"KELSO'S SWING" [CHAPTER 33]
The two coaches sat at their usual stools as the girls engaged in the ribald delirium of defeating their nemesis.
“They better not get too full of themselves,” Kelso said. “We got Callahan's next week.”
“That Spike guy was scouting us. He must be pissed, with you stealing Kaycee from Murphy's and then beating them.”
Kelso nudged his assistant in the ribs. “Let's go down to Murphy's and gloat. I got a car now. We're mobile.”
Marstrulavich shook his head. “I ain't goin' down there. Too many cake-eaters.” He nodded toward Kaycee and Toni, who headed their way, arms around each other. “Look what's coming.”
The girls, like drunken sailors on leave, halted before them. “Let's play some darts,” Kaycee said, tilting her hips this way and that. Toni's eyes glittered as she checked out Kelso. “We'll play partners. We'll take you two on.”
Kelso gazed at the back bar mirror. “Nope. Maybe Marstrulavich'll play.”
“Not me. I'm drinkin'.”
“Come on, you poops,” Kaycee urged, grinning. “We promise not to rape you.” She jabbed Kelso. “You afraid of us? I thought you were a rogue.”
“I heard he was a rogue,” Toni quipped, and Kelso thought she had just about the most magnificently sculpted and toned body he'd ever seen on a woman, despite her tiny breasts. “I didn't know rogues were scared of girls.”
Kelso said, “The Tampico Tides woman's slo pitch team has everybody on the beach terrified. Leave us alone.”
As the girls moved to the dartboard, several regulars flocked to them, pulling out specialized darts. Annie and Lacey
pushed through the crowd to join them. Kelso muttered, “I'm going down to Murphy's.” He walked out to the parking lot and got in his car and cruised down the alley to the north end of town and parked two blocks from from the bar and upon entering stood at the front door adjusting his eyes until he spotted Cindy conducting what appeared to be an intense meeting with her team mates in their usual corner.
Kelso stood behind an occupied stool and lit his cigar. When Eli spotted him they did a shot. Then he spotted Spike a few feet from the Murphy's girls. It took him about ten minutes to noticed Kelso observing him. Kelso nodded at him and signaled Eli to buy him a drink, and after Eli served and schmoozed with him, Spike raised his glass and Kelso raised his.
A few minutes later Spike was beside him. They shook hands, Spike's grip belonging to a man who eschewed hard manual labor. Then Spike said, “I gotta give it to yah, pal, you're the master.”
“Let's not get carried away.”
“I mean it. You took that team, they couldn't play a lick, didn't care, no pride, and now they're all business, killers.” He sized Kelso up with sharp street eyes. “You know how to run a game. Where'd you play pro ball?”
“I didn't.'
“Then where'd you learn it. You don't miss anything.”
“My dad played for the White Sox.”
Spike grinned. “He the gentleman sitting in the front row behind your dugout?”
“That was him.”
Spike nodded slowly. “I knew it.” He grinned again, teeth nicotine stained in a squinty, mashed together mug with shrewd Irish eyes. “When did he play?”
“Before the war.”
Spike drained his drink and signaled for two more, paid, tipped a sawbuck, turned back to Kelso. “You look like a ballplayer, except the beard and long hair. How come you didn't go pro?”
Kelso sighed. “It's a complicated story I'd rather not discuss.”
He bumped Kelso's drink with his own, continued sizing him up, finally flashing a huge leering grin. “You s.o.b., you go and steal Kaycee after I been tryna steal her for two years...and you got her under control, swingin' good...and that fucking swing. Where'd you come up with that wicked swing? You got her and all your girls using it, hitting ropes nd crazy hoppers.” he watched Kelso relight his cigar with bar matches. “I been tryna figure out that swing...it's different, and when your girls hit bouncers, they got a lotta topspin, they eat up infielders. What's the secret, man?”
Kelso said, “Your girls play good ball, Spike. You're a good coach.”
