Pitch Please (There's No Crying in Baseball 1)

No. No, I didn’t.

“But my brother showed his face around town. Got some people scared. And they started to scramble,” he sighed. “Knew it the day that they first spotted him. Had my captors come and check on me every single hour on the hour. Then there was a lot of chattering about them killing me off to save themselves the headache, but the big guy…he didn’t want to kill me right away. He wanted to do it publicly, on a day that was significant to the US.”

My belly rolled.

“It would’ve been bad if he didn’t come.”

That wasn’t news to me.

I’d gotten the same feeling from Leslie when he’d explained the mechanics of it.

Now I just wondered if the people responsible were caught, or if I had to continue to worry about Hannibal.

But Hannibal answered my question without realizing I’d wanted to know the details.

“They found the leak in the chain of command and fired him. Now he’ll probably spend the rest of his life in a place like the hellhole where I was held captive in for three weeks,” Hannibal spoke.

“What are y’all whispering about over here?” Tucker—now I was sure that was him—asked as he took a seat next to Hannibal, his eyes on my face that I was sure was white as a ghost.

“We’re talking about how the Lumberjacks won tonight,” I continued, lying through my teeth. “And what that means for their chances at making the playoffs.”

“Let’s not talk about this,” one of the men, Tim Teague, the leader of this band of misfits, groaned. “That’s all we heard about the entire time we were with this joker.”

He pointed to a bashful looking Hancock, who was staring at his hands like he was about to strangle Tim.

The rest of the group laughed, as did Hannibal.

“They hate it,” Hannibal added. “I made them watch the games, even though they couldn’t stand watching the Lumberjacks. But since I forced them, they’ve become unwilling fans.”

“We got rid of you and then your brother shows up, forcing us to watch the same shit. It was like you were still there,” Park grumbled.

Instead of the blow up I expected, it only caused relieved chuckles all the way around, and I wondered if this was some weird way that they relieved stress.

“Where are you from, Park?” I reached out for my drink and brought it to my lips. “You sound like you have a southern twang to your speech.”

He grimaced. “Florida.”

“Do you have any family there?”

Another darker grimace rolled over Park’s face.

“What Park isn’t telling you is that he was a gang banger when he was younger, so he has family, just not any that likes him,” Hannibal added when he was sure that Park wasn’t going to say anything on the subject matter.

My mouth dropped open.

Was he being serious?

But I could tell by the death glare that Park was sending Hannibal that he was being very serious.

“That’s…uhhh…interesting,” I finally added. “Is that where you got the tattoos?”

I pointed to the tattoos that lined his arms.

Hancock had tattoos. As did most of these men.

But Park’s were darker.

Scarier and more crude looking.

“Yeah,” he said. “Most of ‘em I got before I was seventeen.” He held up his hands and rotated his arms, his big muscles bulging each time he moved.

“What about the one on your neck?” I pointed to one that looked like a single black line that ran completely around his neck, just below his Adam’s apple.

Park’s face closed off, and instantly I knew he wouldn’t be answering that.

As did the rest of them if the look on their faces was anything to go by.

“Do you have seats for us tomorrow?” Hannibal asked his brother. “We’re in town for another thirty-six hours, and that’s enough to take in a game.”

Hancock’s lips twitched with the knowledge that these boys were going to be forced to watch a game in real time. “Yeah, I can get some next to mom and dad.”

Hannibal grimaced.

“I’m not getting out of seeing them, am I?” he asked.

Hancock shook his head. “No, I don’t think you are.”

“Fucking wonderful.”

***

“I’m late, I’m late, for a very important date…” I chattered as I hurried to the door that would lead me into the stadium.

Soren, the guard who was posted at the back entrance at every home game, waved at me and opened the door.

“How are you, Miss Sway?” he asked politely.

“I’m great, Soren. How are you?” I returned sweetly as I passed.

“Two more weeks!” he informed me. “That means I’m freakin’ great.”

I started to chuckle.

Soren and his wife were having their first child together, and she’d been on bed rest since she was seventeen weeks pregnant. Now at thirty-five weeks, she only had two more weeks until she was allowed to move about.

“That’s wonderful news!” I told him sincerely. “It’ll be here before you know it, and you’ll have your sleepless nights to deal with!”