My Baseball team was called the Millers
after some local minor league team in the days before the Twins. We
weren't the kind of team where every kid has to pay $10,000, where we
travel the country, shoot for the Little League World Series and
think pro scouts are actually keeping an eye on us. We were a notable
level below that; serious, but still fun. All of our games were
within an hour or two at most except for two long weekend
tournaments, one in Madison (five hour bus ride) and one seven hours
away in Chicago as our grand finale if we qualified. Like I said,
serious, but fun. Baseball can be quite fun. But what made it
especially fun that summer was... we won. A lot. In early July we
were 22 and 1. We had won 17 games in a row. And we weren't playing
younger kids or teams we totally outclassed. We weren't winning games
18 to 0. We just won. It was kind of magic.
The first time I had an idea that
something was up was as early as our second game. We were holding
onto a scant one-run lead in the top of the ninth against a team with
a gigantic, terrifying pitcher that we were lucky to have a couple
runs off of. The other team had runners on second and third. The
batter was a little guy who looked like he might make it to the hip
of their pitcher, but he was a pretty good hitter and lined a hard
two-hop grounder between me, your graceful shortstop hero, and Ryan
at third, but close enough to Ryan so he had a play. Ryan is not the
steadiest fielder in the world but generally makes up for it by
hitting the ball like he hates its guts. It looked like he was going
to have some making up to do because, though he got to the ball, it
hit the thumb of his glove and went careening off to his left.
Meanwhile I was converging on the play because, well, it's just what
you do, and this ball that was shooting one way off the bat suddenly
takes its sharp, ferocious turn, off Ryan's glove, towards me. I'm a
good fielder. I'm not even going to tell you how good a fielder I am
because I am modest, but, much as it pains me, I am forced to admit
that due to age, genetics, and overly obsessive dedication there are
a few better fielders than me out in the world. The thing is, none
of them could have caught that ball. Any one of them would have been
heading towards the line that ball was traveling on, and its speed
and directional change would be beyond the reflexes of the absolute
greatest of them. I am not saying this to excuse myself. I am saying
it because I caught that ball. Almost
anyone would have. Ignoring anything I might or might not have been
aiming to do the ball hit me in the sweet center of the palm of my
right hand. I get a couple points for managing to actually close my
hand reflexively around it and a couple more for, after a moment of
shock, managing to stop, pivot and throw to first to end the game.
But mainly, the thing was in the fates. That was that season, a
season where luck felt better than talent.
This is not really
a story about learning to believe in ourselves. Many of us had a
pretty good idea from the start that it took talent (a kind of luck
to begin with), practice, perseverance and focus for it to even get
to the place that luck could take effect. No, this is a story about
Baseball. And in Baseball, when you take on the powerful joys and
burdens of winning streaks and greatness (however diminutive that
greatness may be) it is both traditional and irresistible to go
slightly crazy. And the way you go crazy is through obsessive
superstitious ritual. Rolando, our second best pitcher, rotated the
ball four times in his glove before every single pitch. Doogie (no,
not his given name) had a coil of string around his left ankle for
every game of our win-streak. I unlaced my shoes and re-laced my
shoes before every game. Laugh if you like, but my cleats fit
perfectly each game, I was batting .380 and we had won 17 games in a
row!
But the king of all
our superstitions swirled around the epicenter of James' bat. Before
we get to his bat though we have to talk about James because if our
superstitions swirled around his bat our team swirled around him.
James was born to play baseball. He's a great all around athlete,
sure, but in everything else he's on a level with his peers, better,
usually, but at least in the same sphere. In baseball it all falls
apart. It's hard to even be jealous. He puts on a baseball uniform or
even just a glove and sheds the world, becomes natural and
harmonized, fluidity and grace. It is a pleasure to see but
especially so when his lithe and effortless looking swing crushes the
ball over the left field fence allowing you to trot home from third
and receive warm congratulations from your now victorious teammates.
