Hard Case V: Blood and Fear (A John Harding Novel Book 5) (2 page)

Unfortunately, Al could only pitch three innings by rule. We were well ahead by then, but our second pitcher walked the bases loaded, putting the Owls into the game again, when she then walked in two runs, followed by a couple of hits, our lead was only four. Lynn and I encouraged our pitcher to simply play catch with the catcher. She did, allowing two more runs, but also getting two outs. We were hearing it from the parents on our side. One really nasty guy projected one of those annoying voices you can hear for a mile in any direction. The problem was he wanted me to yank the girl pitching. I had no intention of that. Silence came shortly after. When I glanced behind me, I spotted Lucas sitting next to loudmouth. I exchanged grins with Lynn. When Pappy sits down next to you, you automatically shut up. Yep, all my monsters were here to watch this first journey into the unknown. The next batter hit a foul popup on the first base side. Al caught it easily.

“Great job out there, girls,” Lynn greeted them. “Remember, we’re here to have a good time. Everyone misses the ball once in a while. Just watch the major leaguers. Make sure you hustle after the ball, and throw it in. They have a new pitcher. By the looks of her warm up tosses, you girls better be thinking swing. She throws a fastball, and it’ll be over the plate before you can blink. You’re up first, Al. Show us how it’s done.”

“Elbows in, Al.” I patted her shoulder as she walked by. “Level swings, like when we took you all to the batting cages.”

Al nodded, donning her batting helmet, and strapping it tight under her chin. Lucky thing too, because the first pitch beaned her. Lynn and I ran out to check on her. Al’s no sissy. I helped her up, with Lynn looking into her eyes closely. Al shook us off.

“Wow, I got conked,” Al stated. She immediately sighted in on Lora who was on her way to the field. Samira was trying to slow her down, but not having much luck. Al’s wave stopped her. “I’m okay, Ma. Stay there.”

I reinforced Al’s declaration as did Lynn. “Do you want to run the bases, Al, or come out of the game?”

“I’m good to go, Dad.” Al handed me her bat, and ran to first base escorted by a round of heartfelt applause.

“Is she okay, John?” Bobby watched her run to first base, but knew it was his responsibility to ask.

“We’ll watch her, Bobby.” Jafar was our first base coach, and I could see Al joking with him as he looked her over.

Lynn noticed the opposing pitcher grinning while we walked to our area. “Hey, John. Do they allow chin music at this level?”

I had noticed too. “Not on purpose, but the girls get a bit wild, although I thought her warmup tosses were all right over the plate. It’ll probably have the desired effect.”

“Al took it well,” Lynn whispered. “If it had been any of the other girls, we would have had to call an ambulance.”

I clasped our next batter’s shoulder. “Hang in there, Carrie.”

“That was scary, John.” Carrie looked at me, her eyes big. “I thought Al was bad hurt.”

I knelt down in front of her. I smiled reassuringly, I hope. Hell, the kid just watched her teammate take a fastball to the head. “If you feel like jumping away from the plate, do it. If you feel like swinging, swing away.”

Carrie looked at Al, who was already dancing at the first base bag, clapping her hands and shouting encouragement. Carrie’s lips tightened. “I’ll do okay.”

The first pitch to Carrie was another inside hard one. Carrie stepped back, but moved right into the box again. I had to contend with Lynn, who wanted to tear through the fence. She pointed at the opposing team’s pitcher. “Did you see that? The little brat is still smiling.”

“She’s doing the same thing you would have done as a kid, Crue.”

Lynn sputtered, searching for a retort. She smiled and grabbed the chain link fence. “Yeah… I would have.”

The pitcher did her windup, and Jafar sent Al to second base before she realized Al had moved away from the base. Al stole third base the moment the pitcher began her windup. She drew a throw, but it was a panicked toss that bounced into foul territory behind third base. Al never paused, nearly running over Casey, my third base coach. She ran across home plate, only to turn and hug Carrie before pumping her fists in the air while skipping towards us. Lynn was the first to meet her, gathering my happy stepdaughter in her arms. I fist bumped Al with quiet pride.

“Damn, kid, that was some in your face base running.”

