Curveball (32 page)

Sure enough, about forty-five minutes out of town, they arrived at what looked more
like a small hangar and an abandoned highway. There was no sign, no control tower,
no rental cars, no shuttles, no long-term and short-term parking lots.

Chance parked right in front of the open double doors. Cat looked around, confused.

“Um … what’s this?” She already knew the answer. This was a shady backwoods airport
where dirty planes departed for their dirty destinations.

Chance smiled at her and passed the grin on through the rearview mirror. “This is
my gateway to the west.”

She stepped out of the car and pushed the seat forward for Junior. He climbed out
with his red duffel bag, eyes shooting daggers as he passed.

Chance was immediately greeted by a man in an mechanic’s jumpsuit. He handed him his
keys without so much as a hello. The three of them walked through the tiny building.

Cat shared a worried look with Junior behind Chance’s back. She then cleared her throat
and loudly announced, “This isn’t exactly Heathrow.”

“What it lacks in lounges and duty free shops, it makes up for in efficiency.” He
placed his hand on her lower back as they approached a large opening that led out
to the tarmac. “And excellent baggage handling.”

“That’s our girl over there.” He pointed to a small white plane with a red flower
logo on the side and the charter company’s name,
Un Ave Rapaz
.

“Girl? I wasn’t aware these things came with sex organs.”

“She’s expensive, loud and fast. Sounds like a woman to me.”

Oh
goody, we can add sexist to your attributes
.

Cat ignored his grin and squinted at the plane. “Is your little lady safe? She looks
very ... petite.”

Junior’s dark brown eyes darted from the plane to her. As he gnawed on his plump bottom
lip, he shifted his weight and put the duffel bag on his other shoulder.

Chance smiled. “Lean and mean. This is a 1997 Cessna Citation Bravo.” He said it as
though that would clear up any doubts in her mind.

Junior nodded forward to the tarmac. She followed his gaze. It appeared Chance’s aforementioned
girl was being checked for pre-flight inspections. Another mechanic surveyed the engine
while the one who she’d seen at the car now loaded their luggage into the plane from
an ATV wagon. A man in a pilot’s suit studied the belly of the plane with a reassuring
attention to detail. He stepped over the gas hose running down from the wing and waved
hello at Chance but did not come over. Cat wondered how many times these men saw this
exact same scene—that is, Chance and a couple of suckers.

The mechanic walked away from the plane and came back wheeling a metal stairwell.
Chance picked up his carry-on. “That’s our cue.”

Cat took a deep breath and followed him out to the tarmac.

Chance stopped mid-stair and smiled at her. “How’s this for efficiency? If we were
at
Las Américas International
, we’d still be waiting in the security checkpoint line to get to our delayed flight’s
gate.”

He didn’t wait for her response, turning around and entering the cabin. She stepped
in behind him, giving Junior one last look of dread before she did. He met her gaze
with a
what did you get me into
one of his own.

It didn’t look like the private jets she’d seen on the Travel Channel, commissioned
by movie stars and CEOs. This modest bird had a row of one well-worn seat on each
side of a tiny aisle that she’d have to turn sideways to fit through. The aisle led
back to a bathroom and up to the cockpit door. There couldn’t have been more than
fifteen feet of the compact cabin from the end to end.

As they took their seats, Chance pointed at the headphones hanging on the armrest.
“You’re going to want to put those on before he fires it up. The Bravo isn’t as loud
as a 172, but it’s still a Cessna.” He tapped on the armrest. “There are controls
for radio and communication.”

The charter company’s name might have translated to A Bird of Prey in English, but
after hearing the engine, Cat thought
El León
would have been more appropriate. The petite plane roared awake like a ravenous lion.
She began to crawl along the bumpy runway before she gradually jumped into air.

Cat ignored the bumps and stared out the window as the small airport became Santo
Domingo, then the Dominican Republic, then the Island of Hispaniola, then nothing
but the Pacific Ocean.

The headphones only dulled the constant hum of the small plane. It reminded her of
a home ballpark on the cusp of a championship clinch, an endless roar that rose with
every bump and twist along the way. She closed her eyes and started to doze off.

