ONE CUP (Part 12)

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41

Ray Garrett

Mom left a voice message on my cell phone. “Ray, this is your mother, Judy Smith.” Mom always did that, as if I didn’t know her name. I do confess I still haven’t quite adjusted to her now being Smith and not Garrett—“Dick and I are driving to Indianapolis to see you play tomorrow. Can you get us some good seats, or do we have to pay for our own tickets?” There was a short pause, as if she was expecting a reply. “Dick says you players have lots of tickets to give away for every game. Your sister might come too. Bye.”

I really didn’t know the answer. I assumed I could get tickets, but I was so absorbed in the excitement of being called up, I’d not given any thought to the matter. So now, I needed to check.

“Human Resources, April speaking. How may I assist you?”

“Yes . . . This is Ray Garrett, I’m one of the new players on the team, just called up,” I said.

“Of course, Ray!” she said, “What can we do for you today?”

“Well, I’m sorry to bother you about this, but my mother and stepfather are driving in to see the game on Friday night,” I said. I almost said ‘driving in to see me play’ but caught myself in time. Didn’t want to sound presumptuous. “Who would I need to talk to about getting them some seats?” Before she could answer, I added, “I’m willing to pay.”

April said, “We’re glad to help with that. Let me see . . .”

“Oh, and my sister might be coming with them,” I said. “So there would be three.”

“Oh,” she said. “The game is sold out. We always have a block of seats we keep in reserve, but right now I don’t show three together.”

“My sister wouldn’t mind sitting by herself,” I said. I didn’t feel it was necessary to expand upon the statement. It spoke for itself.

“Okay,” April said, “Here we are. I can put two of them together in box seats, field level near the visitors’ dugout, and one other a few rows back behind home plate. If something else becomes available, I can always make a change, if you’d like.”

“No need,” I said. “I’m sure my sister will be just fine sitting alone.” Kristen could thank me later.

42

Larry Brown

Like I said, burglary is hard work, and you don’t make all that much money at it. But, it is fun. I always get a rush when I do it. When it’s all said and done, though, I’m a businessman, which means I’m all about making money. So, once I made a few hundred bucks, I got me a good cell phone, using a fake identity. I have a business cell phone and another in my real name for non-business. Then, I got in touch with an old friend and pretty soon I was back in business, sellin’ coke and weed.

As long as I stay sober and don’t do nothin’ stupid like sell to undercover cops, it’s less risky, too. That whole business that put me in the state pen was stupid, and I was damned lucky I got me an early release.

It’s smart to do the burglaries away from home, like I said, but when it comes to sellin’ weed, I now know better than to deal outside my home county. Close to home, I know who the cops are. Not just the ones who would arrest your ass, but the ones who could be bought off, too. Another benefit to doin’ it that way is I ain’t stealin’ from my customers who buy my weed. Sell dope at home. Burglarize elsewhere.

Sellin’ weed was pretty lucrative, and a whole lot easier than stealin’. But neither stealin’ nor dealin’ is my passion. Dogfighting is. God Damn! I live for that shit!

Besides calling about items for sale so I could come by and rob people, another thing the ads was good for was finding pets that was free to a good home. I’d call people the people up and they’d be all excited someone was willing to take their unwanted puppies or kittens off their hands. Same as before, they’d let me know when they would be home and when they wouldn’t. I’d come by and get me a puppy or a kitten, maybe two or three if they had that many to give away, and case out the place at the same time while I was there. If it looked good, or if one of their neighbors houses looked good, I’d come back a few days later when nobody was home.

This was what I called the Daily Double, because I not only got what I stole from them, but I would take the animals home and use them for training my fighting dogs. I got me a Presa Canario bitch I crossbreed with pit bulls. She’s produced some real good fighters for me. I train ‘em and sell ‘em, and I always have a couple I keep for myself. A man can make a lot of money in the dogfight business. Better even than sellin’ weed. I am above all an entrepreneur, and I diversify my portfolio. Drugs, burglary, and dogfighting mostly, but every now and then I take on odd jobs.

My way of life can get rough now and then. Not long ago, I buried a couple of guys out in the woods behind my trailer. It was their own damned fault. The less I say about it the better.

It took me about ten minutes to walk to my truck. I tossed my backpack in the back seat of the crew cab and slid in behind the wheel. After I cranked up the air conditioning, I retrieved my business cell phone from the console and opened yesterday’s newspaper I brung along. I found the ad I’d circled, and called the number.

A lady answered, “Hello?”

“Yes, Ma’am,” I said, “I seen your ad for the puppies free to a good home . . .”

“Yes!”

“What breed are they? Hope you don’t mind me askin’.” Not that it made any difference to me. I just like to make them feel comfortable about letting me have their critters. And letting me inside their house, use the bathroom, case out the place.

“Oh, no! I don’t mind at all. Unfortunately, they’re not registered. They’re mixed breed.”

“They good with kids?” I asked. “That’s all’s important to me. I’m gettin’ ’em for my sister’s kids. Her husband was an electrician, ‘n’ got himself killed on the job. Anyhow, we was thinkin’ this might help the kids to deal with it.” Which was all bullshit, of course, I ain’t even got a sister, but who’s gonna say you can’t have a puppy when they hear a story like that? And besides, I always enjoyed laying it on thick, sharpening my lying skills. I can’t explain why. I ain’t a damn psychologist.

“Oh, yes,” the lady said. “They’d be great with kids! The mother is our family pet. The little tart! She must have snuck out of the yard one night! . . . I’m so sorry for your loss—”

“Matter of fact, how many you got to give away?” I asked. “She’s got three kids.”