“That was easy, Lynn,” Al told her. She spun to the fence with her teammates around her. “C’mon Carrie!”

I could tell the pitcher was really pissed off. She had been stomping around the pitcher’s mound instead of running home, which would have been what she should have done on the misthrow to third base. I called timeout to hoots and catcalls from our opposing team parents. I guided Carrie off to the side.

“Jump backwards on the next two pitches, no matter what she throws, Carrie. On the third pitch, swing level.” I put my mitts on her shoulders. “It’s a suggestion. Jump out every time if you want, but definitely do so the next couple of pitches, okay?”

Carrie nodded, looking out at the pitcher. “I understand.”

I patted her shoulder. “No pressure, Carrie. It’s a softball game, not a war.”

Carrie giggled. “Thanks, John.”

With me behind the chain link fence next to Lynn, we waited while Carrie moved into the batter’s box. The first pitch was high inside, and Carrie jumped quickly. The second pitch was low and inside, but Carrie stood in, her bat in ready position. I grinned over at Lynn, who met my satisfied gaze with nodding acceptance.

“Carrie ain’t scared,” Lynn said.

With the count three balls and no strikes, the pitcher threw a fastball down the heart of the plate. Carrie smashed it up the middle, and directly into the opposing pitcher’s side. The ensuing recovery allowed Carrie to make second base without a throw, with her teammates screaming joyfully on the sideline. The opposing pitcher had absorbed Carrie’s smash, rolled in pain for only a moment, and then dived for the errant ball. She wisely chose not to make a throw without any chance of getting the runner at second. She smacked her glove with the ball as the coaches ran out to check on her. The pitcher then pointed at Carrie with the same grin she had after beaning Al.

“Damn, that is me,” Lynn conceded. “Can we trade for her?”

I laughed at that remark. “Nope. She can take it and dish it out, but I wish she’d simply pitch. The girl might have struck out the side, depending on how Al did.”

“I love this shit, HC,” Lynn admitted. “I hope Al’s into every sport year round. I’m addicted already. I am a soccer Mom! You, of course, will front me so I don’t kill anyone.”

That was a crackup. “Agreed. We need the monster squad to continue on this endeavor into sports or band or anything Al deems worthy. So far, she’s our only entrant, but soon Clint Junior, along with Jafar’s and Casey’s kids, will join the ranks, eager for our coaching prowess.”

Lynn shrugged. “If we live, HC. I’m not forgetting the front line war we face, where survival may be a problem in our goofy world.”

Such is life in monster world. “Amen to that, Crue.”

Our first excursion into the official sports world wound down to a win by a few runs. The girls all shook hands, the parents eyeballed each other as bitter enemies, and we coaches announced pizza on us at the local Red Boy Pizza, only a few minutes away. My crew, who were engaged in our other business at Oakland Investigations, Bond Retrieval, and Security, met us for a quick hello and pizza. They had weekend duty during this first taste of team sport schedules. Lora, who ran operations, confused dates on our first sporting excursion. We were supposed to be cutting way back on jobs until June, so we could all enjoy this unusual pastime - unusual for us anyway.

See, we’re on a break from things. At the beginning of the year, we saved America, killed a bunch of terrorists at sea, and on land. Then I fought a UFC fighter nicknamed The Rattler on Valentine’s Day at the Mandalay Bay after being tortured by my trainers for a couple months of hell. Sure, we didn’t let our Oakland front business go down the tubes, but we planned to take it slow until the end of softball season. Because they get bored easily, my monsters helped me with the girls’ softball practices. Yeah, even monsters need downtime, and we were enjoying the hell out of it.

My partner, Tommy Sands, was the first through the door. I waved him over. He came with Devon Constantine and Jesse Brown. Lynn and my wife Lora began chortling away watching my fight corner guys walking toward us together. They were all well over six feet tall, black, wearing black, and looked as if they needed a cattle truck to move them around. The place quieted. The girls were used to having my entire bunch around at different times, but the parents not so much. I waved them down at the end of our table near the rest of us monsters. They were all smiles, waving at the girls, and hugging Al, who hopped up to meet them.

“I got beaned today with a fastball,” Al stated proudly. “Then I stole all the way around the bases and scored.”

