Force Out (6 page)

“We
had
it.” Butch Barrett apparently couldn't help echoing his father's words, and it was as if he'd delivered a stellar performance, when actually he hadn't done much at all.

Joey let his head drop.

“It's not your fault.” Zach whispered—perfect in everything, even defeat—patting Joey's back and wagging his head in personal disappointment. “We all screwed up.”

“Not with the bases loaded, you didn't.”

The team broke up and headed for the dugout to gather their things.

“You saw him lick his lips, right?” Zach stood facing the infield with Joey looking toward the dugout, just the two of them now on the first base line.

“I opened my stance and everything.” Joey looked over at home plate, the scene of the crime. “I hit it, just . . . on top of it. I don't know. I had such a
feeling
.”

“I get that, too.”

“No.” Joey shook his head. “Not a good feeling, a bad feeling. Bases loaded is supposed to make you excited about a grand slam, but all I could think about was the force-out they had at every base. I couldn't shake it. It was like I wasn't supposed to win. That's how a loser thinks. I can't believe I choked, and Leah was here and everything.”

“Hey, you're no loser.” Zach poked him gently in the chest. “Look what you did just to help me get here. You're the best. Don't worry. We'll both make the all-stars. There's three slots the coaches vote on. I heard Coach Barrett talking to the Pirates coach about it. They meet tomorrow. I can make it on that way.”

“You? Coach Barrett's gonna give our team's slot to you. I'm the one who has to worry.”

“I wouldn't say that.” Zach looked at Joey, not only with sincerity but without jealousy or anger. “You had a monster season. You got twice the home runs I did.”

“But your batting average is a hundred points better than mine.”

“Let's not argue about it,” Zach said. “Forget it. We'll both make it. I know we will. Hey, a lot of people are going to Gideon Falls this afternoon before the dance. You want to go?”

“We got finals all next week.” Another thing for Joey to worry about.

Zach waved a hand in the air. “It's the weekend. If you have to study, do it tomorrow night.”

Joey shook his head. “I've got too much studying I have to do. I wouldn't have any fun. If I get it done, I can go to the dance.”

“Leah's gonna be there.” Zach sang the words.

“I can't, Zach. Don't torture me.”

Behind the dugout, Joey saw his parents, along with Zach's. Leah McClosky was nowhere to be seen. No surprise there.

“I wish I could be like you.” Joey sighed. “I swear.”

“Like what?”

“Just so . . . so relaxed.”

“Well, just relax. It's easy.”

Joey was going to say that it wasn't easy, but because of what he saw now behind the dugout, the words stuck in his throat.

Mr. Kratz wore a red flannel shirt tucked into a big pair of jeans held up by two leather suspenders. The gleam of his sweaty forehead disappeared up under the brim of his floppy felt hat. The little round glasses he used to read hung from the tip of his nose, threatening a dive into the big fuzzy beard below to swim alongside what looked like toast crumbs from breakfast. His beady eyes scowled at Joey's mom, who stood with her hands on her hips, listening intently.

Between his forefinger and thumb, holding it up for Joey's mom to see, the dreaded teacher presented the small ring of the silver clamp Joey used to shut down his fuel line.

When his mom looked over at him, Joey thought he would melt. After losing the game the way he just had, he was already sick to his stomach. This, though, this added a heavy weight to the sickness, driving him into depths he never knew existed.

Zach turned to see what caught Joey's attention. “Oh, Christmas.”

“Yeah.” Joey's voice was as flat as a pancake. “Christmas is right. I am so dead.”

Zach faced him. “What are we gonna do?”

Joey kept his eyes on his mom and Mr. Kratz. He marched toward them, like a zombie or a bug to a campfire. He sensed Zach behind him, groaning in agony over what was about to happen. “This is all my fault, bro. I'm going to take the fall here, not you.”

Joey spun on him and spoke in a low, hissing tone. “No. No way. You are not taking any fall. If one of us has to go down, there's no reason we both do, and I'm going down no matter what. Trust me. You didn't know anything about this, got it? I wanted to win this game, so
I
did it. Not you. I'm already in trouble for the sleeping pill.”

