Chapter 11 - It's the Small Things That Can Kill You! - The Ball Park

                       Chapter 11 – The Ball Park

The early part of 1972 was a busy time for law enforcement. Serial murderer John Wayne Gacy had caused a young man from Nebraska to vanish from the city of Chicago, never to breath fresh air again. He was the first of thirty-three young men and boys that Gacy killed over a period of six years.

Three teens in the northwest part of Chicago rolled into a suburb looking for marijuana. They made the mistake of asking members of the Latin Kings gang to sell them a couple of joints. The teens ended up dead in their car; their throats slashed. A joint is a small thing. Maybe four inches long. But, as I now well understand, it’s the small things that can kill you.

However, even law enforcement officers needed time off. Our local law enforcement were present at the local baseball park on the warm September evening when the Kildeer Warriors played the Inverness Tigers.  Both Phil Jennings and Tucker Davidson were off duty. Both were wearing Warrior ball caps and jerseys in support of the home team. Phil was leaning on the side of a field light pole. Clara walked by with two cold bottles of Coca Cola. She was wearing a Warriors cap as well. The local crowd was attired in either Warrior green or Tiger orange that night.

“Clara, who are the two guys sitting over in the west bleachers next to Jaxon?” Phil asked.

Clara squinted, trying to see me. The sun was setting and the ball field was packed with fans from Inverness, our rivals. Inverness and Kildeer weren’t officially recognized as towns by the sovereign state of Illinois. Both were regarded as villages. Still, Kildeer had over three thousand residents and Inverness’s population had always been twice as large as ours. It seemed like the biggest turnout in years for little ole Kildeer.  

“Oh my God.” Clara said nervously. “I’ll tell you later Phil.” She hurried towards me.

The late-summer heat hung over the ballfield like annoying guest that refused to leave.  It was unseasonably hot. The type of heat that made the grass in the outfield shimmer and the aluminum bleachers burn the back of spectator’s legs. The Warriors wiped sweat from their brows as they loosened up their arms and ran slow lazy circles around the bases. The visiting team huddled in the shade of their dugout waiting for their turn to take the field.

You could see discarded green and white Warriors jackets meant for cooler evenings laying in the home team dugout and the team kicked up tiny puffs of dust moving about on the infield. Danny was warming up with his team. Occasionally, a teammate would reach over and touch his hair for luck as they trotted past him.

Clara was moving faster than any member of the Warriors that evening as she skidded to halt in front of me. She quickly shoved one of the soft drinks at me and grabbed my left hand jerking me off one of the lowest bleacher seats.

I had been sitting next to Richard Gonzales. Richard preferred to be called “Rico” and he called me “Jax”. Rico was the first friend that I made when my family moved to Kildeer. He had also started as a member of my Men’s Anxiety Treatment Group. Rico had a lot of moving parts to his anxiety issues and had been in therapy when I first met him. He discontinued it against the recommendation of his psychologist but now found some of his symptoms overwhelming.

“Jax, what are you doing sitting next to him at a baseball game?” Clara said, voice tense and at low volume.

“Rico just joined our therapy group, and I was telling him more about some of Dr. Knevins exercises and the way we start the group.”

“No! I mean Frank Calabrese. Why is he even here?” Her tone was very terse.

“Oh. I guess I sort of forgot he was there.” I tried to explain. “He hasn’t said a thing since he and Mikey got to the park. As a matter of fact, he has barely moved.”

“I meant, why is he doing out in public…in a crowd of people?” She said through clinched teeth. He’s a professional killer.”

“Mikey said that he is finishing his two years of parole and then his sentence is done.  I think it was for car theft and armed robbery, or something like that. But, I mean, he’s served most of his time and they let him out because of Alzheimer’s. He seems like he is in a fog. I’m not certain that he knows where he is right now.”

“He still could be dangerous Jax.” Clara was getting a little animated.

“Well, we don’t have to sit next to them. Mikey said that he needs to be back at Happy Meadows before ten o’clock tonight. He just thought that some fresh air and a ball game might help his mood.” I offered this as a semi-reasonable explanation for Frank’s presence.”

“This is morbidly ridiculous Jax. Look at him!”

Frank was dressed like a tourist in a situation comedy show. He was wearing a loud Hawaiian shirt and red plaid Bermuda shorts with wing-tip shoes and black socks. Over-sized sunglasses hid his dead eye and his fedora hid the scars on his forehead.

“Who dressed him? Clara asked.

“I guess Mikey did.” The question never occurred to me.

She started snorting laughter. “Did you say that he was a resident of Happy Meadows?”

“Yeah. Mikey told me that his parole officer had checked the place out and everything.” I was relieved that Clara was starting to calm down a bit.

“Well, I suppose if you can be okay with it, so can I.” She said, trying to normalize what I now could see was a odd arrangement.

We walked over to where Mikey was chugging a ballpark cup full of beer. I noticed several empty cups littering the grass in front of him.

“So, what do you think the batting order will be tonight?” I said, trying to make small talk.

“God, I don’t know. I don’t even live in this town!” Mikey was clearly frustrated and just barely on the legal side of intoxication. I made a mental note to watch him closely. I looked over at Frank. He didn’t move. He was breathing in a calm and even fashion.

Mikey looked at me and then gestured at the immobile Frank. “Don’t worry about him. They sedated him before we came over to the park.”

Clara sat down, right next to Frank. She looked around Frank and tried to engage Mikey in conversation. “I didn’t realize you were a baseball fan Mike.”

“I’m not.” He said with the attitude of a man on a mission to get drunk and start some drama.

“So why are you here?” she smiled sweetly.

“Because they sell Budweiser.” He belched. I noticed Frank turned his head slightly in Mikey’s direction. “Look, could you watch my great Uncle while I get another beer.” Mikey said. Then Mikey just staggered off.

“Would I what?” Clara said with an edge to her voice. She glared at him as he moved towards the concession stands.

Before Clara could object Rico smiled at her and winked. “No problems Mike!” Rico said. “Could you get one for me too.”

Rico was a large, rather portly bear of a man. When he spoke, his voice was usually very soft and surprisingly gentle.  He was very outgoing. It wasn’t unusual for him to engage everyone around him in conversation. Rico shook his shaggy shock of black shoulder length hair and tried to make eye contact with Frank. “It’s a beautiful evening for a ball game, eh!”

“That it is, my friend.” Frank voice was a low rumble. He turned his enormous profile towards Clara who was sitting on his other side. “You know what Joey? Some people just shouldn’t drink.”

“You got that right!” Clara said in irritation before she even realized she was answering Frank ‘The Hook’ Calabrese.

He smiled at her. “I like you, Joey. We think alike.  So, Joey, I was wondering. Do they sell hot dogs here? I would kill for a hot dog.