“Amazing,” Decker said.
When the waiter came, they ordered lunch, and Rosewood explained what little he knew about baseball.
“I’m not a fan or anything,” Rosewood said, “and I’ve never been to a game, but as I understand it, the object of the game is to hit a ball that is thrown by a man, uh, with a stick that they call a bat.”
“And what do you do after you hit it?”
“Uh…run.”
“To where?”
Rosewood frowned and said, “You’d better wait until you and the lady go to the game, Decker. She’ll be able to explain it to you better.”
“I’m sure she will,” Decker said. “She couldn’t do it any worse.”
Rosewood knew the way to Linda Hamilton’s residence because he’d taken her home the night before.
“It’s in Five Points, on Mulberry Street,” Rosewood said. “Bad part of town.”
“What’s she doing there?”
“Probably she can’t afford to live any place else.”
“She has a good job.”
Rosewood shrugged and said, “She must have been born there.”
When Rosewood stopped in front of Linda’s building, Decker got out.
“Second floor rear,” Rosewood called down.
“Got it.”
Decker entered the building and climbed the rickety steps to the second floor. Apparently there were two apartments on each floor. He walked to the rear and knocked.
“Hello,” Linda said as she opened the door.
“Hi,” he said.
They stood there a few seconds and then he said, “Can I come in?”
“Oh, I’m sorry,” she said, stepping back. “Of course, come in.”
He entered, and she closed the door. The place was modestly furnished, but it was very clean and well kept.
“Not much, I know.”
“I’ve seen worse.”
“Have you?” she asked. “Where?”
“All over the West,” he said. “In fact, in some places this would be thought of as luxurious.”
“I haven’t been anywhere but here,” she said. “I’d love to travel.” She looked at Decker and said, “When you’re born in Five Points, all you can do is hope to get out one day.”
“You have a good job,” he said, echoing what he’d said to Rosewood. “Surely you can save some money.”
“I am trying,” she said. “Shall we go? The game starts at noon.”
“I’m afraid you’ll have to explain this game to me,” he said as they walked to the door. “In detail.”
“Oh, I will,” she said. “I just love watching them play. I’m sure you’ll like it too.”
“I’m sure I will,” Decker said, without conviction.
Chapter Sixteen
As it turned out, he did enjoy it.
He found himself wondering how the man with the bat could possibly hit the ball, given the speed with which it was being thrown. Also, he wondered why there were times a man could hit the ball so solidly, and yet get nothing for it, and other times he didn’t hit the ball at all and was awarded “first base.”
“I can’t quite understand the rules of this game. It must take years of practice to play it correctly,” he said to her at one point.
“I’m sure it does,” she said.
New York was playing St. Louis. She explained that they were in something called “the National League,” the first really organized “league.” The game had been played by amateurs until as recently as 1869 and then had became a professional sport.
“You mean they get paid to play a game?”
“Oh, yes, indeed.”
“How do you know so much about baseball?”
“I used to see one of the players,” she said. “I got tired of him but got very interested in the game.”
“I’m glad,” he said. She looked at him, and he added, “That you’re so interested in the game, I mean. You’re able to explain it to me so well.”
“Of course,” she said and went back to watching.
“This is your city. A park?”
“Yes,” Bolan said, “Central Park. Perfect. Together, or separately?”
“Separately.”
“It’s just as well,” Bolan said. “If these two got together, they’d probably kill each other.”
They agreed on two different times for the meetings, later that evening.
“What are their names?” Ready asked.
“One is called Razor,” Bolan said, “the other man’s name is Armand Coles.”
“Set it up with Razor first, and then Coles.”
“As you wish,” Bolan said. “Uh, I’ll need the down payment we agreed on yesterday.”
Ready took an envelope out of his jacket and slapped it down on the counter.
“The rest when the job is done,” he said.
“As agreed,” Bolan said, nodding.
Ready went to the door, flipped the sign back around and left.
Decker sat up and watched as Linda got dressed.
“Are you going to just look or get dressed?” she asked him.
He smiled and said, “I’ll get dressed after you. I don’t want to miss a single move.”
“I said it before and I’ll say it again,” she said. “You’re sweet.”
There was not even a hint of the awkwardness that had been between them the night before.
Chapter Seventeen
Ready was an hour early for the meeting, and he took the time to study that area of the park. It was thick with foliage and trees, but there was a path, with benches along the way. It was quite beautiful and would probably be dangerous after dark.
Ready was sitting on the bench when a man approached. He was a stocky man, thick though the shoulders and chest and slightly bandylegged. From where he sat, Ready could see that the man did not wear a gun.
Then again, his name was Razor.
“You Ready?” the man asked him.
“I am,” Ready said, hoping that he would hear none of the usual jokes about his name.
Apparently the man called Razor had no sense of humor.
“Bolan said you might have some work for me.”
“I might if you’re up to it.”
“What’s the job?”
“One man.”
“I’m up to it.”
“Did you know a man named Boil and his brother?”
“Second-raters,” the man said. He was still standing, shifting his weight from one foot to the other.
“The man I want you to kill killed them.”
“That’s no recommendation.”
New York defeated St. Louis soundly, 11-0—thanks to the masterful “pitching” by a fellow with the unlikely name of Hickey Daring, and the extraordinary “hitting” of another fellow named Matthews Boggs.
On the way back to her apartment, Decker said, “We could have a late lunch or an early dinner.”
“I have to change.”
“Would you like me to come back and pick you up?”
“No,” she said. “You can come up and wait.”
“All right.”
Rosewood stopped in front, and Decker told him to wait.
“How long?”
“Just long enough for the lady to change,” Decker said.
Rosewood gave Decker a sly look, which Decker ignored.
Upstairs Linda said, “I won’t take long.”
“That’s all right,” Decker said. “I’m sure you’ll be well worth waiting for.”
“You’re sweet,” she said. “Five minutes.”
While he was waiting, Decker walked to the window and looked down at the back of the building. There was an alley, filled with debris but accessible.
“By the way,” he called out, “we didn’t decide. Shall we make it an early late lunch or an early dinner?”
He heard her come out. When he saw her, he stopped, stunned. She was indeed well worth waiting for.