Curveball (33 page)

“Try a mile high.”

“Never heard of it. Is that inland?”

“A. Mile. High. I was on an airplane.”

“Oh. Well, I can’t get a hold of that niece of mine. I’ve been trying all morning.
Did you two fly somewhere?”

“No. She drove over to
San Pedro de Macorís
for the day with Joe O’Donnell.”

“Oh. Huh. I guess you’ll have to do.”

“Gee, thanks.”

“I ran a check on that name she gave me. Put my best man on it. This guy’s good. He
can tell you how many fleas are on a titmouse in Timbuktu. I use him to make sure
my players aren’t being schmoozed by other agents and to find out how much GMs can
really fork over.”

“Naturally.”

Sheldon might resent Cat’s job but she respected his. The poor girl from the wrong
side of the tracks loved to see players get all they could from the slick pockets
that resided on the right side. If tickets were going to cost an arm and a leg, she’d
rather the talent end up with the bigger appendage.

She watched Chance and Junior walking across the outfield behind the office and relaxed.
“So what’s the deal?”

“The deal, my darling, is that this Mr. Chance Hayward is indeed as phony as the name
sounds. His U.S. passport is Charles Hall and I’m looking at a New York driver’s license
with the same mug, but the name Chris Henderson.”

Cat glared at Chance’s back as his arms flayed out, gesturing dramatically to Junior.
She wondered what lies he was spewing now. “Well I can’t say I’m really surprised.”

“There’s more.”

“Oh goody.”

“The agency you gave me, Worldwide Baseball Talent Management? It is registered under
his name—that is, his current name, Hayward.”

“I figured.”

Cat didn’t mean to sound so short, but Paige’s dear old Uncle Shel wasn’t giving her
any information she could use. All he was doing was preventing her from getting the
exact evidence she needed to stop Chance’s operation. She opened her mouth, getting
ready to ask him if he could send this information in an email when he continued.

“And so is
Primera Talento del Béisbol
, International Béisbol Talent Management and The Rodriguez Agency. Who the hell Rodriguez
is, I don’t know. The fact that that’s one of the most common surnames in Latin America
is probably no coincidence.”

Cat’s stomach dropped. “Wait a minute, what was that one again?”

“The Rodriguez Agency. Probably a ploy to gain trust. Kids’ll be like, hey that’s
my great aunt’s last name—”

“No, not that one. The one before it.”

He paused for a moment. “Uh, let’s see. International Béisbol Talent Management?”

“I know that firm. They were charging their players a representation fee. Paige and
I got them blacklisted a few weeks ago.”

Sheldon didn’t respond. Cat heard the clicking of his keyboard.

“I don’t see anything here about a blacklisting.”

“I watched Paige fill out the Web form myself.” She paced along the unkempt gravel
drive. The lawn was landscaped, but neglected. Weeds poked through the layers of mulch
and intruded on gardenias in dire need of deadheading. “Maybe it takes a bit.”

“Shouldn’t. It’s an online database run by the league. Anyone who has access can add
whatever they want; there’s no approval process or waiting period. There’s not a single
notation, asterisk or comment under any of these firms. Worse yet, there isn’t a single
player transaction for any of them.”

Caught off guard, Cat took a deep breath as she collected her thoughts. She knew Chance
was dirty, she knew Markowitz knew he was dirty but she couldn’t let Markowitz know
she knew Chance was dirty, at least not yet. “That can’t be. I’ve seen his office.
He has a private jet. And a training facility. How do you get all that without a single
deal?”

Sheldon sighed heavily. “I don’t like this. I’ve got a contact down there in the National
Directorate of Intelligence that I’m going to alert. Maybe I should get a hold of
Roger and ask him to cut this little trip short. You two should stay as far away from
this character as you can.”

Cat scooted the gravel around with her sandal. “Um … that’s not exactly possible.”

He groaned. “You just flock to trouble, doncha?”

“I’m kind of at his Florida training facility right now.”

“Missy, you are to baseball what Yoko was to the Beatles.”

“And here I thought I was to baseball what Batman is to Gotham.” Cat smiled despite
the situation; Benji would be so proud.