“Bro, your mom will kill you.”

“I know.” Joey turned. “But she can only kill me once, right? Then, I'm dead.”

“Joey?” His mom had her police officer face on. “Mr. Kratz had his truck vandalized.”

Joey opened his mouth, but nothing came out. He felt the gates of his tear ducts swinging open, and fought to keep them closed.

“Look at this.” Mr. Kratz raised the silver clamp even higher. “You believe this? Crazy, right? Someone shut down my fuel line.”

Joey nodded, but it was his mom Mr. Kratz was talking to.

“I didn't know if I should make a formal complaint or not,” Mr. Kratz said. “I came to throw the Frisbee with my dog and saw you up there in the stands. I hate to bother you, Officer Riordon, but you said anytime.”

“Mr. Kratz, your jam keeps my whole family happy. I meant it when I said anytime, and I'm glad you asked me instead of someone who'd just sweep it under the rug.”

The tone of their banter didn't sound to Joey like he was about to be thrown in jail or grounded for life, and he shared a puzzled look with Zach.

“I know it sounds silly,” Mr. Kratz said, his low, rough voice sounding almost jolly, “but someone must have done this on purpose. I don't even know if it's a crime. Well, the crime is that we missed our field trip, but I mean a real crime.”

“It's vandalism.” Joey's mom smelled crime in the air the way a dog sniffed out a holiday ham. “That's a crime in my book, and if you want to lodge a complaint, I'd be happy to swing by later this afternoon, or we could wait until I'm actually on duty Monday morning.”

Mr. Kratz held up a hand. “No, I don't want to mess up your weekend. I just thought maybe you'd heard of it happening around town with other people. Some kind of prank that's all of a sudden popular with the kids. We used to tip over people's cows. You know how kids can be.”

Joey's mom gave him and Zach a narrow-eyed look. “Oh, I do. What do you two know about it?”

Joey didn't like the look on Zach's face. It was the look of a dead man walking.

Zach opened his mouth. “We—”

Joey stomped on Zach's toe to cut him off. “We don't know anything about kids doing that. Nope. That's a new one.”

Mr. Kratz turned the clamp over in his hand, studying it. “I don't know if it even is kids. I can't think why anyone else would do it, but here's something else.”

The teacher looked up to see that Joey's mom was listening. “I know it sounds even stranger, but I think whoever did it may have drugged Daisy.”

“Daisy?” Joey's mom asked.

“My dog.”

“The dog I've seen?” Joey's mom asked.

“I know. He's no daisy. That's what's strange. If someone spent time monkeying around under my truck, he'd have gone bananas. And he was sleeping next to the truck when I found him this morning. I had to nudge him to get up, which never happens, and then he was kind of groggy, stumbling all over. I didn't think too much of it. Thought maybe he ate a dead squirrel or something and got sick, but then my mechanic found this, so . . .”

“Drugged?” Joey's mom put one hand to the side of her face and scratched her ear.

Joey didn't know if his stomach could take any more.

“Well, I should come by today, then,” his mom said. “We can take a blood sample and see.”

“You can do that?”

“I spent my summers as a kid working for a vet. It's nothing, and if someone tranquilized your dog, whatever is in his system should tell us a lot more about who did it.”

“How's that?” Mr. Kratz asked.

“Well, not everyone has access to those kinds of tranquilizers. We can check with the local vets and narrow it down.”

“That's a lot of trouble for a pretty minor mystery.”

“Not at all.” Joey's mom shook her head. “Someone drugging an animal and tampering with your truck? The county lab is slow right now anyway. I was in there the other day and they were all sitting around playing Texas Hold'em.”

Mr. Kratz's stained and smiling teeth appeared in the midst of his thick beard. “Very nice of you, Officer Riordon. I appreciate it. I would like to know who did this.”

Joey's mom gave a short nod. “Me, too.”

Mr. Kratz lumbered toward the parking lot, where Daisy waited in the bed of the pickup truck, Frisbee in his mouth and wagging his tail. Joey and Zach shared a private look of dread.

“You played well, Zach.” Joey's dad, who carried Martin on his shoulders, shook Zach's hand.

