“Flannel at this time o’ year, that’s what’s wrong.” It wasn’t yet mid-morning and already the sweat was pouring off him by the bucketful. And that was indoors. In the fierce glare of the sunshine this afternoon it was bound to be unbearable. “How come you never complain, kid? Surely you get as hot and miserable as the rest of us.”
“Oh, I don’t mind the heat so much,” Jerry admitted. “It’s worth being hot to be able to wear a fine uniform like this. Can I ask you something?”
“Sure, go ahead.”
“When you’re out there on the field playing and all those pretty girls are cheering and then later they come up to you and … well, they do things with you … you know the sort of things I mean … is it, well, is it as grand as it looks?”
“I’m not sure I know what you mean, Jerry.”
“I mean … those girls falling all over you and the other players … is it really, really neat?”
“I suppose so. Hadn’t given it much thought, actually, but I s’pose you could call it neat.”
Jerry blushed, then rushed on quick before he lost his courage. “You don’t have to pay them or … or anything?”
“Hell no, kid. Girls like that, they’re easy. They’d sleep with anybody.”
The equipment boy looked sad. “Not everybody,” he said.
Longarm glanced down toward the kid’s twisted foot, then paid attention to Jerry’s boyish but rather homely features and complexion. “Your time will come,” he said.
Jerry brightened a little. Or pretended to. “Sure it will, marshal. One of these days I’ll be rich. Maybe even famous, sort of. Then all the girls will want to be with me. Even more than with guys like you and the players. You wait and see. It will happen, sir.”
“I believe you, Jerry. I bet it really will happen that way for you.” It was a lie. But not a bad sort of lie.
“Can I ask you something else?”
“Sure, anything.”
“You said you don’t expect those robbers to be here in Jonesboro. Does that mean you’ll be playing today?”
“I’ll play if the manager wants me to.”
“But you’ll be there with us at the ball field, is that right?”
“All day long,” Longarm assured him, checking to make sure all his buttons were buttoned and all the tail ends tucked in. Damn but he would be glad when he didn’t have to wear this clown suit any longer.
“If there’s anything you need, sir, or anything I can do.”
“I know I can count on you to be close by, Jerry. In fact, I am counting on that.”
“Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.”
Longarm gave his gunbelt and Colt a looking over, but there was no help for it. Those particular items would be distinctly out of place in conjunction with a baseball uniform.
“You want me to carry those for you, marshal? Just in case, like? I could hide them on my cart. In the bat bag or better yet I could put them in my first aid box. It wouldn’t be no trouble.”
“Thanks, Jerry, but I won’t need them. Not today.”
Carefully he rolled the belt, gun, and holster into a compact bundle and stowed them away in his carpetbag.
“I’m ready to go now if you are, marshal.”
“Let’s go do it, son.”
Chapter 47
To Longarm’s immense relief the manager did not want Longarm to start in right field. It was hot enough sitting on the bench along the third base line. It would have been even worse if he had to be running around out in the damned field.
“Stay ready though, Short. I expect to need you to hit for me later on.”
“Is there somethin’ I don’t know about? How can you tell before the game even starts that you’ll be needin’ a punch hitter?”
“The term is pinch, not punch. And I’m anticipating it because as you may not have noticed, it’s a very hot day today. The pitchers especially will be feeling that. I’ll start Jason Hubbard, but later on I’ll want to put in Dennis Pyle and possibly will replace him later, too. When I think it’s time to make the move, see, I’ll wait until it’s Jason’s turn to bat, then put you in long enough for that one at-bat. A matter of simple strategy you see, not collusion.”
“Damn. I guess maybe there’s reasons for all the stuff that goes on on that field, huh?”
McWhortle smiled. “Sometimes. Not always.”
“Let me know when you want me t’ hit,” Longarm said.
“Relax. I won’t need you for a spell.”
“Thanks.” Longarm looked rather longingly toward a tent—the shade was reason enough to yearn for it—where an enterprising soul was selling lemonade, apple cider or beer, fifteen cents a glass for whichever one you chose. Expensive, Longarm thought, but worth it.
