Chapter 18

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

“Stee-rike!”

“Great pitch!” Rachette yelled.

The kid on the mound’s father never showed up to these games, and with his mother sitting there like a sack of sand, staring at her phone, Rachette felt pride in being little Charlie Wall’s biggest fan while he was pitching.

“Come on now, Chuck! You got this!”

Rachette looked across the diamond toward Patterson, sitting in the other stands. Her husband, Scott, was standing in the dugout with his son’s team. They were on pins and needles, just like he was. Probably even more than their kid.

Their son, Tommy, was at bat for the other team. Bottom of the ninth. Two outs. Runners on first and second. One strike. No balls. It didn’t get bigger than this moment.

Come on.

He looked out at center field, where his own son, TJ, slapped his glove between adjustments of his cup. His eyes wandered to a jet overhead.

“Look alive, TJ!” Rachette screamed.

TJ nodded his head, smacking his glove again.

“Come on! Let’s go, Tommy!” Charlotte cheered next to him.

He shook his head slightly, resisting the urge to tell his wife to shut it and stop rooting for the other team. He got it; she was being nice to Patterson’s kid, but right now, it was like fingernails on his brain.

“Come on, we need this. We need this,” the parent next to him whined.

“We got this,” Rachette said, correcting the guy’s tone.

Tommy Patterson was a year younger than TJ, with a flop of brown hair that came out of the ear holes of his helmet. He stepped up to the edge of the batter’s box with his hand up to the ump, taking his time getting situated, then stepping his toes in.

Just like his mother, the kid was very short but very quick and capable. He was top of the order for a reason: because he usually got a hit. He always got a hit. In fact, he was four for four today. The way he was twirling the bat like a martial arts expert said he was about to get another one.

But he hadn’t faced their ringer closer yet. Chuck had the fastest arm in the league.

Let’s go. Smoke this past him.

The next pitch came in. Tommy swung this time, missing.

“Stee-rike!”

Rachette smacked his hands together. “Good pitch!”

“Honey. Don’t. ”

“What?” He turned to Charlotte. “One more pitch, and we win. This is it.”

“Yeah. I know. Thank you.” Her voice was low. Too low for the moment.

“Huh.” He waved a hand and looked back at the action.

The third pitch came, and Tommy Patterson swung. The bat slammed into the ball with a loud ping.

Rachette lunged to his feet. “Oh…” the word spilled out of his mouth. The trajectory was straight up the gut, at an angle that would meet directly with TJ’s center field position.

TJ backed up a few steps like he had been taught, and then, realizing the ball was hit harder than he originally thought, backed up a few more. Then he turned and ran.

“Shit,” Rachette said under his breath. What had TJ been doing playing that shallow? They had to play deeper for top of the order on this team. The first three kids, starting with Patterson’s, had power.

Tommy’s jet-powered legs already had him rounding first by the time the ball started its downward arc.

But TJ would be there. He had wheels himself, and he had that look that said he had the catch. He always had the catch. Usually.

It was too much. Rachette couldn’t look. But he couldn’t peel his eyes away, either.

The ball dropped down on its final arc and landed squarely in the center of TJ’s mitt. No bobble, no drop, just a sure clench of the glove and the raising of two hands in triumph.

“Yes!”

The stands erupted with cheers, and even Charlotte got to her feet. Out in the field, the boys ran to each other to celebrate.

The metal stands shook under Rachette’s feet. He hugged Charlotte, then exchanged a high-five with the guy next to him. Then, realizing he was probably putting on the cheer a little too thick, he stopped himself and eyed the other stands.

Patterson was on her feet clapping, cheering for her team or both teams, keeping her eyes pointedly away from his. Scott was out on the field, slapping high-fives as they lined up to shake hands. He’d done a good job of coaching tonight, hell, all year, especially with his choice to put that third baseman on the mound in the final couple of innings.

“Where’s Harry?” Rachette looked around for his youngest son. He located him over by the trees, still playing with that girl and Patterson’s youngest son, Zack. They were gathering flowers, or rocks, or pine needles, or all the above, placing them in stacks, completely oblivious to what had just happened. Oh well. Another couple of years and he would be out on that field, too. If he ever showed any interest in sports.

“I’ll go get him,” Charlotte said. “Good job, Raptors!”

Yes. It was a good job. With a pride-filled smile, Rachette descended the stands and waited at the dugout for TJ. When he finally came, they embraced, Rachette lifting him up high. A couple of parents slapped him on the back, praising him for snagging the winning catch.

Rachette said nothing to TJ. He didn’t have to. He set him down and smacked him on the back, watching him run off to celebrate some more with his teammates.

The sun was setting over the mountains to the west, illuminating the Chautauqua Valley down below the plateau they were on right now. The air was cool and perfectly pleasant. A few clouds spouted rain in the far distance. It was moments like these that he lived for.

The parents mingled with the other team’s parents behind the stands on the way to the parking lot. Patterson and Charlotte were engaged in a laughing conversation as they stood with Harry and Zack.

“Better luck next time!” Rachette couldn’t resist.