“You really know how to push my buttons, kiddo. You weren’t covering, were you? Paige
isn’t with you?”

“No, no. She’s really with Joe doing some scouting.”

“Good. Here’s what you’re gonna do. When you are done playing Miss Marple or whatever
the hell it is you think you’re doing, you’re going to get your rear back to Santo
Domingo, round up Paige and call me.”

“Will do, boss.”

“I mean it. If you don’t call me by ten o’clock sharp tonight, I’ll pick up this phone
and have Roger Aiken airmail your ass back to Sin City.”

She had no doubt he would and could. “Okay.”

“Okay. Stay safe.”

Cat shoved the phone in her back pocket and shook her head. She turned around to find
Chance standing right behind her.

She gasped.

“Everything all right?”

She held her chest. “You scared me.”

“I’m sorry. You’re not needed at the office, are you?”

Cat cocked her head. “Hmm?” She blinked. “Oh uh, yeah. I mean, no. Paige just needed
to know where some papers were.”

“Paige? I thought you said she was in
San Pedro de Macorís
.”

She nodded and looked away from his expectant stare. “She was—is. The staff called
her all in a tizzy when they couldn’t find a scouting report and she called me.” She
met his gaze and gave him a shaky smile. “It’s fine now.”

Chance’s eyes locked with hers for a couple of seconds before the corners creased
with a smile. “Great. Come on, I want to show you around while the kid warms up in
the cages.”

He opened the screen door into the office, a wood-paneled room with only a desk. She
was now certain this had once been part of a motel; all it was missing was an lackadaisical
inn clerk behind the tall desk. Down the hallway, the walls were plastered with posters
of nutritional guidelines and how-to stretches. The hallway connected to a high-ceiling
gym that had obviously been added on to the seventies structure.

“This is our indoor area for rainy days or excessive heat. We’ve got eight batting
cages with simulated live pitching over there and four indoor pitching mounds back
there.” He pointed around the gym.

“Nice.”

It was nice—if you were a twelve-year-old boy dropped off by his parents for a week.
Even the most naïve adult ballplayer would have to question the authenticity of this
establishment as a tryout camp for a professional international team, especially when
much more advanced facilities existed right in Santo Domingo. They walked across the
gym floor, covered in artificial indoor turf. It squished under each step of her wedged
sandals.

He opened a metal door that led to another dark hallway.

She pointed at all the closed doors. “What are all these rooms?”

“Storage mostly. This is a shortcut to the fields.”

They rounded the corner and ran into a large figure. Cat gasped.

“Oh sir, I’m sorry. I was just dropping off the equipment bags.”

It was the Towncar’s driver. He took a step backward.

Cat clutched her chest. “Don’t you guys have any lights in this place? Or do they
turn the power off when the checks from soccer moms stop pouring in?”

Chance ignored her, focusing on the driver. “All done then?”

“Yes sir. I was just going to go fuel up the car.”

“Sounds good. We should be ready in an hour or so.”

The man nodded and edged past her. They came to another door. Chance pushed the bar
handle but the door didn’t open. He rolled his eyes.

“Safety precaution. This damn thing locks automatically to keep the brats from horsing
around the field without supervision and getting themselves hurt.” He turned to a
white box on the side of the wall and lifted up the cover. She peered over his broad
shoulder, but his fingers punched a series of numbers too quickly for her to take
note of the progression. The hallway lit up with the glow of the sunshine.

“Let there be light,” he said.

After the last few minutes in the dark, the Florida rays hurt her eyes. She put her
hand on her forehead to shade them as they stepped out on the playing field. The flowers
out front had been unkempt, but the ballpark was still maintained in its offseason.
The outfield was mowed neatly with stripes fanning out to the fence. The infield was
raked with a fresh layer of dirt and a bright coat of chalk lines marking the boundaries.

“This is a nice place. I bet the summer camp kids love it.”

“Yeah, probably.” He rubbed his shoulder against hers as he leaned over. “That’s not
really my end of the business.”

“So what’s the deal here?”

Junior was still doing stretches near the opposite field’s dugout. They strolled in
his direction. She nodded her head toward him.

“You put Junior through a little workout before you send him packing?”

“That’s the gist.”

