"But sneaking out like this, quitting, you'll regret it for the rest of your life. Baseball is what gets inside you. It's what lights you up, you can't deny that... It's supposed to be hard. If it wasn't hard, everyone would do it. The hard... is what makes it great." ~ Tom Hanks in "A League of Their Own"
Signing is indicated by a '*'.
Murdock was just finishing tightening the laces on his cleats when Lou charged into the locker room. "Alright, settle down team. It goes without saying that today is a big game for us." Lou continued with his pep talk, but Murdock's attention was focused on Lawson, Birch, Jacobs, and Masterson. The felonious four, as Murdock liked to think of them, exchanged not-so-subtle knowing looks. Lou appeared in his line of sight trying to gain his attention. Remembering his role, he trained his eyes of the assistant manager's lips. "Murdock, you might sit this one out. If anything, I'll use you as a closer. You're the last man in the rotation." Murdock circled his thumb and forefinger and held them up. "Okay, guys. Let's go get 'em!"
Most of the players rushed out, creating a bottleneck at the tunnel leading to the field. In the confusion, Murdock disappeared into the showers to eavesdrop on the four players that lagged behind.
"Okay, we all know what to do," Masterson was the first to speak. "Whatever we do, we have to make sure that we get back the home field advantage. We play two games here and then away for three. Then we'll come back here when we lose and make the pickup -"
" - and then we'll have our retirement fund, gentlemen," Jacobs finished. Murdock had to stifle a snort of disgust at the evil grin in his voice.
"What are we waiting for? Let's go take one for the team," Birch snickered.
Pressed against the shower walls, Murdock waited until he heard their footsteps fade away before he emerged back into the locker room. 'Jerks,' he thought to himself. Murdock involuntarily stiffened as the fading footsteps changed direction. He came face to face with Masterson as he rounded the corner.
"What are you doing in here?" Murdock held up his glove trying to indicate that he forgot it. "Well, whatever freak. Hurry up and get on the field."
Murdock raised his eyebrows at the center fielder, but turned and walked out without engaging him. These guys were really starting to piss him off. They were willing to take away potential money from their teammates for their own personal gain, not to mention recreating a pockmark on America's pastime a la the Black Sox. He had learned something important, though. What was the 'pickup'? It didn't sound like merely a gambling ring. There seemed to be much more at stake. And was it really worth ruining the playoffs over?
The thoughts running around his head were cut off abruptly as he caught sight of the stadium. The seats were packed with eager fans, evident by the roar of the crowd. Bursts of light exploded as camera flashes went off in succession. Murdock felt a warmth flow through him like he had never experienced before. His anticipation turned into sheer joy as his mouth dropped open in wonderment. It was as magical as he had ever imagined it would be.
Face caught sight of his friend's expression and smiled inwardly from his seat in the dugout. It did his heart good to see Murdock so genuinely happy after all the pain he had experienced in his life. Sure, Murdock wore that goofy smile all the time, but it mostly stayed on the surface, never reaching all the way inside. But this was different. This was...contentment. Murdock's eyes finally locked onto Face. He made his way over and sat down next to him.
*What's new,* Face signed. Murdock responded in kind with all the new information that he learned only minutes before. *Well, this gets more interesting all the time.* Face threw a sidelong glance at Murdock and realized his attention now solely belonged to the start of the game. Face hit him, none too lightly, on the shoulder. *Don't have too much fun. We're here for a reason.*
It made him feel like a bully stealing candy from a little kid, bringing Murdock back down to Earth. That's partly why Face indulged most of Murdock's fantasies. He could never bear to dampen the child-like joy that radiated from his best friend. And this was certainly no fantasy. Murdock had made it heartbreakingly clear how important this was to him. Far be it from him to stand in the way of a dream, but he wanted Murdock to live to see that dream come to fruition. He'd be lying to himself if he said he wasn't concerned at Murdock's distraction surrounding this case. Distraction usually led to a Team member being captured or injured. And to say his radar was up was an understatement. Either way, he was in a catch-22.
Face tabled his fears as soon as the first pitch was thrown. The game was going rather quickly. Both teams went down 1-2-3 for the first five innings. It wasn't until the bottom of the sixth that a man even got on board. Birch came up to the plate and hit the first pitch, a rolling grounder that was easily turned for a double play. Face groaned. He'd seen more action in church. Despite the mundane nature of the game so far, Murdock beamed like a kid on Christmas.
