A Dangerous Man

things to follow us. I pull out a C and hand it to the schoolteacher.

– Party’s over ladies. You can get a cab out front.

The girls don’t like it, but they take the cab fare.

The bouncer leads us past the bathrooms, out to the rear parking lot. The Olds is about thirty yards away. Three guys are standing in a circle, taking turns dipping their keys into a little bag of coke. They ignore us as we walk past.

– Hey, big man.

Fuck.

– Hey, Mr. Baseball.

Fuck me running.

They’re coming around the side of the club, on a path to cut us off. I put a hand to Miguel’s back, then Jay’s.

– Just walk to the car. Don’t say anything.

– Big shot. Fucking table stealer.

Uncle Fester is doing the talking, but Finger Fucker is the first one to arrive. I stop and turn to face him and he puts his hands up.

– Oh, the bodyguard. I’m scared.

Valiant starts sprinting and moves to cut in front of us. I see him put a hand on Miguel. Jay jumps, lands on Valiant’s back and takes him to the ground. They start rolling around, grappling. Fester plants himself in front of Miguel. Finger Fucker starts hopping around, his fists up just like he was taught in his boxing class at his gym.

I hate the Spearmint Rhino.

JAY SPRINGS UP from the gutter, a rip in the right knee of his suit pants and a scrape on his chin. He points at me.

– Yo, Scarface fucked ’em up.

Miguel is looking at the three men on the ground.

– Should we call someone?

I shake my head.

– The doormen at the club will call someone. Let’s get out of here.

Jay grabs Miguel and starts dragging him toward the car.

– Hell yeah, yo. You don’t need this kind of shit on you now.

I lead them to the car, looking back over my shoulder to make sure no one is coming after us. The guys who were standing out back doing blow are starting to walk toward the three assholes on the ground, asking if they’re alright. None of them are answering.

MIGUEL WANTS TO go back to the Palms and hit the tables again, but Jay shows him his watch. It’s almost 6:00 a.m.

– Flight’s in a couple hours, yo. Time to chill.

– Man, we still got a hundred Gs credit at the Palms.

– So, that’s like going home up. Put that shit on your hip, yo.

Miguel shakes his head like a little boy being told it’s time to come in and get ready for bed.

– Yeah, OK, man. But this sucks.

He rolls down his window and leans his head into the hot breeze.

– You’re right, but it sucks.

SPORTSCENTER PLAYS ON the main screen in the empty Caesar’s sports book. Miguel and Jay watch the highlights while they fill out dozens of keno tickets. They’ve commandeered one of the few cocktail waitresses on the shift. She shuttles back and forth between them and the keno lounge, dropping their slips off and bringing them fresh drinks.

Jay points at the screen.

– Yo, here it is again.

Miguel and I look up and watch Sean Watson make a sliding, run-saving catch. Miguel goes back to his keno slips. Jay shakes his head.

– Fucking Watson.

Miguel sips his Cuba Libre.

– He’s a stud.

– Yo, he’s a stud. Fucker’s looking to build permanent housing in center field.

– S’cool. I ain’t in a hurry.

They have the same conversation every time the highlight comes on, and it’s been on a lot. I didn’t even know who the guy was, but it turns out Sean Watson is the Mets’ Gold Glove center fielder. The same position Miguel plays.

– Long as he’s there they can keep you down, yo.

– S’cool. I’m just starting. There’s shit to learn. Gotta hit that big league curve.

Jay looks down from the screen and at his friend.

– Bullshit, you can hit the curve. You are big league, yo. You are ready.

In the last hour I’ve seen more baseball than in the last five years. It’s strange, kind of like the dreams I sometimes have about people I’ve killed. Seeing the dead walk again. But this is different. For the first time I can remember, I’m watching baseball and it doesn’t make me want to curl up in a ball and feel sorry for myself. Must be the x. Whatever it is, I like it.

– Yo, Scarface, my boy ready for the bigs or what?

Is Miguel big league ready? No one is big league ready straight out of college. No one. Everyone spends a few years in the minors. Rookie ball, single A, double A, triple A. Even a top pick like Miguel? It’ll be a major achievement if he ends the season in double A. Hell, I would have had to spend a few years in the minors. Of course, I was going to go in straight from high school. If I had played in college, I might have been ready to hit big league stuff. Sure I would have. I was practicing with a wood bat every day. I was born big league.

– Scarface?

I come back to earth. Big league? I was never even bush league. Just a hotshot high school jock.

– Scarface?

– Sorry. What?

– My boy ready or what?

– Sorry, man, I don’t really know anything about baseball.

Jay slumps back in his seat.

– Oh damn, just when I was thinking you might be the man. Mike, Scarface doesn’t like baseball.

Miguel fills out another keno slip.

– S’cool. He’s got other virtues.

He looks up from his slip, smiles at me.

– Like keepin’ my ass out of trouble. That was good lookin’ out back at the club. I don’t like to see no one get hurt, but that was good lookin’ out. Man can feel safe with a dude like you watchin’ his back. No lie.

– Thanks.

– When I get up there, when they move me to The Show, gonna be lookin’ for you. I’ll give a call. You can be my man maybe.

– Sure. Maybe.

I point at the screen.

– Shouldn’t you be playing now?

Miguel shakes his head.

– Had the College World Series. We just got knocked out last weekend.

Jay snorts.

– Yo, that was bogus. Texas sucks. And the ump was fucking blind.