice cream, Terry felt content—a sense of harmony and closeness, that he definitely belonged here—feelings he hadn’t often experienced before. As the only child of much older parents, he’d spent a lot of time alone growing up. A circumstance that had persisted into adulthood.

  It crossed his mind that he’d been lucky not to miss this little party. His game had run long, Oakland finally winning 6-5 in extra innings. If he’d had to depend on subways or buses, he’d have been too late. Fortunately, he’d followed through on his plan to rent a car after the road trip. And been able to easily locate the pizza parlor, from the directions Lauren had given him before she and the children left the stadium after Billy’s workout.

  “Billy checked out a library book,” Karen told Terry once she finished her ice cream. “All about pitching.”

  “Oh?” Terry said.

  “He wants you to come over our house and see it.”

  “Let Billy invite him himself,” Lauren scolded her.

  “Yeah, Billy,” Karen retorted. “Invite him yourself.”

  The boy did nothing but smile.

  “Go ahead, Billy,” Karen urged.

  “C…C…Come over,” Billy mumbled, still smiling.

  “Love to,” Terry answered, aware Billy had just uttered twice as many words as earlier, at the stadium.

  “I’m embarrassed,” Terry admitted after Lauren sat down beside him on her living room couch and handed him a small green wrapped package.

  “Why?” she asked.

  “I can’t accept a gift from you…when I didn’t have time to get one for Billy.”

  “You gave him the new cap.”

  “That was from Rick. Not from me.”

  “I think you had something to do with it,” she smiled. “You were the one who invited him to the stadiu
m. That made his birthday special.”

  “But I didn’t even know it was his birthday,” he debated.

  “Doesn’t matter,” she said. “What matters is what you did.”

  He shrugged. Then glanced around the room. The furniture was basic, even plain, yet seemed quite comfortable, chosen with care. If the little white house looked attractive externally, the inside certainly appeared very cozy.

  They had arrived from the pizza parlor about dusk, more than two hours ago. Lauren had baked a cake for Billy, and she, Terry and the three children had eaten it in the kitchen, just as inviting. Then, before Lauren sent the children to their rooms to get ready for bed, Terry had sat down with Billy in the living room and looked through his book, a survey on baseball’s greatest pitchers. Right after, requiring no less than equal time, Karen and Tammy insisted that Terry listen to some music tapes in their room.

  “You’re not going to make me open this now,” he said, frowning, motioning toward the package, which he’d set down on the coffee table in front of him.

  “No,” she grinned. “You can wait till you get home.”

  He gazed at her during the brief ensuing silence. At her light-colored hair tied behind her with a turquoise ribbon. At her hazel eyes. At several freckles, which lent her face a youthful appearance.

  Certainly he was aware professional baseball put extra strain on any relationship with a woman. All the travel, the moving, the uncertainty. Over the years, aside from the occasional groupie, he’d had two long-term relationships. The more recent, and more serious, with Connie three or four years ago, lasted through most of two seasons before she finally gave up. Maybe, if he’d made the majors then, instead of now?

  “Billy likes it when you’re around,” Lauren spoke softly. “I think he gets tired being outnumbered by three females.”

  “That why he’s so shy?” Terry inquired, finally taking the chance to introduce that topic. “Being outnumbered by the three of you.”

  “No, I don’t think so. He’s better with us. I think it has more to do with you.”

  “Me? Why?”