Eventually, the pilot's enthusiasm leaked into Face as if by osmosis. Face caught himself clenching his fists in anticipation when the next batter took four straight balls for a walk. It was clear the opposing pitcher was tiring and the heart of the lineup was due up. There was a brief meeting on the mound as the catcher offered some words of encouraging strategy to his pitcher.
Paul Campanella stepped up to the plate. He took a few practice swings before stepping into the batter's box. "Ball," the umpire cried. Paul licked his lips in concentration. Murdock mimicked the action. The second pitch was a high fastball. Paul let loose with a swing that would have rivaled Mighty Casey's. The ball sailed effortlessly into the stands in right field. The players in the dugout collectively erupted in celebration. Paul was greeted at home plate with high-fives and slaps on the back.
The next inning the other team looked as if they might rally a comeback. They had scored a run and were threatening with the go-ahead run at the plate. Luckily, a high fly ball ended the inning.
Murdock was watching his team take their turns at bat when Lou Nealy stepped in front of him. "Start warming up." Murdock's eyes widened and he eagerly started for the bullpen, but Lou stopped him with a hand to the chest. "Think you can go two innings?" Murdock gave a thumbs up. "Good. Go to it! Oh, and good luck!" He slapped the pilot-turned-baseball-player on the shoulder for encouragement.
Face felt like a proud parent when Murdock finally took the field. He watched as his best friend picked up the rosin bag and gave it a few tosses, small white clouds of dust disappearing into the air. There was an intensity in Murdock's eyes as he studied the signals from Gonzalez. Face gripped the bench, digging his nails into the splintered wood, as he awaited Murdock's first pitch. He closed his eyes, unable to watch.
"Strike one," the umpire yelled. Face cheered silently.
The more Face watched, the more impressed he became. Where Murdock came up with all these talents - flying, mimicry, cooking, the ability to do complex math and learn any language fluently at the drop of a hat, and now baseball - was beyond him. Standing next to him made Face feel somehow inadequate despite his many skills. No, inadequate wasn't the right word. Average. Well, average was something Murdock was not.
His brief pity party of one was interrupted by another course of cheers coming from within the dugout. When he saw Murdock being congratulated, he realized that they must have won. Murdock's beaming grin affirmed this. As Murdock fought through the crowd to get to Face, the conman could not miss the four guys that his Teammate had pointed out. It wasn't hard - they were the only players who weren't celebrating.
He motioned for Murdock to stay with the rest of the team. The four were inching their way to the tunnel leading to the locker room, and Face had every intention of staying on their tail. He wanted Murdock to enjoy the glory, plus he didn't want him to risk blowing his cover so early in the series.
Face inched along the concrete hallway, relieved he had inadvertently chosen a soft-soled shoe. Eight pairs of cleats echoed loudly in comparison. Rounding a corner, their footsteps came to a halt. Face pressed himself up against the wall and remained motionless.
"That new guy's trouble, Dicky. We gotta do something or we won't be able to come back here and get the merchandise without being seen."
"Relax."
"Randy's right. We need to put some pressure on the guy. Maybe make sure he doesn't pitch so well next time." Face drew in a sharp breath.
"Back off, Johnny. You too, Randy. I'll take care of it. That does for you too, Daryl. Got it?"
Face crept off. He had to warn Murdock that they were now gunning for him. He also had to get to Hannibal and BA without being spotted.
"Hannibal, how can you sit there so calmly? We're on the verge of being discovered by these guys," Face anxiously paced.
"We've been in tight spots before, Lieutenant. Besides, Murdock's the one in the line of fire. What's your take on it, Captain?"
"Me? I think they're panicking. We're getting close. I don't wanna back off now and let those jerks demean the game. Plus, there's some good men on that team that deserve to have us follow through for 'em." Hannibal shrugged towards Face as if to say 'I told you'. "Now, if y'all will excuse me, I wanna shower up and hit the hay."
As Murdock moved towards the bedroom, Face leaned in close to Hannibal. "I'm worried he's getting distracted, Colonel. I think he's letting his emotions take over." He winced inwardly as he divulged this information to their leader. It felt as if it were a betrayal of some kind. But Face could no longer ignore what was becoming glaringly obvious to him. What it boiled down to, is he was worried for his friend's safety.