Did I mention how fun winning is? Did I mention about how we weren't
at the level where we thought pro scouts kept tabs on us? Well, maybe
scratch that for James. If I were a pro scout I would have at least
kept one eye out. I know the local High School coach came to our
games when he could. I think he came just to watch James and dream.
What about the bat?
Before the season started, for his birthday, James' Grandfather gave
him the kingly present of a genuine, game used, Harmon Killebrew bat.
Now James was not keen on a lot of comment about his having this bat.
He is actually a modest person, unlike some people who just like to
say they're modest, and I think he felt it was maybe a little
presumptuous of him to be playing with Hall of Famer's bat. So
though he was delighted with and proud of his bat only me and Keith
knew about it, partly even just because we were there when it was
given. The team did not find out about Killebrew's bat until the
first game of our season. Ryan got that there was something up with
James' bat when he tried to borrow it to destroy the water fountain ,
and he and Eric got the truth of it then. A good deal of teasing
ensued and spread wildly under the combustion of pregame nerves and
James' seeming imperturbability. There was a lot of “Who's Herbert
Killerbrew?” Some of it genuine and some not (for the record he
was a 60's slugger, great, but maybe ever so slightly overrated (a
.256 lifetime batting average?) and supposedly this very nice guy).
There were a lot of jokes about the bat's frailty, old age, magical
powers and million dollar value. Just as it was really starting to
get carried away James finished dressing and stood up. Something
about how he did it made everyone stop. James grabbed the bat and
quietly said “This bat is taking us all the way this year.” Then
he walked out to the field. There was some laughter and some weak
jibes at his back, but when James went 5 for 5 that game with two
towering home runs to lead us to an 11-2 opening game victory
everyone remembered it. With the second game everyone touched the bat
for good luck just before we started. By the 15th or 16th
game we all touched it ritually at the start of the game and then
individually as needed when things became dicey or we needed a little
bolstering. By the 23rd game I would have rather not
unlaced and laced my shoes than not touched Killebrew's bat at least
the once for good luck.
Perhaps the only
reason our winning streak did not end the day James' genuine Harmon
Killebrew bat went missing is because the team we played was as bad
as any team we played all year. The weird thing is even though we
won that game it felt like our winning streak was over. I got a
couple of weak hits (hey, I'll take 'em) and Rolando hit a double,
and that was it for us. A few ground balls through the other team's
legs, some wild throws, and their inability to hit their way out of a
glass house and we won it 3 to 1, but we looked like we lost, like a
dark future hung over our heads.
Our coach is a
quite decent guy, Coach Deviveros, a bit remote maybe, a touch
unconventional, but laid back and steady. He was pretty good about
it. After our center fielder's unassuming “Hey, where's the bat?”
rose into a kind of desperate search that came up with nothing the
Coach managed to round most of us up. James was 100% certain he
brought it and I could corroborate that since we came to the game
together. He left it laying with all our equipment all through warm
ups, maybe 45 minutes from when he set it down to when it was missed.
Coach got us a 15 minute delay on the start of the game and didn't
play it down, just explained something valuable had gone missing. He
even got to look through the other teams gear in case it got mixed up
in it. But we were playing on an open field with tons of kids and
families running around and, in the end, to most people it was just a
bat that had gone missing. Other games were scheduled after ours and
it was time to play ball. I think Coach D even reported it to the
police, though they never came out that I know of.
I thought of Wiki
that first day, but I couldn't get hold of her until we had broken
our winning streak and started on a little losing streak. It was
amazing how we weren't a different team. We didn't look
different or hit different. James even hit a homer in our second loss
in a row. But it all felt different. James didn't just hit his homer.
First I singled, then Doogie ground into a double play, then James
hit his homer. One lousy run. Ryan's booted grounders were suddenly a
thousand times more likely crack my kneecap than land gently in my
hand. I soon saw that my shoe lacing was weak sauce compared to a bat
of legend . Of course I did keep up with the shoe lacing, and though
I didn't really believe in any of the superstitious nonsense I also
somehow knew that it was completely true. My only solution to this
mess was Wiki and she was just alarmingly, mysteriously gone. I pined
for her. I left too many messages on her phone and stared out the
window vacantly, hoping for any sign of activity across the street. I
worried. I received lots of humiliatingly sympathetic looks from
Phoebe. I decided to snap out of it. It didn't work.
