April’s Fool, Part II
[10:50 AM
March 31, 2018
The office of Calzones GM Matt Higgins]
The Calzones GM had been tortured for weeks about how to improve his team while Duane had stood in the way of any deal involving a draft pick. And now he had the idea, thanks to Taizo’s young assistant. But how to execute it?
Two ideas had come to him, one more promising than the other. Finding a way to trade Duane to Yuma seemed at least somewhat plausible, but Mayberry wasn’t crazy enough to trade for his own replacement? Or was he?
But as he thought it through, he realized there wasn’t enough upside there, and quite a bit of downside. After all, Mayberry was a good trade partner, even if he was more than slightly unhinged. Or should he refer to Mayberry as reality challenged? He realized it didn’t really matter what the politically correct term for clinically insane is these days. Clinical is clinical.
The Kentucky Thoroughbreds idea was more plausible. In fact, almost entirely plausable, if he calculated correctly. It was two days prior to the season starting, and Kentucky’s General Manager Shawn Rankins had disappeared completely. Vanished. Without a trace. He had been missing for over a week, his car found abandoned in a Wal-Mart parking lot in some backwater town in southern Illinois.
Duane would be the perfect choice to assume the Kentucky GM role on such short notice. Nobody knew the Kentucky farm system like Duane Rudis. He had poured his heart, his soul, his life, into that organization. It had all started to come together in Kentucky, until Bill passed suddenly. Duane seemed to lose touch with reality, becoming obsessed with a crime that nobody believes happened.
In addition, Duane had always been a good trade partner. Getting him back in a GM role would be a win/win situation. Hell, he could probably even send a draft pick Duane’s way right out of the gate just to smooth over any potential hard feelings. Maybe even that pitcher Mizuno that Duane raved about ad nauseum.
But how to convince Hector? He would need to play his cards right, and he was only guessing at the dynamics of the relationship between Thoroughbreds owner Hector Shatner and Duane Rudis. He knew Duane was suspicious of Hector, particularly regarding the death of Bill. And he knew that Duane had been fired unceremoniously, though surprisingly, Duane seemed less bothered by his firing, maybe appearing at times to have been almost relieved by what transpired. Which the Calzones GM found puzzling. But where did Hector stand on the relationship? He would need to feel out the Kentucky owner to determine the dynamics there.
The Calzones GM glanced down the hallway. She was still watching him. He knew it. He knew Isabel was always suspicious of him, but even more so today. He would pretend not to notice her glances in his direction. He stood up and walked across the room, closing the door slowly. He walked over to the far wall, and turned on the ancient stereo. The one that had the 8-track player.
Some observers found the ancient stereo quaint, while others thought him to be a man well behind the times, resistant to change, rigid, etc. Most thought he was simply a dork. But the truth was, and no one would ever know the joke was on them, an 8 track was a handy device to have around. Because when you need to close the door and do not want to let people hear what you are doing or saying for an extended period of time, the 8 track was perfect. Because it played in an endless loop. Over and over and over until somebody turned it off.
He studied the collection of 8 track tapes, and reached for the one he felt would work best today. Kiss, Destroyer. The original, not the remastered Destroyer Resurrected, in which they mutilated the original intro to “King of the Nightime World.” Couldn’t they leave well enough alone? No, the original classic Kiss Destroyer. The definitive music album of the mid 1970’s. Well, it was either that or Boston’s debut album, but hey, today called for Destroyer, and Destroyer it was.
He slid the relic into the 8 track player. He hit the play button. Endless loop. Suck it, world.
He sat and listened to “Detroit Rock City” and bounced slightly in his seat. Man, he loved that album. But work to do. He opened the bottom drawer, and took out the headset with the noise canceling microphone. He placed the headset on his head and adjusted the earphone to his ear. Then he took out the pair of U.S. Navy flight deck ear muffs, and placed them over the headset. This helped block out the music so he could hear the person on the other end more clearly. What no one knew wouldn’t hurt them, he told himself. He chuckled to himself, working the same ruse he had worked before so often.
He turned on the headset and connected via bluetooth to his Iphone 9. He dialed the number for Hector Shatner. The plan was in motion.
10:59 AM
March 31, 2018
Offices of the Kentucky Thoroughbreds
It’s a quiet morning in the Lexington offices of the Kentucky Thoroughbreds. The team owner, Hector Shatner, is relaxing in his office. He’s daydreaming about playoff appearances, and more importantly, an increased revenue stream that comes with winning. He’s been repeatedly assured by the collection of yes men in his employ that the Thoroughbreds are ready to win, and to win now. He doesn’t know much about baseball; that was his father’s thing. What Hector knows is money.
Hector scrolls down the computer screen, looking first at the season ticket sales, and then at the accelerating single game ticket sales. He’s even more assured by the numbers, which, unlike the boot lickers working for him, never lie just to tell him what he wants to hear.
He leans back and puts his feet up in his custom Laz-e-boy recliner. His tranquil moment is interrupted by the phone. Not the office phone but his personal mobile phone. He slowly removes it from his shirt pocket and notices the caller ID.
Higgins, why the hell is that buffoon calling me? What could he possibly want two days before the season opens? A new closer? I told him at the winter meetings to deal with Rankin, I don’t do the baseball stuff.
I am not in the mood for this he thinks to himself and lets the call go to voicemail. Returning the phone to his pocket and placing his hands behind his head, Hector resumes his relaxed pose. Two minutes later, the phone begins to ring again. He takes the phone from his shirt pocket, and again glances at the caller ID.
