a mystery
C.C. Jennings sat quietly at his locker in the corner of large clubhouse. He was 22 year-old rookie pitcher in the majors, and had just pitched his first game. It hadn’t gone well; 8 hits, 3 walks and 6 runs over just 3 1/2 innings. He hung his head in shame.
“Don’t worry about it, rook,” yelled Prince Teahan across the locker room, “you’ll get’m next time.”
C.C. threw him a thumbs up and tried to smile as he hoped that there would be another. He had known Prince since Single A ball when they were both wide-eyed teenagers, right out of high school. They had roomed together all the way to Triple A, until Prince got moved up to the big leagues a year before C.C. Now that C.C. had joined him in the majors they were sharing a penthouse in downtown Manhattan.
“Thanks, Prince,” C.C. said, unconvinced.
“It just wasn’t your day today. We all suck sometimes…actually I never suck, but most people have their off days.”
C.C. laughed, appreciating his friend’s humor. Prince always made everyone on the team laugh. He loved life and he loved the game.
* * *
The newspaper hit C.C. in the head. “Check this out, man,” yelled Prince from the doorway where he had thrown the newspaper. C.C. tried to rub the sleep from his eyes, and took a look at the newspaper. “Steroids found in New York Mets Clubhouse!!!” read the headline of the New York Times.
“ Oh shit…someone is gonna be fucked,” said C. C., waking up quickly.
“ You can bet they are. And they deserve it. These juicers give the rest of us a bad name.”
“ What happened?”
“ Some idiot left a backpack full of growth hormone in the locker room.”
“ Wow. Well, today’s gonna be a long day at the stadium. The medias gonna be there in packs.”
It was a long day. There were reporters all over the place at the stadium. Once the players got inside, coach Joe La Russa lectured them on the dangers of steroids. Next, the media director told them to not say anything to the press. They then practiced for three hours. Finally, they were questioned by the police.
“ Mr. Jennings…is that right?” asked a fat, balding detective.
“ Yes, that me. C.C. Jennings.”
“My name is Detective Gill. I’m just gonna ask you a few questions.”
“ Okay.”
“ Do you use steroids?”
“ No, sir.”
“ Have you ever used steroids?”
“ No.”
“ Do you know if anyone on the team uses steroids?”
“ Ummm…not that I know of. I just got called up two weeks ago.”
“ Do you know anything about the backpack that was found yesterday in the locker room?”
“ No I don’t.”
“ That’s all. Here’s my card in case you think of anything that might help our case,” said the fat policeman, handing him a card. “ You can leave.”
C.C. left the room relieved. It had been a long a day, and C.C. was ready to get back home and drink some beers with Prince. He walked quickly to the parking lot and got into his black S550 that he had bought with his signing bonus. He was home within 20 minutes.
When he got inside, C.C. quickly grabbed two beers and sat down on the leather couch in the living room. He turned the TV on, hoping to find something that would take his mind off his long day. He watched Gilligan’s Island for a few minutes before dosing off.
* * *
The phone woke C.C. up. “Hello?”
“ C.C. Its me, Prince.”
“Yea. Where are you? It’s two in the morning?”
“ I’m at the stadium. We need to talk. ”
“ Can’t this wait to the morning?”
“ No, I’ll tell you when I get home. It’s really important. I’ll be back soon. “
“ I’ll be here.”
“ Bye.”
C.C. turned back to the TV, hoping that Prince would get home soon. It was a Gilligan’s Island marathon and he soon fell back asleep.
* * *
A loud knocking at his door woke C. C. up. He got up from his couch, thinking that it was Prince. He opened the door, and was surprised to see that fat, balding detective from the stadium standing the hallway.
“ What can I help you with, officer?”
“ Mr. Jennings, your teammate and roommate, Mr. Prince Teahan was found dead this morning at the stadium. We believe that his death was a suicide. Can I come in and talk?”