Finally I got a
call. It was not a convenient time.
“Okay, I'm done.
Pick me up at the Russian Museum.”
“Wiki?” I asked
“Yeah, Henry. I
was pretty deep in something but I raced through it as quick as I
could. So pick me up and you can debrief me on the way.”
“I'm on the way
to a game.” I uttered foggily. It pains me to report this
accurately. I am usually a bit more sharp-minded. It was like the
collapse of my baseball team had packed my brain in ice. Wiki was,
for her, reasonably kind and patient.
“The Russian
Museum is not far out of the way. I'll be on the wall in front.”
It was a Thursday
so my mom couldn't come to the game. My dad was driving me and James
and Phoebe who had suddenly got very interested in going when Wiki
got added to the mix. My dad was delighted to pick up Wiki. I think
he was pretty curious about her because of how largely she loomed in
me and Phoebes' life while maintaining such a low profile. I doubt he
found much satisfaction though. The small talk was minimal and as
usual Wiki set the agenda. She was super dressed up, somewhere
between refined adult and little princess and after a six day absence
I was full of questions. She would have none of it. She threw open
the door, tossed in a kind of overnight satchel that looked like an
oversized bowling bag and said “I'll tell you later.” greeted my
dad and then started asking questions.
Many of the
questions were about the appearance of the bat, but she seemed to
actually have as clear an idea of what it looked like as I did. I
really had to rack my brain when it came to how the pine tar looked
on the bat. Killebrew was a big pine tar user. She pulled out some
kind of tablet computer thing and looking at pictures of bats on it
helped James and I narrow down what it looked like.
“Is that some
kind of an Ipad?” James asked. The device was sleek, but strange.
“No,” Wiki
answered shortly “Just a little tablet thing.” We looked at the
device which bore no markings of any kind. “Who are the most
obnoxious players on your team?” She asked suddenly.
“What?” James
asked, half confused and half offended.
“Not a reflection
on you.” Wiki stated shortly “I need to know who the jerks are on
your team.”
“They're all
pretty good guys.” James said. “You think one of the guys on our
team stole the bat? No way.” James tended to see the good in
people.
“No one teases
people, dumps stuff on the floor, complains all the time?”
“Sure.” James
said “But they're just fooling around. Nobody means any of that
stuff.”
“Eric.” I
answered. “Rolondo, Chip, Ryan.” I smiled ruefully before
concluding “Me.”
“Phoebe?” Wiki
asked. “Do you go to their games much?”
“Sometimes when I
can't help it.” I looked sideways at her. “I mean.” she
corrected “Anytime I can support my dear older brother.”
I smiled cheesily
at her and she smiled back the same way. Then I thought suddenly of
more names. “Doogie, Brandon, Sam.”
“Sam is a totally
quiet, nice guy.” James countered.
“He mutters.” I
said. “Darkly.”
“Phoebe.” Wiki
cut in. “Who don't you like on their team?”
She thought for
awhile. “Ryan.” She said.
“Ryan's not so
bad when you know him.” James said. “If you had his dad...” He
trailed off.
“What's with his
dad?” Wiki asked.
“He's over
enthusiastic,” I answered “With rage and menace constantly
leaking out of the cracks and edges.”
My dad turned back
to look at me. “You sure can turn a descriptive phrase.” He said
admiringly, but maybe with a trace of trepidation. He rarely missed
anything.
We parked and
unloaded. As we headed across the parking lot Wiki got in a last
question. “Is anyone hitting a lot better or worse since your bat
disappeared?”
James and I thought
for awhile. “No one's doing too good.” James said “It's like we
forgot how to hit.”
“How do you want
to play this?” I asked Wiki as we approached the team.
“It wont be
pretty.” She said “But, can you make me official?”
“If you're ready
I'm ready.” I said grinning. “Phoebe, can you do your whistle
please.”