"Foo' been distracted before. Comes through when it counts, though," BA chimed in.
"BA's right. I've always trusted Murdock's judgement. You're usually his biggest supporter, Face. What changed?"
"Nothing! You know I've never had a problem with Murdock backing us up. But this time he's on the front line," 'and he's never as careful where it concerns himself,' Face finished in his head.
Hannibal sighed. It was in Face's nature to worry - especially about Murdock. Those two had an almost cosmic connection that was unmistakable. So if one felt the other was in trouble, it would have been foolish not to listen. "If it makes you feel any better, we'll plant some bugs on these guys. Maybe Murdock, too. Think you can whip something up, BA?"
"Be ready by tomorrow night."
Face had no choice but to back down seeing as how both Hannibal and BA were not overly concerned. But he could not shake the feeling that something wasn't right.
The following night's game was nearly a mirror image of the first. Only a run separated the two teams in the eighth, and Murdock was once again called into close. Neither Face nor Murdock missed the glares from Masterson, Jacobs, Birch, and Lawson that accompanied him to the mound. Face just prayed that BA had found a way into the locker room to plant the bugs.
Murdock's performance was even more impressive than the previous night. The pleased look on Lou's face corroborated his observation. Face envied how in control Murdock seemed of his lithe body, every graceful movement serving a purpose. A smile escaped as he watched his animated friend jump up and down on the mound after the last strike was thrown. The joy was short-lived however, when out of the corner of his eye he saw Jacobs slapping a bat into the palm of his hand. The sound was lost in the din of the cheering crowd. Face made an instant decision to stick close to Murdock as the lanky pilot stepped down into the dugout.
Face's plans were disrupted when the team rushed Murdock to congratulate him on the latest victory. The team was swept away like a tidal wave into the locker room causing Face to lose sight of the pilot. "Dammit," he swore under his breath. He had to change tactics. He decided his best course of action would be to make his way back to the van and listen in via the bugs that had hopefully been planted.
The conman arrived at the van gasping for air. He had closed the distance across the parking lot in record time. He threw open the van door with a sudden jerk only to be greeted by two guns pointing at him.
"Jesus, Face! Warn us next time you plan on gracing us with your presence," Hannibal chastised. BA just replaced the headphones on his ears, shaking his head.
"I lost him." Hannibal sent an annoyed glance his way. "It wasn't my fault..." BA held up a finger to signal him to be quiet. He unplugged the headphones from the receiver so they could all hear what was going down.
"You said you'd take care of it, Dicky." Jacobs voice emanated from the speakers.
"I will and I am."
"He's the starting pitcher day after tomorrow. If he wins, we're sunk."
"He won't be starting game four, don't worry. And I called Tony. The pickup point's been moved to the away field, same spot. The terms remain the same. We gotta lose."
"Whattya mean?"
"I mean, Randy, you guys fix it so he doesn't pitch. Got it?"
Evil laughter echoed back through the speakers. "Finally! We'll take care of that fruit loop once and for all, won't we boys?"
Face's visage was a mask of frozen horror tinged with smugness. He wanted so badly to say, 'I told ya so', but Hannibal beat him to it. "You were right, Face. You gotta get to Murdock before they do. We'll be right behind you if you need us."
Face wasted no time. He grabbed a .45 and stuffed it into the small of his back underneath the waistband of his pants. He sprinted across the parking lot, kicking up loose gravel as he went. All that kept going through Face's mind was 'Oh God. Please let me get there in time'.
Randy slammed Murdock into the lockers. "Alright, dummy. We warned you once." Murdock wore a look of confusion. He must have missed that first warning. "In our game, two strikes and you're out."
Murdock gulped and peered over Randy's shoulder at Johnny and Daryl. They were both slapping baseball bats into the palm of their hands, the menacing intention unmistakable. Randy kept a vice-like grip on his uniform with both hands, making escape difficult. Even if he could wrench out of his grasp he still had the other two, armed and dangerous, to contend with.
Johnny and Daryl advanced on him raising their bats above their heads simultaneously. Murdock struggled, but the more he fought the higher Randy's hands climbed until they were pushing against his throat. His air was quickly diminishing as the other two stepped closer, bats poised for striking. He had to think fast.
Author's notes: Sorry it's a little heavy on the baseball talk. Also, I don't know why it never reads my page breaks. I apologize for that headache. I hope it's not been too hard to follow without them.
