The Prospect, Eliot Parker [free ebooks for android .TXT] 📗

innings ago, but I can get him out. Trust me. Let me do this.”
“Why, so some scout sitting upstairs will give you a free pass to double-A ball?” Biggie asked. Ryan inhaled and exhaled deeply, and Harry groaned indiscreetly.
Shane noticed an urgent, whiny tone was overtaking his voice.
“Coach, Just let me get him out. I can do this. I really can.”
“That is bullshit and you know it!” exclaimed Biggie, his tall frame now wobbling under the weight of the catching equipment and standing on the right slope of the pitcher’s mound. Biggie shot a glace at Walter.“I have been catching all your pitches. I know when a guy has the stuff and when a guy does not. He doesn’t have it. Now we can sit here or we can win this damn game and go home.”
The veins in Shane’s neck and arms pulsated with fury. “I think what is really at work here is this bastard doesn’t want me being the feature story in this game.” Shane looked back at his teammates for confirmation of the statement, but they continued to display deadpan expressions; silent, motionless.
“Christ, I want to win this game as much as you do! I swear! I really do!”
Those words resounded in Shane’s ears like fingernails to a chalkboard. The face of Olivia popped into his mind for a brief moment.
All Shane had to do was defend her that night when Mama was out of control, when she slapped Olivia. And yet, he sent her away. No explanation, no justification. In fact, Shane had not spoken to or heard from Olivia since the incident. Shane called, dropped by her house, waited for her at Ruth’s Diner, or Phil Rodney’s department store, but she was nowhere to be seen. Even more discouraging, nobody had seen or spoken to her. By now, she was probably at Marshall, taking classes and meeting new people. Finally away from her father…
The home plate umpire came to the mound and broke up the conference, jolting Shane’s thoughts back into the present. Walter had to make a decision. He looked at Shane; sweating, dirty, dusty, fatigued and wondered what to do or say. Biggie Rowan once again towered above the group, but his look was more distant, more serene. Clearly, the catcher wanted Chris Taylor to warm up, come out, and end the scoring threat.
Shane’s blue eyes crystallized under the clear white light. The early evening moon had asserted itself in the nigh sky brilliantly and was illuminating the ballpark, revealing all the intricacies of the Watt Powell’s architectural design.
Shane was silently pleading with one beseeching glance for Walter to let him stay, but knew it was the manager’s decision, and Walter was the manager; he would make the final decision.
Walter fiddled with the tan buttons on his uniform and surveyed the entire circle gathered around the pitchers mound. These players had carried the team. Even when Biggie and Shane were suspended and feared to be lost indefinitely, everyone played beyond their abilities, beyond their potential.
“This bunch started it, and use going to finish it. I’m gonna get Taylor loose…just in case. And Triplet’s gonna finish it. Not a peep from you Biggie. My mind is made up.”
And with that, Walter jogged away from the assembly, back into the dugout. Chaz smacked Shane on the back with his arm and Harry quietly hissed “yes!” as he ran to first base. Walter motioned for Chris Taylor to go to the bullpen and begin warming up, but the statement had been made. This game was Shane’s game to win or lose.
The first pitch to Diego Hernandez was a ball, followed by two more balls, running the count to 3-0. Biggie Rowan was seething quietly behind home plate and the looks he was shooting towards Shane at the mound could kill if they carried any type of ammunition.
The next decision by Diego Hernandez was controversial. Diego received instructions from Alley Cats manager Dave Cortez to take the next pitch. The instructions were clear: do not swing; stand and watch the pitch no matter what. Hernandez did as instructed, and Shane mustered up enough strength to pump a fastball down the middle for one strike.
Walter Mann knew that pitch changed the entire at bat. If he was going to take one pitch, perhaps he was going to take another. Watching Dave Cortez from the dugout, Walter saw the identical sign. In turn, the Loggers skipper signaled to Biggie to have Shane throw another down the middle fastball. Biggie turned his head away and back towards the visitor dugout, making sure he saw the right signal. Walter motioned again, and Biggie relayed the sign.
By now, Shane’s arm was afflictive. Every muscle, tendon, and strand of cartilage throbbed. For a moment, it felt like Shane’s arms were going unhinge from the ball and socket joint in his shoulder. Shane got the sign. As he leaned back and prepared to discharge the baseball, he noticed a motioning shadow to his left. Normally, Shane paid no attention to anyone in the stands, at least until the game was over. But this time, he could not help but look to see who was catching his attention. When he looked, he saw Olivia, more noticeably pregnant, waddling towards a seat in front of Phil Rodney and Frank Miller near the first base stands. She did not waive or motion towards Shane, but took her seat quietly and politely.
Shane’s mind was awash in thoughts and emotions. Maybe Olivia came to tell me that she got my messages; heard that I was looking for her. Why was she not at Marshall? Was something wrong with the baby? Does her father know she is here? Whatever the reason for her appearance, Shane felt a calming reassurance sweep over him, unlike any feeling he had ever experienced as a baseball player. With Diego Hernandez standing in the batter’s box, digging his cleats into the dirt and spitting profusely, Shane unleashed another fastball right down the middle of the plate for strike two.
Now the Alley Cats base runners would be moving on a 3-2 count with two outs. Walter again watched Cortez’s signal and the Loggers manager called for another fastball, knowing that Diego would be “taking” all the way.
When Biggie signaled for the fastball, Shane nodded in approval, not risking another conference at the mound. Shane reared back, peered at Olivia and Walter, both sitting and standing respectively, piously watching, waiting, anticipating. The pitch instead was a slider.
From behind home plate, Biggie Rowan noticed the pitch was moving, sharply down and away from the strike zone. Judging by the rotating laces on the baseball, it was going to be a slider. But Biggie had positioned himself for a fastball, and awkwardly managed to reposition himself to fetch the slider with his glove. He managed to catch the ball, and hold the glove in place, but an inch off of the inside corner of the plate.
The home plate umpire felt the pitch was good enough. He yelped “strike three!” and flailed his arm, indicating Diego Hernandez was out of strikes, ending the inning.
Shane quickly left the mound, totally spent of any and all energy. Everyone in the field and in the dugout congratulated Shane, some people with verbal approval, some with physical contact such as hugs or forceful pats.
The Sheaville Loggers fans leaped over the concrete wall separating the stands and home plate and ran to embrace the champions of the Appalachian Baseball Association. It was customary for the winning team to be presented the trophy by Commissioner Bud Morrison, but the presentation was an afterthought for everyone involved.
Most of the Charleston Alley Cats fans were stunned sitting in the stands. Mouths open, tears forming in the eyes of some of the wives, girlfriends, friends and family members of the players arranged like an assembly line of disappointment. Others stormed out of the stadium, eerily similar to the Loggers fans charging out of Clark Field after Sheaville’s opening day loss.
This time, Jim Thomas’ voice was blared over the loudspeakers after the game in a tone that was cavalier, but dispirited. He painfully recapped the game, obviously not expecting the Charleston Alley Cats to leave Watt Powell Park without the championship trophy.
Walter approached Shane, chewing on his lower lip. “Son, the next time I give use a sign, dog gonnit you’d better do it!”
Shane grinned and noticed the wrinkles in Walter’s forehead subsiding, a sure sign that anger was not his predominant emotion.
“Yes sir!” Shane replied, saluting the manager mockingly.