Higgins again? Damn him.
Hector answers the call, while returning his recliner to its upright position. Hector did his best to sound pleasant, despite being terribly annoyed by the interruption. He didn’t like Higgins; hell, nobody liked Higgins, rumor was Higgins own dog didn’t like himi. But Hector’s baseball people had told him to always listen to whatever Higgins had to say. You never knew when you might get a draft pick out of it.
The conversation itself struck Hector as odd, as Higgins seemed preoccupied with the relationship between Hector and Duane. Hector had nothing personally against Duane, he assured Higgins. Then, about five minutes into the conversation, Higgins dropped a bomb on Hector.
Rankins is missing? How come no one told me? Heads are going to roll!!!
Then Higgins planted the idea with Hector.
“Look,” said the Calzones GM, “you need a GM. It’s two days before the season starts. Duane is the perfect candidate, especially on such short notice, but I don’t have the authority to let him out of his contract. For that, you need to talk to Snow.”
“Why do you want to help me?” asked Hector. “I think our teams play in the same bracket, no?”
“Same division” said Higgins. “I’ll be honest: I need a reliever out of the deal, and I’m looking at Gallagher. I can make it worth your while. Think about it. I’ll wait to hear from Snow.” And with that the line went silent.
Hector put the phone back in his pocket, and turned his attention to the computer screen. What is this about Rankins being missing? He checked his email account. Nothing from Rankin in more than a week. Now Hector was starting to worry.
Hector began a search of a local news site, and skipped through the various headlines. Finally a headline registered as possibly being related. Thoroughbreds GM Reported Missing By Daughter. He clicked on the link, only to discover that his GM has been missing for over a week; but it was his daughter who reported him missing two days ago. Additonal links on that page led to stories with headlines reading “Search for Rankins Goes National” and “Foul Play Suspected In Disappearance of Thoroughbreds GM.”
How could it be the I didn’t know this? And how come no one from law enforcement has contacted me, I’m his employer for God’s sake? Unless…..Hector let the thought trail off.
Hector skimmed the articles. The car of GM Shawn Rankins was found abandoned at a Wal-Mart in some backwater southern Illinois town. No sign of Shawn was found. The FBI is now involved in the missing person case, and video from the Wal-Mart surveillance cameras was being scoured for clues.
Hector spins in his chair and slams his hand down on the ‘Easy Button’, which had been rewired to signal the rest of the executives and managerial staff of an emergency meeting. Hector loved that button; he could summon all the boot lickers at once.
In less than a minute, Hector heard a flurry of activity in the hallway and a rush of people to the main conference room. He waited until the noise in the hallway quieted. Then, as was his custom, Hector let them sit for ten minutes before making his own entrance.
Finally, Hector walked across the hall and stormed in. “What the heck is going on here? Why didn’t any of you tell me that Rankins is missing? How can we operate without a GM? We are only two days from the start of the season and we don’t have a GM??? Who’s making the calls for us? Answers people, I need some answers.”
Hector settled into his chair at the head of the conference table. He looked around the table, noting who was in attendance and noting that every face was blank, with several lackeys looking at each other and shrugging their shoulders.
“So not a single person here has a clue?” asked Hector. In unison, the entire table shook their heads.
”Ok, so this is news to all of us. Rankin’s car was found at a Wal-Mart in some backwater town in Southern Illinois and the FBI says it doesn’t look good. Now that we are all on the same page here, we need to formulate a plan. Anyone have any ideas?”
Hector again stared at a silent audience. Ocassionally, he noted to himself, there is a downside to hiring a staff of boot lickers.
“I need ideas people,” Hector growled as he stood up. “We have to have a solution in place within two days. Let me know of any and all ideas ASAP!!!” Hector stormed from the room and returned to his office. He knew that yes men and boot lickers never come up with their own ideas; otherwise they wouldn’t be yes men and boot lickers. But, ever self-satisfied, Hector was content with having exerted his authority.
Time passed quickly. Afternoon faded to evening with nary a suggestion or answer. Hector grabbed his coat and headed for dinner. After dinner, the owner of the bistro sat with Hector, as was usual. Small talk and jokes, along with another glass of wine, lightened the mood. The two spoke of the weather and local politics for an hour or so. The topic the turned to the Thoroughbreds and the upcoming season. Hector shook his head, remembering the team’s GM problem. Talking with his friend, he explained the predicament. There is uncomfortable silence when the man asks how he heard about the news.
Hector explained that he had a phone call and tapped his shirt pocket. “Wait!!!! That’s it!!!” exclaimed Hector. Glaring at the phone, he remembered the annoying voice he experienced earlier. Suddenly he knew that bringing back Rudis was the only option.
We don’t have a choice – I know Rudis is a good GM and he knows this team better than anyone else. He might be as clinically insane as Mayberry, what with his pursuit of my dad’s killer and all, but he knows the team. Yes! We have to make a deal! We need Rudis back in Kentucky.
But would not give up Gallagher. He would need to speak to the Snowman first.
Hector returned to his office slightly after 9pm. Except for the janitorial crew, the offices were ghostly quiet. All the useless boot lickers had long since left for the evening. He sat back in the chair at his desk and set his phone down as the earlier call from Higgins still displayed on the screen. Staring at it for a moment, he paused to gather his thoughts.
It was time to bring Duane home.
[To Be Continued]