The Friendly Confines
Chapter 2
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"John! John, grab my hand. I'll pull you back in!"
He was kneeling in front of the open door reaching for his partner, but John was looking beyond him. With all of his attention focused on his friend, Harold was only vaguely aware of Lee's other henchman - even when John's precise shot dropped the man at his feet. Their eyes met for an instant as John's hand slipped away the railing.
With a quickness born of absolute terror, he caught his partner's wrist, and somehow John swung his left hand up and grabbed onto Harold's other arm just above the elbow. He felt his sleeve begin to tear away from his jacket and John slid back a few inches. Harold braced his good leg against the side of the car, contorting his back in the process and sending spasms of pain undulating down his spine, but he managed to steady them both.
The train began to pick up speed and the wind battered John against the outside of the railcar. Harold fervently wished there was some mathematical equation he could summon to the rescue, but the only thing he knew with certainty was that the laws of physics were not on their side.
His sleeve ripped again until it was connected by the lining alone, and for a second he thought that John had slipped from his grasp. He tightened his grip on the other man but his arms were already trembling from the strain - and from a growing panic that he would not be able to hold on for much longer.
The train careened sharply around a curve and for a moment Harold himself almost pitched forward out of the open door. Adrenalin surged through him and he righted himself, but for the first time he saw real fear in his partner's eyes. John's expression quickly changed to one of acceptance, as if he was coming to peace with a decision.
"It's time to let me go now, Harold. Be good."
And with that he wrestled his left hand away from Harold's grasp and released his hold on the torn sleeve. Harold felt John's hand sliding down his forearm.
He was suddenly furious - shockingly, righteously furious - that his partner would try to make this choice for both of them. Did John really think he would let it end this way?
Harold clenched John's hand as it slipped past his own and grasped his friend's wrist with his other hand. Pushing with his leg, and wrenching back with every bit of strength that rage, fear and adrenalin were providing him he dragged John into the train.
He fell backward and a fresh burst of pain shot through his spine, but John was sprawled next to him - alive and safe.
Harold let his head fall back on the dirty floor, his breath coming in short, violent gasps. His back and neck were throbbing, and for a moment he just tried to ride out the pain.
"Harold, are you okay? Harold?"
He was still trembling, but couldn't tell if it was from physical exhaustion or the fright of yet another near catastrophe. And in trying to stand he discovered that his legs wouldn't do their job, but John caught him before he fell and carefully helped him back to the uncomfortable seat, taking his place beside him.
"You're never going to stop surprising me, are you?"
He knew John was trying to thank him, but every response seemed to lodge in his throat. His normally rational mind was overwhelmed by a jumble of conflicting emotions - not the least of which was his profound unhappiness that his partner had nearly been a willing participant in his own demise. He silently tried to compose himself.
John studied him anxiously.
"I'm sorry about your suit…" he offered.
The mild apology set off all his fear and anger that was still at surface level, and Harold finally found his voice.
"I can always get another suit, Mr. Reese," he snapped hoarsely. "Other things are not…replaceable. How dare you make that kind of decision? What on earth were you thinking, John? You almost…"
He let the words trail off forlornly, but John was gently patting his back now, his voice calm and soothing.
"It's okay, Harold. We're all right. Thanks to you I'm not going anywhere."
The last of his anger drained away as suddenly as it had overtaken him and he immediately regretted his words, though there was nothing but compassion on his partner's concerned face.
Still, he was mortified by his unseemly outburst. But John seemed to understand that as well, and gave him a conspiratorial nudge.
"You know this is one of those moments we're going to laugh about someday."
It took Harold a second to realize that his partner had already drawn a tiny smile out of him.
"Are you sure you're all right, John?"
If his friend was even trying to keep the worry off his face he was doing a spectacularly poor job.
"I'm fine," he said at last. "And I've got this, Harold. Why don't you get some rest and let me take it from here?
Harold shook his head vigorously. The other man's stubbornness was definitely rubbing off on him.
"Not on your life, Mr. Reese."
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Harold led the way through the ballpark. John had reattached his torn sleeve with a few haphazardly placed safety pins, and judging from the man's handiwork it was extremely fortunate that his friend had no aspirations towards tailoring. The former agent was strolling steadily by his side now, a little scratched up but otherwise seeming no worse for the morning's adventure.
Harold wished he was as resilient. Every step sent a knifing pain through his back, and his limp was more pronounced then ever - a fact that was certainly not lost on his partner. But John clearly knew better than to mention it, at least not yet.
His press credentials allowed them generous access to the players, and they made their way through the clubhouse and onto the field. Chen was just wrapping up the autograph session with his adoring fans. He looked tired beneath his pleasant, boyish features but smiled when they approached, seemingly eager to please even after hours of shaking hands and posing for pictures.
"Mr. Liang, may we have a word please? We'd like to speak with you about your former agent, Jimmy Lee."
Chen's entire countenance changed at the mention of the alderman. He stared at John, terrified, and fell back a step.