“Well, I only have two left, but you’re more than welcome to them both.”

“I appreciate it ma’am.” She was eating out of my hand, now. “I expect we can find us another one somewhere else. Can you tell me when would be a good time for me to come by?”

“I have to run out and do a few errands,” she said. “How would two o’clock be? But don’t come much later. We own a restaurant, and we’re both working until about ten.”

“That’d be just fine, ma’am. Could you give me your address?”

43

Ray Garrett

Mom and Dick met me in the lobby of their hotel. My sister, Kristen, was there, as well as her husband Ronnie. I was caught by surprise. “Mom, I thought you said it would be you, Dick, and Kristen.”

“That’s right.”

“You didn’t tell me Ronnie was coming along.”

“I just assumed you would put two and two together,” Mom replied.

“There a problem?” Ronnie asked.

“No problem, Ronnie,” I said. Ronnie’s the kind of guy who gets his feelings hurt easily. “I just need to get another ticket, that’s all.”

“Make it easy on yourself, Ray,” Ronnie said, with more than a hint of bitterness. “I don’t have to go see you play tonight.” I’ve never understood what Ronnie has against me. Nor have I dwelled on it. Some people are just assholes.

The issue of a ticket for Ronnie was easily resolved by making a call to HR. At Dick’s request, I asked if it would be okay to bring my family by early in the day to let them see the clubhouse. I know, it sounds kind of odd, but hey, I couldn’t blame them for being curious.

Mom was worried we might walk in on some players “in the nude.” I assured her it wouldn’t happen.

As a precaution, Dick, Ronnie, and I went in first, to check. I came back out to them a minute later. “Sorry, no naked men running around, Mom,” I said, knowing it would make her blush. She didn’t disappoint me.

“Shame on you!” Mom said, and smacked me on the arm as she walked past me. Kristen gave me a wink and a smile.

My family was as impressed as I had been the first time I came into the visitors’ clubhouse in Atlanta. If anything, ours in Indianapolis was even nicer. Of course, that is to be expected when you’re at your new home stadium.

They all stood there, eyes wide, taking it all in.

“Classy, Son,” Dick said. I stiffened, clenched my jaw, and shot a glance toward my sister. Kristen rolled her eyes and shook her head.

“Oh, look!” Mom said, oblivious to my reaction. “I see your uniform, Ray!” She moved quickly to the cubicle in the corner, my little piece of real estate in the world of professional sports. “This is you, isn’t it?” She pointed to a jersey with the name, Garrett, above the number. “There isn’t another player named Garrett on the team, is there?”

“Nope. Just me,” I said. “You found me.”

Mom removed the hanger with my jersey, felt the material. Nodded approvingly and said, “Whoever pressed this did a good job.”

“This is where I keep my personal belongings,” I said as I pointed toward the lock box.

“What the hell you got worth stealing?” Ronnie said.

I ignored him, but Dick jumped in, “I bet some of these players, they got expensive jewelry, watches, that sort of thing,” he said. “Not to mention all the cash they carry around. Right, Ray?”

I shrugged. “I suppose so, Dick.”

Right about then Harvey Bright came in. I hesitated a moment, not sure how to address him, then said, “Mr. Bright, I’d like you to meet my mother and—”

Before I could finish the introductions, Harvey Bright offered his hand, first to Mom, and then Dick. “It’s always a pleasure to meet the families of our players,” he said. “Ray, here is a welcome addition to our team. I like our chances with him on board.”

“I gotta tell you, Notso,” Dick said, with implied familiarity. “I always enjoyed watching you play. I’ll never forget that time you pulled off an unassisted triple play. I’m a lifelong fan of the game, and I never saw anything like it! Never!”

“Well, thank you, Mr. Garrett. You’re going back a few years—”

“Smith,” Dick interrupted. “Dick Smith.”

Harvey Bright smiled. “I beg your pardon, Mr. Smith.” He shot me a glance, silently communicating his annoyance. I swallowed hard, and looked away as he spoke again. “As I was saying, I’m surprised anyone still remembers my triple play. I think Teddy Roosevelt was still president then, if I’m not mistaken!”

Both men shared a laugh. Of course, I’d heard at least a half dozen people bring up that play in the short time I’d been up with the team, and I hardly spent any time around the man. Who knew how many times it came up in daily conversation? His response was always the same, I might add.

“I always told Ray to stick with it,” Dick said as he placed an arm around me at the shoulder. “Luck has a way of finding those who work hard and don’t give up.” Which was a lie. Dick never said that to me. We barely knew one another. “I’m just glad I lived long enough to see our boy play in the big leagues.”

I stiffened, inhaled deeply. Our boy? My jaw clenched, and as I exhaled through my nose, my breath felt hot as fire. I looked away, willing myself not to sneer.

“I’m looking forward to seeing him play myself, Harvey Bright said. “I’ve heard a lot of good things about Ray.” He looked at his watch. “Well, I wish I had time to stay and visit with you folks, but I have to run. I need to meet with my coaches and go over tonight’s lineup. I hope you understand.”

“Don’t let us keep you,” Dick replied. “Good luck tonight.”

They shook hands. Harvey Bright turned to Mrs. Garrett and said, “It was especially nice meeting you, Mrs. Garrett . . . I’m sorry . . . Mrs. Smith. You’ve raised a fine son.” He placed a hand on my shoulder and said, “Stop in and see me in my office later on, Ray.” And with that, he was off.

Mom and Dick raised their eyebrows, exchanging glances. Mom said, “I wonder what he wants to talk to you about.”