Big Leagues (21 page)

He stepped forward. “
Mr. Abercromby
? Did
all them late hours finally make you lose your marbles, Red? Jamal
is worm food.”

Cat frowned at his crudeness. “Thank you. I’m
aware of that. I just had a visit from his brother. I thought you
might be he.” She sighed. “Never mind. What can I do for
you?”

He held out her oversized leather bag by its
gold chain handles. “Ya left your purse in the boss’ office. I’m
just filling in as errand boy.”

“Oh gosh, thanks.” Cat reached out and took the
bag from his hands. She pulled out her laptop from an inner pouch.
“I can’t believe that. I don’t know how I could’ve left something
so important behind.”

She gave him a thoughtful smile and wondered
for what crime he had been incarcerated, though she knew it was
much too rude a question to ask. Maybe Otis had been a thief, too,
and look at him now. Did that mean Michael McDaniel could be
rehabilitated someday? Maybe even hold a respectable job where he,
too, could be trusted to return purses to their rightful
owners?

“Yeah, well. That’s the way things go
sometimes, I suppose. Time was I’d forget my own rooster in the
henhouse, if ya know what I’m sayin’.”

Cat didn’t.

“That was back in my wilder days,” Otis went
on. “It’s easier now, since all I have to remember is this here
belt.”

He gave his midsection a little pat, bringing
her attention back to the right-sided pouch.

“Hmm … I bet.” She studied the pouch
closer.

“My heavens, girl!”

Cat jumped and jerked her head up.

“W-what?”

“You sure do have a good view from
here.”

Cat relaxed and peered out the glass with him.
“It’s great, huh?”

“Ya know, I’ve never even seen the inside of
this office. Derhoff was here for three years but no one besides
that little ass-kisser out there ever got past the threshold. Why,
this view’s almost as good as the boss’.”

“Yeah, except that his window is, um, about a
thousand times bigger.”

The creases deepened around Otis’ left eye as
he offered her an exaggerated wink. Then he headed for the chair in
front of her desk and sat down. Taking the security cap off his
head, he wiped the back of his hand across his receding hairline.
The lingering sandy locks coiled under the moisture at the
crown.

“Instead of a dinky mini-fridge, he’s got a
full-service liquor station.”

She followed his stare to the fridge in the
corner. “An
empty
dinky mini-fridge. I’m afraid all I can
offer you is half a can of Cherry Coke or a bottle of orange juice.
If you want, we have tea and coffee in the break room—”

“Ah, don’t worry about a thing, cupcake. I’m
just killing time before the fans start lining up. Not looking
forward to that. Did you know that at last night’s game there were
three brawls in the stands before the first inning? Abercromby
fans, too, come to think of it.”

“Yikes. Well, grief can make people do strange
things.”

“Is that what you think? I was figuring the
heat was to blame.” He pulled at the collar of his taupe uniform
shirt.

“Well, that probably doesn’t help, either.
Makes you feel for the players, though. The field thermometer read
one eleven yesterday. Imagine playing down there while wearing two
pounds of polyester.”

“Aw, screw them. Those assholes are making
millions just to stand out their picking at their cracks until the
occasional ball comes their way. I’m asses and elbows in the
bleachers, wrestling drunks down to the security
office.”

“I guess I wouldn’t know. We can only see so
much from the press box.” She gave him an apologetic shrug, knowing
full well what it was like to work out in the stands. “At least
it’s air-conditioned.”

Otis kicked his legs out in front of him and
put his hands behind his head. “That’s the job. I tell ya, I’d
rather be out beating the heat than be stuck in the uppity press
box, that’s for sure.”

“Oh, the press box isn’t so bad.”

“You don’t strike me as the kind of girl who’d
enjoy the company of pricks like Carlyle or the one from the paper,
uh, St. John. He’s a real jerkoff.”

She smiled. “Well, I just do my own thing. I’ve
got so much work to do anyway, so I try to stay away from the petty
stuff.”

Dustin-torture notwithstanding.

“That’s smart. I get why the boss is always
singing your praises.”

“He is?” She leaned in, hanging on to Otis’
every grunt as he collected his thoughts.

“I’ll say. You’d think he’d made you himself
and taped ya to the refrigerator. Thinks you’re a real
find.”

Cat blinked and bit her lip. “Wow. That’s
awesome.”

“Thought you’d be pleased.” Otis looked out
toward the hallway. “So what did Abercromby’s bro want,
anyway?”

Something about Otis’ tone told Cat not to give
away too much. “Oh uh … he just wanted to say thanks. I sent his
mom a collection of articles about Jamal.”

“You did? Ain’t that sweet.”

She shrugged. Otis stared at her with a dopey,
awestruck gaze for several seconds. “Well, Red, I’d better get out
of your pretty hair. I got to go brief the ushers on tonight’s
radio codes and all that shit.”

“Okay.” She pointed to her bag. “Thanks for
bringing back my bag.”

“That’s what I’m here for.”

He wrestled his large body from the small chair
and ambled out the door.

Cat had just opened up her laptop when yet
another rap came from the closed wooden door.

I guess this is the place to be
today.

Dustin threw open the door and stomped in.
“What was he doing up here?”

“Who? Otis?”

Dustin nodded.

“Just returning the bag I left in Mr. König’s
office.”

“He sure stayed for a while.”

“We were talking.”

Dustin scoffed and shook his head. “I don’t
know why it surprises me that you’d befriend the one person in this
building who belongs in the zoo.”

Cat cocked her head and glared at him. “Excuse
me?”

“Otis Snow is a freak show. He lurches around
this place like the missing link. Doesn’t he creep you
out?”

Otis’ ogling did have a tendency to ‘creep her
out,’ but she kept her concentration on her laptop and refused to
give Dustin the satisfaction of common ground.