Spike playfully bumped Kelso's shoulder with his drink. “You sly bastard, you know my biggest challenge, besides beating Murphy's and Warner's, is beating you, brothah, and I'm gonna do it.”
“You're the man to do it, Spike, if you can handle your divas, and youn got a new one in Penny.”
“You got a bigger one in Kaycee, my friend.”
“That why you let her put you through hoops to steal her from Murphy's?”
Spike chuckled. “Bro',” he said. “I'm gonna love beatin' your ass, cuz I like you.” He glanced furtively around, leaned closer to Kelso. “Wanna bump?”
“A bump?”last
“You know, a line?”
er
“Nah. Gotta get up early and go to work. But thanks.”
“Come on, one ain't gonna hurt. I enjoy rappin' with yah. Ain't many of us around know baseball and love it like we do. It's my life, man. It's like I'm in love with the game more than I'll ever be in love with a woman. Ruined my marriage. I never even see my kid, back in Boston. I wish I could teach him ball...but hey, let's do a toot together. You're my idol, man.”
Kelso took a deep breath. He had never smoked weed or snorted cocaine. He did not disapprove of those on the beach who did drugs, he was just terrified of drugs inflaming his already turbulent mental state, his propensity for volatility and prolonged seizures of depression. “Okay, one.”
They did a blast in a stall in the restroom. Later, they did another, and talked animatedly until closing time. Spike informed him that Murphy's shortstop, Cindy, drove off one deeply in love nice guy after another and, according to one of her exes, she was a lousy lay and a demanding, controlling, nit-picking bitch. Murphy's thirdbaseman, who was six foot three, beat up her last boy friend. And Kaycee? Two divorces, both stormy. Guys fell in love with her, she fucked them until they couldn't walk, and dropped them without a shred of mercy. Spike admitted his shortstop was a “head case” that no man could put up with despite her good looks and now she was looking for a sugar daddy before it became too late.
They parted still jabbering away on the boulevard. Kelso took the alley home, escaping local police. He fell asleep around 4, knowing the worm had turned in more ways than one.
“They better not get too full of themselves,” Kelso said. “We got Callahan's next week.”
“That Spike guy was scouting us. He must be pissed, with you stealing Kaycee from Murphy's and then beating them.”
Kelso nudged his assistant in the ribs. “Let's go down to Murphy's and gloat. I got a car now. We're mobile.”
Marstrulavich shook his head. “I ain't goin' down there. Too many cake-eaters.” He nodded toward Kaycee and Toni, who headed their way, arms around each other. “Look what's coming.”
The girls, like drunken sailors on leave, halted before them. “Let's play some darts,” Kaycee said, tilting her hips this way and that. Toni's eyes glittered as she checked out Kelso. “We'll play partners. We'll take you two on.”
Kelso gazed at the back bar mirror. “Nope. Maybe Marstrulavich'll play.”
“Not me. I'm drinkin'.”
“Come on, you poops,” Kaycee urged, grinning. “We promise not to rape you.” She jabbed Kelso. “You afraid of us? I thought you were a rogue.”
“I heard he was a rogue,” Toni quipped, and Kelso thought she had just about the most magnificently sculpted and toned body he'd ever seen on a woman, despite her tiny breasts. “I didn't know rogues were scared of girls.”
Kelso said, “The Tampico Tides woman's slo pitch team has everybody on the beach terrified. Leave us alone.”
As the girls moved to the dartboard, several regulars flocked to them, pulling out specialized darts. Annie and Lacey
pushed through the crowd to join them. Kelso muttered, “I'm going down to Murphy's.” He walked out to the parking lot and got in his car and cruised down the alley to the north end of town and parked two blocks from from the bar and upon entering stood at the front door adjusting his eyes until he spotted Cindy conducting what appeared to be an intense meeting with her team mates in their usual corner.