Cat narrowed her eyes and felt her lips involuntarily curl in disgust.

Upon seeing her genuine horror, Chance’s face wrinkled with lines of unconvincing
anguish. “I know it seems cruel but think of it this way: we’re giving these guys
a day of hope. That’s more than some people ever get.”

“How altruistic. So the making ourselves rich is what? Just a perk?”

Chance stopped walking. “Are you having second thoughts here?”

“No. Not at all.” She pressed her lips together to erase the sneer. Reaching out to
place a hand on his arm, she said, “I just want to make sure I’m not being kept in
the dark. I want to be partners.”

He covered her hand with his. “I want that, too.”

His phone chirped.

“That’s a text. Just a second.” He pulled the phone out of his breast pocket. His
face scrunched into a stressed scowl. “God damn it.”

“Problem?”

Junior walked up at the same time. “Um, I think I’m done warming up. Can I go to the
cages now?”

Chance held his index finger up. “Yes.” He pointed at his cell phone. “I’ve just got
to take care of someone—something real quick. Can you two hang out here?”

Cat nodded. “Everything okay?”

Chance grimaced. “It will be. Just give me a minute.”

He took off to the metal door in a swift walk. Cat waited until the door banged shut.

“That’s weird.”

Junior nodded. “Definitely.”

“Follow?”

“Definitely.”

She pressed her thumb on the metal door’s handle, squeezing it slowly to the bottom.
She peeled the door open just as slowly. Junior crept into the building first and
she followed, keeping pressure on the door until it hit the jam and then letting it
click quietly behind her. The hallway was dark once again.

“Where do you think he went?”

She pointed forward. “This hallway twists around to a gym that leads back into the
office.”

“Okay.”

Junior led the way, Cat on his heels. They peeked around the hallway corner before
turning. As they reached the gym’s door, Junior stopped. Cat ran right into his back.

“Sorry,” she whispered.

“Shh! You hear that?”

She listened. Muffled talking sounded through the walls.

“That’s a woman’s voice.”

“Where’s that coming from?” he asked.

She looked around.

He elbowed her. “Up there. The vent.”

She nodded. “Can you hear what they’re saying?”

He shook his head. “It’s getting louder though.”

The gym door jiggled.

Cat pushed him. “Go.”

He grabbed her arm and ran down the hallway. He pulled the first set of doors they
came to, which opened. They hurried inside, but didn’t have time to close the double
doors before the footsteps approached. The voices were no longer murmurs.

They crouched behind the double doors and peered through the crack in between.

“Don’t you walk away from me. We’re talking.”

Cat’s head whipped around to Junior’s. His eyes were wide with shock.

She whispered what they were both thinking, “Paige!”

“I don’t have time for this. You’re not supposed to be here.”

“No, I’m supposed to be having a romantic weekend in Miami with you, but you were
gone when I got to your apartment.”

“Keep your voice down. There are people outside.”

“I can’t believe you left without me!”

“How did you get here?”

“I flew without you, coach by the way.”

“Not here—Miami, here—this place? How did you find it?”

“You told me you use the Orange Grove Baseball Academy. I Googled it.”

“Paige, you can’t just show up here.” Chance’s voice was strained with disbelief.
Like most egotistical men, he underestimated the women around him.

“Answer my question, why did you leave without me?”

“I left you a message that my plans had changed and I had to come here to work instead.”

“So? We’re supposed to be a team. I gave you all those names of new players you could
use and then you just dropped me. Were you just using me?”

Cat felt like she'd just been punched in the stomach. All this time, she’d been worried
about protecting Poor Little Paige and the spoiled bitch was in this scam up to her
carefully shaped eyebrows. Junior’s face fell too, registering the same shock and
disappointment.

“I didn’t drop you,” Chance replied, his voice softening. “Really. Something came
up.”

“Something more important than me, I guess!” Paige shrieked.

“No!”

Cat leaned in farther, straining to hear what they were saying, then lost her footing
and tripped over an equipment bag. Junior caught her before she hit the ground. They
both cringed, waiting to be exposed, but Paige and Chance were consumed by their heated
conversation. Cat looked down at the bag, its contents spilling out of the open zipper.