Chapter Twenty-Eight: Pitch Perfect

The man behind the gun looked to be in his late twenties. He was pale, his skin was pasty looking, he had dark circles under his eyes. His dirty shoulder-length blond hair stringed in front of his dull blue eyes. Peter realized immediately he was high on something. The way he held the gun revealed a lot, like his complete lack of experience in using a weapon. His hand trembled as he held the gun pointed at Peter's head. A gun in the hands of a nervous drugged man was never a good combination. Peter held his hand out and tried to calm the filthy man. "Easy. You don't want to do this, son."

The man seemed to have ignored Peter; he called out to someone else, "Kurt, we got a problem, man."

Peter turned and looked as another man stepped around the corner. He appeared to be a little more put together than the one holding the gun. His black hair was at least combed. He had the same dark circles under his eyes, however. Peter's eyes trailed down the man's body, from his face to his hands. His right hand clenched around the hilt of a knife. Peter quickly studied the blade; he was relieved when he saw there was no trace of blood on the knife, at least not yet.

The man began walking towards Peter. Peter's body stiffened as he made his approach. "And who do we have here?"

"He was trying to be a hero." The blond-haired man laughed.

"I bet you're regretting that now, aren't you?" The dark-headed man tapped the blade of his knife against Peter's chest.

"What are we going to do with him, Kurt?"

"Get rid of him."

"How?"

"Kill him!"

Peter looked between the two men. "You don't want to do that. I'm a federal agent. You'll flip your lives upside down if you kill an FBI agent."

"Did you hear that, Gabe? We got ourselves a bona fide FBI agent."

"I heard it, Kurt."

"An FBI agent deserves special treatment, wouldn't you say."

The blond man laughed under his breath. "He sure does."

Suddenly Peter heard a weak voice from around the corner speak out. "Don't kill him. He can get you a lot of money."

Kurt turned and looked at the body lying on the floor. "I don't see how that's possible. Last I heard, FBI don't pay their kind too well."

"He has a criminal informant that works for him. He can forge anything, even money. He's really good."

Peter felt his heart drop. He had to know who was talking. Who was it that knew about Neal? He pushed himself off of the lockers and slowly stepped forward, trying not agitate the two men. As he stepped around the corner he saw a bloodied and beaten Greg lying on the floor. Peter felt his jaw constrict; pure anger boiled in his blood. "Shut up, Greg!" Peter ordered through tightly clenched teeth.

Kurt looked at Peter then back to Greg, an evil smile gracing his lips. "Is that so? And where might we find this forger?"

Peter narrowed his eyes as he looked at Greg. He tried to threaten him into silence by a mere look. Greg kept silent. He just looked at Peter and hesitantly shook his head as he mouthed the words, "I'm sorry."

Kurt suddenly kicked Greg's leg, causing him to cry out in pain. "I asked you a question. Don't make me ask it again." He pressed the knife into the side of Greg's cheek. The tip of the blade pricked his skin, causing a drop of blood to trail down his face.

Greg was trembling with fear. His bottom lip quivered as he tried to speak. Peter pursed his lips and glared at Greg. "Don't do it, Greg."

"You shut up." Kurt pointed the knife at Peter. Then he turned back to Greg. "I believe you were about to say something."

Greg swallowed and he looked up at Peter; a tear fell from his eye. "He's here."

"NO! He's lying," Peter blurted out in anger.

Kurt smiled as he watched Peter's panic-stricken face. "And where exactly might here be?"

Greg looked down at his badly beaten leg. "He's at the Westmore Ballpark. He wanted to see where Peter and I use to play ball. We were planning on meeting him there in a few minutes."

Peter narrowed his eyes and stared down at Greg. He was confused; why did Greg lie? Not that he was complaining. He was grateful Greg chose not to tell these two maniacs where his brother really was.

"Then I guess we're in for a little road trip. Get up!" He gripped Greg by the arm and pulled him to his feet.

"What about him?" Gabe asked as he continued to point the shaky gun at Peter's head.

"He's coming with us."

"No, just leave him here; he'll just convince his informant not to help you." Greg tried to plead his case to leave Peter behind.

"He's coming. Now move!" Kurt shoved Greg forward.

Gabe pushed Peter in front of him and held the gun at his back. "You heard 'em. Let's go."

Kurt stopped and turned to face Peter. "Give me your car keys!"

Peter reached into his pocket and pulled out his keys and handed them to Kurt.

Kurt turned to Gabe and informed him, "I'm going to move his car; we don't want anyone to get suspicious. You take them to the van."

Gabe pointed the gun at them. "Move it!"

Peter began walking forward beside a limping Greg. They left through the back doors to the school. They approached a brown cargo van. Gabe slid the side door open and waved with his gun for the two to enter.