Kelso stood behind an occupied stool and lit his cigar. When Eli spotted him they did a shot. Then he spotted Spike a few feet from the Murphy's girls. It took him about ten minutes to noticed Kelso observing him. Kelso nodded at him and signaled Eli to buy him a drink, and after Eli served and schmoozed with him, Spike raised his glass and Kelso raised his.
A few minutes later Spike was beside him. They shook hands, Spike's grip belonging to a man who eschewed hard manual labor. Then Spike said, “I gotta give it to yah, pal, you're the master.”
“Let's not get carried away.”
“I mean it. You took that team, they couldn't play a lick, didn't care, no pride, and now they're all business, killers.” He sized Kelso up with sharp street eyes. “You know how to run a game. Where'd you play pro ball?”
“I didn't.'
“Then where'd you learn it. You don't miss anything.”
“My dad played for the White Sox.”
Spike grinned. “He the gentleman sitting in the front row behind your dugout?”
“That was him.”
Spike nodded slowly. “I knew it.” He grinned again, teeth nicotine stained in a squinty, mashed together mug with shrewd Irish eyes. “When did he play?”
“Before the war.”
Spike drained his drink and signaled for two more, paid, tipped a sawbuck, turned back to Kelso. “You look like a ballplayer, except the beard and long hair. How come you didn't go pro?”
Kelso sighed. “It's a complicated story I'd rather not discuss.”
He bumped Kelso's drink with his own, continued sizing him up, finally flashing a huge leering grin. “You s.o.b., you go and steal Kaycee after I been tryna steal her for two years...and you got her under control, swingin' good...and that fucking swing. Where'd you come up with that wicked swing? You got her and all your girls using it, hitting ropes nd crazy hoppers.” he watched Kelso relight his cigar with bar matches. “I been tryna figure out that swing...it's different, and when your girls hit bouncers, they got a lotta topspin, they eat up infielders. What's the secret, man?”
Kelso said, “Your girls play good ball, Spike. You're a good coach.”
Spike playfully bumped Kelso's shoulder with his drink. “You sly bastard, you know my biggest challenge, besides beating Murphy's and Warner's, is beating you, brothah, and I'm gonna do it.”
“You're the man to do it, Spike, if you can handle your divas, and youn got a new one in Penny.”
“You got a bigger one in Kaycee, my friend.”
“That why you let her put you through hoops to steal her from Murphy's?”
Spike chuckled. “Bro',” he said. “I'm gonna love beatin' your ass, cuz I like you.” He glanced furtively around, leaned closer to Kelso. “Wanna bump?”
“A bump?”last
“You know, a line?”
er
“Nah. Gotta get up early and go to work. But thanks.”
“Come on, one ain't gonna hurt. I enjoy rappin' with yah. Ain't many of us around know baseball and love it like we do. It's my life, man. It's like I'm in love with the game more than I'll ever be in love with a woman. Ruined my marriage. I never even see my kid, back in Boston. I wish I could teach him ball...but hey, let's do a toot together. You're my idol, man.”
Kelso took a deep breath. He had never smoked weed or snorted cocaine. He did not disapprove of those on the beach who did drugs, he was just terrified of drugs inflaming his already turbulent mental state, his propensity for volatility and prolonged seizures of depression. “Okay, one.”
They did a blast in a stall in the restroom. Later, they did another, and talked animatedly until closing time. Spike informed him that Murphy's shortstop, Cindy, drove off one deeply in love nice guy after another and, according to one of her exes, she was a lousy lay and a demanding, controlling, nit-picking bitch. Murphy's thirdbaseman, who was six foot three, beat up her last boy friend. And Kaycee? Two divorces, both stormy. Guys fell in love with her, she fucked them until they couldn't walk, and dropped them without a shred of mercy. Spike admitted his shortstop was a “head case” that no man could put up with despite her good looks and now she was looking for a sugar daddy before it became too late.
They parted still jabbering away on the boulevard. Kelso took the alley home, escaping local police. He fell asleep around 4, knowing the worm had turned in more ways than one.
