Роберт Паркер - Double Play

They moved slowly along, looking at the spectators who had already started to come in. Mostly men, many of them with boys, scorecards already purchased; peanuts, and Coke, beer, and steamed hot dogs already going in.

Jackie got into the cage and began to hit. He always looked as if he would fly apart, Burke thought, when he hit. But the bat always came level when it made contact with the ball. Against the soft tosses of Clyde Sukeforth, it was all line drives. Burke always thought the pregame warmups were probably the kindest part of the game, unpressured in front of only an early scatter of fans, time to see who could spit tobacco the farthest, and check the stands for women, and talk of curve balls, and getting laid, and their favorite thing to drink. Most of them could talk about the war as well, but except for a few GI phrases, as far as Burke could tell, they did not.

They reached the Bedford Avenue end of the upper deck, where the right field screen began, and turned and began to stroll back. Looking at everyone, examining every place a man with a gun might hide. The crowd kept coming. The Dodgers starters were taking the infield: Robinson, Eddie Stanky, Reese, and Spider Jorgenson. They went all the way around the park to the center field stands, where Hilda Chester sat with her cowbell, and turned and started back. It was thirty-five minutes to game time. Red Barber and Connie Desmond were in the radio booth slung beneath the upper and lower decks. The umpires had come out onto the field, the crew chief talking to Burt Shotton at the Dodgers dugout. The Dodger Sym-Phony was parading. They came down to the lower grandstand and began the stroll again. As they went behind home plate, looking at everything, Burke saw Louis Boucicault come in with Lauren and a couple of bodyguards. They took a box seat along the third-base line.

“See the guy down there in the white sport coat,” Burke said. “With the girl in pink?”

Cash saw him.

“He’s involved in this thing.”

Cash nodded.

“No matter what might happen,” Burke said, “the girl doesn’t get hurt.”

Cash stared at him for a moment without comment. Then down at Lauren.

“Nice-looking head,” he said.

They moved on.

“If you were going to do it,” Burke said, “how would you do it?”

They stopped. Cash looked slowly around the field.

“This ain’t some freako killing, guy doesn’t care if he’s caught.”

“No.”

“Gotta be close,” Cash said. “Otherwise you got to smuggle a rifle in here. Good chance of getting caught.”

“So it’s a handgun.”

“Yeah. Which means down close to the field.”

“When he’s running in toward the dugout,” Burke said.

“Yes,” Cash said.

“So first-base line, behind the dugout.”

“Yes.”

They were silent.

“And I ain’t willing to sacrifice myself to do this,” Cash said.

“No.”

“So I gotta think I can get away with it.”

“Silencer?” Burke said.

“I would,” Cash said. “Wait until he’s coming to the dugout, and everybody’s on their feet cheering, and when he reaches the dugout, he’s, what, eight feet away, maybe? Pop! Put the gun on the floor, turn around, walk out. Ten, fifteen steps and you’re in among the crowd and nobody knows who you are.”

“So we’re looking behind the dugout.”

Cash nodded.

“Guy, probably first row of boxes,” he said. “Dressed so he can conceal a handgun. Maybe with a silencer.”

“Or carrying the gun in a bag,” Burke said. “Like he brought his lunch.”

“He’s got a silencer, it’s pretty sure to be an automatic,” Cash said.

Burke nodded.

“Which means he got a couple extra rounds,” he said.

“Good to keep in mind.”

The field was cleared. The umpires were gathered at home plate. Billy Herman came out of the Pirates dugout with his lineup card. Clyde Sukeforth brought the lineups out for the Dodgers. Cash and Burke went to stand in the aisle behind the Dodgers dugout. Burke stayed shadowed in the runway.

“Don’t want the guy I pointed out to see me,” Burke said.

Cash shrugged.

“We have to shoot,” Burke said, “I’d just as soon not explain it to the cops.”

“We have to shoot,” Cash said, “we hotfoot it out of here right after, just like the shooter would have. Be in Coney Island looking at broads, before any cops show up.”

“Okay, nobody in this thing knows you,” Burke said. “See what you see, behind the dugout.”

Cash moved along the aisle, looking at the people. The Dodgers ran out to the field, Jackie among them, trotting, pigeon-toed, to first. Billy Cox swung the weighted bat outside the batter’s box while Vic Lombardi finished his warmups. Cash walked back to the runway.

“Guy right back of the right-hand end of the dugout,” Cash said. “Short-sleeve Hawaiian shirt,” Cash said. “Brown paper bag. Eating a sandwich.”

Keeping his back toward the third-base line where Boucicault sat with Lauren, Burke studied the man, before he stepped back into the runway.

“Paper bag’s big enough,” Burke said.

Cash nodded.

“And he’s at the right end of the dugout,” Cash said. “Robinson coming in from first.”

“Any other prospects?”

“Half a dozen guys with loose shirts, or sport coats. But I like the Hawaiian shirt. Most people don’t bring their lunch to the ballpark. No dogs? No beer? Perfect position?”

Burke nodded. They were quiet.

“Guy in the white coat,” Cash said. “Got a perfect seat to watch.”

“That would be his style,” Burke said.

“The ball goes up,” Cash said, “you want me to shoot him, too?”

“Not if you don’t have to.”

“Sure.”

“I’ll stay here,” Burke said. “You go down toward right field a way. Something happens we’ll have a crossfire going.”

“How about civilians,” Cash said.

“I’m going to keep Jackie alive,” Burke said.

“Even if it costs a couple civilians?”

“If it has to,” Burke said, “it has to.”

Cash smiled faintly and turned and stepped out of the runway and strolled along the aisle toward right field, to the next runway, and stopped there and leaned on the wall to watch the action.

It came in the fourth inning. With Billy Cox on first and two out, Frank Gustine doubled into the left field corner. Cox stopped at third. The next batter, Ralph Kiner, hit the ball to the deepest part of left-center field. Carl Furillo, playing center, caught the ball with his back to home plate, and banged into the Van Heusen shirt sign and held the ball. Hilda rang her cowbell. The fans stood and cheered and clapped and whistled as Furillo trotted in. Burke stepped out of his concealment in the runway with his gun out and cocked and held behind his right thigh. Jackie came to the bench. Among the rest of the fans applauding Furillo, the man in the Hawaiian shirt took something from his lunch bag and extended his arm. Burke shot him twice in the middle of the back. As he fired, he heard Cash’s gun from off to his right. Blood appeared on the man’s face. He half turned and fell onto the roof of the Dodgers dugout. Most of the fans didn’t notice. Those around him stood frozen for a moment. Burke put his gun away and turned and walked back down the aisle where he’d stood. He walked under the stands and past the concession booths and out through the rotunda, and left onto Sullivan Place. Cash fell in beside him and they walked to the parking lot on Bedford Avenue where Burke had left his car.

Burke sat beside Jackie in Rickey’s office.

“Killer was a known killer for hire,” Rickey said. “The police presume it was a case of one criminal shooting another.”