Free Murder at Fenway Park by Troy Soos

She looked so fresh and lovely on her white horse, and she seemed to charm everybody. A lot of people seem to think that suffragettes aren’t feminine. I suppose Inez is our best answer to that argument.”
    There was a sudden gap in Peggy’s report of the march. I think I just missed a cue to say something.
    Then she picked up with her story again and was regaling me with more details of the parade.
    I wanted to talk to her about everything that happened to me since I arrived in Boston. She was so enthusiastic about her weekend in New York, though, that I couldn’t bring myself to be that selfish. I squelched the desire to spill out everything that was troubling me, and instead relaxed and tried to share her excitement. After I succeeded in putting my own urges on hold, I easily found it satisfying enough just to look at her as she spoke.
    We walked for almost an hour, slowly and circuitously, before reaching her town house on Beacon Hill.
    I left Peggy at her door. Although I hadn’t unburdened myself to her, I felt almost as relieved as if I had. Just being with her again was a comfort that made any situation bearable.
    I slept peacefully that night, my dreams refreshingly free of any visions of mangled faces or bloodied baseball bats.

    The next afternoon, Jake Stahl gave me the happy news that Larry Gardner’s ankle was severely sprained. I bit my inner lip to keep from grinning as he told me I would be starting at third base until he recovered.
    I played all of Wednesday’s game against the White Sox with no errors. I also got two singles to bring my season average over .250.
    Before Thursday’s game, the clubhouse talk was about Ty Cobb. As I was changing out of my street clothes, Clyde Fletcher yelled at me, “Hey, kid! Yuh hear? Cobb went into the stands at Hilltop. Beat up some crank who was giving him the business.” I was grateful to Fletcher for bringing me into the exchange. It was his way of letting the other players know I was okay.
    I quickly took advantage of the opening to give my opinion, “Great! It’s about time somebody stood up for himself.” All ball players have been subjected to vicious verbal abuse—and sometimes projectiles—from spectators at one time or other, and it was thrilling to hear that one of the rowdies got his comeuppance. My teammates voiced a variety of loud, unreserved agreements.
    When I read the rest of the story in the paper that night, the thrill turned to disgust. The man Cobb went after was a cripple. As Cobb pummeled the heckler, other fans tried to pull him off, screaming at Cobb that he was punching a man with no hands to defend himself. Cobb yelled back, “I don’t care if he has no feet!”
    The Georgia Peach defended his action to reporters, claiming he had been grievously provoked by the fan. Cobb was quoted as saying, “When a spectator calls me half-colored I think it is about time to fight.”
    Unfortunately for Cobb, Ban Johnson was in a field box at the game and witnessed the episode. The league president announced that Ty Cobb was suspended indefinitely.
    On Friday, the locker room was still buzzing about the Ty Cobb incident. The Tigers were now saying they wouldn’t play unless Cobb’s suspension was lifted. The furor about Ty Cobb assaulting a crippled fan became overshadowed by arguments over his teammates’ threatened strike. Everyone from politicians to labor leaders to the press had strong opinions either condemning or encouraging the Detroit ball players.
    I stepped out of the clubhouse shower to hear Fletcher ask Charlie Strickler, “Whadda yuh think, Strick? Your old pals really gonna sit out a game?”
    Strickler shrugged and snapped, “How the hell should I know? I don’t give a damn what they do.” A former star on the downhill side of his career can be as ornery as a cantankerous old dog.
    Bucky O’Brien tried our other ex-Tiger. “Billy! How ’bout you? What do you say? Tigers gonna strike?”
    Billy Neal answered without