Baseball Dads: Sex, Drugs, Murder, Children's Baseball Part 46

RUSS:.

Well then, I have roofies.

STEVE:.

Jesus. h.e.l.lo, Mr. Date Rape.

TOMMY:.

Fine, bro. I'll send her home after we get out of the shower.

RUSS:.

Wow. It's on, man. It's on like Donkey Kong.

DWAYNE:.

Great. I'll see you guys at 8:30.

Estelle had been up for several minutes. She had been acting odd the night before, but then she whipped out handcuffs and flavored body paint and Dwayne forgot about it. But now he was curious.

He walked into the bathroom (nude, as always), and found Estelle (also nude) leaning back against the sink and clutching what looked like a strange thermometer in her hand. She looked up at Dwayne, terrified.

"What's going on, babe?" he asked.

She struggled to tell him. Her eyes filled with tears.

"It's just that ... honey, I'm always on time, and ... so I was barely even late, but I had to check, and ... and now things are so great between us, and I don't want to ruin it ... but ... well, here." She handed Dwayne the odd thermometer. He noticed two identical thermometers next to the sink. This one had a blue plus on it.

It took Dwayne longer than it should have to realize what was going on, but then it hit him. And after it hit him, he did some quick mental math to make sure he was the guy who should be happy. According to his math, he was that guy.

"Babe ... are you ... pregnant?"

Estelle smiled at Dwayne nervously as tears poured down her cheeks. She nodded.

"Wooooo-hoooo!" he yelled, throwing his hands up in the air. Dwayne picked her up and squeezed her, then spun her around, dancing all over the bedroom and bathroom.

"Oh, babe, this is awesome!" he said. "I love my life!" He set Estelle back down and looked her in the eyes. She was humbled by his joy, feeling undeserving. Her whole body shook.

"Thank you, Dwayne," she cried. "I love my life too. I'm not proud of the road we took to get here, but at least we're here, and I'm so thankful. I love you, babe."

"I love you too. And our little Jedi."

Dwayne, Steve, and Tommy showed up early for golf. They each wanted time to hit a bucket of b.a.l.l.s on the driving range and get warmed up before the game. As was the norm, Russ screeched into the parking lot at the last minute. Thankfully, however, he was already wearing his golf shirt this time.

"Well, there's a first," Steve said smugly to the others. "At least we don't have to watch him change cl-"

Russ stepped out of his Ferrari completely nude from the waist down. Russ looked over at the others and held his arms straight out to his sides, smiling proudly.

"SEE?!" he yelled over to them. "You had no idea I didn't have any pants on, did you? I told you n.o.body could tell!"

The guys turned back to the driving range, doing their best to ignore Russ. A golf attendant pulled his cart up for him with his clubs already on it, avoiding looking in Russ's direction as much as possible. Russ grabbed his 3-wood and headed up to the range. Thankfully, no other club members were present.

"Man, this breeze feels f.u.c.king great!" Russ said just loud enough for the others to hear him.

They wouldn't look. They didn't want to give him the satisfaction of watching him tee up and hit b.a.l.l.s at the range with his lower half fully exposed.

"Hey, Steve," Russ called out. "Does my swing look off to you? I'm kinda slicing them right now."

"G.o.ddammit," Steve muttered. "Can we just please go play this game? And can you put your d.a.m.n pants on, Russ?"

"Agreed," Dwayne said. "Let's go play some golf, men. I don't think I've ever hit better than just now. Every d.a.m.n ball went three hundred yards up the middle. Let's do this."

"I've gotta say," Tommy added, "I'm feelin' it too. My G.o.d, I'm absolutely crushing the ball."

"Me too," Steve enthusiastically threw in. Dwayne's infectious gusto was hard for Steve to resist. He thought he might need to give the Jedi life another try. "Let's roll!"

The three of them headed to the #1 tee box. Russ went back to his car and put on his shorts and shoes, meeting them a few minutes later. He marched past them without saying a word, placed his ball on a tee, and took his shot. The ball sailed perfectly up the middle of the fairway, coming to a rest just short of the green. Russ offered a karate-chop high kick in celebration.

"Suck it, douchebags," he said, holding his middle finger up to the baseball dads.

He then walked straight back to his cart without a word. The others watched him pa.s.s in disgust. The little b.a.s.t.a.r.d never practiced yet almost always won.

When the others stepped over to the box and took turns teeing off, Russ dropped two tablets of LSD into Tommy's water bottle.

Dwayne teed up his ball with precision, took a beautiful practice swing, then stepped up and hit. His ball sliced hard right into a huge oak tree, which it ricocheted off, cutting back across the fairway and landing in a duck pond. "Stupid f.u.c.king game," Dwayne whispered to himself.

