Baseball Dads: Sex, Drugs, Murder, Children's Baseball Part 35

"Al-Qaeda and motherf.u.c.king cheeseburgers," Russ growled. "They're f.u.c.king up my Wi-Fi."

"You're G.o.dd.a.m.n right they are, Russ," Tommy said. "Let's f.u.c.king do this."

Estelle and Kelly had been trying (somewhat in vain) to have a conversation with Jade. She fascinated them. They wondered if she might be some variety of genius. Her spiritual and s.e.xual freedom, her quick vault from poverty to wealth, and her uncanny ability to entirely block out what social circles deemed acceptable appeared to imply that she might be an intellectual force to be reckoned with.

"Gum is so stupid," Jade commented to Estelle and Kelly while staring at the overhead lighting. "It just doesn't make any sense. Why put all the effort into chewing it if you can't swallow it?"

Other times, though, Estelle and Kelly were just shocked that Jade had managed to survive for as long as she had.

"h.e.l.lo, ladies, are we interrupting anything?" Janice Harper, the Pastor's wife, asked as she took the empty seat next to Jade, with a gla.s.s of wine in hand.

Tiffany Blaine and Linda Honeycut took two other vacant seats at the table. The three of them looked as though they had been mixing the pain medication from their facelifts with their antianxiety meds and a sizeable quant.i.ty of alcohol.

"It's so wonderful for Jesus to give us such an amazing opportunity to help the homeless," Janice remarked.

"Praise Jesus," Tiffany threw in righteously.

"Yup. That was pretty awesome of Jesus," Estelle said. "You know what would've been more awesome? Not making them homeless."

Janice attempted a fake smile, but her Botox proved to be a worthy opponent. Jade slid her chair closer to Janice and rested her head on the shoulder of the preacher's wife. She gently placed her hand on Janice's thigh. "You smell f.u.c.king amazing," Jade whispered in her ear. "You wanna get out of here for a few minutes?"

"How's Dwayne doing, dear?" Tiffany jumped in, adding to what seemed like a coordinated gossip-research mission. "Is he still dabbling in drugs?"

"We'd be willing to hold an intervention at the church if you'd like, Estelle," Janice added. "Your home is not a good environment to raise a child in right now."

"We just want what's best for you and your family," Linda consolingly continued. "His behavior has been erratic. The way he spoke to us was awful. There's no need to talk so distastefully to a group of women studying and trying to live the words of Jesus."

Estelle and Kelly sat staring at the women, unsure of where to begin. Jade was content rubbing Janice's leg, humming.

"What do you think, Estelle?" Janice asked.

Estelle picked up Dwayne's half-full gla.s.s of Scotch and pounded it. She wiped a drop from her lower lip with her arm and stood up so that all of the women at the table could hear her. She was s.h.i.tfaced, and she decided to get a few things off her chest.

"What do I think?" She was ready to let them know. "Here's what I think: I think that what upsets you the most is that someone actually said that stuff to your face. You're totally incapable of saying things to people's faces. You've spent your entire lives operating behind people's backs. And don't tell me that I don't know what I'm talking about. Until recently, I was right there with you.

"You are the self-appointed dictators of local high society. You decide who makes the cut and who is to be humiliated for not reaching your bulls.h.i.t standards. You justify all of your condemnation by quoting Jesus, as if Jesus would actually approve of anything about you. Your prayer groups are just wine-filled judgment groups attended by hate-filled women. Again, I know first-hand, because I was right there with you.

"As for my home not being a good environment to raise a child in, well, I love my family. We were lost for a while, but we're good now. My son is pitching, playing shortstop, and hitting home runs on a team my husband is coaching. My husband puts his son and his wife above everything. He makes sure he spends real time with us every day. And at least a couple of times a day, my husband makes love to me in ways that are so deeply satisfying, you'll never understand. We do it dressed as Star Wars characters. We do it dressed as superheroes. We do it on every surface in our home and office that's big enough to set my a.s.s on. We break s.h.i.t when we make love. And it's good.

