Big Leagues (22 page)

“You know, I’m just going by ‘Benji’ now. Or
‘the Stallion.’ ” He waggled his eyebrows suggestively as he walked
over to the card table where she sat. “So, you’re an early bird,
too?”

“Something like that. Just a sec.”

She pulled out the USB flash drive and closed
the lid to her computer. He took a step back.

“Oh, if you’re busy, you don’t have to stop. I
mean, I was …”

“No, no. Stay. I need a break anyway. I was
fielding some fan questions. Tomorrow’s the very first edition of
the weekly,
Dish and Chips
.”

“What’s that?”

“A Q&A thingy I came up with. Fans e-mail
or tweet a question for the players or staff members, and I
personally see to it their questions are answered.”

“Anything?”

“Anything baseball related. Don’t get any
ideas.”

“I would never. I’ll have you know I might have
a baseball question or two.”

“Like what?”

“Like maybe I want to hear the senior
reporter’s opinion on overlooked Hall of Fame third
basemen.”

Cat giggled. “You’ve been doing your homework
on ‘Jan Santa’, haven’t you?” She wrapped the electrical cord
around her laptop and crammed the computer in her bag.

Benji grinned, thumbed through his mail and
stopped upon seeing a letter. He tore open the envelope and scanned
the contents quickly. His hopeful expression collapsed. He wadded
up the letter and let out a disgusted groan. “You know what makes
me mad?”

She rested her chin on her hand. “Hmm … let me
think.” She snapped her fingers. “People who point at their wrist
while asking you for the time, like you’re too stupid to know where
your watch is?”

“No …. well, yes, I suppose.” He gave her a
fleeting smile. “Also, a lack of collegiate funding for science
departments.”

“Oh.” She pressed her lips together. “I guess
that’s bad. Not ‘unnecessary Charades’ bad’ but still,
grr
.”

He tossed the crumpled ball to the side. “It’s
more than
grr
. Supplies are already limited. Now lab times
will be shortened and class sizes doubled. The classes that aren’t
cut, at least. All because of so-called ‘budget restraints.’
”

He flung open the lid of the washer. The metal
clanged as the lid hit the back of the machine. He ignored it. “Do
these same
restraints
stop the school from giving full ride
athletic scholarships to our championship baseball team full of
brainless automatons who can’t even ignite a Bunsen
burner?”

Watching his tirade with a bemused smile, Cat
hefted herself onto the washer next to him.

Benji yanked t-shirts out of his laundry basket
and shoved them into the machine. “No it doesn’t. Got a whole
locker room full of them.”

She handed him the bottle of laundry detergent.
“Clubhouse.”

“What?”

“Baseball locker rooms are called
clubhouses
.”

He rolled his eyes. “Clubhouses are for
eight-year-olds and Hell’s Angels.”

He seemed to expect a reaction, but all she
could offer was a helpless shrug.

“This is a perfect example of how our country
feels about education, specifically in the field of science.” He
pointed his finger toward her. “Do you know that in terms of our
GDP, the United States ranks eighth in R&D? Eighth! We’ve been
on federal funding decline for thirty years. There is no
excuse.”

The row of dryers dinged, and Cat jumped off
the washer

Benji handed her a laundry basket and opened
the dryer’s door for her as he ranted on, “But, hey, as long as
we’ve got our priorities straight. After all, we always bring home
the gold at the Olympics. Maybe we’ll be able to use all of those
medals as a countermeasure to bioterrorism.” He put the basket down
and pushed the hair off his forehead. “So, do you want to go out
with me sometime?”

Her head shot out of the dryer.
“W-what?”

“I was uh, wondering if you wanted to go out,
you know, like to the movies. You can pick. As long as it doesn’t
have vampires; they’re biologically impossible.”

“A date?”

“How about Friday night?”

“Oh, I’m sorry, Benji, but I can’t.”

“It’s because I just insulted your livelihood,
isn’t it?”

She laughed and shook her head, her ponytail
swinging from side to side. “No, it’s because that livelihood
requires that I attend a game Friday night.”

“So maybe another time? How about Saturday
afternoon at the zoo?”

“Another game. I’ve got an idea. A few times a
season I’m allowed to sneak away and enjoy a game outside of the
press box with a couple of decent seats behind home plate. Why
don’t I see if I can get tickets for this weekend. Maybe I can
convince you baseball isn’t the root of all evil.”

The zoo might be nice, but Cat didn’t think
there was a better place for a first date than a baseball game.
Plenty of time between innings to get to know each other, plus good
food, great entertainment and a lot of fun.

Of course, that’s assuming your date doesn’t
think sports are the scourge of the country’s educational
system.

He hesitated and tried to conceal a coy smile.
“Well, I might have, by accident, caught another game on TV last
night. When I was flipping to the Discovery Channel, of
course.”

Eyes sparkling, she hopped back on the washing
machine. “You did? What’d you think? Even though they lost, Ballard
was lights out, huh?”

Benji blinked in confusion. “Uh … yeah,
totally, he was. The pitching was really good, too.”

Cat hid her smile behind the towel she was
folding.

“So who’s pitching tonight?” he
said.

“James, our only southpaw in the rotation. You
familiar?”

“Oh,
James
. We go way back, all the way
from when he was a northpaw.” Playful dimples formed in his
cheeks.

“Well then, I probably don’t need to tell you
this—you being his biggest fan and all—but he’s going for his
eighteenth win of the season tonight. Should be a pretty big
deal.”

“You don’t say? Maybe he’ll end up with thirty
by the time the season’s over.”

“Ha! That would be something. He probably only
has about ten starts left.”

Benji shrugged. “Hey, I didn’t say it was a
sure thing.”

She chuckled and threw a rolled-up pair of
socks at him. He quickly caught them and her eyes widened. “Look at
that! I might have to tell the skipper I’ve got a new catcher for
him.”