The pilot’s voice crackled through her headphones, jolting her awake.

He had a thick Spanish accent but spoke in English. “Attention passengers: we’ll be
landing at the Pompano Beach Business Airport in approximately fifteen minutes.”

She flipped the microphone down and moved her elbow off the armrest, pressing Chance’s
chair button on the panel. “Pompano Beach?”

“It’s an executive airport. Don’t worry, they know me by first name there.”

Cat could feel Junior’s apprehensive stare boring into her back. She refused to turn
around, choosing instead to close her eyes again and remind herself that snagging
the scoop was worth a panic attack.

Minutes later, the plane glided onto the runway at the small airport. It definitely
wasn’t Miami International but compared to the one airstrip in Santo Domingo, the
arriving airport might as well have been.

She gladly whipped the headphones off her hot ears and stretched her arms out in front
of her.

The airplane door whooshed open and in barged two men, each so tall they had to duck
upon entering the cabin.

Cat’s eyes zoomed over to Chance. He unbuckled his seatbelt and stood up.

“Officers, good morning.”

One was an older man wearing a black tie over his white dress shirt with U.S. Customs
patches embroidered on each short sleeve. The other was a young rookie in a black
uniform with a gold badge fastened on the left pocket of his jacket.

The older agent surveyed the cabin. “Sir, we’re going to need to see everyone’s documentation,
as well as search this aircraft.”

Forgetting Chance, Cat’s eyes now darted back and forth from agent to agent. They
completely blocked the aisle and any chance of getting to the exit. She was trapped;
this Cessna might as well have been Alcatraz. Her chest began to tighten. She could
almost feel the cold steel of the handcuffs snapping around her wrists, clicking them
tight until they pinched the skin. She didn’t dare turn to face Junior. But for her,
he’d be spending this morning in his bachelor pad, playing Madden on his Xbox over
a bowl of sugary cereal.

The agent’s stern face broke into a smile. “How was your flight, you ol’ dog?”

Chance shrugged happily. “We didn’t land in the Atlantic, so all in all, damn good.”

Cat let out a sigh of relief as they continued to exchange pleasantries. It hadn’t
occurred to her that in her mission to make Chance believe she was his accomplice,
the authorities might fall for it, too.

Chance reached into his carry-on and presented them each with a ribbon-wrapped box
of cigars, addressing the older officer as “Tom” and the younger as “Mitch.”

He then turned to both Junior and Cat. “I’ll need to show your passports to immigration.”

Cat froze for a single beat, widening her eyes. “Uh, shoot.”

“Don’t tell me you forgot it,” Chance said.

She smiled reassuringly. “No, I just—Junior, why don’t you go ahead?” She stood up
and pointed to the overhead bins. “Chance, could you help me get my bag? It’s in there
and I can’t reach it.” She stood on her tippy toes to show him.

Now
if I could just tell that short girl who got cut from the basketball team ten years
ago that her suffering was not in vain
.

Cat watched out of the corner of her eye as Junior shoved his American passport into
the agent’s hands. Chance reached up into the overhead compartment and pulled her
bag down.

The customs officer was still studying Junior’s passport.

Chance went to move past her and she stopped him, placing her hand on his chest.

“Wait.”

He looked down at the hand.

She quickly removed it. Her mind raced to concoct a plausible delay. She leaned in
conspiratorially and whispered, “I was thinking maybe when we get back tonight, we
could go out for drinks.”

His eyes flashed a quick curiosity. “You were?”

“Well, since Paige is out of town.”

He paused. “Paige is out of town?”

“Yeah. She went to
San Pedro de Macorís
with Joe.”

“Huh.”

She tossed another look to the front of the cabin and saw Junior cramming the passport
into his backpack.

“Unless you don’t want to.”

“No, no. That sounds good. We can talk about our next plan of action.”

She dug through the bag and pulled out her own American passport. The guards barely
glanced at Chance’s but gave hers the full once-over. The immigration officer never
said a word to any of them.

