The teammates left the alley in silence and proceeded back to the boardinghouse without speaking again.
There was no sign of Jerry on the street, Longarm noticed.
But then obviously the kid would have overheard everything that took place in the alley. No point in mentioning that to Lewis, though.
Two more days, Longarm thought. Two days and the Capitals would meet the Jonesboro nine.
And this game should not be marred by the presence of robbers. That was what he’d assured Jerry when the kid pressed him on the subject.
After that, well, after that they would just have to wait and see what happened, wouldn’t they?
Chapter 46
The morning of game day Longarm crawled unwilling into his baseball outfit. He managed to refrain from sniveling and whining about it, but he did snarl and spit just a little.
“Something wrong, Marshal?” his roommate asked.
“Flannel at this time o’ year, that’s what’s wrong.” It wasn’t yet mid-morning and already the sweat was pouring off him by the bucketful. And that was indoors. In the fierce glare of the sunshine this afternoon it was bound to be unbearable. “How come you never complain, kid? Surely you get as hot and miserable as the rest of us.”
“Oh, I don’t mind the heat so much,” Jerry admitted. “It’s worth being hot to be able to wear a fine uniform like this. Can I ask you something?”
“Sure, go ahead.”
“When you’re out there on the field playing and all those pretty girls are cheering and then later they come up to you and … well, they do things with you … you know the sort of things I mean … is it, well, is it as grand as it looks?”
“I’m not sure I know what you mean, Jerry.”
“I mean … those girls falling all over you and the other players … is it really, really neat?”
“I suppose so. Hadn’t given it much thought, actually, but I s’pose you could call it neat.”
Jerry blushed, then rushed on quick before he lost his courage. “You don’t have to pay them or … or anything?”
“Hell no, kid. Girls like that, they’re easy. They’d sleep with anybody.”
The equipment boy looked sad. “Not everybody,” he said.
Longarm glanced down toward the kid’s twisted foot, then paid attention to Jerry’s boyish but rather homely features and complexion. “Your time will come,” he said.
Jerry brightened a little. Or pretended to. “Sure it will, marshal. One of these days I’ll be rich. Maybe even famous, sort of. Then all the girls will want to be with me. Even more than with guys like you and the players. You wait and see. It will happen, sir.”
“I believe you, Jerry. I bet it really will happen that way for you.” It was a lie. But not a bad sort of lie.
“Can I ask you something else?”
“Sure, anything.”
“You said you don’t expect those robbers to be here in Jonesboro. Does that mean you’ll be playing today?”
“I’ll play if the manager wants me to.”
“But you’ll be there with us at the ball field, is that right?”
“All day long,” Longarm assured him, checking to make sure all his buttons were buttoned and all the tail ends tucked in. Damn but he would be glad when he didn’t have to wear this clown suit any longer.
“If there’s anything you need, sir, or anything I can do.”
“I know I can count on you to be close by, Jerry. In fact, I am counting on that.”
“Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.”
Longarm gave his gunbelt and Colt a looking over, but there was no help for it. Those particular items would be distinctly out of place in conjunction with a baseball uniform.
“You want me to carry those for you, marshal? Just in case, like? I could hide them on my cart. In the bat bag or better yet I could put them in my first aid box. It wouldn’t be no trouble.”
“Thanks, Jerry, but I won’t need them. Not today.”
Carefully he rolled the belt, gun, and holster into a compact bundle and stowed them away in his carpetbag.
“I’m ready to go now if you are, marshal.”
“Let’s go do it, son.”
Chapter 47
To Longarm’s immense relief the manager did not want Longarm to start in right field. It was hot enough sitting on the bench along the third base line. It would have been even worse if he had to be running around out in the damned field.
“Stay ready though, Short. I expect to need you to hit for me later on.”
“Is there somethin’ I don’t know about? How can you tell before the game even starts that you’ll be needin’ a punch hitter?”
“The term is pinch, not punch. And I’m anticipating it because as you may not have noticed, it’s a very hot day today. The pitchers especially will be feeling that. I’ll start Jason Hubbard, but later on I’ll want to put in Dennis Pyle and possibly will replace him later, too. When I think it’s time to make the move, see, I’ll wait until it’s Jason’s turn to bat, then put you in long enough for that one at-bat. A matter of simple strategy you see, not collusion.”
“Damn. I guess maybe there’s reasons for all the stuff that goes on on that field, huh?”
McWhortle smiled. “Sometimes. Not always.”
“Let me know when you want me t’ hit,” Longarm said.
“Relax. I won’t need you for a spell.”
“Thanks.” Longarm looked rather longingly toward a tent—the shade was reason enough to yearn for it—where an enterprising soul was selling lemonade, apple cider or beer, fifteen cents a glass for whichever one you chose. Expensive, Longarm thought, but worth it.
“Go ahead,” McWhortle told him. “Just don’t dip too heavy into the beer if that’s your pleasure.”
“Lend me a dollar?” Longarm asked. “I didn’t pack my wallet in these tight britches.”
McWhortle forked over, and Longarm made for the refreshment tent.
He wasn’t more than into the shade of the canvas canopy when he ran into a friend. Sort of.
“Ma’am,” he said, reaching up to touch the brim of his Stetson only to realize too late that he was instead wearing that ridiculous, floppy baseball cap. Better to tip that than be rude, though. He removed it and smiled at the girl he knew as Fancy—which surely was not her right name—and at the much prettier lass who was with her.
“Geraldine, this is Mr. Short.” Huh. She must’ve been asking after him then. They hadn’t bothered with much in the way of introductions the last he saw Fancy. “Mr. Short, this is Miss Flowers.”
“And pretty as a flower you are too, miss,” Longarm said politely. It was not a lie. Geraldine was blonde and lovely, with a shapely figure and a dimpled smile. He couldn’t help wondering if Geraldine Flowers had the same habits as Fancy did when it came to being, uh, hospitable to visiting baseball players.
Not that he could come right out and ask.
“May I offer you ladies a beverage?” Longarm asked.
“Cider for me, please,” Fancy said. “A lemonade would be lovely,” Geraldine added.
“I’ll be with you in a moment.”
The girls moved out of the crowd to the fringe of shade on the far side of the canopy while Longarm pushed his way through the sweating, smelling press of humanity to fetch the drinks. It was a good thing McWhortle had given him more than the price of a single beer, bless that man’s heart.
Out on the field the game was already in progress. Both young ladies seemed to be actually paying attention to it.
“What position do you play, Mr. Short?” Geraldine asked.
Longarm gave her the standard lie about the sore shoulder that kept him from pitching.
Fancy, meanwhile, was looking over the visiting players like a matron in the butcher shop examining a tray of pork chops prior to making her selections.
“Who’s that on first base?” she asked.
Longarm was paying more attention to Geraldine than to Fancy at the moment and only half heard. He thought she’d said something about that being Hoosier on first.