Baseball Dads: Sex, Drugs, Murder, Children's Baseball Part 3

What the f.u.c.k does that mean?

RUSS:.

I'm speaking in code, lawn boy!

Dwayne was getting impatient with Russ. It wasn't hard to do.

DWAYNE:.

Are you G.o.dd.a.m.n r.e.t.a.r.ded?

RUSS:.

Dumba.s.s! I'm just trying to say something without saying it!

DWAYNE:.

That doesn't make any sense! Are you c.o.ked up right now?

RUSS:.

Wtf does that have to do with anything??? LOL.

DWAYNE:.

Don't LOL me! I'm a grown-a.s.s man! Are you 14 or something? Jesus! Just tell me!

RUSS:.

LMAO! You get so fl.u.s.tered! :)

DWAYNE:.

LMAO? Really? And did you just smiley-face me?

What's wrong with you, man?! Jesus! Use your words!

WHAT THE f.u.c.k ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT?! SPELL IT OUT!!!.

RUSS:.

Sorry. : (... Didn't mean to upset you. I made the call we talked about. It's happening. I'll see you at practice tonight. After I nail your wife.

DWAYNE:.

Oh. Cool. See you tonight. d.i.c.k. You can have her. :)

The texting session over, Dwayne looked up from his phone to see that Alex had finished his breakfast, put his dishes in the dishwasher, combed his hair, and brushed his teeth.

"I'm ready!" Alex exclaimed as he headed for the truck, his backpack on his shoulder.

What a good kid, Dwayne thought. He hoped he would never let such a perfect child down.

"Hey, Alex," he said softly. "Does it bother you that I drop you off for school in my work truck? I know lots of kids are riding in much cooler cars. It's just ... if I head back to the office to get my car after work, that means I get to spend less time with you."

"I don't care, Dad," Alex responded. "It's just a car."

Dwayne smiled. He'd somehow managed to raise his kid pretty well so far. He handed Alex a few bucks for lunch as they approached the school drop-off, and gave him a little fist b.u.mp before he climbed out of the truck. "I'll be home around five to take you to practice, buddy. When you get home, do your homework first thing. I think things are about to get better for your baseball team. I can feel it."

Ricky Dale arrived at Jenny Field an hour before practice to set up the bases and write up a game plan, as he always did. He illegally parked his cla.s.sic silver 1961 Mercedes 300 SL convertible in the handicapped parking s.p.a.ce nearest the entrance to the field.

An old black van, badly painted in a poor attempt to re-create the A-Team van, appeared out of nowhere. It came screeching up behind Coach Dale as he leaned deep inside his trunk to grab the team equipment bag. Coach Dale turned around to see the van's sliding side door fly open, and thick marijuana smoke come pouring out.

Coach Dale stood paralyzed with fear as a large masked man dressed in a tattered red ski suit emerged from the smoke and sprang through the side door of the van wielding a large aluminum baseball bat. His red ski mask looked as though it were on sideways, and Dave was having a difficult time seeing through it. The scene looked straight out of a low-budget horror film.

"You're gonna stop playing daddy baseball out here, Ricky Dale," Dave demanded. He held the bat high, acting as if he might clobber the coach. "You're gonna play the good kids in the good spots, and the r.e.t.a.r.ds in the r.e.t.a.r.d spots. Understand?"

The impeccably dressed and leathery tan Coach Dale leaned in to inspect the masked man. The lunatic with the bat reeked of cheap weed, cheap whiskey, and body odor. He knew that voice. He recognized it. He stared at the one bloodshot eye that had a line of sight through the mask. Then it clicked.

"Dave?" Coach Dale moved closer. "Is that you, Dave? What the f.u.c.k? Is this a joke?"

"I'm not Dave. I don't know anyone named Dave. I mean, I know a couple of guys named Dave ... everybody knows a couple of guys named Dave ... but not the Dave you're talking about."

"How do you know which Dave I'm talking about?"

Dave stood confused, and, using his one free eye, he glared with hatred at Coach Dale. He was way too high for a conversation. Plus, the hot Texas sun was beating down on him, and he was wearing a ski suit.

"I just ... I don't know. But I'm not Dave, f.u.c.ker. Now shut up and tell me you understand that it's time to play baseball the right way."

Coach Dale stared at Dave. He didn't like being pushed around. He was used to getting his way. He looked Dave up and down and a.s.sessed the situation.

"Dave, why the f.u.c.k are you wearing a ski suit? Seriously. That's just stupid. And furthermore, who in the f.u.c.k do you think you are? I run things around here. Do you want to get fired, Dave? How easy is it to find a job with your history? And by the way, you smell terrible, like old homeless b.a.l.l.s."

Dave was getting more p.i.s.sed by the minute. This little fake-tanned c.o.c.ksucker was getting personal. And how did he know what homeless b.a.l.l.s smelled like?

"I told you. I'm not Dave," he growled. "I came here to deliver a message, that's all. Nothing more, nothing less. You're going to play good kids in good positions. You're going to quit benching the talent on your team, and you're going to start benching the s.h.i.tstains like your son. Tell me you understand, you rich p.r.i.c.k, or things are going to get ugly."

"Oh, really?" Coach Dale snapped. "You white trash, Ramen-noodle-slurping, NASCAR-loving, trailer-park-living G.o.dd.a.m.n Neanderthal. Don't f.u.c.king tell me how to run things. You don't know s.h.i.t about success. I own you, Dave. I f.u.c.king own you. And you just made a big mistake, jacka.s.s. I'm calling your parole officer. We're going to order up some drug tests. We'll see how you like getting your a.s.s poked back in pr-"

TINK!.

Dave had always loved the way an aluminum bat sounded when hit in the sweet spot.

Coach Dale never saw it coming. He managed to stay on his feet for a few moments after being struck. It was almost comical, Dave thought as he watched the coach grab at the air for balance.

Ricky Dale's head appeared somewhat caved in on one side. It had changed shape. It was lopsided. The coach gave a final half-pirouette, and collapsed to the ground. When Dave noticed a trickle of blood come out of Coach Dale's ear, he knew he'd swung the bat just a bit too hard. He looked around to make sure no one had seen the events that had just transpired. Once he realized he was safe, he lifted the body of Ricky Dale into his van and attempted to slide the door shut.