"I know how your home lives are. They're unhappy. But you take pills so that you don't care that you're unhappy, and you point your fingers at others so they don't look at your unhappiness. It's the simple psychology of bullies.

"You've attached your happiness to the number of diamonds you have, the cars you drive, how big your house is, what publications your name shows up in ... This is how you measure your life. There's no kindness or willingness to reach out and help. Your smile is a mask. I think that your homes are not good environments to raise a child in.

"But I've rambled on for too long here, ladies. So allow me to summarize things: you are sad, fake, pathetic, insecure, insincere, arrogant, materialistic, out-of-touch, hypocritical, self-serving, gossiping, backstabbing b.i.t.c.hes, and the world would be a better place if Jesus poured gasoline on you and lit you on fire. Any questions?"

Estelle slammed the rest of her wine and looked around. The area surrounding her table had become quiet. Kelly's jaw hung wide open. Others in the crowd had stopped to listen in. Linda, Tiffany, and Janice were humiliated, their stretched faces bright red.

"Wow," Jade said to the three horrified socialites, "Jesus totally hates you people."

Janice Harper stormed across the ballroom. Linda Honeycut crossed her arms, giving Estelle the ultimate stink eye. And Tiffany Blaine was too combative to go down without a fight. She decided to fire back.

"Maybe I'd take you more seriously if you weren't f.u.c.king half the town, Estelle," she snapped. "I hardly think someone who's humping the manager at Walmart has any room to cast aspersions at me."

"And thanks for standing up for us, Kelly," Linda added, slurring her speech heavily. "I thought we had a bond after I told you I sponsored that black baby in Africa. f.u.c.king Obama! So much for Fort Worth diversity!"

Kelly was both offended and confused by Linda's accusation.

"Tiff, Linda, I think it's time you two gathered your things and left my table," Estelle stated firmly.

"Right," Tiffany responded. "You probably need to go screw a waiter or something. Maybe I'll go find Dwayne and see if he'd like a b.l.o.w.j.o.b from someone with some cla.s.s. It's probably been a while."

Estelle walked around the table and stopped in front of Tiffany. She leaned over, getting in her face. "Or maybe we should just step into the parking garage for a few minutes."

Linda, Tiffany, Estelle, and Kelly marched through the ballroom toward the parking garage. They moved with purpose, knocking people in the crowd to the side. It was go time. They were ready for a fight.

Jade started to follow behind, but when the band cranked into "Superst.i.tious" by Stevie Wonder, she redirected to the dance floor, where she and Judith began grinding on both sides of Steve.

When the ladies came bursting through the parking garage door, they were startled to see six guys already squared off and ready to battle.

"What the f.u.c.k?!" Tiffany shouted.

Dwayne and Chip Conner were circling each other, their fists up in the middle of the drive, like boxers in a heavyweight fight. The other men were nose-to-nose talking s.h.i.t.

The ladies all stepped into the garage, joining the action, tossing their heels off and a.s.suming the ready position. Estelle gave a "come on" motion to Tiffany.

"Well, I guess the wh.o.r.es are here," Chip smirked. "Hey, Estelle, you wanna bring that hot little yoga a.s.s over here and get a taste of a real man?"

And that was all it took.

Dwayne threw a swift right cross at Chip. Chip stumbled back a few steps, and then drove a hard uppercut at Dwayne's jaw before throwing him into a headlock.

Tommy took a ma.s.sive shot to the cheek and then delivered one right back to Reese, which caused Reese to go down on all fours. Tommy began kicking him in the chest and face until Reese no longer moved.

Russ ripped his shirt off and cast it aside. He secured his tie around his forehead and let out a crazy battle cry. He lunged toward Ed, seizing him by the b.a.l.l.s and squeezing with all his might. He then rammed his knee repeatedly into Ed's crotch, followed by several elbow shots to his nose. Ed never had a chance.

Tiffany sprinted toward Estelle with her fingernails out front. Estelle stepped to the side to dodge her while picking up a "SLOW" traffic sign, which was attached to a metal pole. Estelle spun around with lightning speed and swung the sign, catching Tiffany square in the face and sending her back on her a.s.s with a substantial gash in her forehead.