“As a matter of fact, he doesn’t. I don’t judge
people at face value, lucky for you. I’ll have you know he’s
actually quite pleasant.”

“If by ‘pleasant,’ you mean sweaty, then I
wholeheartedly agree.”

“There’s nothing wrong with having a little
dirt under your fingernails, Dustin.”

“Whatever. I’m just trying to warn
you.”

“Noted.”

“So, why was Jason Abercromby here?”

“To thank me for a scrapbook I made for his mom
with some archived articles about Jamal.”

“You seriously did all that?”

“Yes.”

Dustin grimaced. “Why?”

“Compassion. Why is that so
strange?”

“Did you lose it when you saw him? I bet you
didn’t even know Jamal had a twin.”

“Actually, I did know, so I wasn’t surprised at
all.” Cat was amazed at how easily the lie rolled off her
tongue.

Dustin raised one bushy brow over his
horn-rimmed frames. “Mm-hmm. Well look, you don’t want to get too
involved in these people’s lives. They’ll just drag you down with
them.”

She gave him a blank stare. “Thanks for the
advice, Dustin. Whatya say we just get back to work?”

Dustin turned on his heel and sauntered out of
the office. She closed the door behind him with a little too much
force.

She tapped her pencil thoughtfully on the
desk.

Hmm. Was there a story here?

Cat drifted through the silent office and
hovered in front of Dustin’s desk. The surface was bare—no
computer, no stapler and no sign of his telephone. She ran her
finger through the thick pile of dust and frowned. “Dustin? Has
anyone seen Dustin?”

No one answered her. She continued gliding
across the chilly room and wafted toward the outer doors, eager to
leave the dark room behind. A raspy whisper made her stop
short.

She called out, “Did someone say
something?”

Cat turned to one of her coworkers but no one
responded to her question. The sickly aroma of dead roses filled
the office. Cat scanned the desks for a vase whose contents were
past their prime. The putrefaction began to thicken in her throat.
She moved for the doors, but they appeared farther away with each
step. She began to run, desperate to get away from the stench of
decomposition. She tripped and lost her footing, skinning her palms
on the rough berber. She turned to look for the cause of her
tumble.

Jamal?

A naked body unfolded at her feet, its skin
flayed open from sternum to pelvis. Cat watched in horror as it
began to twitch, first the fingers, then the toes. Its arm slowly
reached for her legs.

Get up, Cat, get up!

She remained glued to the floor. The body’s
cold, decaying hand wrapped around her bare ankle. She tried to
scream, but the thick stench trapped her voice in her throat. She
kicked her leg to free it from the thing’s grip. Her efforts only
made the flesh on its fingers peel away, giving way to tightly
clenched bones. The smell of rotting flesh traveled to her lungs,
and Cat began coughing convulsively.

“H-help!” she cried out between
hacks.

Her coworkers’ still heads didn’t budge from
their desks. With a booming ding, the elevator across the hall
opened and Dustin stepped out. He sipped from an oversized coffee
mug as he approached.

“Dustin, help me!”

He took one large step over her and the corpse
and disappeared into her office. Flaps of flesh now hung off the
corpse’s skull. She stopped flailing and stared at her attacker.
Its skin color, although tinged with mossy decay, appeared to be
white, not black. It began to twitch toward her and crawl up her
motionless legs. Nearly on top of her now, it appeared to be about
her height, considerably shorter than the deceased outfielder. An
eyeball hung from a socket and dragged across her cheek. She
crushed the back of her head into the hard floor as she flailed
about, trying to brush away the ooze on her face. The other eyeball
remained intact, and in it Cat recognized the cry for help. She’d
seen it only hours ago in her office when Jason Abercromby paid her
a visit.

The corpse wrapped its gaunt fingers around her
neck. Cat began to struggle again. She twisted and turned, trying
to squirm out from underneath its grip. She pushed against its
chest, feeling the ridged bones and squishy flesh between each
finger. With a loud crunch, its body snapped off from the shoulders
and the skeleton slumped to the side. Only its arms protruded from
her now, still connected to the fingers wrapped tightly around her
esophagus. Cat pulled at the wrists and its grip tightened. She
couldn’t breathe. She gasped for breath. Everything went
black.

Cat’s eyes flew open. She brushed sweaty
strands of hair away from her cheeks and forehead and looked around
the dim bedroom. The alarm clock flashed 4:56 a.m. Laying her head
against her pillow, she cautiously closed her eyes.

The corpse appeared again.

Cat shot up and reached for the switch on her
lamp. As her eyes adjusted to the light, she cradled the nape of
her neck in her hands. She inhaled deeply of the sugary vanilla
scent that remained in the room from a previously lit candle and
stared at the blank bedroom wall. Then she squinted at the alarm
clock again, flung the covers off and hopped out of bed. Her
fingers felt for the switch on the small television. Anything to
get her mind off rotting misery.

That rules out infomercials.

Cat flipped the channels to a
Lucy
marathon and turned up the volume. This was ridiculous. What if she
didn’t ever find the remote control? How much did those universal
remotes cost? Maybe after she paid off a few more bills.

After twisting her hair into a messy ponytail,
Cat grabbed a box and finally started to unpack.

As her hand reached into the box, an image of
the haunting arm flashed through her mind. She blinked the dream
away but trepidation lingered. Was Jamal’s ghost trying to tell her
something? Or was her subconscious trying to warn her?

“What’s new, Puss-uh, Cat?”

Benji bumbled into the building’s laundry room
carrying a duct-taped laundry basket and a stack of mail. He
whistled the Tom Jones tune as he set the full basket on an empty
washer.

Cat beamed, her bad night suddenly a distant
memory. “Hey, Comic Book Guy!”