Double Play

27.

The dodgers had lost a night game, at home, to the Phillies. Jackie had tripled off Ken Heintzelman and been thrown out at the plate trying to steal home. Now, after midnight, in light traffic, Burke drove Jackie home.

“You were white,” Burke said, “you could have run over Seminick.”

“Not this year.”

“Next year?”

“Maybe.”

“Year after?” Burke said.

“Sooner or later,” Jackie said.

“You really believe that,” Burke said.

“Yes.”

“You think the day will come when you can run into somebody blocking the plate and it won’t cause trouble.”

“Yes.”

“You think that they’re going to like you?”

Robinson turned his head toward Burke. It was too dark for Burke to see his eyes, but he knew the look. He’d seen it before.

“Don’t care if they like me,” Jackie said. “But I can play this game and I’m going to ram it down their throats until they get used to it.”

There was a set of headlights behind them that seemed to Burke to have been there for a while. Past the next streetlight Burke slowed a little and watched in the rearview mirror. The car was a gray 1946 Ford sedan. Burke made no comment but as they drove he kept track of the gray Ford behind them.

“Who knows where you live?” Burke said. “Besides me.”

“Rachel knows,” Jackie said.

“And your mother probably knows,” Burke said. “I mean outside of family.”

“Mr. Rickey,” Robinson said.

“And?”

“That’s all,” Jackie said. “Shotton has my phone number, but no address. Why are you asking?”

“Just wondered,” Burke said.

“Why you wondering?”

“I’m supposed to wonder,” Burke said. “I’m your fucking bodyguard.”

“Oh,” Jackie said. “Yeah.”

The gray Ford was still with them when Burke pulled up in front of Robinson’s house. The front porch light was on and there was a light in the downstairs window on the right.

“She’s waiting up,” Burke said.

“Yeah. We usually have a cup of tea together when I get home.”

The gray Ford went slowly past them and turned right at the next corner. There were at least two men in it. Burke thought they were white.

“If she goes to all the home games,” Burke said, “why doesn’t she ever ride home with us?”

“She goes with some other wives,” Jackie said.

“The wives get along?”

“Some,” Jackie said. “Mr. Rickey’s worried ’bout us together in public. Somebody insults her and I...” Robinson spread his hands.

Burke nodded.

“I’ll walk you to the door,” he said.

Robinson glanced at him sharply.

“What’s up?”

“All part of the service.”

“The hell it is,” Jackie said. “You worried about something.”

“I thought I spotted a car following us here. It went on by, and I don’t see it now.”

“Rachel,” Jackie said.

“You go on in,” Burke said. “Lock the door. If anyone tries to get in call the cops. I’ll hang around out here for a while.”

Jackie was silent for a moment. Then he nodded. They got out of the car and began to walk to his house. The summer night was still, except for some insect noise and an occasional traffic sound.

At the door Jackie said, “Be careful.”

“I was born for this,” Burke said.

Jackie nodded and went into his house. Burke stood until he heard the bolt slide, then he turned and went slowly back to his car. The gray Ford was not in sight. Burke drove his car two blocks down and wedged it in on a hydrant. He went to the trunk and took out a shotgun with both barrels sawn short. He opened it, put two shells in it, snapped the breech closed and began to walk back toward Jackie’s house with the shotgun held down next to his right leg. He stayed inconspicuously close to the cars parked on each side of the street.

Across the street from Jackie’s house, he sat on the curb, in the shadows between the bumpers of two parked cars, with the butt of the shotgun on the pavement between his legs, and the barrel cradled in his left arm. He kicked off his shoes. The street stayed empty. No cars moved on it. No people walked beside it. One yellow cat crossed it with little rapid steps that made no sound, and disappeared into some shrubs along the foundation of the house next door to Jackie’s. There was no wind. No insect sound. No night birds. No more cats. Dogs didn’t bark. No music. No domestic disturbance. Burke was motionless. He knew he could sit like this as long as he had to. He’d done it in the war. Part of the trick was to relax into it. No focus, absorb it. Let the situation soak into you.

