with her mouth.
“They don’t want him in jail. Hell, nobody wants him anywhere. He tried living with his brother out in Chesterfield for a while, but he got out of control. The brother kicked him out, and you know what some deputy down there did?”
I think I know. I’ve heard this story before, just with different characters. But I let Kate continue.
“They put him in a squad car and dropped him off in the park. Told him to keep his ass out of the county.”
The suburbanites love to make jokes about Richmond’s homeless population. I know, from doing a story or two over the years, that a lot of them are residing in our parks because those same suburbs gave them a one-way ticket here.
I was noncommittal, but I had to admit that my mind was a little more open than it was before I met Raymond Gatewood. I’m not quite so ready to start erecting the scaffolding just yet. Gatewood seemed either too crazy to do everything necessary to put his ass in that ninth-floor window with a high-powered rifle or too smart to go around wearing that plaid jacket in plain view of the crime. Damn facts. They keep getting in the way of my righteous anger.
Kate asked me how my opus on the ’64 Vees was coming. I looked to see if she was being a smart-ass, calling it an opus. I couldn’t tell. I filled her in on the team’s diminishing numbers.
“Weird,” she said. “Well, athletes tend to live closer to the edge than most of us.”
Yeah, I said. Maybe that’s it.
I promised her I’d check in with her after I got back from my trip.
“What trip?”
I told her about my just-hatched plan to fly to Tallahassee, Florida, and see if I could find some Whitestones.
Getting reacquainted with Cindy Peroni was better than a winning lottery ticket. It turns out that Cindy’s brother flies for one of our more-maligned airlines. It further develops that Cindy “and a friend” can fly places for a very reasonable price—like, zero—if there’s a seat. So, when I mentioned that I needed to fly some places and see some people, she made me an offer. If the gods are kind, we’ll be flying down to Florida tomorrow, then driving over to south Alabama the next day.
“Can’t I pay you something?” I asked her when she made the offer.
“I’ll take it out in trade,” she said. I said it might take me a long time to pay her back “that way” for a last-minute airline ticket. At my age, I’m more into comfort than speed.
“Well,” she said, patting my arm, “just do the best you can.”
Kate listened to my plans for tomorrow with what looked suspiciously like a smirk.
“Well,” she said, “at least this one’s age appropriate.”
“I’ve never broken the law,” I remind her.
“Not quite.” Kate always has to have the last word.
I HAD time to look in on Les before the game. Peggy was still there. Awesome, never comfortable in one place for long, had disappeared someplace. I offered to take my mother home, but she said she was going to stay awhile longer.
“Want me to bring you anything?”
She looked up at me, giving me that wry smile she always was able to summon when we were being evicted or she’d lost another job.
“A joint would be nice.”
We both laughed. I kissed the top of her head and left before guilt made me miss the season opener.
J UMPIN’ JIMMY’S still on the payroll, like he has been for more than half a century, but he’s mostly taking care of the field, getting it ready for the next home stand, recruiting kids to help roll the tarp out if it rains. In actuality, Jimmy mostly just sits on a riding lawn mower and tells everybody else what to do. I guess age has its privileges.
So, unless we have a rain delay, Jimmy’s free to watch the game with us.
Cindy’s deeper into baseball than I ever was, which is saying something. She and Jimmy get into a long, philosophical discussion over why pitchers are such “wusses,” to use Cindy’s description.
“I mean, those guys in the
“They don’t want him in jail. Hell, nobody wants him anywhere. He tried living with his brother out in Chesterfield for a while, but he got out of control. The brother kicked him out, and you know what some deputy down there did?”
I think I know. I’ve heard this story before, just with different characters. But I let Kate continue.
“They put him in a squad car and dropped him off in the park. Told him to keep his ass out of the county.”
The suburbanites love to make jokes about Richmond’s homeless population. I know, from doing a story or two over the years, that a lot of them are residing in our parks because those same suburbs gave them a one-way ticket here.
I was noncommittal, but I had to admit that my mind was a little more open than it was before I met Raymond Gatewood. I’m not quite so ready to start erecting the scaffolding just yet. Gatewood seemed either too crazy to do everything necessary to put his ass in that ninth-floor window with a high-powered rifle or too smart to go around wearing that plaid jacket in plain view of the crime. Damn facts. They keep getting in the way of my righteous anger.
Kate asked me how my opus on the ’64 Vees was coming. I looked to see if she was being a smart-ass, calling it an opus. I couldn’t tell. I filled her in on the team’s diminishing numbers.
“Weird,” she said. “Well, athletes tend to live closer to the edge than most of us.”
Yeah, I said. Maybe that’s it.
I promised her I’d check in with her after I got back from my trip.
“What trip?”
I told her about my just-hatched plan to fly to Tallahassee, Florida, and see if I could find some Whitestones.
Getting reacquainted with Cindy Peroni was better than a winning lottery ticket. It turns out that Cindy’s brother flies for one of our more-maligned airlines. It further develops that Cindy “and a friend” can fly places for a very reasonable price—like, zero—if there’s a seat. So, when I mentioned that I needed to fly some places and see some people, she made me an offer. If the gods are kind, we’ll be flying down to Florida tomorrow, then driving over to south Alabama the next day.
“Can’t I pay you something?” I asked her when she made the offer.
“I’ll take it out in trade,” she said. I said it might take me a long time to pay her back “that way” for a last-minute airline ticket. At my age, I’m more into comfort than speed.
“Well,” she said, patting my arm, “just do the best you can.”
Kate listened to my plans for tomorrow with what looked suspiciously like a smirk.
“Well,” she said, “at least this one’s age appropriate.”
“I’ve never broken the law,” I remind her.
“Not quite.” Kate always has to have the last word.
I HAD time to look in on Les before the game. Peggy was still there. Awesome, never comfortable in one place for long, had disappeared someplace. I offered to take my mother home, but she said she was going to stay awhile longer.
“Want me to bring you anything?”
She looked up at me, giving me that wry smile she always was able to summon when we were being evicted or she’d lost another job.
“A joint would be nice.”
We both laughed. I kissed the top of her head and left before guilt made me miss the season opener.
J UMPIN’ JIMMY’S still on the payroll, like he has been for more than half a century, but he’s mostly taking care of the field, getting it ready for the next home stand, recruiting kids to help roll the tarp out if it rains. In actuality, Jimmy mostly just sits on a riding lawn mower and tells everybody else what to do. I guess age has its privileges.
So, unless we have a rain delay, Jimmy’s free to watch the game with us.
Cindy’s deeper into baseball than I ever was, which is saying something. She and Jimmy get into a long, philosophical discussion over why pitchers are such “wusses,” to use Cindy’s description.
“I mean, those guys in the
Similar Books