Phoebe put her
pinkies in her mouth and made one of the most piercing noises you
will ever hear in your life. It is one of her many talents that I am
terribly jealous of. It got everyone's attention. Indeed, it got
everyone's attention within a six-mile radius.
“Hey!” I
followed up as loudly as I could “Can I get the team's attention
over here. James and I have some news regarding the missing bat.”
That announcement was as effective as the whistle and the team
gathered round promptly. We still all thought of the bat, but had
entirely ceased to talk about it, finding it all too painful to
discuss. It was like discussing how we used to be good and how we
could never be good again.
“Me and James
brought Wiki with us. A few of you know her and most of you have
heard of her. You can think whatever you want about her, but if she
has any questions just answer them. If you give her a hard time
you'll get it back double, so just play along okay. You will be
surprised. Everyone always is.”
There was a moment
of silence and then Keith called out “Hey Wiki.” He knew a little
of what Wiki could do and with his friendly nod I thought maybe we
made it, but then Rolondo said, incredulously “Wait. You can't be
serious. You think she's going to find the bat?”
“He was totally
on my obnoxious list.” I offered as an aside to Wiki and James.
“I would bet you
20 dollars right now that she finds James' bat.” Keith proposed to
Rolondo with alarming confidence.
“We should just
forget that stupid bat and start playing some decent baseball.”
Ryan said bitterly.
“Oh yeah,” Cut
in Doogie sarcastically “We'll all just try to live up to your high
standards of, oh, seven errors for every hit.” Ryan had sadly added
to his repertoire a tendency to throw what balls he did manage to
catch about 30 feet over the first baseman's head. He did not enjoy
being reminded of this and chucked his mitt pretty ferociously at
Doogie. He, perhaps predictably, missed by quite a good distance and
instead hit Brandon rather painfully in the face. Brandon started for
Ryan while Doogie laughed at the crap throw and Ryan went for Doogie.
Pretty soon the whole team was involved and we had a full-fledged
brawl, something in baseball that you usually need two teams for.
It didn't go long
and ended rather comically with one half of the team holding the
other trying to fight half and saying calming things. Coach Deviveros
kept saying over and over “Gentlemen, gentlemen!” and a couple of
dads had waded in (on the peacemaking side). I pulled Keith out of
the fray, not that he was really up to much and then it was
just...over. I turned to Wiki and said “That went pretty well,
don't you think?”
“Could've been
worse.” She said philosophically. “Wait.” She added. Then she
turned to Phoebe. “Could you do that brilliant whistle again?”
Phoebe let blow and it had its desired effect.
“Thank you for
your enthusiastic support!” Wiki announced in a quiet voice that
somehow carried pretty well. “I have decided to accept your case
and find your bat.” Then, adding in a way that struck me as
strangely threatening she said “I already have some good ideas as
to where it might be. Now I know you all have to be punished for
fighting and also have a game to get to that you think you are doomed
to lose, but I have something for you.” She opened up her bag,
pulled out a baseball and handed it to Phoebe who handed it to me.
“Toss this around to everyone in practice and it should hold you
over until I get Mr. Killebrew's bat back. Thanks.” With that she
walked off to the stands to watch the game and pour over her tablet
device. The ball Phoebe handed me was all covered in signatures. At
first I didn't recognize any names, but then I spotted Kent Hrbek's
name. Greg Gagne looked familiar and I knew Kirby Puckett for sure. I
tossed the ball to James. He looked it over and gaped.
“We can't use
this.” He said looking at me. “It's signed by the '91 Twins.”
I just shrugged. He
shrugged back and tossed the ball around. A little bubble of wonder
followed the ball as it went player to player and a discussion of the
'87 World Series winning Twins vs. the '91 World Series winning Twins
in which the signature of Pitcher Jack Morris (on the '91 Twins, not
our team) settled the argument in favor of the ball being signed by
the '91 Twins.