Failing to hide her eye roll, Patterson pasted on a smile. “That was a great game.”

“Sure was.”

“Great catch by TJ,” she said.

“And great hitting by Tommy. What did he go, four for five tonight?”

“Yep.”

“Did you guys see any of the game?” Rachette asked the two six-year-olds.

They looked at him like he was speaking Chinese.

“They had fun playing farmer with Camilla again,” Charlotte said. “Isn’t that right, guys?”

“Yeah!”

The conversation devolved into talk of growing teeth, dentists, and school problems, so Rachette stepped away and met TJ as he finally came off the field.

He put an arm around his son and steered him toward the truck. “You won the game tonight. Do you know that?”

“I don’t know about that,” TJ said. “I struck out three times.”

“That’s okay. It’s all water under the bridge when you make a game-saver catch like that.”

“Yeah. I guess so.”

Rachette rubbed his head .

“Hey!” Scott’s voice came from behind them. “Great game tonight, TJ!”

They turned around. Scott and Tommy had joined Patterson and Charlotte, and now everyone was walking behind them toward the parking lot.

“Thanks,” TJ said.

“Great game out there, Coach,” Rachette said, shaking Scott’s hand. “That was a good move putting the third baseman in there to pitch. That guy’s got a cannon.”

“Oh. Yeah. He did well.”

“You’ll probably be putting him in every game now.”

“We kind of do a rotation.”

Rachette scoffed, then realized he was serious. “Oh. Well, good timing then.”

“Great job again, TJ.” Scott patted TJ on the back and walked away with his family.

“See you tomorrow morning,” Patterson said, walking away with her son next to her. He stared at the ground, dejected.

“Hey! Good game tonight, Tommy!” Rachette said. But Tommy didn’t seem to hear.

They reached Rachette’s personal truck, and he opened the back door, keeping wide of a stream of liquid that streaked out from around the tire as he dropped the gear in back.

“What the heck?” he said, looking down. The liquid had a yellow tinge to it. “There’s a porta potty right over there!” He would have loved to have caught the son of a bitch pissing next to his truck. He looked around, but there was no sense in it and opened the rear door for Harry.

“Can we get ice cream?” Harry asked.

“Yeah! Ice cream!” TJ said .

“We have to eat dinner first,” Charlotte said, climbing inside.

He shut the rear door and climbed in behind the wheel.

“We have ice cream at home,” he said. “But we don’t have pizza!”

“Yes! Pizza!” the two boys said in unison.

He smiled at Charlotte, who smiled happily back at him.

Firing up the engine, he shifted into reverse to telegraph his intentions to back out into the line of traffic, which inevitably choked up at the exit to the park. The road out swung sideways and descended steeply, where it ended at the highway, and people took their sweet time turning into traffic. At the last game, it had taken them fifteen minutes of rolling at a walking pace to leave.

“Black Diamond?” Charlotte asked.

“Yeah. Of course,” he said.

The truck lurched hard and began rolling back. When he pressed the brake there was a strange sensation, like the seat had moved back. Or…no. He stomped his foot, and this time, he got no resistance whatsoever. The brake pedal went all the way down to the floor and stayed dead on the floorboard.

“What the hell?” He jerked his head around. He was careening backward right toward the SUV behind him.

A horn honked, and he jammed the brakes again.

Too late.

After a sickening crunch and everyone lurching in their seat, he shifted back into park.

“What are you doing?” Charlotte yelled.

“I’m not doing anything! Something’s wrong with the truck! ”

Now, he was jammed into the vehicle behind him. People were all staring.

He put the truck in drive to move forward, and the same thing happened—he couldn’t stop, but this time he was rolling straight toward the fields and the people who were still walking past on the grass.

“Shit,” he said, jamming the transmission into park again.

The truck skidded to a stop, and he mashed his foot down on the parking brake to engage it.

“Everybody out!” he said, shutting off the engine.

“What is it?”

“Get out! Everybody get out!”

“Okay, kids. Let’s get out,” Charlotte said.

He opened the door, jumped out himself, and helped Harry down from the back seat, then hurried everybody away from the truck.

“Go with Mommy,” he said. “No, get to the front of the truck. The front.” If the brakes gave way now, the truck would roll backward.

The vehicle he’d just backed into—an SUV with a family inside he now recognized as the Campos—pulled into the vacant parking spot next to their truck. While the rest of his family sat rigid in shock, the father—Eddie—got out and went to his bumper.

Rachette put up his hands. “Hey, sorry, Eddie! Geez, I don’t know what happened. My truck’s messed up.”

Eddie rubbed the bumper, which had a basketball-sized dent in it.

“Shit,” Rachette said. “I’ve got my insurance information. Just…wait a second.”

Rachette walked back toward his vehicle, the initial shock translating into clear thought for the first time. Something had been wrong with the brakes. The liquid that had been streaming out from under the truck was brake fluid. Not urine.

From this vantage point, the other front wheel had a similar yellow streak coming from it now. He rounded the other side of the truck, ducking down to look under it. There, he found four streams, each beginning where he’d been parked a few seconds ago.

