He jabbed the edge of the book into Dale’s thigh and they wrestled a moment, finally kissing and screwing really quickly, which usually calmed her down for a few minutes. He went back to the Hall of Fame book, searching for an answer among the great pitchers while she pissed.
Returning, Dale dropped by his side, shaking the narrow bed in her narrow room, decorated like the set of an old-time Western with a saddle hanging on the wall and a row of black cowboy hats hooked over the bed. Dale put on a hat and pretended to shoot him.
“Will you stop? This is important.” He held up the book.
“How?” Dale crossed her legs.
“I’m helping Puppy.”
“What if he can’t be helped?”
“He can,” he said angrily. “Don’t you have studying?”
“I know everything.” Dale dismissed the first phase of her Reg exams next week, which would determine whether she could apply for computer engineering school.
“Everything?”
“In the whole world. I fixed the scoreboard, didn’t I? And that was rusted shit stuff. I had to hack out three viruses.” Dale played with her blonde curls. “Should I be a redhead?”
“No.”
“You think I’d look ugly?”
“Yes.”
She slapped him playfully. “What if I don’t go to Bronx University?”
“Then don’t. They have computer engineering courses at Bronx College.”
Dale rolled onto her back. “What if I don’t do either one?”
He tossed the book aside. “And do what?”
“I like what I’m doing at the stadium. I want to do more.”
“What about next year? This is the last season.”
“You said there’d be more.”
“I hope there is,” Frecklie said.
“You’re going to be a baseball architect.”
“If there’s another season.”
“Then I’ll design the scoreboard show if there’s another season,” she said.
“What if there’s not?”
“Then what’ll you do?”
If Puppy couldn’t pitch anymore, then there surely wouldn’t be any more baseball.
“I want to get married, ‘seminate and make demons fly, Rubie,” Dale said softly. “I don’t want to be with the damn Regs at school. I heard some of them talking at the game today…”
“There’s Regs coming?”
She made a disgusted sound at his surprise. “Lots. They sat in the second level. They laughed at the game and said the players are fat and old.”
Frecklie’s jaw tensed. “You sound like my mother.”
Dale tenderly kissed his shoulder. “She’s not always wrong.”
“You say that because she likes you.”
Dale nodded.
He took a breath for courage. “You’re taking the Reg test.”
Dale sat up, glaring. “Are you giving me orders?”
“Yes because you’re smarter than me and if anyone should go to college it should be you.”
“I am smarter than you and are you saying you’re not taking the exams?”
“Only if you will.”
“Fine.”
They shook hands. Dale played with his fingers, peering at the page. “He’s ugly.”
“Amos J’anos was a great pitcher for Cincinnati.”
“Why?”
“Because he fooled batters.”
“How?”
He sighed, annoyed because he didn’t remember much of J’anos. “Read yourself since you’re smarter than me.”
Dale propped the book on her wonderful white thighs and he started getting hard again. “He was a failure in the beginning.”
“Not if he was in the Hall of Fame.” He went to take the book, but she crawled to the other side of the bed.
“His career sucked in the beginning because he couldn’t throw hard.”
Frecklie slid over, curious.
“He hurt his arm and they sent him to play with the rebels.”
“What?”
“Miners.”
“Must be the minors. They used to have them. Minor leagues for younger players to learn the game.” He nearly fell reaching for the book as she danced away, laughing and reading.
“With the minors,” she drew the word out into three syllables, “he learned to throw a knuckleball. Do you know what that is?”
He shrugged.
“Some baseball expert.” Dale smirked. “It doesn’t hurt the arm and he pitched until he was 56. How old is Puppy?”
“Close to that.” He smiled. “Can I have the book back?”
“What do I get for it?” Dale rolled onto her stomach.
• • • •
TWENTY BODIES. TWENTY-ONE pairs of shoes. Cheng locked the small, stiffened black shoe in the lower drawer. Who are you, child, and where are you hiding?
This was overlooked, Admiral Tiridad had apologized. We miscounted in the rush to destroy the boat and the bodies.
What about the bodies of the sailors who found them?
Everything has been cleaned, First Cousin.
Except you, little one, he thought, hurrying to the underground security tram three levels below. Two Black Tops flanked him, Rochester machine guns casually draped across their thick pants. Eventually they surfaced beneath a clump of trees nestled in the northern sector of Van Cortlandt Park.
He chased the HG squirrels around the trees before another team of Black Tops arrived in an armored truck; they drove into a tunnel concealed beyond some stumps, running beneath the House.
More Black Tops left him inside Grandma’s living room. He hadn’t ordered this level of security since the war ended.
Grandma looked worn as she sat down with a distracted smile.
“Have you been taking the bio-vits?” he gently scolded.
“I must’ve forgot.”
“Lenora….”
“Don’t worry.” Her smile faded. “I’ll live to see a world where Muslim and American children play together.”
His face tightened in disgust.
“Despite your qualms,” she said.
“I’ve moved past that, Grandma. I only insist one last time that this meeting with the Son be HG.”
She shook her head violently. “No. I can still feel the filth of his father’s fingers on my palm. That has to be washed away, Albert. If I can’t touch his skin, feel the warmth and the comfort of true partnership, a new real beginning, then…”
He imagined her in the same room with this Camel, shaking hands and giving away their country. Albert sighed. He glanced around for the cookies and tea. He couldn’t remember the last time she’d forgotten to serve.
“Any ideas for where?” Grandma asked after a few more minutes of silence.
“I like meeting in Cuba.” With a raised eyebrow, she