"GREAT f.u.c.kING SWING, HONEY!" Dwayne yelled, even though Chip still had him in a headlock and he was receiving punch after punch to the face.

"THANKS, SWEETIE!" she shouted back. "I LEARNED FROM THE BEST!"

Kelly was next to enter the brawl. "Gimme that motherf.u.c.kin' sign, Estelle," Kelly growled, blocking Linda Honeycut from the door. "This little b.i.t.c.h is trying to get away. I'm gonna go all Serena Williams on her a.s.s."

Estelle tossed Kelly the sign. Linda charged her, but it was no use. Kelly had been winning tennis championships since she was a child, and it showed. Backhand, forehand, backhand, forehand ... And down Linda went, out cold.

Blood dripped steadily from the "SLOW" sign as Kelly breathed heavily, standing over the unconscious body of Linda Honeycut.

Chip Conner became distracted briefly by Kelly's beatdown of Linda. Dwayne reached up over Chip's shoulder and grabbed firmly. Dwayne shifted his weight, positioned his leg, then flipped Chip over in front of him, the hard cement ground knocking the wind out of Chip's lungs. Dwayne kicked Chip in the side of the head with all his might.

The fights between the others had come to a standstill, with the guests of Dwayne and Estelle, as well as Estelle herself, emerging victorious. None of them had faced an opponent like Dwayne, though. This was an epic battle between two large, strong, severely intoxicated men. The others stood back and watched. Occasionally, Russ or Tommy would try to jump in, but Dwayne would wave them off, even though he was taking a beating. He wanted Chip all to himself. No one talked to his wife that way and got away with it. Not anymore.

He was fighting for her honor. It was a Jedi thing.

The two of them rolled around on the pavement, trading blows. Blood dripped from both their faces onto their torn shirts. After several minutes of struggle, Chip regained the high-ground position and sat on Dwayne's chest, delivering shot after shot to his face. His eyes had almost swollen shut.

"You had enough yet, lawn boy?" Chip said with an angry snarl, his arm c.o.c.ked back ready to finish him. "I told you I was gonna f.u.c.k you up. That's exactly what I did. Now I'm gonna go take that pretty little wife of yours and-"

Dwayne whipped his arm up before Chip could finish his sentence and jammed his index and middle fingers into Chip's eye socket. As Chip shrieked in agony, swinging wildly and pulling back, Dwayne shot upward and pushed his thumb in as well.

He clutched Chip's eyeball and ripped it from his head. He held it up for Chip to see, then hurled it as far as he could off to the side. Blood came squirting and pouring from Chip's face, and Dwayne flipped around behind him and put him in a headlock. He lifted Chip up onto his feet by his neck and ran forward with him, driving his head through the side window of a parked Cadillac.

Chip slid down to his knees, broken gla.s.s cutting into his throat as he tried to hold himself upright.

Dwayne reached over Chip, through the window and into the Caddy, and felt around for the lever that popped the trunk open. He found it, pulled it, and walked to the rear of the vehicle, where he retrieved the tire iron used to change flat tires.

He walked up behind Chip, wielding the tire iron. Chip turned around just in time to see Dwayne raise it up high.

"Please, Dwayne, I-" Chip started to say, but it was too late.

Dwayne swung the tire iron mightily, caving in Chip's skull, sending chunks of his face in all directions.

When Dwayne finished, he turned to face the others. His chest was heaving. His face was drenched with blood. His shirt hung open, almost all the way off on one side. He staggered, limping, gripping the b.l.o.o.d.y tire iron tightly.

He walked to where each of the other downed socialites lay and swung brutally at each of their heads, one by one, until he felt certain they were all dead.

The tire iron clanked to the ground as he swayed over the last of them. He fished around in his pocket and pulled out a joint. He felt around his other pockets, searching for something to light it with.