“Looks like you have a brake line problem,” Eddie said, following Rachette to his truck. “That’s brake fluid.”

“Yeah,” Rachette said.

“What’s going on?” Charlotte stepped up next to him, her voice insistent.

“I don’t know. Just…wait.” He got to the ground at the front bumper and then, on his back, shuffled underneath.

The braided hoses that went into the brakes had been severed cleanly.

He pulled himself out and looked down the row of cars leaving the lot again. My God, what if he’d pulled out and put it in drive? The collision could have been much worse. What if somebody had been walking in front of the truck?

“What’s going on with our brakes?” Charlotte asked.

Rachette stared at the streams of liquid, this time through a crimson haze of rage, knowing at that moment they’d been cut by the assholes he’d beaten up the night before. It was the only explanation.

“Tom!”

“Sorry…yeah, I don’t know. They’re jacked up.” He pointed at Patterson’s vehicle, which was about to pass behind them. “Flag them down.”

“Heather!” she yelled over the din of vehicles and stepped out into the lot, flagging them down. After a brief conversation through the window, Scott pulled into the parking spot a few spaces down.

“Go with them!” Rachette said. “I’ll deal with this.”

Rachette fished his insurance information from the truck, handed it to Eddie, and asked him to take photos of everything. While Eddie got busy, he walked over to Patterson’s family SUV.

Charlotte was talking through the still-open window, stopping when Rachette walked up.

“What’s going on?” Patterson asked. “Your brakes aren’t working?”

“Yeah. Screwed up. I’m not sure what’s going on. Can you take these guys home? I’ll stick it out and get a tow truck up here.”

“You sit here, Charlotte.” Patterson opened her door. “I’ll wait with him.”

“What?” Rachette blocked the door. “Don’t worry about it. I got it. You guys head home.”

“You sure?”

Rachette pushed the door closed on her. He hadn’t thought this through yet, and he didn’t want Patterson mucking up his process. She would figure out the lines had been cut and then want to know why. That would lead to his visit with Yates and what he’d done to his friends. She was good like that.

“How do your brakes go out?” Patterson asked. “That truck is less than two years old.”

Rachette shook his head. “I took it in the other day. They must have screwed up something. Believe me, I’ll be getting compensated for it.”

“Who did it? ”

He waved a hand. “Come on, boys. Hop in.”

“Our stuff’s in the truck,” TJ said.

“Okay, I’ll get it.” He jogged away and went to the truck, where Eddie was on his back and looking underneath Rachette’s vehicle.

Rachette grabbed the bags out of the bed.

“You know, these lines look cut!” Eddie said, pulling himself up from the ground.

Rachette ignored him, running back with the bags. They were doing a car seat shuffle in the back seat, and then Charlotte got in. He pushed the bags through the window and into the hands of TJ and Harry in the far back, who were engaged in a conversation with Patterson’s boys.

Eddie came walking up, his mouth open to say something.

Rachette turned around and snapped at him, then pointed back toward his truck.

Eddie stopped. “I just?—”

“I’ll be right over. Okay?” Rachette said, tilting his head to get the meaning across that he didn’t want to talk about it there. Eddie got the hint two seconds too late and left with a nod.

Patterson stared at Rachette now, her eyes narrowed, that big brain of hers working as she watched Eddie walking away.

Rachette talked fast. “Okay, all set. Thank you very much.”

“I need the house key!” Charlotte said.

Damn it . Rachette fished out his key and handed it back to her.

“You sure you don’t want me here?” Patterson asked.

“Get out of here. I’ll be fine.” He pointed past her. “ Scott, thank you!” And then he slapped the roof and walked away.

He went back to his truck.

“Those brake lines of yours have been cut,” Eddie said. “I’m sure of it.”

“Yeah, you think?”

“Yeah. I do. There’s no other explanation. Those are braided steel lines. They don’t break like that.”

“Thanks for the assessment. We’ll let the professionals deal with it, though, huh?” He smiled and slapped him on the shoulder. “Look, you let me take care of everything, okay? Have a good night. I’ll call you tomorrow and we’ll get all this squared away, no problem. Alright?”

Frowning, Eddie nodded, reluctantly walking away as he said goodbye.

Rachette braved a glance toward Patterson’s car and breathed a sigh of relief. They were leaving.

Suddenly he felt a wave of apprehension watching his family go without him. Would they be in trouble without his protection at home?

No, he decided. Charlotte was a desk jockey, sure, but she was one tough cookie who knew exactly how to use the firearm in their bedroom safe. Besides, the men who had done this were obviously cowards—more into the hands-off approach to harming him.

He marveled at their brazenness and stupidity. Well, he would show them what being brazen really was. He felt a level of rock-hard resolve he’d never felt in his life. These two men would be taken down. Hell, maybe he would go the extra step and make them vanish. He could dump them into an abandoned mine shaft up above Cave Creek, and nobody would be the wiser. Either that or out near Dredge, where it was even more remote.

And then?

With a shaky breath, he turned and looked at the sunset again.

And then he would sleep soundly every night for the rest of his life knowing he’d done it. Because that’s how much he loved his family.