Under the Blood-Red Sun (20 page)

“I guess I need a job too,” I said.

The thought hit me like a brick.

Ichiro went back to his team grim-faced.

“He’s okay, that guy,” Rico said. “I almost sorry we going make him look bad.”

The Kaka’ako Boys were up first.

I squatted down behind home plate and sent a fastball sign to Billy. The batter dug his toes into the dirt and took a couple of slow practice swings.

As I waited for Billy to move into his pitch I noticed the five Coral Street punks, with seven new guys, settling down on the grass. Three of them had baseball bats of their own. But they weren’t there to play.

The Kaka’ako Boys

With two outs
in the top of the third, Herbie Okubo got a hit off Billy. Herbie’s ballahead older brother showed up to watch. He sat under a tree on the third-base side.

Billy was pitching like a champ … and so was the Butcher. He was right on target. All you saw coming at you was a white blur that popped into Hamamoto’s mitt before you could even think about it.

Herbie’s lucky hit off Billy should have been the third out. But Herbie got just the right amount of fly on it, and Tough Boy couldn’t get out to it before it hit the ground.

Tough Boy threw it to second, hard.

Herbie stopped at first.

Right after that, Ichiro Fujita came up to bat. I gave Billy the two-fingered curveball sign.

For once I didn’t feel like razzing Ichiro at the plate. “Billy’s pretty hot” is all I said.

“Maybe, maybe not,” he said back, keeping his eye on Billy.

Billy’s curve was perfect, just like at diamond grass.

Ichiro swung and fouled it up.

I ran back and caught it, and the inning was over.

Ichiro slammed the bat into the ground.

Billy scowled as he walked in from the mound.

“That was a perfect curveball,” I said.

“They got a hit.”

“Don’t worry about it. They didn’t cash it in.”

“Naw, I guess not.”

The game went on with nothing happening until the top of the eighth, when the Butcher came to bat and guessed the fastball pitch that I had signaled to Billy.

Tock!

Right on the sweet spot. The ball sailed out past right field and into the street for a homer. The whole team came out to greet the Butcher when he came strutting across home plate. Billy was so mad he took the next three batters out, bam, bam, bam. All clean strikeouts.

We came up in the bottom of the eighth.

Rodney went down on a three-pitch strikeout. The Butcher looked pretty smug out there, and the Kaka’ako Boys were rubbing it in. “You play like sissies,” someone yelled. “Come on, give us a challenge.”

Tough Boy came up to bat. He spread his feet apart and dug in, tapping the old cracked home plate with the tip of the bat.

The Butcher’s first pitch went the way we had all been fearing … wild.

Of all the guys the Butcher could have beaned, it was Tough Boy that he cracked on the arm. Tough Boy fell to the ground and rolled around, writhing in pain. We all stood to see if he was okay. Red with anger, he scrambled up and started walking toward the Butcher. All the Kaka’ako Boys came running in from the field, and we all ran out. Billy grabbed Tough Boy. “Forget it,” he said.

Tough Boy shrugged him off and kept on walking toward the Butcher.

“Hey, sorry, yeah,” the Butcher said, his hands spread apart. “It slipped.”

It was the first time I’d heard him speak. His voice was unnaturally high, kind of like a girl’s. Spooky, almost. I think it surprised Tough Boy too.

Tough Boy came right up to the Butcher’s face, only the Butcher’s face was a mile higher. Tough Boy glared at the Butcher, then said, “That’s okay, man … just don’t do it again.”

The Butcher rolled into a wide, stupid-looking grin. “If I do that again, you can come punch me … free, I won’t stop you.”

Tough Boy nodded, and went to first for getting hit. I wanted to shake his hand.

On the next pitch Billy got a hit and made it to first. Tough Boy ran all the way to third. Nobody out. The Kaka’ako Boys got pretty quiet. Randy Chock was next to bat, then Kaleo, then Rico.

Randy popped a fly ball to center field for the first
out. But after the catch, Tough Boy raced in and crossed home plate standing up. Billy stayed at first.

