2062.31 86 the 96

[Trebro]

It was late at night late into Spring Training. Bo Jordan held the burner phone he wished didn't exist in his right hand, the same one the Hall of Famer used to use to catch balls thrown from all over the diamond. He gripped it tightly, just like he did all those times for the out.

That had been satisfying.

This was anything but.

The phone buzzed in his hand, and he nearly dropped it, fumbling with it the way entirely too many recent Nine shortstops fielded a grounder. Looking around to see if anyone had followed him outside to this random Florida street, Bo paused and let it vibrate a few more times before finally picking up.

"Hello," he said, in an almost inaudible whisper.

"This is Sweet Carolina. Am I talking to Sammy Davis, Jr?"

This was, of course, the cabal of people from the bustling mini-metropolis of Ninety-Six, South Carolina, which was trying to bill itself as the Yellow Springs of the Cotton Belt. He wasn't sure which person he was talking to, as both sides used a phone scrambler. He especially hated his code name because the performer's song that punned on his name always got stuck in his head afterwards.

"Yes."

"What's your answer? We need to know now, not after the season. Nice try on the delay but we aren't having it."

Bo paused a long time. Another iconic Sammy role came into his head.

Here Come the Judge, he thought, and smiled ruefully. Time for a verdict.

As he was about to speak, he saw someone out of the corner of his eye. His adrenaline spiked, just like it used to when he was batting with the bases loaded. Had he been followed? Was someone going to try to mug him? Crime was low here – part of why the team had its facilities where they did – but it was possible. Could it be a player, trying to get some extra work in? What if they'd heard something?

Bo was being paranoid, of course. He hadn't said anything useful. Still, he put the phone back in his pocket and resumed walking, but at a pace that would force the person to pass him. Hopefully, they wouldn't recognize him.

He could hear muffled conversation from the phone, but ignored it. It felt like ages until the man, at least he thought it was a man, came close.

Moment of truth.

Bo sighed.

It was some random Spring Breaker out for a really early morning jog. Who runs at 3 in the morning? Had the person been up all night, like him? Who knows? He looked like some schlub trying to "better himself" to impress a woman.

"It won't work," said Bo softly, to the man's back.

Bo pulled the phone out.

"Are you there or not?" demanded the crackling voice.

"I'm here. There was a situation."

"What kind of a situation?"

"None of your business."

"Do you have an answer?"

He swallowed hard.

"No. I'm not taking the deal, not yet anyway."

Bo had promised McMonigal he'd wait and see. While his integrity was already sliding faster than a Nebraska pitch, he couldn't lie to his general manager.

"Then this offer to move to our fine city is off, Sammy."

"So be it."

Jordan clicked the phone to end the call, then crushed it in his left hand. He felt the pain of some plastic splinters and looked to see there was a small pool of blood forming. He looked down at his hand and winced. At the end of the block, he found an unlocked dumpster behind a Chinese restaurant and lifted the lid to ensure it looked as bad as he hoped it would inside.

Then he tossed the remains of the phone down into the liquid offal.

"That's one down," he said to no one.

Ninety-Six wouldn't have worked. He'd have never stopped thinking about how similar things were to Yellow Springs. It's why he'd rejected Eighty-Four, PA already. If they were going to move, it needed to be somewhere a bit bigger.

IF they moved.

He really hoped McMonigal could find a way to make it worth staying, after all.

Reviewing the damage to his hand, Bo started his pre-planned walk back to the hotel via the longest route possible. The air would hopefully do him some good.