Wiki was right. We
were sentenced to an extra day of practice to “develop our
conditioning and discipline.” Which meant we had to show up and
exercise for a couple hours the next day. None of us minded too much
after we demolished The Tigers we were playing (from Coon Rapids, not
Detroit or the jungles of India) 12 to 2. Me, James, and Ryan all
homered, and though it would be fun to say that was normal, it was
actually the only homer I hit all season. I bat lead off. I got
called Barry Bonds for the rest of the day, but was willing to take
it. Plus, I did it entirely without the aid of steroids. Ryan booted
one easy grounder and also made a nice pickup on a sharp grounder in
the fifth inning and then threw the ball to someone in the third row
of the stands behind first base. His dad was at the game and yelled
“Jesus Ryan, you can do better than that! Focus!” . Then, I think
because everyone kind of glared at him he yelled cheerfully “That's
okay! We'll get 'em next time!” Which, in it's odd way, was just as
bad.
At the end of the
game Wiki went around talking to several players. They were all
cordial and magnanimous in the return of their greatness. A couple
even thanked her. Me and Phoebs were with her when she talked to Ryan
who announced from the start “I'm not talking to your girlfriend,
Henry.”
“Why do you
always try to incite people to slug you,” I said “When you are so
incapable of defending yourself.” He did have a pretty good bruise
on his cheekbone. Before he could work out a tough guy answer to me
Wiki went close to him and said something softly near his right ear.
His eyes went wide and then he said “Fine, whatever, go ahead and
ask. I don't care.”
“What did the bat
look like?” Wiki asked.
“Jesus!” Ryan
exclaimed. “I hardly even cared about that stupid bat. I don't
remember what the hell it looked like. It was a bat!”
“Do you think it
helped you win games? Are you superstitious?”
Ryan kind of glared
at her. “Yeah, I do stuff. But were a good team. I've hit 14
homers. I don't think it's the bat, okay.”
“Who's the best
player on your team?” Wiki asked.
Ryan suddenly
became thoughtful, then, as if suddenly realizing there was no reason
to take so long in answering such a simple question, said “Well,
James of course, I mean, but, he's not the only one on this team. A
couple things fall for me, I straighten a couple things out I'm up
there with him.” I think he was afraid I was going to laugh at
that ridiculous statement so he quickly added “Henry's pretty good,
wish I had his speed, and Chip's maybe the best pitcher in the
league.” His hostility seemed to have dissolved into awkward
discomfort.
“Did I see your
dad here?” Wiki asked. “What's he do?”
“He's a lawyer.
Partner in a big firm you wouldn't have heard of downtown.”
“Dundry, Moss and
Harper?” Wiki asked, I think to bate him.
“Well, if you
know that,” Ryan started “Then you maybe know he's the Dundry and
that he has never yet lost a case.”
“Hmmm. Never.”
Wiki mused. “Well, thanks for your time.
“Yeah yeah.”
Ryan said graciously, and walked off.
“What did you
whisper to him to get him to talk?” I asked as soon as he was far
enough away.
“He has a lucky
G.I. Joe. I think he kisses it before he goes on deck.” Wiki
answered seriously.
“So that's what
he's doing.” I said. “I could never tell. Well, whatever works.”
“He should try
kissing it before he goes to play third.” Phoebe said.
Wiki was certainly
around again, but she didn't go to our punishment practice or the
Sunday game where we clinched a trip to the big Chicago Tournament on
Chip's two-hitter, 4-0. She did let me know that we'd be on the case
Wednesday night at about 8 and I should plan for it.
So on that
Wednesday Phoebs and I showed up at Wiki's at 6:30 with a dinner that
was a collection of things from my dad's restaurant in 3 deep
sectioned trays of food my dad packed us. Phoebe said they were bento
boxes. Wiki supplied the soda, which, strange as usual was also
pretty good. It came from England somewhere. It was extra carbonated
and in these extraordinarily thick bottles that Wiki said kept them
from exploding. The only two flavors, gooseberry and white currant,
were fairly pedestrian as flavors for sodas at wikis, and they were
frankly more tasty than oddball, but the violent carbonation and
bulging bottles easily made up for any weirdness shortfall in the
flavor department.
