Free Las Vegas Gold by Jim Newell Page A

and there were no more calls that night.
    First thing next morning, Tabby called the phone company, had his number changed and made it unlisted. He was visually disturbed as he arrived at the stadium to get ready for his evening pitching turn. The other players could sense it, Willie Fontana could sense it, and Molly herself could tell something was wrong. She found Tabby in the bullpen and walked him away to a spot where they were alone.
    â€œWhat’s wrong, Tabby? You not feeling well?”
    â€œNo. Nothin’ like that. I can’t really talk to you about it. I’ll be okay when the game gets under way.”
    â€œYou sure? You look and act as though you’re upset.”
    â€œNo, I’m not upset.” His voice rose. “But I’m gonna’ be if you don’t leave me alone. Just take off, will ya’, and leave me be.”
    Molly said nothing, but she stopped by Fontana and said, “Something’s bothering Tabby. He won’t talk about it, and the old Tabby temper is just barely under control. Get Lynn Meriweather ready. We may need him tonight.”
    Tabby did not pitch well. He lasted into the sixth inning, allowed five runs on a dozen hits, walked four, and generally worked quite obviously with something else on his mind. At the end of each inning, he slouched off the mound and sat by himself at the end of the bench. The other players took their cue from the coaches and let him alone. When he left the game, he took himself out before Molly had to send Willie out to the mound to take him out. He told the pitching coach it was time to get somebody else in to pitch; he was not coping, and he went immediately to the dressing room. Head trainer Eli Stryker followed him, but came back in a few minutes to tell Molly Tabby was okay, he was showering and wanted to be left alone.
    Still, O’Hara did not take a loss on the game, just a “no decision.” With some clutch hitting by Bobby Joe Comingo, Jerry Lyons and Judd Matthews, who was DHing that night, plus another fielding gem by Diego Martinez, the Gold pulled it out and won 6-5. Jimmy Brandon got credit for the win and young Mac Driscoll racked up yet another save.
    When the players came trooping into the clubhouse, tired but laughing with the joy that comes from a come-from-behind win, Tabby was dressed in street clothes, waiting to congratulate them. “Hey kid,” he called to Diego, “hurry up and let’s go have that hunnerd dollar meal I owe you.”
    â€œBut you weren’t pitchin’, Tabby. An’ anyway, how did you know it was a good catch? You were down here.”
    â€œThe promise was for anytime you made a big play, whether I was pitchin’ or not. An’ I was watchin’ the game on the TV here.” (He pronounced it TEE-v.)
    â€œWell, Tabby, I been thinkin’. Maybe I should change that favorite charity to my church back home. You put the money there, an’ tonight I take you out to dinner. You look like you had a hard day.”
    Molly could hear the exchange from her office where she was talking with Kenny, and she put her finger to her lips. She wanted to hear Tabby’s reply.
    â€œYou can say that again, Diego, my friend. I’ll take you up on your offer. I can’t remember when was the last time somebody bought me dinner. Hurry up ’n shower. I’m hungry.”
    * * *
    Next morning, Tabby showed up looking as though he hadn’t slept at all. Molly called him into her office, shut the door, and sat down beside him. For a couple of minutes they sat in silence, Tabby looking at his shoes, Molly looking at his face.
    â€œOkay, Tabby. Talk to me.”
    Tabby sat in silence for another thirty seconds or so, his mouth working but emitting no sound. Then, “I can’t talk about it, Molly. It’s something I gotta work out for myself.”
    â€œ Listen to me. Something affecting you this badly affects the whole team. You have