“Sit down here with your Uncles, girl,” Jesse said, guiding her with him. “We need a complete accounting of the game. I’ll need an entire pizza and a pitcher of beer though for snacks.”

“Jess hasn’t eaten all day,” Dev explained. “We’ve been on the escort trail since early this morning. T anchored us at the office, watching weather and traffic, but we still got caught on the bridge. Luckily, we drove the new limo, so our guests were entertained. I see you were prepared for Jess, John.”

While they were sitting down, Dev was pointing at the pitchers of beer and two giant pizzas waiting for them. “Of course. No way would I invite Jess into a pizza place celebration, and make him wait for food. He’d start gnawing on the table legs.”

“You got that right, brother,” Jess confirmed, piling a plate I handed him with slices, while Dev poured mugs of beer. “I’m ready, Al. Give us the recap, and don’t leave anything out.”

The late afternoon celebration proceeded on a high note until Tommy, who was facing the door, saw something not to his liking. When I turned to see what grabbed his attention in a bad way, I spotted Baatar Okoye. When I kicked the shit out of him the last time I saw the Big O, he weighed over three hundred pounds. At nearly six and a half feet tall, that is an impressive size. He had lost around forty pounds, and looked like he was made out of iron. Big O stood patiently at the entrance, waiting for someone, without the usual arrogant smile I’d knocked off his face during our last rumble behind The Warehouse Bar. Alexi Fiialkov walked in next to him. He gave me a small wave, but did not approach the table.

“Damn, John, after you nearly knocked Big O into a different dimension, I didn’t figure to ever see him around again,” Tommy said, with vocal agreement from the others.

“Don’t start anything!” Lora felt the need to tell me something I didn’t need Sherlock Holmes to figure out all by myself.

“Alexi’s with him, Hon,” I replied, standing. “No way he brings the Big O with him unless something really strange is going on. I’ll go see what he wants. We’ll talk outside, so no one gets nervous.”

“You talked to him the last time outside, John,” Lynn reminded me. “I have my cell-phone. Call me if you need the medical examiner and a meat wagon.”

I admit the monsters enjoyed the reference, including me, when Big O’s guys had to drag him away from our last meeting. I may have said a few unkind things like I might kill him the next time he crossed my path. “That won’t be necessary, Crue, but thanks. Be right back.”

Alexi Fiialkov is a Russian mobster, who has decided to turn his prior business into legitimate holdings, which he has. He has also helped us stop terrorist threats beyond imagining, including an anthrax attack we stopped only a short time ago. His family lives here, and I know from being his friend, he cares about my crew and this country. He is a friend in every sense of the word. I don’t trust many people, but I trust Alexi. We shook hands with warm regard for each other.

“May we talk outside for a moment, John?”

“Certainly.” I kept my mouth shut, and avoided eye contact with the Big O. I have a rather dim view of past enemies. Most are dead.

Outside in the rather fast cooling temperatures, I halfway wished I’d brought my jacket. Big O held out his hand solemnly. “I work for Mr. Fiialkov now. I do not fight. I am sorry for past problems, Mr. Harding.”

Well this is a nice surprise. I don’t like playing games with old enemies, but Alexi had been backing him on the fight circuit. If the Big O decided to quit fighting, I couldn’t think of anything insurmountable in letting bygones be bygones. I shook his hand. “You look well, Big. If you’re working for Alexi, I trust anything he does. We have no problems from now on.”

“Thank you. I am glad to be out of the fight game,” Big O admitted. “I thought I was more than a street brawler. I am glad for this chance with Mr. Fiialkov.”

“Very good,” Alexi said, clapping the Big O on the shoulder. “Wait for me in the car. I will be there shortly.”

“Yes, Sir.” Big O turned after a slight nod in my direction, walking toward Alexi’s vehicle.

“Did you have to order Big to apologize?”

“He had a choice, John. Baatar Okoye could have went back to Nigeria or pursued street fighting here. You showed him he could not hope to compete in the UFC. He wisely chose to take a position with me he is very good at. I wished to settle any past grievances before allowing him to continue. I had high hopes for him, as I did Van Rankin, whom you killed in the ring. I did not wish for my employee, Mr. Okoye, to continue until you were forced to kill him.”