“This isn’t enough, Fenway fucking Park or not.”
“Pumpkin. I ain’t got anything else.”
“You? The famous Puppy Nedick? You must have a closetful of former illegal baseball stuff. Or something of actual value. Bibles are always sellers. Especially the Hebrew one. Extinction does breed curiosity. There’s a wonderful market for Judaica, especially anything ME or CE. Their religious paraphernalia, skull caps, the prayer shawls…”
“No Bibles, shawls…”
“Shame.” Pumpkin was briefly disappointed. “What about one of these?” He snapped his fingers and Ponytail returned with gray headphones. “Ever seen one?” Puppy shook his head, fortifying Pumpkin’s faith in Puppy’s ignorance. “Anti-Narcissim Act of 2068…”
“I went to school, remember?’
“Always the star student, I recall,” Pumpkin’s voice dripped disdain. “Outlawed for the obvious reasons along with all social media, cell phones and the like, but in 2077, headphones were restored for private use only, you probably didn’t know that. It actually has a practical use. Screw neighbors complaining about loud music. Get me a Bose and I’m yours.”
“I wish.”
“But no cellulars. Amazing how many people didn’t turn them in, hoping Grandma would actually restore the satellite links. Dreamers.” Pumpkin frowned. “How about bank statements? Collectors love those. Or canned foods from Christian Europe?” Pumpkin excited himself. “Some of those disgusting Brit foods like canned beans? Or German beer. Oh, if you only had a six-pack…”
“Nothing, Pumpkin. That’s the truth.”
“And the great Puppy Nedick doesn’t lie.” Pumpkin tilted his head side to side.
“I’m jammed.”
“Yes you are.” Pumpkin chuckled gleefully. “And I’m thoroughly enjoying it.”
Puppy closed his eyes a moment. “Please, you fat sack of shit.”
Pumpkin clapped. “That’s much better.”
• • • •
DAVID FISHER’S OFFICE had all the charm of a maximum security prison. He didn’t want to be there, so he did everything he could to discourage visitors. A thin, angry balding man in his thirties with a dull look, he’d inherited the Hawks from his mother, which made him angrier, because a dead parent’s wishes were revered. If your mother or father left you a rabid animal who bit off your left arm, you learned to eat with your right.
“I’m pretty busy, Puppy.” Fisher gestured around the metallic office with its uncomfortable silver chairs. The window onto the stadium was corked off with aluminum shades so he didn’t have to be reminded that he was the owner of a baseball team.
“Your time is precious to me, Mr. Fisher.”
Fisher grunted dubiously and tried out a new pen on a notebook, grumbling when the ink didn’t flow.
“Good start to the season, don’t you think?”
Fisher peered at the tip of the pen.
“Very spirited games. And that touch with the HGs running onto the field together really excited people.”
“I don’t give a shit, Nedick.”
Fisher flung the pen into the garbage and squinted suspiciously at Puppy, who always wanted something. Last season it was buy more potato chips. This season, change the HGs.
“I know, sir. But I need your permission for the Hawks to sign two new players. You’re down a couple.”
“Did someone die?”
Puppy shook his head. “Remember last year we finished the season with just seven players each? The Falcons added two more.”
“If that pile of pizza dough Boccicelli wants to waste his money, let him.”
“You really want Boccicelli having an advantage?”
Fisher darkened. He hated Boccicelli. “Same price?”
“Absolutely.”
“Don’t try to squeeze in anything extra on me like toilet paper for the clubhouse. They don’t have to shit there. That’s why they have homes.”
“I’ll let them know. Thanks, Mr. Fisher.”
“Bring them in.”
“Pardon?”
“I have to meet them.” Fisher glanced at the ceiling-to-floor oil painting of his heavy-set mother, whose scowl suggested terminal indigestion.
Puppy reluctantly opened the door and beckoned to Mick and Ty, mouthing “behave” as they followed him back in.
“David Fisher, owner of the Bronx Hawks, this is Ty Cobb and Mickey Mantle.”
Cautious handshakes all around.
“I hear you’re joining our little team,” Fisher said without making eye contact.
Ty shrugged and peered distastefully at the oil painting. “Who’s the broad?”
“My mother Anna, who owned the team,” Fisher said proudly. “Twenty-three years. She was a strong believer in strong character.”
“That’s us,” Mick said. “You got any scotch?”
“I don’t believe in drinking, Mr. Mantle.”
“It’s for me, not you.”
Puppy stepped in. “Again, they’re delighted to be Hawks.”
“Let’s see when we get the contracts,” Ty said.
“What contract?” Fisher snapped.
“The moral contracts,” Puppy said quickly. “To play hard and play to win.”
“That was my mother’s motto. She felt that since she won the team in a fair game of chance, the games the team play should also be honorable.” Fisher circled Mick and Ty in bland curiosity. “How old are you gentlemen?”
“What year is this again?” Ty asked.
“They’re experienced.” Puppy quickly opened the door to send everyone merrily on their way.
“I know that, Nedick, but this is part of the welcoming ceremony which Mother did with every new player. Where’d you play?”
“You don’t know where I played?” Cobb roared.
Fisher flinched. He should’ve just given them their two bars of soap allotment and let it go but no, he had to show respect to that old witch’s memory. He checked her urn every morning to make sure the ashes hadn’t escaped.
“I’m Ty Cobb, asshole. This is Mickey Mantle. Play? Where’d we play?”
Puppy nervously pulled on Cobb.
“Right here under your fat ass. You own a baseball team and you don’t know who we are? What the hell kind of candy ass shit organization is this?”
Puppy dragged the two old men into the hallway before Fisher’s lower jaw hit the floor. He popped his head back in.
“They’re honored to play for the Hawks, sir.”
“Depends how much we get,” Cobb shouted.
• • • •
GRANDMA LAID THE silver tray on the gleaming wood-and-glass table, spooning out two sugars into Tomas’ purple cup. He knew better than to wave off her homemade chocolate chip cookies; somehow he’d have to find the strength to chew.
“You look tired,” she said, settling into the high-backed chair in the small, comfy sitting room in her House. There was a master bedroom to the left and a guest room to the right; a study directly ahead where