Estelle stepped forward with a lighter and held it with her hand blocking the flame from the wind so that Dwayne could light his doob. She picked up the tire iron, walked over to the garage door, and slid it through the handle so that no one from the ballroom could enter the parking garage.

Everyone else stood in stunned silence, watching Dwayne. He walked, wobbling the whole way, over to where his coat had been thrown and picked it up. He reached inside and pulled out his phone, punching in a few numbers. "Uzi?" he said. "It's Dwayne. How many bodies can you fit in that trunk?"

"Six, sir," Uzi replied.

"Okay then, I've got five. Meet me in the parking garage around back. p.r.o.nto. Your tip just got bigger."

The limo sounded like a freight train when it headed down the parking garage drive. The tires were like nails on a chalkboard. Uzi stopped the vehicle abruptly, the front b.u.mper just inches from Dwayne's knees. Dwayne didn't budge; he just looked at Uzi through the windshield, giving him a subtle nod with his chin.

Uzi opened the limo's trunk. Tommy, Russ, and Dwayne jumped into action, carrying the five bodies to the trunk and stacking them inside. After Chip Conner, Ed Snyder, Reese Pepper, Linda Honeycut, and Tiffany Blaine were packed into the trunk, Uzi instructed everyone to get into the pa.s.senger cabin.

"Hang on," Dwayne said to Uzi as the others climbed aboard.

He ran over and picked up Chip's eyeball, then grabbed the tire iron that was securing the door handles. He threw them both in the trunk and closed it. Uzi hit the gas as soon as Dwayne dove in.

"Inside the cabinet under the bar area, you'll find paper towels, water bottles, and a couple of trash bags," Uzi spoke into the rearview mirror. "Get yourselves cleaned up, and put the towels in the trash bags when you're done."

Estelle sat on Dwayne's lap, and Uzi found a dark place to park. She dabbed Dwayne's swollen face with wet towels, wiping away the blood and putting pressure on his cuts.

"My hero," she whispered.

Dwayne was the only living pa.s.senger with multiple injuries. Estelle removed what was left of his shirt and threw it into the trash bag. Tommy's eye had a small cut and was swollen. He had a fair amount of blood on his shoe from kicking Reese, but otherwise he looked decent. Russ was shirtless and sporting a necktie around his forehead. He had put on sungla.s.ses when he got in the limo, and now looked like a hairy, overweight Rambo.

Estelle and Kelly had only a small amount of blood spatter on their clothing. They had barely broken a sweat.

"We've gotta go back for Steve and Judith," Dwayne stated to his fellow soldiers.

"And Jade," Russ added.

"Kelly and I need to go back to the ballroom to get our purses," Estelle said. "But you and Russ don't even have shirts. That's the kind of thing people notice, sweetie."

"I've got a couple of t-shirts up here," Uzi said. "I'm not saying they won't be tight, but if you throw your jackets over them maybe no one will notice. I mean, they'll think you dress pretty stupid, but that's probably nothing new for you, Russ."

Russ grabbed a bottle of Scotch and took several pulls from it, then pa.s.sed it to Kelly, who did the same. The bottle continued to make rotations until it was empty.

"Fried catfish and chewing tobacco, man," Russ mumbled.

"That's what I'm talking about, Russ," Tommy replied.

"I mean, Simon and f.u.c.king Garfunkel, bro," Russ continued. "f.u.c.king Garfunkel. On the gra.s.sy knoll. Like a bridge over Dealey Plaza."

"He was the shooter, no doubt," Dwayne added in a consoling tone. "Glad the acid is working out for you, man. Now ... let's get out there and finish this f.u.c.king party."

Uzi tossed a couple of t-shirts into the back of the limo. Russ put on the lime green one that had the word "KRUNK!" in bold black letters. His hairy stomach hung out the bottom. Dwayne chose the bright blue shirt with a picture of a DJ and turntables on it that said "Back That a.s.s Up!" The t-shirt was so tight it nearly strangled him. They both looked only slightly more presentable once they put their jackets on.

"Let's roll!" Dwayne called out to Uzi.