This time the set of stairs that greeted them was attached to a large truck. Junior
waited at the base. She held the long skirt of the maxi dress in her hands to keep
from tripping. Helping her off the last step, Junior pointed across the tarmac to
a black Lincoln Towncar just beyond the fence. He patted Junior on the shoulder.

“We’re almost there, kid.”

He then turned to Cat. “Whatta ya say we stop for a bite on the way?”

Cat might have been wearing an authentic Gucci dress, but while Chance had treated
its owner to European steaks the night before, she merely got a Big Mac from one of
the eight McDonalds they passed on Atlantic Boulevard. Chance and Junior sat on each
side of her in the backseat of the Lincoln, scarfing down their burgers as though
consuming their last meals. Their lips smacked with each greasy bite.

She closed the carton to the half-eaten burger and sat it back in the white paper
sack on the floorboard. The Towncar slowed to a crawl and approached a long, palm-tree
laden driveway. She craned over Junior’s lap to look out the window.

“Orange Grove Baseball Academy?” Cat pointed at the sign on the edge of the roadway.
“Is this us?”

The title was so legitimate, she couldn’t help but sound surprised. The car turned
into a long driveway and another sign appeared.

“Parents and guardians, sign in at the front?” The awe had dropped from Cat’s voice.

Chance wiped his hand on the white paper napkin. “The owner runs a baseball summer
camp out of here for kids nine to thirteen. We use the facility in the winter months.”

Cat nodded, suppressing the urge to wink at him. The lack of overhead must make his
cigar business even more lucrative.

The Towncar stopped in front of a small ranch-style building. It looked like a motel
office in the opening scene of a B horror movie from the seventies, minus the blood
and a busty blonde.

“Here we are. Let’s get you checked in, Leon. I’m excited to get you to the cages.”

Chance hurried out of the vehicle. By the time she and Junior had climbed out, he
was having a hushed discussion with the car’s driver, a large man who dropped his
head down each time she looked at him.

She turned to Junior, murmuring and covering her mouth with a strand of hair, just
in case Chance could read lips. “Opinions so far?”

“I don’t know.”

“What do you mean?” She struggled to keep her voice down.

“I was thinking on the plane. Chartering a private plane for the day has got to cost
what, ten grand?”

She shrugged, keeping a close eye on Chance through his reflection in the tinted windows
of the Lincoln.

“Plus Shrek over there to drive us from the airport, and this whole place. How can
cigars fund all of that? This smells funny.”

“I think that’s Shrek.” Upon seeing Junior’s annoyance, she added, “Do you know how
much Cubans go for in America?”

“No.” Out of the side of his mouth, he added, “Do you?”

“No, but I bet it’s a lot. Plus, this is a freaking summer camp. Chance doesn’t pay
for this place; people who drive oversized SUVs with honor roll bumper stickers do.”

Chance patted the driver on the shoulder and made his way back to them.

“Shh.” She turned and gave him a wide smile. “It’s lovely here. You ought to talk
the boss into letting you stay and sending someone else to do your dirty work.”

He shook his head. “No way. I love being an agent too much. It’s that personal touch,
connecting players and teams, helping these young guys achieve their dreams.” He put
his hand on Junior’s shoulder. “I wouldn’t trade it for anything in the world.”

Not
even a new pair of shoes? Because I’m about to cover yours in partially-digested Big
Mac
.

“Leon, I’ve just got a couple papers here in the office I’ll have you sign.” He began
walking toward the small office. She and Junior followed him.

Cat left Junior behind and inched up to Chance’s side. She lowered her voice and tilted
her head toward him. “So this place, its owner, is that your boss or do you rent from
him?”

“It’s—”

Her phone took that exact moment to ring.

“Sorry.” She pulled it out of her purse and peeked at the caller ID but no name was
listed. It was coming from a two-one-two area code. She smiled up at Chance. “It’s
the boss. Gimme just a sec?”

Chance nodded. “I’ll just have Leon sign a quick waiver and you can meet us out to
the field.”

“Sounds good. This should take just a second.” Cat answered the call and waited a
few seconds until she was sure he was out of earshot.

“Hello?”

“McDaniel, Sheldon Markowitz here. Where the hell have you been? I’ve called you six
times in the last hour.”