C.C. did not reply. His stood motionless in his doorway with a blank face. His broad shoulders slowly dropped as he ushered the overweight detective inside. How could Prince kill himself? C.C. wondered.
“What happened?”
“That’s what we’re trying to find out. It looks like he injected himself with a fatal amount of human growth hormone. It seems as though the steroids that were found in the clubhouse belonged to him.”
“ Wait, you think that it was Prince who was on roids? No way!”
“ We are very early in our investigation. However, all signs point to him being involved in the steroids, and killing himself because he was going to be found out. I’m sorry.”
“ I can guarantee you that Prince Teahan was never involved in steroids, and he wouldn’t kill himself.”
“ I know it’s hard, Mr. Jennings, but sometimes things like this happen. Do you mind if I take a look around your place?”
“ What, so that you can find more evidence to try to say that my friend has a juicer and killed himself? I’m going to ask you leave now detective. “
“ Hold on now…”
“Now!”
With that, the fat detective got up and quickly walked towards the door.
“ Mr. Jennings, I’ll be back with a warrant.”
“ Get out!!!!” Questions began running through C.C.’s head. How could this happen? I just talked to him last night. What did he want to tell me?
C.C. grabbed his coat and left his apartment. He needed to clear his mind, and the best place for that was his childhood baseball field. He jumped in his Mercedes and sped to the freeway, droving through the turnpike and into New Jersey.
It began raining as he pulled up to the San Pablo Park baseball field. This was where C.C. first learned to play baseball. As a teenager, he had spent countless hours working on his batting form, his throws from the outfield, and his base running. Here was where he learned to love the game.
C.C. stepped out onto the diamond as rain fell all around him. He could smell the mix of dirt and grass. The rain felt good on his face as he dropped to his knees. I have to find out what really happened to Prince, he vowed.
Getting up from the grass and walking towards his car, C.C. took one last look at the field. “ Why can’t baseball always be like this? Simple and uncorrupted,” he said out loud.
C.C. drove back to New York, and went directly to stadium. He saw the yellow tape as he pulled into the parking lot. It was a day off, so there were almost no other cars in the lot. At the player’s entrance was a single police car. C.C. pulled into his usual spot and quickly headed towards the player’s entrance.
“ Excuse me, sir, but you can’t go in there,” said a very young officer.
“ Come on now, I’ve got to get my jacket. I left it here yesterday, and it has my wallet,” replied C.C.
“ Wait, you’re C.C. Jennings. My son’s a huge fan. He’s followed you from the minors.”
“ Wow, thanks a lot. I’m really honored. Do you think that you could jus let me in?”
“ I’m sorry, but the sergeant said no one’s allowed in.”
“ I’ll be in and out. Here let me give you something.” C.C. quickly ran to his car, and pulled out a ball. “What’s your son’s name?”
“ Ummm…Eric. Eric Rivers.”
C.C. scribbled a quick note and signature on the bat, and gave it to the officer.
“ I’ll be quick,“ he lied as he walked into the entrance. C.C. scurried down the hall to the locker room. He really didn’t know what to do, but wanted to talk to the team owner, Art Miller.
As he walked to the owner’s office, C.C. passed the clubhouse. Inside, he looked at Prince’s locker. He knew deep down that the locker never had had steroids in it. He walked over to it, to look over his friend’s belonging, pickeing up Prince’s glove and cleats. He tried on his sunglasses that Prince wore everyday, rain or shine. He rubbed the good luck ball that Prince rubbed before every game. As he rubbed the ball, he saw that there was a tiny message written on it. Looking at the ball closely, he could just make out the message: Tell anyone and I’ll kill you.
New questions rushed into C.C.’s head, but he was sure of one thing now; Prince hadn’t killed himself, he had been murdered. Prince had found out about who had the steroids, and whoever killed him was that person.
