“It’d be fitting to have them mowed down at the last game.” Kenuda scowled, reining himself in off a look from Hazel. “What would this consist of?”
“Not much difference. I mean, financially. There are enough players. We’d need more gloves. More bats. A few extra balls.”
“It’s already adding up.”
“I’m sure there’s some equipment lying around somewhere,” Hazel said. “So much was seized for evidence. It’s gotta be in a warehouse somewhere.”
Kenuda twirled the football and peered at Puppy. “Why the request?”
Puppy looked at the mute, mocking helmets again. “It’s not a real memory shrine unless it provokes real memories. HGs don’t do that.”
Kenuda glanced at Hazel, who shrugged agreement on Puppy’s point.
“I think there’s more.”
He met the Commissioner’s accusing eyes. “I love baseball. I played, but hurt my shoulder so I couldn’t continue. I guess it’s all wrapped up, somehow.”
“Things usually are, somehow, whether they should be or not,” Kenuda conceded. “Even in this instance. But you don’t have any legal right to ask this. The owners should be coming forward.” He looked at Hazel.
“Fisher and Boccicelli,” John said distastefully.
“Yes.” Kenuda rolled his eyes. “I understand why you came instead of those worms.” He frowned. “I’ll let you know.”
Puppy inhaled. “When, Third Cousin? The season’s already underway.” He felt Hazel’s approving grin.
Elias slowly smiled. “Soon, Mr. Nedick.” He flicked another shot cleanly through the net.
• • • •
TY LAID HOTELS on his yellow properties with an imperial flair, sneering around the table. “You’re getting squeezed, senorita.”
“You wish I’ll squeeze you, Gramps.” Mooshie rattled the dice and ignored Zelda’s pointed stare, as she had for the past hour since Zelda had first come in, gasped slightly and sat on the couch, eating through a bag of Popping Popcorn.
Blushing, Ty angrily turned to Zelda. “I’m sorry, but I would not.”
“What?” Zelda kept staring at Mooshie.
“Mix the races.”
Puppy warned Zelda to stay put, and tapped Mooshie’s arm. “It’s your turn, Ms. Lopez. I don’t mean to rush you.”
“You rushed us,” Mick complained.
“Because we ain’t famous,” Ty snarled.
“You are. Just not as famous as me.”
Mooshie rolled a six, slowing her silver plane down as if about to crash into a bridge. Ty’s smile went around to the back of his head.
“Now look at this.” Ty chortled. “Look where the great Moosie…”
“Mooshie,” Puppy icily corrected him.
“Mooshie has landed. On Park Place. On a hotel. Owned by whom?”
“It’s yours, Ty,” Mantle said helpfully, who had only an empty six-pack and twenty bucks.
“Mine. Mine. Mine.” He waved a fistful of dollars. “Pay up, senorita.”
Lopez grudgingly counted out the multi-colored dollars; Ty licked the tip of his fingers greedily.
Mooshie finally returned Zelda’s stare. “It’s me, honey.”
Zelda tilted her head, mutely studying Mooshie for the fiftieth time. Lopez angrily gestured Zelda and Puppy into the bedroom, slamming the door.
She grabbed her groin. “She going to do this all night because otherwise I’m leaving.”
“Zelda’s a little…”
“Zelda has a voice,” Jones said evenly. “Zelda’s just a little curious, because Zelda is not quite the hopelessly romantic gullible…”she couldn’t think of another adjective…”person like Puppy.”
Mooshie sprawled onto the bed, leaning on her right side. “What do you need to know?”
“Who you are.”
“Here I thought you were a big fan.”
“Do your Mooshie for her, Zel,” Puppy encouraged.
Lopez grinned. “Go ahead, chickie. Do me.”
Zelda gave Puppy a dirty look. “And then I return to my questions.”
“Sure, sure.” Mooshie showed more gum.
Zelda hesitated, then squirmed her shoulders side to side. She leaned forward, right hand on right knee, foot pawing the pitching rubber. A sneer curled her face like a fist; Mooshie chuckled. Then Zelda scooped up imaginary sweat from her chest, licking it off droplet by droplet before kicking her leg up and firing a fastball, howling and clenching her groin in the trademark gesture of Mooshie triumph. Or disdain.
Puppy applauded lustily.
“Not bad.” Mooshie smiled. “Your girlfriend is kind of cute.”
“I’m not his girlfriend.”
“Still cute.”
“He had nothing to do with it.”
Lopez roared. Zelda’s resolve weakened slightly before the incomparable, distinctive laugh.
“You’re a good actress,” Zelda persisted.
“Thanks. I got nice notices in those two flicks. Need the names or you’ll say anyone could look them up?”
“Hills over Hell and Mr. Patricio Gets His,” Puppy referenced the two starring vidmovie roles at the height of Mooshie’s career, quoting the dramatic last line of Hills. “I’m going down that hill and killing me some Allahs. Who wants to join me?”
“They were good.” Mooshie rolled easily off the bed. “But nothing I say is going to mean anything to Zelda.”
“Because you’re dead. One million people attended your funeral.”
“That’s all?”
Barricades were trampled. Blue Shirts retreated in fear. A simple casket triggered riots across America with curfews in just about every city.
Zelda scanned Mooshie again, finally turning to Puppy. “It could be wonderful facial reconstruct.”
Mooshie suddenly poked Zelda in the chest. “I’m losing my patience.”
“Truth isn’t easy.”
“What do you know about truth?”
“That when you’re dead you’re dead.”
“Except I’m not. And don’t ask how because I don’t know.”
Their heated faces were inches away.
“Turn around, Puppy,” Mooshie said firmly.
He shook his head, worried. Both the women’s fists were cocked. Zelda might be carrying her blade.
“I said turn around,” Lopez hissed.
Puppy obeyed.
Mooshie slowly unbuttoned her blouse. “If you’re such an expert on Mooshie Lopez, then you probably saw all my vidmovies. I mean all of them.”
Lopez’s blouse landed by Puppy’s feet.
Oh shit.
“Like the ones I did underground near the end. What were they, Puppy?” Mooshie’s hand reached behind for her bra clasp.
“Passion Play and Dark Depths,” Zelda said, stopping Lopez from undoing her bra. “I don’t want to see your tits. Maybe just a little. Let me hear you sing first. Not the theme songs. The one where you’re putting your clothes back on in Passion. Mooshie Lopez never missed an opportunity to entertain an audience.”
Puppy risked a beating and turned, convinced someone landed a gut punch. Mooshie’s