"Please don't hurt me. I promised Mr. Lee that I wouldn't say a word. Please… I have a daughter…"
"We're not here to harm you, Chen. We may be able to help if you can tell us what's going on."
The ballplayer looked at them miserably then hung his head, clearly too afraid to speak.
"Did Lee try to involve you in a gambling scheme?" Harold coaxed. "Is that what happened?"
For a moment Chen desperately searched their faces, then he walked them a few yards away from the other players. Once he began speaking all of his anguish came pouring out along with the words.
"He wanted me to start throwing games - striking out and committing errors in the field. I said that I would never do that."
He looked back and forth between the two men, as if pleading his case to them.
"Even if I wanted to, this is a team sport. One player can't control an entire game. But Jimmy said it was up to me to recruit other players on the team for him. He said that every player from my country would be required to do this, that it was all being arranged."
Harold pondered the scope of Lee's plan. There were Taiwanese players on the rosters of the Dodgers, Yankees, Brewers, Cardinals, Mets and Red Sox. Most of those teams were in the National League and two were in the Cubs' own division. With the right amount of coordination between the players it would be very possible to subtly manipulate the outcome of numerous games.
"I refused and he was so angry. I gave him my word that I would remain silent but he said it was too late. He said that a message must be sent."
"Did you go the police?"
"The police? Most of them work for him. There's no one I can trust…"
John had been listening thoughtfully, an increasingly troubled expression on his face.
"It's likely to happen here, Harold. What better way to send a message to anyone else who might be tempted to defy him than to execute Chen in one of the country's most iconic public landmarks? We need to get him out of here now."
"Not so fast, John. The game is about to start. We cannot simply walk out the front gate with the most famous player in the ballpark. And even if we could, Chen - and the other Taiwanese players - would still be in danger until Lee is permanently out of the picture."
"What's your plan, then?"
"If Mr. Liang is willing, we need to let this play out. If we can force Lee to reveal his involvement the entire scheme could be exposed publically."
Harold turned and addressed the ballplayer.
"Chen, we will do our very best to keep you safe, but obviously there is an element of risk."
The young man looked more frightened than ever, but he didn't hesitate.
"Gambling and organized crime have humiliated my country - the people of Taiwan are giving up on baseball and that must never happen. What do you need me to do?"
"Just do your job, Mr. Liang, and we'll do ours."
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They settled into their seats in the top row of the press box, which was reserved for members of the out-of-town media. Harold flipped through different screens on his laptop, closely monitoring the tracker Chen had agreed to wear, as well as the Wrigley security feeds and his surveillance of Jimmy Lee's office.
John sat to his right, trying to adjust the focus on the small binoculars they had hastily purchased at the concourse gift store, but to no avail. The little gadget looked out of place in his large hands, and he was currently smacking the helpless souvenir against his palm in frustration. Under other circumstances Harold would have found the incongruous sight wholly amusing. As it was he could not overlook a very unnerving irony - having just chastised John for his recklessness, he himself had made the most dangerous move of all by asking Chen to play in this game.
Welcome to the friendly confines of Wrigley Field!
The PA announcer boomed the greeting and the crowd cheered raucously. Chen was on the field warming up with the other players but even from this distance he looked nervous, fumbling an easy fly ball and then overthrowing the plate.
And now, here are today's starting lineups!
Harold continued to scrutinize the security footage as the game got underway, intently searching for any indication of the threat. John was scanning the ballpark, alternating between the field, the grandstand and the rowdy "bleacher bums" sitting beneath the scoreboard. It was an impossible task for the two of them to cover the entire stadium though, and Harold was beginning to question his strategy. Not only was Chen's life in their hands; gunfire in the ballpark would panic the crowd, and the ensuing chaos might claim dozens more.
But so far the game was proceeding uneventfully. The Cardinals stranded two men on base, and the vintage organ played a rallying chant as the Cubs took their turn at bat.
Suddenly John tapped him on the shoulder and pointed towards the radio announcer several rows below them.
The broadcaster was enthusiastically shaking hands with none other than the Triad boss himself.
We have a very special guest with us today. One of Chicago's most prominent citizens and Chinatown's new alderman - Mr. Jimmy Lee!
"No doubt he's here to witness his message being sent."
The politician stared directly at them then, and after a long moment he nodded a small greeting. His face was an impassive mask, but something about the way his small, cold eyes took them in sent a little shiver through Harold's entire body.
And the Cubs go down in order! There's no score as we head into the second inning.
They watched helplessly as Chen took his place in right field.
"Mr. Reese, it's going to happen at any moment!"
The first batter struck out on consecutive pitches.
John whipped the little binoculars around and peered above center field.
"Harold, look at the scoreboard! It wasn't updated when the batters changed."
They watched as the placard reflecting the third base umpire's number was pulled away and replaced by the glint of sunlight on gunmetal.
"The sniper is inside the scoreboard!"
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A/N: Thanks so much to everyone who left such nice comments. I wasn't sure how the baseball setting would go over, but it seems to be working out okay. I appreciate each and every one of your reviews!