Peter helped Greg into the van first, then he entered and sat down on the floor of the van beside Greg, who was leaning back against the side wall.

After several minutes, Peter watched as Kurt returned and sat down in the driver's seat, and Gabe took his place in the passenger seat. Kurt turned around and looked back at the two men. "Don't even think about trying anything. Gabe has a twitchy finger."

Gabe laughed and aimed the gun back at them, resting his wrist on his left arm to steady it.

Peter looked at Greg and tried to keep his voice low, "Care to tell me what this is about?"

"I'm sorry, Peter. I never wanted to get you involved."

"Well, I'm involved, so what's going on?"

"I was supposed to meet these guys last night and pay off a debt. But I didn't have the money. At least not yet. They tracked me down and now they want their money."

Peter rolled his eyes. "I don't believe this. I should have known."

"I found out about you being with the FBI, and about Neal, a few days ago. I was hoping I could come here tonight and get your help."

"What did you expect me to do? Let Neal forge something for you?"

"No, I don't know. I just thought if anyone could help, it would be you. I tried to get you to go with me to the ballpark tonight because I thought that might be the safest place to talk. I saw these guys at the party while you were checking on Neal. I panicked. They jumped me in the hall when I was coming to apologize to you and tell you everything."

Peter looked away from Greg; he brought his hand up and pinched the bridge of his nose. "How much do you owe them?"

"Forty-five thousand."

"What on earth for? Drugs?"

"No. The truth is, it's not my debt. I just accepted responsibility for it."

"What, why they crap would you do something like that? That's the dumbest thing..." Peter's voice trailed off as he thought of what on earth would possess Greg to accept responsibility for something like this. Suddenly he realized what it could be; it would be something that he could see himself doing for the same reason. "It's your little brother's debt, isn't it?"

Greg bit his bottom lip and cast his eyes down to the ground. "Yeah. It is. They were going to kill him. And there is no way Seth could ever get that kind of money. I had the best shot at getting it. I had to protect him."

"So why are you taking them to the ballpark?"

"I hid the money I have in a bag in the dugout. Plus I was hoping it would buy us some time to come up with a plan."

Peter sighed then leaned his head back against the van wall. "How much money do you have?"

"Thirty-two thousand."

They both felt the van rock as it pulled into the parking lot of the ballpark.

"Okay, we need to buy some time. We need to let someone know where we are." Peter slowly reached into his pocket and pulled out his cell phone, trying his best to avoid detection. He began to dial 9 … 1…. Suddenly the phone was ripped from his hand by Gabe.

"I don't think so." Gabe held the phone in his hand and set it down on the van floor; he used the butt of the gun and slammed it down against the phone to crush it. *BANG* the gun went off from the blunt force. Gabe jumped as the unexpected shot startled him. Being high as a kite caused an exaggerated reaction from both men. They seemed stunned and confused by the firearm.

Peter quickly looked where the bullet had landed; he realized the gun was pointed towards the back of the van. Then he noticed the two men's reaction. He reached down and grabbed Greg by his arm and pulled him to the side door as he rapidly slid it open. They were both out and running towards the ballfield before the two armed thugs even realized what had happened.

Peter shoved Greg into the first dugout they came to. "Where's the money?" Peter demanded.

Greg looked around and shook his head, "It's in the other dugout under the bench in a black bag. I put it there this morning."

Peter looked up and he could hear the two men running towards them, yelling. He turned and looked around the small dugout. He saw a bag full of baseballs in the corner; he quickly retrieved a couple of balls and took in a deep breath as he watched the two men running towards them in the dark. He loosened his arm and took in a deep breath to steady his nerves. He pulled his arm back and threw the first ball. It missed.

"You're kidding, right, Peter? There is no way you can hit one of them, you're out of practice."

Peter took in another deep breath and tried to block out Greg's negative comments. His mind quickly flashed back to a training session he and his dad used to work on.

John had tied a bottle to a rope that hung from a tree. He handed his fourteen-year-old son a fresh new baseball. John walked over to the bottle and pulled it back then dropped it. The bottle began to swing back and forth as it hung from the branch.

Peter frowned. "Dad, this is impossible. I can't hit a moving target. It's one thing to hit bottles when they're still, but this is insane."

John looked at his son and smiled. "You can do it, Peter. All you have to do is think ahead, predict where your target will be in the future when the ball reaches it. Close your eyes and try to concentrate. Drain your mind of everything. The only thing here is you, your target, and the ball. Take a deep breath." John fell quiet as he watched his son follow his direction.

Peter closed his eyes tight, he took in a deep breath and stood still for several seconds. Suddenly his eyes sprang open and he focused on the swinging bottle before him. He pulled his arm back and threw the ball with all his might.

The bottle shattered as the baseball slammed into it.