XXXIX
Shane did not see Olivia after the championship trophy presentation. As soon as the final out was recorded, it was almost as if Olivia just vanished from her seat. There was very little evidence that she had even been at the ballpark other than Shane’s memory and Phil Rodney and Frank Miller’s assurances.
Commissioner Bud Morrison presented the Sheaville Loggers with the Appalachian Baseball Association Championship trophy. It was a great moment for the little dormant lumber town of Sheaville, West Virginia. Commissioner Morrison awarded Shane Triplet with the Most Valuable Player of the Game award. It was the first time that a player from Sheaville ever received the award.
The bus ride back to Sheaville was one of the most pleasant experiences of Shane’s life. Everyone was talking and congratulating one another, except Biggie Rowan who took his normal seat near the back of the bus, closest to the bathroom.
When the bus arrived on Central Avenue, it pulled up alongside Ruth’s Diner close to midnight. Even though many parents and children would be going back to work and school the next day, the town gathered to welcome the victorious Loggers home.
One by one the players crept down the steps of the bus and were greeted by cheers, congratulatory remarks, and even some confetti provided by Frank Miller. Shane did not see Olivia though. He surveyed the entire street, looking in storefront windows, behind parked cars, and in between crowds of people but there was no sign of her.
Shane’s body was listless. It ached, literally from his enervated right arm to the tips of his toes. In addition to the aches and pains, Shane was continuing to suffer from shots of unblunted pain under the rib cage, although it was not as intense as before. It was Shane’s intention to be examined by a physician the next time that Mama had to be taken to Charleston Area Medical Center for psychiatric treatment.

*****************
The next evening was the annual Sheaville Fall Festival. The event was the crowning achievement for the town; an event that residents waited the entire year to attend. The festival this year was filled with controversy. Everyone in town heard about the situation involving Shane and Morton Mitchell, both during the warehouse cleanup process and the auction.
Despite the setbacks, Ryan Head had the entire Fall Festival Committee at the warehouse two hours before the first guests would arrive. The goal was to make sure everyone knew their responsibilities heading into the evening.
The group sat down at one of the peach cloth-covered tables at the front of the warehouse, near the entrance. The warehouse had magically been transformed. The stained floor glistened under the polish and wax applied by Morton and Phil during the past week. The entire warehouse was full of bouquets of fresh flowers covering all shapes, sizes, and colors. Olivia was responsible for selecting the floral arrangements, and each small and large basket of flowers produced a fresh aroma that erased the typical repugnant, stale warehouse odor of old machine parts and burnt oil.
The tables were arranged in a figure-8 pattern with the middle of the floor reserved for dancing. Olivia also took