We were about
halfway through dinner when I noticed two bats leaning against one of
Wiki's heavy duty shelving units. They were unmistakably James'
Harmon Killebrew bat, only, there were two of them. I was well enough
shocked and mystified, but figured if Wiki could be so nonplussed
about Wiki so could I. So I gestured lightly to them and casually
asked “Two of them?”
Wiki took a sip of
her soda then waved at the fizz in her nose. “I had to buy a set of
three to get what I needed.” She said. See, always nonplussed. If I
was going to be jumping up and down I'd be jumping up and down all
the time.
“So.” I asked
“The third one is currently...?”
“At the home of
Ryan and Michael Dundry.” Wiki answered.
“Where it resides
with James' original bat?” I asked. It was a shot in the dark, but,
delightfully, it hit.
“Well done.”
Wiki said quietly. “And where we are going tonight. We should maybe
get going. We might have enough time to get ice cream on the way to
their house on the lake.
We cleaned up and
did have time to get ice cream. We walked down streets of big
100-year-old houses eating from our waffle cones. We took the path on
the lake and actually passed the Dundry house to give us time to
finish eating. It was a beautiful, sultry summer night and we decided
we were in no hurry so we just ended up circling the lake entirely.
Wiki even told Phoebe and me the story that had her ending up at the
Russian Museum. It was pretty interesting and one day, if two things
happen, I might be able to tell you about it.
We arrived and
knocked on the door of the Dundry's oversized home on a big hill
looking over the lake. Ryan answered.
“What the hell do
you want?” he inquired politely.
“Hot corner.” I
said by way of greeting, winking and pointing trigger-like at him.
“We're here for
the two Killebrew bats.” Wiki said politely, as if it were just
simple business.
“What the f...”
Said Ryan.
“Just let us in.”
Wiki said tiredly. “And tell your dad we're here. He's expecting
us.”
Sufficiently
confused by this Ryan did let us in and went to get Mr. Dundry. We
stood around in the foyer looking up at an ugly chandelier. Ryan came
back with his dad who looked at us in astonishment and said “You're
the ones who wrote? But you're just kids!”
“Competent ones.”
Wiki said. “We need the bats. But we have some things to discuss.”
Mr Dundry gestured
us in and we all sat in the living room. No refreshments were
offered.
“First the bats.”
Said Wiki.
“Get the bats.”
Mr Dundry said to Ryan.
“Dad!” Ryan
exclaimed.
“Get the bats!”
Mr. Dundry said angrily. Ryan went.
“You should be
nicer to your son.” I said “He's in danger of becoming a
permanent asshole.”
“Why you little!”
Mr Dundry said, starting to get up to, I don't know, strangle me.
“Hey!” Wiki
interrupted. “We are holding all the cards here.” Mr. Dundry sank
back down but still looked defiant so Wiki added “Two simple emails
are going out to your ex-wife and your ex-wife's lawyers if things
don't go very smoothly here.”
The fight sort of
evaporated from Mr. Dundry. “What do you want?” He asked tiredly.
At that question
Ryan came back with the two bats. I could not tell the difference,
but Wiki handed me one and said “This one is James'.”
“How can you
tell?”
She pointed to a
little curve of pine tar about a third up from the handle. “Oh
yeah.” I said. I looked up. “Why on earth would you two steal
this bat?”
Ryan and his dad
looked at each other. Mr. Dundry shrugged in a 'you might as well
say' kind of way.
“We were going to
give it back.” Ryan started. “Just, it made James into such a big
deal. He's not the whole team. Some of us deserved to be noticed
more.”
“God, Ryan.” I
said. “It's not the bat. Everyone makes James into a big deal
because he is.”
“I've got nearly
as many homers as James.” Ryan said petulantly.
I almost felt sorry
for him. “I am not saying this to offend, but James is also an
unbelievable fielder. He's fast. He has a great eye, and he gets a
lot of singles, doubles and triples too. He's batting .430 something,
Ryan!”
Ryan just looked
away.