Peter repeated his father's words in a whisper, "Drain your mind, concentrate. It's just you, the ball, and the target." He closed his eyes again, and inhaled through his nose then steadily exhaled through his mouth. He pulled his arm back and launched the baseball through the night air. It slammed into Gabe's head, knocking him to the ground, unconscious.

"Nice arm!" Greg sounded dumbfounded.

Kurt abruptly stopped running as he stared at his fallen companion beside him. He looked up and saw Peter in the dugout preparing to throw another ball. He took off running again as fast as he could. He ran to the second dugout and leapt into it, shielding himself from any flying baseballs.

Peter looked out at the motionless body lying in the open field. The gun lay beside his body.

Peter turned and looked at Greg. "I have to get that gun."

Greg nodded his head. "Go!"

Peter looked over at the second dugout where Kurt was hiding. He bolted out and ran towards Gabe. He reached down and scooped up the gun then quickly felt for a pulse from the injured young man. Finding one, he stood and ran back to the dugout Greg was waiting in.

"He okay?" Greg asked as soon as Peter returned.

"He's alive." Peter quickly opened the gun to see how many bullets remained. "Crap! It's empty."

"What, they only had one bullet in the gun?"

"Yeah. How did these guys ever have that kind of money to loan your brother anyhow? They're idiots."

"They're not the ones that gave Seth the loan. They're just the grunt men."

Peter pulled his wrist up and looked at his watch; the glowing numbers allowed him to see the time: it was 11:15 PM. "We need to get out of here."

"Kurt has the keys to the van," Greg reminded Peter. "And I can't walk far. Not with my leg like this."

Peter looked down at Greg's leg; his pants were ripped and his skin was peppered with bruising.

"I'll have to get the keys then." Peter looked around the dugout again. But all he saw was the baseballs. That wouldn't work, not this time. His hands came up and he ran them through his hair. He had been in difficult situations before, but then he normally had his gun. He suddenly had an idea; he lifted the gun he held in his hand and smiled.

"Peter, you have no bullets. A gun without bullets is not all that threatening."

"Yeah, but if they were dumb enough to do this with only one bullet, chances are, they have no clue the gun is even empty."

"You're going to bluff him."

"I am." Peter gripped the gun firmly and held it to his chest. He eased up the steps and slowly began walking towards the second dugout where Kurt had sought shelter.

"Kid, you don't have to end up like your friend over there. I'm giving you a choice. Just drop the knife and come out with your hands up." Peter listened, but he heard no reply.

He continued to walk towards the dugout. As he reached the edge of the stairs he cautiously leaned forward to look inside for Kurt. But the dugout was empty. Suddenly he felt a searing pain to the back of his head. His vision blurred, his knees buckled beneath him and he collapsed to the ground. He muttered a subtle moan and slowly rolled over onto his back.

Kurt had been hiding behind the dugout waiting with a baseball bat in hand. The second he saw Peter lean down he came out swinging. The bat violently crashed against Peter's head. Peter dropped the gun as he fell to the ground.

Kurt knelt down as Peter rolled over. He made a fist and drove it into Peter's face three times. Peter's head was spinning; he could feel blood pouring from his nose as well as the back of his head. Kurt retrieved the gun and stood up; he delivered two swift kicks to Peter's abdomen.

Peter felt each hit and kick, and winced in pain. His head was spinning and his vision kept blurring more with each forceful blow. He tried to focus his eyes as he saw Kurt standing over him, the gun now pointed at his head. But his vision began to fade; he was losing his battle to maintain consciousness. Just before all went dark he heard the trigger of the gun pull and the hammer fall.

When the gun did not fire Kurt cursed. He turned and looked back at the dugout where Greg was waiting. He rushed towards it and down the stairs into the dugout. The bat was in his hand. "You lied to me."

Greg held his hands in front of him to try and shield himself from the bat that was ready to fall upon him. "No, the money, it's here."

Kurt tightened his hands around the bat. "Where? Tell me or I'll kill you right now."

"Over there. It's in a black bag under the bench." Greg nodded in the direction of the other dugout.

"It better be there or I swear I'll kill you when I get back." He turned and raced over to the other dugout. He found the black bag and pulled it, out unzipping it. He smiled when he saw the stack of neatly wrapped one hundred dollar bills. He quickly zipped the back up and pushed it into the pocket of his jacket.

He returned to the dugout where Greg was still sitting. He smiled. "Thanks for the payment. But it was late." He swung the bat and struck Greg in the head. Greg's body slumped to the ground.

Kurt bolted from the dugout and ran to his friend, still unconscious on the ground. He lifted him by his arms and dragged him back to the van. The two disappeared into the night, leaving a bloodied Peter on lying on the ballfield, and a beaten Greg in the dugout.