“Thanks,” Zach said.

“They both did.” Zach's dad, Kurt James, was a short and heavyset man who used to actually play on the Mariners double-A farm team. “You guys had a great season, so stop hanging your heads. The only sure thing is that there's no sure thing.”

The parents said good-bye to one another.

“Talk to you later,” Joey said to Zach, and watched them go.

“Sorry about the game.” Joey's dad lowered his voice. “Good effort.”

“I stunk.” Joey was more worried about Mr. Kratz and his dog right now, but his response to the game was automatic. “There goes the all-stars.”

“Hey, you can't say that,” his dad said. “You had a super season.”

“Poop.” Martin giggled.

“No, Marty,” his mother said. “That's not a nice word.”

Joey just stared at his little brother atop their father's shoulders. The sparkle in Martin's eyes suggested that he knew exactly what he was saying and why. Joey made a snarling face. Martin blew a green snot bubble that bulged in and out of his left nostril defiantly.

“He is so disgusting.” Joey couldn't help saying it.

“That's your little brother, mister.” His mom glared at him, and Joey knew he should quit while he was ahead. When everything came crumbling down on his head—which seemed only a matter of time—he'd need as much goodwill as he could muster.

“Sorry.”

“Well, let's go get some pizza for lunch.” Joey's father started for the Jeep.

They were loading up when Coach Barrett appeared with the equipment bag over his shoulder and his son—thankfully—nowhere in sight. “Joey, can I talk to you for a second?”

Joey got out of the Jeep and stood facing his coach. Coach Barrett glanced at Joey's mom, who sat in the passenger seat but with the door open. “It's about the all-star team.”

Joey couldn't help wishing with all his heart that Coach Barrett was going to give him the spot. Part of him felt he didn't deserve it, but Zach's own words echoed in his mind. Except for today, he
did
have a great season, and no one hit more home runs.

“So, I think you know this, but because we lost, we only get one automatic spot for the all-star team.” Coach Barrett scratched his skinny neck. “That's just the way the rules are. Honestly, I thought we were going to win today, and it would have been easy. You and Zach both had outstanding seasons, and I think you both deserve to be on that team. But we didn't, and I just want you and your parents to know that I'm going to do everything I can in the coach's meeting tomorrow to make sure you get on that team, too. There are three wild card spots, you know.”

Joey blinked. His mind went over what his coach just said, knowing what it meant but unable to keep from considering a different possible conclusion.

There was none, though. He didn't make it. Zach did. A small, desperate part of him wondered how it would have turned out if he hadn't snuck out, “vandalized” Mr. Kratz's truck, and Zach had never showed up for the game. Then, they still would have lost, but Joey wouldn't have looked so bad and Coach would likely have given him the sole slot, especially if Zach didn't even
play
in the championship game.

Joey opened his mouth to say something, or start to say something, but his mom spoke first.

“Thanks, Coach Barrett. We appreciate anything you can do. Joey's been talking about this all-star thing and that select team since last season.”

“Well, I think he's got a better than fifty-fifty chance. I can't speak for the others, but he'll have my vote. You folks have a good day. I'll give you a call after the meeting tomorrow. We get together at three, so I should know by four or five.” Coach Barrett shook Joey's hand and turned to go.

Joey saw his mom giving him a look and he remembered his manners. “Thanks, Coach.”

They all got in the Jeep before his mom said, “That was nice.”

“Fifty-fifty?” Joey palmed his own face, then let go. “That's terrible. Fifty-fifty is like rock, paper, scissors. That's all I am? Rock, paper, scissors, shoot?”

“He said, ‘better than fifty-fifty.'” Joey's father met his eyes in the rearview mirror.

They rode in silence for a few minutes before Joey's mom said, “I just don't get it. Why would someone go to all that trouble?”

Joey's dad glanced at her. “Because Joey's been a great player for him all season.”

“No, not Coach Barrett. I'm talking about Mr. Kratz's truck. I just don't get it.”

“Well, it's a good thing for Zach his truck broke down,” Joey's dad said. “If the field trip didn't get canceled, he wasn't even going to be able to play today. Now, he's going to the all-star team.”