C.C. held onto the ball and continued to the owner’s office. Art had been a friendly guy to C.C. in the two weeks that he had been in the majors, and he thought that the owner would be a good person to talk to. As he walked down the hall, Sammy Bonds Jr., the teams top hitter, hurried by him with an intent look on his face. C.C. though about talking to him about the ball, but before he could say anything, Sammy had turned the corner. C.C. walked up to the oak door and confidently knocked.
“ Come in,” said Art’s deep voice.
“ Hello, Mr. Miller,” C.C. stated with both respect and urgency.
“ C.C., I just want to give you my deepest regrets for the loss of Prince. He was a valued player and person in the New York Met’s community. I’m sorry to hear that he was involved in steroids, and that he made the decision to take his own life.”
“ Thank you, sir, but that is what I wanted to talk to you about. Prince was not using steroids, and he didn’t kill himself. Some one killed him”
“ Now, C.C., I know that it is hard to lose a friend, but the police have said that he was using steroids and that he killed himself.”
“ I don’t care what the police said, someone on the team killed him. Here look.”
C.C. handed Art the baseball. Art squinted at the ball for a few seconds.
“ This was probably just a joke. You’re friend committed suicide. You really shouldn’t go on asking questions.” Art’s tone wasno longer was friendly.
“ What do you mean that I shouldn’t ask questions? He was my friend.”
“ How much money are you making now, C.C.? $500,000? Maybe $750,000. I’m going to give you a nice little bonus right now, and you’ll walk out of my office and you’ll tell everyone that Prince was on steroids and that he killed himself.”
“ Are you trying to bribe me to be quiet?”
“ Enough damage has already been done.”
“ My friend is dead, and all you’re worried about is image! I’m outta here. I’m going to the police. “ C.C. jumped up out of his chair, grabbed the ball, and stormed out of the office.
As he left, Art yelled after him, “ You’ll regret this!”
C.C. ran back down the hallway towards the clubhouse. At the end of the hallway was Sammy Bonds Jr. again.
“ Sammy, I really need your help,” C.C. loudly said.
“ Yeah,” Sammy replied gruffly.
“ Prince didn’t commit suicide, someone killed him. Here look.” C.C. tossed Sammy the ball, and continued, “ And Art won’t help me, he just wants me to shut up. I think he might be involved.”
Sammy didn’t even look down at the ball. “ He’s not, but I am.”
C.C. froze. “What do you mean? You killed Prince?”
“ I had no choice. He was gonna go to the police. I’m Sammy Bonds Jr., the best hitter in the country. I had to kill him, and now I’m gonna have to kill you.” Sammy pulled a pistol from his pocket. “Let’s go to the clubhouse. “
“Are you really gonna murder me right here in the middle of the clubhouse? You’ll get caught.” C.C. was not scared. Instead, he was angry. This was Prince’s killer.
“ I did it to your friend and I got away with it. I’m not gonna use this gun,” Sammy slyly said with a grin on his face as he pulled out a syringe. “You’re gonna overdose on growth hormone. I guess you were part of the roids scandal, just like Prince was.” He walked towards C.C. Slowly and menacingly. “Now, put your arm out.”
“ You’re gonna have to shoot me if you want to kill me,” C.C. said defiantly.
“ Ok. I guess I’ll just have to make it look like you shot yourself.” Sammy pointed the gun at C.C.’s chest. BANG!!!
Sammy crumpled to the ground. C.C. looked around, shocked that it was not he that was shot. The policeman ran into the room, gun still drawn, yelling into his radio
“ I’ve just shot a suspect. He has a bullet wound to his shoulder. We need an ambulance ASAP!” He walked over to Sammy, and kicked the gun out of his hand, and cuffed him.
“ Thank you. How did you…” C.C. was still in shock as he asked the policeman.
“ You told me that you were gonna be in and out. After you didn’t come out for more than half and hour, I came in to kick you out.”
“You just saved my life.”
“ Maybe you could get me tickets to the game ,” the policeman said hopefully.
“ I’d love to help, but I quit.” C.C. turned and walked out of the clubhouse for the last time in his life.