We went crazy cheering.

Tied. One to one.

The Butcher’s first pitch to Kaleo was right in near his hands. It had come so close, Kaleo stood back for the next one. Way back. He ended up striking out, worrying that he’d get hit. That Butcher was smart.

Two outs.

The Butcher’s first pitch to Rico was inside too. Rico flinched, but didn’t back off. He smiled and dug in.

Rico connected on the next pitch and the ball flew all the way out to the Coral Street punks. It hit the ground and bounced right up to them. One of them picked it up and tossed it in to the outfielder, who sent it back to the infield. Billy ran all the way home, but Rico had to stop at third.

Two to one … but it should have been
three
to one.

“Cheat, cheat!”
we all yelled, standing and waving our fists. The Kaka’ako Boys ignored us.

I was up next, but my hands were shaking, I was so mad.

“Come on,” Rico yelled at Ichiro, walking halfway out to first base. “That was a cheat!”

“What?”

“Those punks threw the ball in.”

“Who?”

Rico glared at Ichiro, then came back and told me to hit it all the way to China.

I popped the first pitch up and the inning was over.

Me and Rico and Billy ran up to Ichiro Fujita. “Rico’s hit should have been a homer,” Billy said.

“I never saw nothing,” Ichiro said. “You like be a crybaby, or what?”

“That was a cheat,” Billy said. “Those guys out there threw Rico’s hit back in.”

Ichiro shook his head. “Never saw that.”

A couple of other Kaka’ako players came over. “Come on, let’s play,” one said.

Ichiro kept his eyes on Billy. “You like play that inning over? We can do that.… We can play the whole frickin’ inning over, if you want. But I never saw nothing.”

I was beginning to believe him. But it still didn’t make it right.

Billy and Ichiro shot poison arrows back and forth, their eyes squinting down. Only baseball could get Billy that hot.

“No,” Billy finally said. “Even if you cheat we can beat you.”

Ichiro smiled. “You ain’t gonna win.”

So now we were leading, two to one. Three outs to victory. But the Butcher got another homer off Billy, which made Billy so mad you couldn’t even talk to him. We would have won already if the Coral Street punks hadn’t thrown that ball in.

When we came up to bat for the last time, it was Mose, Maxey, and Billy.

Mose went down on a foul tip that ended up in Hamamoto’s glove. The Butcher’s first pitch to Maxey was so wild it went
behind
Maxey.

The Butcher smiled. “Sorry,” he said in his high, squeaky voice.

“Shhhh,” Maxey said, then spit and waited for the next pitch. High. Hamamoto had to stand up to get it. Dust flew off his glove when it hit.

“Easy, Maxey, easy,” Rico said. “You got ’urn.… he’s rattled.”

“Easy for you to say,” Maxey called back. “How would
you
like to stand here when this guy is rattled?”

“You can do it,” Rico said.

The Butcher didn’t look too happy.

Maxey waited.

Thwack!

A fastball. Maxey let it pass, probably hoping it would be out of the strike zone. But it was dead on. Strike one. Maxey tried to argue, but not very hard. And we kept quiet, because it clearly
was
a strike. After all, when you play without an ump, you have to be at least a little honest about it.

Maxey swung at the next one and missed. Strike two.

The Butcher was smiling again, and making dumb “watch this” faces to Ichiro at first base. Ichiro punched his mitt and waited, his glove out in front of him, ready for anything.

But the Butcher sent two more wild shots across the plate. Maxey walked to first.

Billy came up and squinted out at the Butcher, ready.

But Billy didn’t get a hit—he
got
hit.

Right on the foot.

The Butcher was losing his touch. Ichiro Fujita and Hamamoto went out to calm him down while Billy hobbled
to first and Maxey jogged to second. “Okay, okay, okay,” Rico yelled, clapping his hands. “Let’s go, let’s go, let’s
go!”

Rodney Lasko, our shortstop, came up next. The Butcher stared at him a long time. It made Rodney nervous, so he stepped out of the batter’s box, waited a minute, then came back and got into his stance.

