[11:00 AM

March 31, 2018

Isabel’s office]

The door had just closed, and the music had started. Calzones manager Taizo Sugano entered the office and sat down across from his young assistant.

“How long?” asked Taizo.

“Just started” replied Isabel. “He’ll bang his head for an hour or two, so we’re safe for now,” she continued, rolling her eyes as she said it.

“If jackass trade Duane, farm system screwed,” said Taizo matter-of-factly.

“No kidding” Isabel sighed.

“No farm, no win,”said Taizo, again matter-of-factly.

“I know. He’ll go on his mad trading spree and we’ll be destined for mediocrity. Or worse.”

Taizo stood up and closed the door.

“Not music. Pain to ears.”

“It’s a little old school for me” replied the teenage girl. “I like it better when he plays Iron Maiden.”

“Need to stop jackass. Ideas?”

Isabel shook her head.

“No, it was my idea that got us into this mess,” she replied solemnly.

“Only crazy man take you seriously,” replied Taizo.

“Duh,” replied Isabel. “It doesn’t get much crazier than him. I obviously forgot who I was dealing with.”

The Calzones manager sat silently for a moment, then stood up and walked slowly to the door, turning to look at Isabel as he turned the door handle.

“Taizo need to think. See you at lunch girl.” 

“For what it’s worth, I’m sorry,” replied Isabel.

“No sorry. Think. You smart girl.”

Taizo walked out and down the hall, towards the elevators. Isabel watched him shake his head as he walked past the loud music coming from behind the closed door.

Isabel sat and stared at the door. At least we have a couple of hours, she thought to herself. He never gets anything done when he starts playing the music and reliving the past.

 

 

12:00 PM

March 31, 2018

El Pescador Restaurant, Laredo Texas

On the drive across town, Isabel had explained to her mom what the Calzones GM was up to. Rosa again implored her daughter to mind her own business and stay out of office politics, but Isabel continued to explain the ramifications if Duane were to be traded away.

The Calzones manager Taizo Sugano and head scout Hector Nieves had joined them as requested by Isabel. After ordering, the discussion began quickly.

Taizo opened, reiterating that the farm system would be destroyed if Duane were to leave. Isabel and Hector nodded in agreement.

“But” Hector interjected, “there is no way he can trade Duane. He’s not a player. He’s not cash. He’s not a draft pick. There is nothing in the PEBA bylaws that would allow such a trade.

Isabel shook her head.

“Sadly” said the young girl, “I have read the bylaws, and there does not appear to be anything precluding such a trade.”

“Are you sure?” asked Hector.

“Read them three times” replied Isabel.”Even called the league office. They were somewhat puzzled at first by the inquiry, especially since I couldn’t give them specifics. But I gave them a hypothetical trade of our team trainer to Bakersfield for a 16 piece dinner from KFC, and they said it was kosher. The trade I mean, that’s kosher. The chicken, probably not so much. But I’m not a rabbi, what do I know?”

“We are screwed” said Hector matter of factly. “I have worked with this jackass for a decade, and he will find a way. He would trade his mother for a utility infielder if she fell out of favor.”

“Maybe opening in Japan next year,” said the Calzones manager. “Not dusty, like Laredo. Maybe Taizo go home.”

“We need you here Taizo,” said Isabel. “This is your team. They play for you. Don’t bail on us.”

“Tired,” replied Taizo. “Team need direction. No farm, no win.”

Hector looked across at the Calzones manager. “We’ll get through this amigo. Trust us.”

Taizo smiled at his friend. “Optimism run strong in you, Hector.”

Isabel sat thinking, and thought of the text Duane had sent.

WARN SNOW.

“We have to warn Snow” she blurted out loudly. “It’s our only chance. Snow will put a stop to it.”

Rosa frowned as she looked at her daughter.

“Mija” said Rosa, “this is not good. You’re meddling.”

Isabel looked back at her mother. “It’s our only chance,” she uttered solemnly.

Rosa shook her head slightly. “Bad things happen when you meddle,” she scolded her daughter.

Taizo listened to the exchange, and looked towards Isabel.

“Girl, mother right,” said Taizo. “What will be, will be. You stay out. Agree?”