Benji grabbed the balled-up grant letter and
tossed it in an empty washing machine. “Well then, screw this
science gig! I’m going to Disneyland!”

She shook her head. “Nah. I already see a flaw
in the plan. They won’t listen to me. I can’t even get a few simple
answers regarding Jamal’s broken ticker.”

“They’re still giving you the cold
shoulder?”

She nodded glumly.

“You’re a reporter, right?”

“In theory.”

“Then go get your report.”

“Are you familiar with the cold shoulder? Of
all the shoulder temperatures, it’s the most
standoffish.”

“Sometimes you gotta push for the big stuff.
Take this Dear John letter about my funding. You think I’m gonna
suck it up and say to the board, ‘Okay, brainless trust. You’re
right. We don’t need safety goggles. We can reuse those broken
beakers. Hey, we’ll make our own fetal pigs.’ ”

Cat scrunched her nose.

“Nope, I’m gonna raise hell until those idiots
listen to me and get my department the budget we need.”

“Aren’t you worried they’ll, you know, fire
you?”

“Hell no! If I weren’t trying to improve my
classrooms, then I wouldn’t be doing my job. Besides, I don’t want
to work for a place that doesn’t value science. Do you want to work
for a place that doesn’t value … uh, hearts?”

“Hmm.” She hopped off the washer. “Thanks,
Benji. You actually helped me a lot.”

“Well, don’t sound so surprised. I am a teacher
and all.”

She grabbed her laundry basket and headed for
the door.

“Hey, where are you going?”

She stopped in the doorway and turned to face
him. “Like you said, to get my report. I’ve also got to wrangle up
a couple of tickets for this weekend.”

Benji grinned.

Cat turned the corner, but poked her head back
through the doorway a second later. “Oh! And by the way, those
Bunsen boneheads you mentioned?”

He nodded slowly.

“They have an eighty percent graduation rate in
our nation’s colleges—that’s three times the national average—along
with a higher collective GPA than that of the non-athletes. Aside
from whatever bully’s responsible for the baseball-sized chip on
your shoulder, the majority of those dumb jocks go on to succeed in
many prestigious professions, including medicine, technology and …
oh yeah, biology.”

He stood speechless in front of the dryer, a
lone sock dangling from his hand. With a wink and a grin, she
whipped her head out of the doorway and bounced off.

On her first day, Cat had learned Kevin Goodall
was a hard man to find around Hohenschwangau. Now she was
discovering he was an even harder man to keep around once you had
him in your sights.

“Doctor, can I take a few moments of your time?
It’s about Jamal’s autopsy.”

The doctor locked his office door and shoved
the key ring in the front pocket of his chinos. “I’m afraid I don’t
have time right now. I have to go to the batting cages to check the
status of Smith’s strained oblique.”

He headed down the hallway, Cat snapping at his
heels. “Please, it will only take a few minutes. I’ve been trying
to meet with you for two days.”

He shook his head. “Why don’t we set up
something for tomorrow?”

“How about I walk with you to the cages? I’d
like to see how Smitty’s doing, too.”

He stopped and hesitated for several seconds
before saying, “Fine, come along.” He took off again.

Picking up her pace, Cat clicked on her
recorder. “Thanks.” She brandished a notebook with several
questions scribbled on the page. “Now when you said the medical
examiner didn’t detect any illicit substances, does that mean he
checked only for street drugs or did he test for prescription
drugs, too?

Dr. Goodall tried to sneak a peek at her
notebook, but she had already retracted the pad.

“Customarily, an autopsy doesn’t even have to
include a tox screen. In Jamal’s case, mostly due to his age, tests
were performed for controlled drugs, over-the-counter medicines and
illegal substances.” Dr. Goodall pointed at her notebook. “Also,
you should note that the specimens for analysis came not only from
blood, but also from urine and skin tissue. This ensures accuracy.
As the toxicology report confirms, Jamal had no drugs in his
system, prescription or otherwise.”

Cat tried to write quick enough to keep up with
the doctor’s fast talk. Still scribbling, she peered up from the
notebook. “Nothing, huh? That strikes me as kind of weird. Seems
just about everybody takes some sort of magic pill—you know, like
for allergies or heartburn.”

The doctor shrugged. “Most of my players take
nothing but vitamins. Of course, they’re in their twenties. Ah, to
be young again.” He offered her a lighthearted smile but Cat
ignored it.

“Right, his age. That reminds me of another
one. In all your years of practicing medicine, especially with
athletes, have you come across a heart attack in a twenty-eight
year old?”

Dr. Goodall’s jaw clenched.

“Cardiac arrest
, not
heart
attack
. There’s a distinction between the two. Yes, anytime a
twenty-eight-year-old dies of natural causes, it’s an anomaly.
Unfortunately, I’ve seen deaths in people of all ages.”

Cat resisted an eye roll. “Yes, but we’re not
talking about a drunk slamming his car into a guardrail. We’re
talking about a very young and very healthy heart failing. Is that
something you’ve encountered in your career?”

Dr. Goodall stopped walking and faced her. “His
death is definitely not unprecedented. Athletes’ hearts are …
different. You have to remember these are men who work out daily
with strength training, endurance exercises and high-impact
aerobics. Their bodies are in a constant state of conditioning.
Because of the intensive regimen, their hearts pump much more blood
through their bodies compared to yours or mine. Because the human
body is constantly evolving, their hearts adapt and thus, the size
increases.”

“Wait, you’re saying their hearts … they
actually get larger?”

He nodded. “Left ventricle. The muscle mass,
the chamber size, the wall thickness, too.”

“This is normal?”

“It’s routine.” He raised an eyebrow. “This is
fairly common knowledge, too.”