“You put him up
to this?” I asked Mr. Dundry incredulously.
“Like Ryan said,
we'd have returned the bat.” Mr Dundry replied, hopefully with a
touch of shame, though it was hard to see and I was looking hard.
“Winning isn't
the only thing, it's everything.” I said. “I heard you joking
with Ryan and Rolando once. But you weren't joking.”
“I think your
friend here plays by the same rules.” Mr Dundry said with a smirk.
“I am interested
in justice, not victory.” Said Wiki.
“Ryan.” Mr.
Dundry said quietly. “Will you go and get my brown case from my
office?”
Ryan and his dad
exchanged looks and Ryan left reluctantly. Mr. Dundry said “Blackmail
is a crime, Ms, what is your last name?”
“Magenta.” Wiki
said without fear, then she said “I will shy from no crime if it
brings justice.”
“That's good.”
I said wide-eyed. “Who said that?”
Wiki looked at me
sideways. “Me.” She said.
“Not that I am
objecting to it.” Mr. Dundry said “But how is helping me keep
some millions from my ex-wife serving justice.”
“Briefly?” I
asked Wiki, eager to know what was going on.
“He hid some
money from his wife that did not get accounted for in their divorce
settlement.” She answered to my mild surprise, then she turned to
Mr. Dundry.
“First” she
said “I am not helping you. I am merely not reporting it. Second,
what is between you and your ex-wife is not my concern, but when she
abandoned Ryan she left the sphere of my protection.”
“Who are you?”
Mr. Dundry asked, finally realizing some of the scope of Wiki.
“I am Wiki
Magenta, friend of your son's baseball team, which includes your son.
So I expect you to try and do better by him. You're all he's got.”
Ryan returned and
handed his dad the case and sat down. His dad politely said “Thank
you.” which seemed to surprise Ryan.
“Your welcome.”
Mumbled Ryan. Well, it was a start.
“I will need a
check for my costs on this case.” Wiki continued “And I expect
you to fund the team's trip to Chicago at a nice level.”
“Jesus!” Mr
Dundry exclaimed “Most of their parents can afford it just fine!
Wiki just looked at
him admonishingly.
“Fine, fine.”
Mr. Dundry said “And what about your discretion?”
“Fly right and we
have no problem at all.” Wiki assured.
We started to get
up.
“Wait!” Ryan
said. “What'll you tell people about the bat.”
Wiki looked to me,
which seemed quite nice. I thought a bit.
“Mr. Dundry left
early on the day it was taken, so, the story is he had to go to a
meeting and took some of Ryan's practice gear, including what he
thought was one of his old bats. James and Keith get the truth about
all this though because they deserve it and because they can keep a
secret. Oh, and Wiki gets credit too. She figured out how Mr. Dundry
must have accidentally taken the bat.”
Ryan looked a
little sick at James and Keith knowing, but then seemed to decide it
wasn't such a bad deal.
“Thanks.” He
said, and put out his hand. While I was thinking about it he said
“And I'm sorry.”
“Okay.” I said,
and shook his hand. Then he did the same thing with Wiki. Mr Dundry
looked a little surprised at his son, but not displeased.
“I'm sorry too.”
he strangled out. He suddenly looked very young.
“You didn't lose,
Mr. Dundry.” I said. And then, we left.
On the way home I
asked Wiki how she knew the Dundrys took the bat. For awhile she was
quiet.
“I thought it
might be a jealousy thing and the roads kept leading to Ryan and his
dad. I didn't know though, so I planted an extra bat. Them just
keeping it made me sure.”
“Do you think
they'll be okay?” Phoebe asked. She'd been so quiet really. I
sometimes forget Phoebe's just 11.
“Probably not.”
Wiki said gently. “But they have a better chance now, maybe.” Her
confidence tailed off.
“Do you think we
did okay?” Phoebe asked.
Wiki and I looked
at each other and I saw a rare flash of uncertainty on her face. Then
we both just smiled.
“We did great,
Phoebe.” I said. “We did just great.”
Oh, and we did
pretty good in Chicago too.