From his right, up the street, a car came slowly toward him with its lights out. As it passed under the streetlight, he saw that it was a gray Ford sedan. It was very quiet, as if the engine had been shut off and the car was gliding in neutral. It stopped a house short of Jackie’s. No one got out. Burke sat still breathing gently through his nose. It was a two-door sedan with a black and yellow New York State license tag. After a while two men got out of the front seat of the Ford. One from the driver’s side, one from the passenger’s side. The man who got out the passenger’s side was carrying a small canvas bag. Burke wondered if there was anyone left in the car. It would make sense for them to leave a driver, but one of the men had come out from the driver’s side. Three people weren’t going to ride around for a while crammed into the front seat, while the back seat was empty. So if there was anyone, he was in the back seat and why would he stay there sitting in the back seat while the other men went to work?

The two men started across the neighboring front lawn walking toward the corner of Jackie’s house. When they reached it they turned toward the back, away from the streetlights. Burke stood and walked quietly across the street, past the Ford sedan, after them. Nothing happened. He made no sound as he walked in his stocking feet across Jackie’s neat grass lawn, and down along the side of Jackie’s house. In the shadow of the house, away from the streetlight, Burke stopped and listened while his pupils dilated. He could hear movement very slightly, and then as his eyes adjusted he could see the two men in vague shape gathered together at the back door. Burke moved closer. One of the men held a big revolver in his hand. The other had taken a flat bar from the canvas bag. Burke moved closer, his left shoulder brushing the house. There was no more relaxing into it. Now it was all focus, the two men and himself. Nothing else existed. The man with the flat bar whispered to the man with the gun. The sound in the night was shocking. The man with the gun whispered back. Burke was only ten feet away. He cocked both hammers on the shotgun. Both the men straightened and whirled toward the sound.

With his back pressed to the house, aiming at them across his body, Burke said, “Shotgun, both barrels.” The men hesitated. “Ten-gauge,” Burke said. “Cut both of you in two.” The men stared into the darkness trying to see. He was too close. From where he was, with a double-barreled ten-gauge, he couldn’t miss. Who was with him? “Drop the gun or I’ll kill you,” Burke said. The man with the gun hesitated, then decided. He turned suddenly, bringing the gun up, and Burke shot him in the chest with one barrel. The man made a sound of air suddenly expelled and went three feet backward and fell on his back. “Okay,” the man with the flat bar said. “Okay.” He put his hands in the air.

Burke saw movement at the window.

“Don’t come out,” he yelled. “Don’t call the cops. Don’t do anything.”

With the shotgun pushed up against the underside of the man’s chin Burke took a handgun from a holster on the man’s right hip. He dropped the gun into the canvas bag, put the flat bar in there as well.

“Okay,” he said. “Drag your pal to the car and stick him in the trunk.”

“He’s too fucking heavy.”

Burke jabbed the muzzle of the shotgun against the man’s cheek.

“Ow,” the man said and put his hand to his face.

“Do it, or I’ll drag you both.”

The man stooped down, got hold of his friend’s arms and began to drag him toward the Ford. Burke followed him. No lights went on in the neighborhood. No police cars roared up to the house. You could fire off an anti-aircraft gun in most neighborhoods, Burke thought, and no one would call the cops. They wouldn’t know it was an anti-aircraft gun. Just a loud noise. Go back to sleep, Edna. The man struggled to get the body in the trunk and by the time he finally succeeded he and the rear end of the Ford were smeared with blood.

“Close the trunk,” Burke said.

He did.

“You drive,” Burke said.

He kept the shotgun level until the man slipped into the driver’s seat, then he got into the passenger’s seat, put the canvas bag on the floor, and lay the still-cocked shotgun across his lap with the barrel pointing at the driver.

“Where?” the man said.

His voice was hoarse.

“Straight until I tell you something else,” Burke said.

The man put the keys in the ignition, pressed the starter button, put the car in gear and drove.