Perfect Catch(72)

Well, he was on a roll now. No sense in hiding the truth. “Yeah. He’s Alice’s ex. He’s been badmouthing her, getting in my face about her being his sloppy seconds or whatever.”

“He’s talking smack about your woman?” Miles was clearly astonished.

The nuances of a breakup didn’t seem to matter here. Whether or not Alex and Alice were still together, she apparently remained his woman in the eyes of the team.

Rather than explain the mistake, Alex just answered, “Yeah.”

“Fuck that guy,” Chet said.

“Fuck who?” Ramon asked, coming into the dugout after his strikeout.

“Matt Hernandez,” Tucker replied, doing nothing to cool the fire of the situation. Now half the dugout was bustling together, and though some of them were coming in at the middle of Alex’s story, they’d all seen how Matt behaved when he hit the home run. There was no sympathy for the Mets player among the Felons.

“Aw hell, man.” Miles shifted forward on the bench, his energy obviously amped up. “I’m going to do it. You ever done it, Tucker?”

Alex glanced at his best friend, and Tucker’s mismatched eyes met his briefly. “Yeah,” Tucker admitted. “I’ve done it.”

That was all Miles needed to hear. He was practically bouncing in his seat, ready to go. Alex gave Tucker a wary look.

“What?” the older pitcher asked, his arms crossed over his chest.

“You think it’s a good idea? Sending the kid out there on a vengeance mission?”

Tucker shrugged. “It’s as much for him as it is for you. Besides, Hernandez has it coming. The guy is a douche of the highest order. Baseball justice is a fastball inside. You know that as well as I do.” Tucker mussed Alex’s hair then handed him his mask.

Baseball justice. Alex had to admit it had a pleasing ring to it. And where he could get arrested for punching Matt, there was no clear rule on Miles hitting Matt with a ball. Sure, someone was going to get thrown out afterwards, but no one would have a criminal record at the end of the day.

“Make it clean,” Alex cautioned. “No headshots.”

Miles nodded enthusiastically.

When Matt came to bat in the fourth inning, it was clear he wasn’t just trying to bait Alex, he was straight-up invested in being an asshole of the millionth degree. Any sympathy Alex had felt for what was coming dissipated completely.

“What do you think, Ross? Think I hit another home run, then maybe call up Alice and see if she wants to play? She’s done with you now, isn’t she? Maybe she wants to roll around with a real man again.”

“Eye on the ball, Matt,” Alex mumbled, then threw down the signal for a fastball.

He held his glove up, getting into a proper stance, as if he thought there would be a catch to make, but when Miles loosed the ball—a hard, high fastball—it was obvious it wasn’t coming anywhere near Alex’s glove. Matt made the realization a moment too late and turned inward to the plate to avoid getting hit on his dominant arm.

Still, the ball made a satisfying meaty thud when it hit him.

“For fuck’s sake.” Matt threw his bat into the dirt. “Did you see that?” He turned to the home-plate umpire, but the ump shook his head.

“Looked like it slipped to me. Take your base.” Any time a batter was hit by a pitch it was an automatic walk. From the dugout Alex could actually hear the clamor from Matt’s teammates, calling it a dirty shot. Which it was, naturally, but Alex gathered the umpire had been none too impressed with Matt’s antics in the first.

The Mets field manager came out of the dugout to have a word—or more accurately a one-way screaming match—with the umpire, and Alex took his opportunity to jog out to the mound to convene with Miles.

“Did you get things out of your system?” Alex asked.

“Felt pretty good. He still getting in your face?”

He should have said no, but it wasn’t in his nature to lie. Instead he said, “Don’t worry about me.”

Miles nodded, but the look on his face suggested he was still interested in what Matt had to say to Alex. This wasn’t going to be a simple end to things, Alex realized. The next several innings were about to get very, very messy.

The home-plate umpire joined them, with Chuck Calvin not far behind.

“Look, kid,” the ump began. “I know he’s a jerk, and I know you’re not happy with how he handled that home run, but let’s not play dirty ball here, okay? Keep it clean, keep it fair.”

“Ball slipped,” Miles said.

“Yeah, yeah. Well, you keep those hands dry, got me? Next time there’s no warnings. And you, Calvin. You keep these boys in line, you got me? I don’t need any more of Gary Burgess’s spit in my face, okay?”