Isabel looked at her boss with a slight bit of shock, but grudgingly nodded her head in agreement.

“But just in case, Taizo will warn Snow,” said the manager with a smirk on his face.

Rosa broke into a slight smile.

“Your just as incorrigable as she is,” Rosa joked.

 

 

9:30 AM

March 31, 2001

The apartment of Duane Rudis, Calzones Director of Minor League Operations

Duane sat at his small desk, in the corner of a small apartment that was at least two sizes too small for a hobbit. The desk was not really a desk, but a small folding card table he had picked up at the local Goodwill store. It served the purpose.

The table was crowded, but he had managed a semblence of organization. Two cardboard dressers, the disposable kind you can find at a Wal-Mart, served as filing cabinets. In one, the assorted files he had collected on the minor league system. In the other, the reams of notebooks with all his notes on the case of Bill, as well as the scraps of clues he had managed to collect over the previous two years.

Duane liked working from home most mornings. Not that he considered the one bedroom shoebox in the seedy central Laredo neighborhood home. It was not so much home as it was a place he existed, as if he were in some type of purgatory, at least for this moment in time. Someday, he told himself, looking at the drawers that held his notes on Bill, someday…

Duane took a sip of his coffee. Well, not ‘his’ coffee exactly, because even Duane would not drink ‘his’ coffee. Duane never had learned to make coffee. On a good day it tasted like furniture polish, and on a bad day, well, a little more like shoe polish.  He sipped instead from the venti mocha he had purchased from the Starbucks over on Del Monte just ten minutes before. He could have gone to the Starbucks at the Mall Del Norte, which was actually closer to his apartment, but those teenage girls they hire there were almost as bad as he was when it came to making coffee. Experience had told him, the Starbucks on Del Monte, where they knew how make coffee.

As he sipped his coffee, he delighted in the smooth taste, and then shivered at the prospect at drinking his own lethal java. Thank God for Starbucks, he thought to himself.

He started reviewing some video on the laptop in front of him. It was of pitcher Bill Gallagher, the closer for Kentucky. Duane had tried several times to deal for the young lefthanded pitcher since he had joined the Calzones front office, but Kentucky was holding on to him tightly.  Duane had convinced GM Matt Higgins to make another overture to Kentucky as Spring Training came to a close. While the GM was not against the idea, he felt there was no way it would happen. He had given his blessing to Duane to try to make a deal, though Duane felt his response was somewhat condescending.

He replayed the words in his mind. “He’s your unicorn, you make the deal.”

Screw him, thought Duane. Gallagher needs to be freed from Kentucky. Duane had drafted Gallagher with the first overall pick in the 2016 draft, and he had not drafted him to be a closer. It was killing Duane that the kid was not starting. Any GM worth his salt knew that Gallagher should be learning another pitch and being groomed for the rotation. But that replacement up in Kentucky: well, Duane was convinced that that ole’ boy was in way over his head.

Duane watched the video play on the laptop. The effortless delivery. The explosive late action on the pitches. Duane had to have Gallagher. He was not going to give up. He knew in his heart that Gallagher rightly belonged to him.

Duane turned off the video and re-examined the most recent email he had sent to the Kentucky GM inquiring about Gallagher. Almost a week had gone by, and it still appeared to have been unread. He had left several voicemails as well. No reply. But Duane would not be deterred. 

Duane grabbed the television remote control from the corner of the makeshift desk, and flipped on the television to get the weather report. Why? Out of habit. He had been in Laredo long enough to know that there were but two seasons in the dusty border town: December and Hell. He found the Weather Channel, watched “Weather on the 8’s,” and saw very much what he expected to see on the five-day forecast. Hot, hot, hot, hot, and hot. He was hoping to be surprised, but between January and November that’s not likely to happen, and he knew it. He turned the TV off, and turned his attention back to his work.

He had made some meager progress, though his mind kept wandering back to the trade offer for Gallagher. It was the waiting that was making him agitated. He needed a response so he could at least try to get a conversation going. He was constantly checking his email, only to be dissappointed several dozen times a day.

His cell phone buzzed, which startled him momentarily. He eagerly grabbed it hoping for a message from Kentucky. Instead, it was Isabel. He read the message.

