She caught up to Captain Lee as he slung his backpack over a shoulder, heading toward the end of the dock.
“Captain, I’m Zelda Jones from…”
“He told me,” Lee grunted, never breaking stride. “Noon tomorrow, stay out of the way.”
“Thanks,” she called after him.
Diego joined her, buttoning his denim jacket. “Told you it wouldn’t be a problem.”
“I could’ve gone back to work if you’d known the schedule.”
Diego slipped out the drawings from her black bag. “Not bad.”
“Gee thanks.”
She reached for them, but he turned away, studying one in particular. “This me with the devil wings?”
Zelda flushed. “I was just fooling around.”
“I like it. We all had wings at one time,” he said. “Can I have it?”
“No, these are my sketches. For my job.” She shoved the drawings into her bag and looked around.
“Bus is that way,” Diego pointed to the left. “Unless you’d like to have a drink.”
• • • •
THE PUMPKIN’S CAVE burrowed in the shadow of the 145th Street Bridge. Children still risked their lives on a dare to scamper onto the crumpled iron remnants twisting like broken arms to futilely reach across the East River. Every year some stupid kid fell, thinking they could jump, slipping beneath the sewage and setting off another round of nightly Parenting Skills on the vidnews for mothers and fathers all over America whose lack of diligence let a precious commodity die, whether in the garbage of New York, a river in Idaho, or a forest in Tennessee.
Your children are my children and my children are our children, Grandma’s stern face would flash, seeking out that parent sipping a cold beer on the porch, indifferent to their kid discovering matches in the basement. We lost thirteen million people. We can’t lose any more.
Puppy lowered his head down the narrow old bomb shelter passageway, led by a tatted TG with a long green ponytail whose sharp fingernails gestured at a chair. He cradled the package under his arm, still standing. Ponytail gestured again, puzzled why Puppy hadn’t sat. Her fingernails clawed and he got the message.
After a few minutes alone in the dank room, bare bulbs embedded in the wall and smoke whistling from the floor like ‘bacco geysers, Pumpkin barreled out of a wall, a driverless truck on an icy road, falling heavily on his long, blue bean bag which raised him back up. Not that someone six-seven and three hundred pounds needed a lift, but Pumpkin was all about the presentation.
“Puppy Nedick,” he tried to smile, but his orangish face held to a sneer.
“Pumpkin Meadows.”
The large man slowly rolled up his sleeves over his albino arms, staring at Puppy with some surprise, as if anyone got inside without an appointment.
“Still with the baseballs.”
“One last season.”
“Must break your heart.”
“It does, Pumpkin. It does.”
Pumpkin giggled happily at Puppy’s discomfort. “And what will they do with all that land beneath your stadium?”
“I don’t know, but I bet you do.”
“I might. Care to hear?”
“No.”
“Yes, you do.”
“I really don’t.”
“Because it would hurt too much?”
“Because it’d bore me.”
Pumpkin laughed. “Always such a poor liar.”
“As we were taught in the DV. Honesty, integrity.”
“They will raze the park to the ground and build a factory complex. As if it never existed. No plaques, monuments, just dust. Finally.”
Puppy flinched.
The large man grinned and gestured around the room like it was a cathedral of his most devout greed. “Here I am. There you are. It must be a special favor since you’ve never asked me for anything. That hurts. An old friend, eager to help another old friend in any way I can.”
Puppy was glad his sneakers had thick soles so Pumpkin’s verbal shit didn’t soil his socks.
“I need a temp Lifecard.”
“Oh?” Pumpkin’s eyebrow lifted in mock interest. “For a boyfriend?”
“No.”
“Girlfriend?”
“Just a friend.”
“Must be a good friend to break the law.”
“It’s just until we find him in the system.” He didn’t think Ty had a record any more than Mickey and he wasn’t about to chance going back to the clerk’s office.
“I didn’t think you consorted with criminals, Puppy. Such a paragon of ethics. The golden boy of baseball. Once,” he sneered.
“You’re the only criminal I associate with, Pumpkin,” he snapped.
Pumpkin held his gasp for a long time, releasing into a loud echoing chuckle. “Shame. We’re more interesting people.” Pumpkin lit a ‘bacco. “And why should I help you of all people, Puppy Nedick?”
“Because it makes you happy to see me squirm.”
Pumpkin’s laugh loosened some dirt on the ceiling. He clapped, rolling around on his pelvis. “Absolutely right. Even for that joy, which is priceless, I need to conduct this in an appropriate business manner.”
Puppy unwrapped the red seat cushion and laid it in front of Pumpkin. “From the bleachers of Fenway Park.”
The orange face settled into cold scrutiny, turning the cushion around. “How do I know that’s true?”
“Because you know what a seat from Fenway looks like. You’re an expert.”
Pumpkin grunted. “Where’d you get this? It was a forbidden stadium.”
“They all were and it’s not illegal to have baseball memorabilia.”
“Yes it is. The law’s just not enforced. No one cares about this stupid game.”
“Some people still do or else you wouldn’t be interested.”
Pumpkin smelled the cushion, smiling at a scent. “The other week a person offered a chair from the Cleveland ballpark. There was little interest.”
“This is Fenway Park, Pumpkin. Not Cleveland. Not Detroit. Fenway fucking Park.”
Pumpkin smirked. “What must it be like to think as you do with all those romantic notions?”
“I don’t think about how I think.”
“Never did,” Pumpkin said dismissively, handing the seat to Ponytail, who wrapped it in thick plastic in a matter of moments before disappearing down a hallway. “I will confirm in my way.”
“When?”
“In a rush, aren’t we?”
Puppy nodded warily. “I guess I’ll leave it.”
“Don’t you trust me?”
“No.”
Pumpkin couldn’t manage genuine hurt. “What else do you have?”
“It’s all I
