Free Forced Out by Stephen Frey Page B

Probably because she figured he was finally starting to find a circle of friends, and she'd have more time to herself. "Hey, got a favor to ask you." He moved to where the usher stood and put his arm around the old man's bony shoulders.
    "Shoot."
    "You know any of the groundskeepers?"
    The thing about groundskeepers was they always knew the players pretty well. They had to because they shaped the field for them. High grass if the team had speed so grounders took longer to make it to the defensive players; ridged first-and third-base lines if the leadoff guys could bunt so what they laid down was more likely to stay in play; fences moved in a bit if the team had power. Little things that over the course of a long season might win a few games--and make the difference between winning a pennant and finishing second. Groundskeepers talked to the players and the coaches all the time about what they were doing to the field, to make certain they got the changes exactly right. So meeting a groundskeeper might help him meet Mikey Clemant.
    "Well, sure," the usher said. "Blaine Wilson is the head groundskeeper. Heck of a nice guy, too. Why do you ask?"
    Jack glanced toward the outfield. Only fifteen minutes to game time, but Clemant was still out in center running wind sprints, long, dark hair flowing behind him like a lion's mane. Everyone else was back in the dugout sitting on their asses, but the kid was still out there working, still fighting to get better. "Just want to talk to him. Think you could arrange it?"
    The usher gestured at two men leaning against the fence beside the Tarpon dugout.
    "That's Blaine down there on the left. Come on," he called, waving for Jack to follow him down the aisle.
    Jack held his hand out when he was still five steps away, putting on his friendliest smile.
    "Hi, Blaine. Name's Jack Barrett. Nice to meet you."
    "Uh-huh. What do you want?"
    The man who'd been standing next to Blaine disappeared into the Tarpon dugout without so much as a wave, and the old usher headed back up the steps to his post outside the tunnel. Which was good. Jack didn't want anyone else in on this conversation. "I'll be straight with you, Blaine. I was here for the game last night, and I saw him play." Jack pointed out to right, where the kid had ended up after his last sprint. "Mikey Clemant. Saw the catch he made in the first and his walk-off homer in the ninth."
    "Yeah...so?"
    Blaine was sweating profusely. He was overweight, and when you were fat in Florida, you sweated while you swam. "I liked what I saw."
    "That's great. Who are you?"
    Blaine wasn't pleasant at all. He was one of those guys who needed to be impressed. "I used to be a scout for the Yankees."
    Blaine straightened up. "Really?"
    Amazing, Jack thought, watching Blaine's demeanor change before his eyes. Now he was showing respect. In the baseball world, working for the Yankees was like working for the pope if you were Catholic. It didn't get any better. "Yeah, thirty-four years." Jack raised his left hand so Blaine could see the World Series ring he'd worn tonight. He'd earned four of them--he'd been too junior to get them for the '77 and '78 wins against the Dodgers--but this was the only one left. It was from the win against the Mets in the 2000 Series--the most valuable of the four. Cheryl had reluctantly sold the other three on eBay to raise the down payment for the house. He hated showing off--hated people who did--so he rarely wore the thing. But tonight he needed what the ring brought with it: instant respect and credibility.
    Blaine's eyes bugged out. "Wow."
    Now Jack would get answers. "Tell me about the kid."
    "Mikey's got all the talent in the world," Blaine said wistfully, still admiring the ring.
    "But he's got a screw loose."
    "Seems like his teammates don't care much for him," Jack observed. "They didn't bother coming out of the dugout after he hit that walk-off dinger last night. Hell, even the guy he batted in didn't wait around."
    Blaine