He has that look.

Duane knew all too well what that meant. His own mind raced madly through the probabilities. The draft picks. The Farm. Duane began to fume. He’s meddling with the farm. Son of a *****. Plotting to trade draft picks. I know it.

Duane began typing madly on the screen of the phone and sending texts.

OH DEAR MOTHER OF GOD, ON MY WAY

NO DRAFT PICKS

STOP HIM

WARN SNOW

I’LL NEUTER THAT JACKASS

 

Duane was now fuming mad. He had spent all winter protecting those drafts picks, even shielding the farm system as best he could given the difficult working conditions of working with a serial trader. He scrambled back to the closet-sized bedroom and grabbed his keys and wallet from the nightstand next to his undersized bed. 

Duane checked the time, and then quickly began packing up his laptop and gathering the files and notebooks he needed for the day. He had a minor league workout to attend at 1 PM, and between now and then he needed to put a stop to whatever Higgins was up to.

He knew Higgins was after another veteran starting pitcher. He’ll trade that first round pick, the bastard. The thought infuriated Duane. He grabbed a pen from the desk and slammed it against the wall. It bounced away harmlessly. He was less than satisfied with the lack of damage from his momentary aggression. He grabbed the cup of coffee from the desk, took one last sip, and slung the unfinished cup towards the kitchen, where it exploded against the refrigerator door, the syrupy chocolate mess decorating much of the kitchen. Despite the mess he would need to clean up later, Duane somehow felt more satisfied. He gathered his laptop and rushed out the door. 

The drive to the Calzones offices in the heart of downtown Laredo would normally take about 20 minutes during the day, mostly due to the heavy amount of traffic. Duane started the engine of his 1997 Dodge Stratus, and backed out of the dirt and pebble driveway.  Duane had needed a car quick when he was hired by the Calzones, and had found a used car dealer on San Bernardo who gave him a great deal on the crème colored relic. The hispanic salesman had convinced the middle aged caucasion Duane that the Stratus was a chick magnet in a town like Laredo. And as Duane soon discovered, it really was. If you like fat chicks.

Duane had turned his ‘chick magnet’ south on Springfield, and then made the right on Calton Road, hoping to be able to make it over to San Dario in short order, which was normally the fastest route to the Calzones office. But almost immediately after turning on to Calton Road,  traffic came to a halt. He was quickly engulfed in a traffic jam with no way to turn around.

Duane fidgeted nervously as the traffic crept, inch by inch, towards the traffic lights at the Interesction with I-35. He momentarily thought about turning back north on San Francisco Street and taking that over to Hillside, but as he inched towards the intersection he noticed that traffic was backed up on San Francisco as well.

Not today. Why today? Does traffic around here always have to get all schwacked up when I need to get somewhere.

After passing San Francisco, he was able to cut into the left hand lane, and as the line of traffic crept past the HEB grocery store, he was able to see the problem, an accident that appeared to have happened between someone exiting the HEB parking lot and a tractor trailor who had just made the left from the access road of I-35.

Damn truck drivers. Worthless menaces.

Most frustrating to Duane was that the accident was on the opposite side of the road, in the eastbound lanes. Nothing was blocking the westbound lanes he was stuck in. As best he could tell, everyone was simply rubbernecking, a favorite Laredo past time, especially if a truck was involved.

Stupid rubberneckers. Jesus people, get a life already.

The cops on the scene bring traffic to a complete halt just as Duane thinks he might make it through the next green light. And traffic remains halted while the local constables direct the big truck to turn around. The driver of the truck was obviously having a bad day as not only had he had an accident, he had turned down Calton Road, which prohibited truck traffic. Duane could only imagine the number of tickets the cops must have written to that truck driver.

It takes a while for the big truck to get turned around, but it’s not entirely the truck drivers fault. Duane watches the proceedings in front of him, and actually becomes entertained enough to briefly forget that he is in a hurry. The truck needs all four lanes to swing the u-turn, and every time they seem to get traffic cleared in one direction, someone either pulls out of a parking lot or turns the corner and gets right in the way. While the cops clear that person out of the way, someone else comes from a different direction and screws it all up again.

