Over the Fence, Near the River

Over the Fence, Near the River

“We’re running out of practice balls,” Fred Duchess complained to Hank James. Hank was watching Smitty Caroll take batting practice. Smitty had earned his HooseCows credentials by getting busted with a massive amount of cocaine and then threatening to get rid of the drugs by forcing them into a part of the cop’s body that the cop found objectionable. Smitty was big and slow on the basepaths, and he was even slower behind the plate. This, and possessing the attitude of a greasy semi truck driver with no shame, eased him out of the majors. The only thing he had left was the ability to pound fastballs over outfield fences over and over again.

The other players were stretching and going through drills. Hank was honest enough with himself to know all of it was half-assed as best. Taylor Nickles was out working out some problems with the league regarding the stadium in Mason City. Taylor had left Hank in charge. Hank wondered if the team would try any harder when Taylor was back. If they weren’t, he doubted people would show up to games after the first few weeks.

Fred walked back with Hank to the bullpen and was staring at the bucket of balls like someone was going to make that bucket magically refill. Then Fred looked up at Hank, making it clear exactly who he expected was going to perform magic for him. Smitty had busied himself by spitting into the dust around home plate, over and over again.

“See? That’s all we got left,” Fred said. He pointed at the seven balls at the bottom of the ball bucket. Fred had no criminal convictions, but Taylor had already told Hank his “crime,” as listed in the program, would be “robbing time.” Fred was fifty. He had been a name people had known twenty years ago, and had value for the team’s marketing.

“I’ll bet we could get a bunch back from outside the park, if we looked,” Hank said.

“Coaches can get those. Don’t we have any others?” Fred asked.

“This isn’t the majors, Fred. Isn’t even the minors. We’re missing out on some of the perks you might have been used to.”

Fred just shook his head. He didn’t even have the guts to just say no to Hank. Hank had a hunch the old pitcher was only doing this so his grandson, who was nine, could see him pitch in person.

When Hank realized he would get annoyed with waiting for Fred to respond long before Fred got tired of moping, he just slapped the old pitcher on the back like he was proud of how insolent the man was being. Fred kept right on staring at his shoes and shuffling about in the dust.

“We gotta go out to get some of the balls that fouled out over the left field line,” Hank shouted to the players within earshot.

“Fouled out?” Rick Newton asked, faking disgust. “Some of those went out of the park about five hundred feet.”

“Not from your bat, Rick, or you wouldn’t be here,” Hank teased the center fielder. Rick was a genuinely decent guy, with a brand of humor that could keep baseball teams together. He’d still have been in the major leagues if he hadn’t been in that bar fight, and if he hadn’t probably been at fault for someone dying in that fight.

“Fine,” Rick said, after chuckling. Most of the other batters joined in. Smitty was now prying at a part of the stadium that was falling apart and looked like he couldn’t be bothered. The HooseCows who were willing to help filed off the field, past the spot of bench where Mickey Danz sat every day. All Hank had learned about the night he had pulled Mickey out of a stranger’s barn was that Mickey had stormed out of a bar after one of the girls the players were flirting with started teasing him. The other players said the teasing was mostly harmless and very flirtatious, but Mickey still left in a huff. No one had heard anything from him until Hank got the call from Thomas.

The group of players worked their way out of the stadium, leaving the pitchers with the few baseballs that remained. Over his shoulder, Hank could see Smitty strapping on his catcher’s gear to go work in the bullpen. The day was cool, almost chilly, but it also felt enough like regular baseball weather to keep the players excited about playing the game.

Like Hank, most of the players were realizing just how cash-strapped this league was. Some seemed to be taking it in stride, like Rick. Then there were the players who were already bitter, like Fred. Hank was surprised at how positive he himself was about everything, even though he knew the fans and the booing and yelling were coming soon, and that these fans would be encouraged to behave even more rudely than usual.

There was a small strip of land the groundskeepers kept mowed outside of the right field stands. It amounted to maybe three passes through with a riding lawnmower. Beyond that, the ground sloped into a ditch and then it was all trees, mud, and weeds. Three hundred feet from the edge of that woods was the Cedar River. Taylor had told Hank that local kids would sometimes hang out there during the games, wrestling around with each other while waiting for foul balls to roll into the grass and weeds.

“This is going to mess up my cleats,” whined shortstop Drew Harrold.

“They wash off,” Hank said. “And they’re supposed to get dirty, if you play right.”

Drew swore under his breath. He might still have been in the majors if he had played harder. And if he hadn’t been charged with kidnapping.

The baseball players walked into the mucky ground, where the weeds and grass had not really begun to lay claim to everything. Almost instinctively, they began breaking off long sticks to swat at underbrush, looking for baseballs. They had done this for hours when they were younger, working their way to being great. Now they were doing it again, and they remembered what they were doing quickly. When they found the baseballs, they tossed them back onto the clear grass outside the stadium.

Then Danny Marks, the first basemen, screamed like he just scared a snake out of an old log. The other players stopped to laugh, and Hank just shook his head. Danny screamed again, this time filling the air with nonsensical swear-words. Hank turned to see Danny was standing thirty yards away, up ahead of him and approaching the river.

“Geez, Danny,” Drew said. “Get it together. You ain’t never seen a bug before or what?”

Danny did not respond to Drew, but he did swear one more time and then backed slowly into the trunk of a large tree. He slid down the tree and plopped into the mud, getting his uniform dirty in an instant.

Hank and the other players moved toward Danny, who was covering his eyes and shaking his head. Even Drew came to see what was going on, but he moved more slowly. The shortstop was smiling, as if he was looking forward to humiliating the scared first basemen more.

“What is that?” Rick asked. The players turned and looked into a pile of branches and dead leaves that looked like they had been deposited during some point when the river outgrew its banks.

Hank looked into the tangle and saw what was clearly a human foot. It was very white, and the body it was attached to had clearly been dead for a long time. From where he was standing, Hank could just make out the thick lines of dirt under the toenails of the foot. It looked like the dirt went up at least halfway to the quick of the toenail.

The broken end of a stick advanced slowly to the pile, with Drew behind it. His face had no fear, but more than enough curiousity.

“Drew!” Hank said.

“What?” Drew replied.

“Well,” Hank said. He couldn’t believe he had to continue with his thought, but Drew was still gaping at him. “Don’t poke it.”

Drew thought about this, found his shame, and backed up to watch with the other men. Hank looked down at Danny, and he saw the shock had not been kind to the man. There was blood slowly soaking through the back of his shirt. Hank looked up the trunk of the tree and saw an inch-long busted branch. Danny had slid down with such utter abandon he hadn’t noticed what was scratching into his back.

“Any idea of what to do?” Rick asked. “Other than calling the cops?”

“I think that’s all we can do,” Hank said.

He looked back at the snarl of wood, greenery, and body. He thought he could make out more details this time around. Maybe he saw a whiff of hair, and maybe he saw part of a back. For a moment, he wished he hadn’t stopped Drew from poking at the pile. It would’ve wrecked any evidence the police could have recovered, but it would also have given him something more to think about.

“I’ll go call them,” Rick said. Hank nodded, and he and the other HooseCows stayed where they were and waited.

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