Dwayne picked up his tee and stuck it in his pocket as Tommy a.s.sumed his stance. Tommy stared down the fairway, visualizing his shot. He s.p.a.ced his feet out properly, pulled his club back, and swung mightily.

Tommy's ball sliced hard right as well, except his didn't have a tree to stop it from crossing the street and going through the large second-story picture window of a gorgeous nineteenth-century Victorian home. The entire ten-foot window shattered and came crashing down onto the sidewalk beneath it. They stood and watched, waiting for someone to come out screaming. Apparently no one was home.

"Jesus," Steve said. "You f.u.c.ked that place up."

"Yup," Dwayne added. "Hurry up and hit, Steve. Let's get the f.u.c.k outta here."

Steve hurriedly set his ball down, lined up, and swung. He topped the ball, sending it about five feet past the ladies' tee box, narrowly avoiding "Arkansas Rules," which states that if your ball doesn't pa.s.s the ladies' tees, you must complete the hole you are on with your pants around your ankles. While not an actual PGA-sanctioned rule, "Arkansas Rules" was adhered to at most country clubs.

Russ laughed at the guys as he sped away down the fairway toward his ball.

"Wait for it," Tommy said, as he and the other two stood and watched.

At the first slight b.u.mp Russ. .h.i.t, his golf bag came crashing off his cart, spilling all over the fairway.

Russ looked back at the other three. They all held up their middle fingers.

After about forty-five minutes of play, Russ was destroying the others with his score. He was on track to hit in the low 70s, while Dwayne, Tommy, and Steve were each pacing 110 plus. And that was before the LSD kicked in with Tommy on hole number five.

Dwayne had just begun to ease his way into the conversation he'd been hoping to have with the guys about "the code" of the Suburban Jedi. The guys needed to understand. It had been difficult because Steve wouldn't quit interrupting with his concerns about the police. Dwayne wasn't worried about that. He liked Detective Loffland, and he felt as though they'd been careful enough to get away with what they'd done thus far. But he wasn't sure if they'd be able to continue to get away with things if Tommy and Russ didn't follow the code.

Dwayne had barely gotten into what the code of the Suburban Jedi must entail when Tommy started to behave erratically. Russ was the only one who knew that Tommy was on acid. Even Tommy didn't know.

Hole five was a tricky par three. It took a perfect wedge with a touch of backspin to get the ball over a large pond and then stop on the green at the other side. Russ had that perfect wedge. None of the others came close. The other three guys sent multiple b.a.l.l.s into the water.

The four guys hopped into their four carts after multiple attempts. While three of them headed to the green, Tommy drove straight into the pond. The entire cart went underwater, with Tommy behind the wheel.

Dwayne was preparing to rip his shoes off and go on a rescue mission, when Tommy's head popped above the surface. "Got 'em!" he yelled, holding up two golf b.a.l.l.s. "I didn't see yours though, guys. You want me to just leave them?"

Steve and Dwayne looked at each other, confused. Russ fell to the ground laughing.

"We're good, Tom," Steve shouted back to him.

Tommy went back under for another minute or so. It was both impressive and concerning. The others stood by, watching, waiting to see what could possibly happen next. Tommy finally came up for air again. "I can't get my golf cart to move," he called out. "I'm wondering if the battery went dead. You guys have any jumper cables?"

"Sorry, Tom," Dwayne replied. "Why don't you just grab your clubs and hop on with Steve?"

Steve scowled at Dwayne. Tommy went under again.

Dwayne looked at Russ. "How much did you give him?"

"Two."

"How long is it gonna last?"

"Eight to ten hours."

"Strong?"

"The strongest."

Moments later, Tommy emerged from the other side of the pond and walked onto the green, dripping wet, his golf bag over his shoulder. He made his way to Steve's cart, strapped his bag on, and grabbed his putter.

"Well, okay then," Dwayne said.

Tommy approached his golf ball on the green and meticulously lined up his putt. His ball lay roughly fifteen feet from the hole. He took his shot. The ball rolled about six inches. He stepped up again and hit. It made it another three to four inches. This continued for the entire fifteen feet.

Walking back to the carts, Dwayne asked the others what score they got on the hole so that he could fill out the scorecard.

"I got a nine," Dwayne told them.

"Birdie, b.i.t.c.hes!" Russ bragged.

"I got a nine also, D," Steve added.

Tommy paused to count his shots. He was pointing at each spot his ball went to, then calculating the sum of them in his mind.

"I got a twenty-seven," he said.