That Butcher took Rodney out with three straight ace pitches—one, two, three. They were so fast Rodney was swinging long after the ball had already hit Hamamoto’s glove.

Rodney threw the bat away and walked back to the rest of us.

Two outs.

Maxey on second and Billy on first.

I felt kind of sorry for Tough Boy, who was up next. It was our last chance.

The Butcher studied Tough Boy while Maxey and Billy danced around a few feet from their bases, raising dust and heckling the Butcher. Out and back, out and back, like yo-yos.

The Butcher’s first pitch was a rising fastball that Hamamoto had to reach up for. Tough Boy held his ground and didn’t fall for it. Ball one.

“Let’s go, Gayle,” Hamamoto said. “Slow down … you can take him.”

Tough Boy looked back at Hamamoto. We all heard it.

Gayle?

“Who that?” Tough Boy asked Hamamoto.

“Who?”

“Gayle.”

“The pitcher, who else?”

“His name is
Gayle?”

“Yeah, so what?”

Tough Boy grinned. “That’s one girl’s name.”

“So? Tell
him
that.” Hamamoto punched his glove.

The Butcher stared in at Hamamoto’s sign. He nodded, then straightened up. He peeked over at Billy, who was a third of the way to second. The Butcher jumped and Billy dove back to first on his belly. The Butcher—Gayle—laughed. It sounded like a giggle. He giggled so much he started to cough.

“Hey, whale,” Tough Boy yelled. “Send me a sweet one, yeah?”

The Butcher’s smile disappeared. “Whatchoo said?”

“I said send me one sweet one.”

“No, what you went call me?”

“Gayle … that’s your name, right?”

Whap!

The Butcher’s wild pitch missed Tough Boy’s head by inches. Tough Boy hit the dirt, then got up and brushed himself off. “Ball two,” he said, smiling.

The Butcher’s next pitch was slow, and Tough Boy was guessing fast. He was finished swinging by the time the ball crossed the plate.

“Strike one,” Hamamoto said.

The Butcher carved into Tough Boy with razor eyes. Billy and Maxey tried to distract him with their base dancing, but the Butcher wasn’t going for it.

On the next pitch Tough Boy got his sweet one.

Tock!

I loved that sound, just like on the radio. That ball was gone, gone, gone … all the way to the street. Maxey came home, Billy came home, and Tough Boy didn’t even bother to run to second. The game was over.

We went crazy.

The Kaka’ako Boys came in from the field with sour faces, saying nothing, just going off and packing up their stuff. We jogged over, the cheat forgotten, and said things like “Good game,” and “You guys one tough team, man,” but all we got back were a few “Yeahs.”

We congratulated ourselves and gathered up our gloves and bats and headed off toward Lucy Street.

“Hey,” someone yelled. “Hey, you sissies.”

The punks, with their bats and tight fists, surrounded us.

The big guy came in and shoved Kaleo. Rico slammed into him and everyone jumped in. Somebody’s fist landed on the side of my head. It stung, and I could feel my scalp getting hot.

The fighting stopped as quickly as it had started. The punks backed off.

Then I saw why … the Kaka’ako Boys.

“Whatchoo trying to prove?” Ichiro said to the big guy. “These boys my frens, no mess with them.”

“What, you like me slam you too?” the big guy said. He was almost twice Ichiro’s size.

“Just try it,” Ichiro said. The Butcher came up behind him, a little bit of murder in his eyes.

The big guy spit. “Frickin’ baseball sissies … frickin’
tillies.”

The gang backed off and slowly walked away. They
looked back every now and then, just to let us know that they weren’t done with us. There would be another time.

“They won’t bother you anymore today,” Ichiro said. The Kaka’ako Boys muttered their agreement, then they all started away in a pack.

“Eh, Fujita,” Rico said. “We owe you one.”

“Nah, that one was for the cheat.”

“You punk,” Rico said, smiling.

“You the punk,” Ichiro said.

Criminy, I was going to miss those guys.

Lucky