Like an episode of Keystone Cops. This is hilarious.

Duane’s phone buzzes, and he checks the message.

False Alarm. He ate some bad chorizzo.  But he wanted me to remind you that the minor league pitchers are having their last scheduled workout over at Alexander High School starting at 1PM, and he needs some updates on their progress this spring by tomorrow morning.

Duane is puzzled by the text. Isabel never has false alarms.

Chorizzo, okay, I get that. Nasty Stuff. But false alarm?

Duane puzzled over the message as he continued to watch the fiasco with the cops and the big truck.

No, that jackass is up to something. I know it. What could it be? Moving the 1st and 2nd round picks? Is he trading down? Or maybe moving someone from our rebuilt pen? No can’t be that, we need our pen. Ohhhh wait……it’s probably that he is planning to trade some of the kids I have to re-evalute today … yea that’s it, that’s why Izzy reminded me to be at the high school.

Duane looked at the time. The big truck was finally turned around and turning north on the I-35 access road, and the cops were ready to let traffic proceed again. Duane really wanted to go to the Calzones offices. He needed to go. But so much time had been wasted that he knew his only choice was to get turned around and head over to Alexander High School, which was in the opposite direction.

I’ll figure this out later. He can’t trade a pick without my okay anyway, and I’ll be damned if I let that happen.

Along the way to Alexander High School, Duane detours to the Starbucks on Del Monte, and purchases another venti mocha at the drive through. As he does, he notices the reading on the bank thermometer across the parking lot. It’s barely past noon on March 31, and it’s 103. He chuckled to himself. In Kentucky he would be having a mint julip on a hot day like today.

 

 

1:15 PM

March 31, 2018

Rosa’s car, headed south on San Bernardo Avenue, Laredo, Tx

Isabel had noticed an uncomfortable silence from her mother since the two had left the restaurant. It wasn’t like her mother to be completely silent during their drives. The silence could only mean one thing. There was probably a lecture coming. Isabel glanced at her mother several times, trying to read her mood, and as best she could determine her mother was lost in her own deep thoughts. Oh definitely, there is a lecture coming. Isabel braced herself.

The drive back the Calzones offices was only about a ten minute drive, and it wasn’t until they were a block away that Rosa finally spoke.

“Mija” said Rosa as she glanced over at her daughter, “before you meddled, did you stop to consider what Duane might want?”

Isabel thought about it for a short second. “We need Duane here”, she responded.

“What if Duane’s heart lies elsewhere?” asked Rosa.

“He’s not married” replied Isabel, “no girfriend that I know of. As best I can tell, he loves baseball.”

“That’s not what I meant” replied Rosa. She glanced over at her daughter before continuing.

“I once had the big corner office. Then, I lost it. Not that it was all terrible, you see” said Rosa, “ because I learned to appreciate other things in life. But once you have had the big corner office, no matter how satisfying your life, there is always a part of you that feels like you belong in that big corner office. Maybe Duane wants to return to the big corner office.”

Isabel sat silently as her mother parked the vehicle in the small secure lot next to the Calzones offices. She looked up at the offices, and thought about Duanes office, at the end of the corridor, near the bathrooms.

“You think” said Isabel, “that maybe Duane wants to run his own team again?”

“Mija, I don’t know” replied Rosa. “But it’s not our place to meddle. Maybe Duane’s dTimes New RomaneTimes New Romanstiny lies elsewhere. Only Duane can decide.”

Isabel suddenly felt very selfish. She had wanted to find a way to keep Duane around because he was good for the Calzones. Not because it was good for Duane.

“You’re right,” she told her mother. “Maybe it’s for the best. I’ll just have to accept whatever happens, and hope for the best for Duane.”

Rosa smiled at her daughter as the two made their way back to their offices.

Isabel closed the door behind her as she entered her office. She sat down at her desk, and stared momentarily at the computer.

I have to do this. Like it or not.  Isabel took a deep breathe and sighed. God help us.

She opened up her email and began typing. When the email was complete, she typed the name in the address bar. Cledus Snow. She hit send, and it was done.

Whatever will be, will be.

 

 

 

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I have to do this. Like it or not.