Free Curveball by Jen Estes Page B

and were getting
     ready to leave, this hysterical woman comes onto the scene, I guess she was the body’s—kid’s—mom.
     Anyway, she sees Chance and comes running up to him, pointing and screaming at him
     in Spanish.”
    “What was she saying?” Joe asked.
    “I couldn’t understand it but Cat could.”
    Cat nodded. “Everything was hectic but she was blaming him, uh, saying ‘It’s you,
     it’s you’ and that she hated him.”
    Paige took the conversation back. “I asked him and he said he didn’t have a clue who
     she was or what she was talking about. But you said this kid was a real prospect.
     As an agent, wouldn’t he know that, too?”
    Joe lifted the lid on his laptop. “What’d you say this guy’s name was, the agent?”
    “Chance Hayworth.”
    Joe’s fingers danced across the keyboard. “Hmm … I got a listing here for a Chance
     Hayward. No Hayworth.”
    “Hayward, that’s it.” Cat tore herself off the door, walked around his desk and peeked
     over his shoulder.
    “He’s at uh, Worldwide Baseball Talent Management.” What was so familiar about that
     name? Then she remembered: the business card the young man at the airport had given
     her. What had he expected her to do with it?
    Paige leaned over the desk and craned her head around to the monitor. “Worldwide,
     that’s it. So he’s legit?”
    Joe snorted. “Well, I can’t say that.”
    “What do you mean?” Cat asked.
    “Girls, you gotta realize something real quick about this business. For every kid
     that dreams of playing pelota in the sunshine, there’s an estafador waiting in the shadows. This town’s full of scumbags with shiny business cards and
     a listing in the phone book under ‘talent agent.’ Sadly, that’s all it takes to get
     recruits. We don’t have a licensing program down here for agents.” He shook his head.
     “It’s unfortunate but that’s just the way it is. There’s guys down here that promise
     hopeful kids big futures in the gran carpa and tell them it’ll only cost them X amount of money to sign up, which they claim
     is for paperwork fees or training overhead costs. We try to warn ’em, educate ’em
     on not giving any money upfront but these snakes are smooth talkers. Even the smart
     kids fall into their traps. Next thing you know, they’re out of a dream and their
     savings.”
    “Are you saying Chance is a hustler?” Paige reached across the desk and smacked her
     on the arm. “McDee, did you hear that?”
    Cat pulled the newspaper off Joe’s desk. “He said the woman probably recognized him
     and blamed him because her son wasn’t as good as she thought.”
    “That’s possible, too.” Joe rolled his eyes. “I’ve dealt with a few mama bears of
     my own. Some of these parents want a contract more than the kid does.”
    Cat scanned the headline and focused on the picture. The young man looked happy in
     the photo, but there was something else drawing her in. She took a closer look.
    “This kid.” She held the paper in front of Paige. “Does he look familiar to you?”
    “You mean without the seaweed and stench of dead fish?” she replied.
    “No, take another look. I think this is the kid from the airport, the one making the
     scene at the rental car counter.” Cat squinted at the photo. “I’m almost positive.”
     She pointed at his upper cheek. “I remember the scar.” She showed the paper to Joe.
     “It reminded me of the one Don Long got from that maple bat shard.”
    Paige grabbed the newspaper out of her grip; it rustled as she skimmed the article.
     “He was throwing such a fit. He got hauled away by security and everything.”
    “Did you girls hear what the ruckus was about?”
    “He wanted a car.”
    Paige chimed in. “Real bad.” She sat the newspaper down and crossed her arms. “You
     don’t really think that Chance is one of these dirty agents, do you?”
    Cat shrugged. “Chance said he’d met with him, plus that business card that