The Bullpen Gospels - Dirk Hayhurst [101]
“I almost lost it right there. I ain’t never been arrested. First you come accusing me of being some pervert; then you tell me to be a more discreet pervert; then you ask me what kind of criminal I am…” He was so worked up, he looked as if he might come to a boil.
“It’s the mustache Pops. You can’t trust a guy with a mustache.”
“Those fucking cops had mustaches!”
“What did you tell them then?” Rob continued.
“I told them to get the hell out of my house. And as they was leaving, they told me they was sorry they upset me, but I should be more discreet! I could have—” He took his fungo and swung it through the air as if he were beating someone with it.
“But seriously, if it was one a you, I wanna know. I ain’t mad.” No one believed him. “I just wanna know so I don’t have to worry about shifty characters peeking in my window.”
“What if I peek in your window?” Blade asked.
“I don’t doubt you would do something like that. People need to be calling the cops on guys like you.”
“I peeked in your window, but I didn’t call the cops,” Dalton said, kidding him.
“That’s fine. You keep on peeking. You ain’t gonna see nothing, but if I catch your ass—” Pops took another cut with his fungo.
“If I’m not going to see anything, I don’t think I’ll bother to peek anymore.”
Pops waved a hand at the smartass comments. “Seriously, if one of you did it, speak up. There’s some weird-ass people livin’ in that place.” Nobody raised his hand. Pops scowled. “I don’t believe it. One of you motherfuckers did it.” He waggled his finger at the group while we laughed.
“Couldn’t have happened to a better guy, Pops,” Blade said, needling him some more.
“Ff-uck you.”
Chapter Thirty-four
The relief crew spent a spider-free night in the pen. Having pitched an inning for the team, I officially felt as if I was one of the boys, As part of the family, I was privy to all manner of new information. Handsome Rob, for example, was dating a stripper he met at a place called The Palace.
“We aren’t dating, okay.”
“You’re dating; you totally love her.” Blade was at work again.
“You know, that’s so immature, I’m not even going to respond.”
“That’s how I can tell you love her, because you get so bent out of shape.”
“I am not bent out of shape. It’s just an immature argument. I prefer to call it a working relationship.”
“Working relationship? She dances and you insert dollar bills? What? Does she give you a discount for being with her? Define working relationship?”
“It’s like Ox and the Puffy Taco.”
“Whoa now, we don’t need to bring me into this,” coughed up Ox.
“Wait! What’s the Puffy Taco?” I asked.
“It’s one of our mascots back in San Antonio.”
“Our mascot is called the Puffy Taco?”
“Our real mascot is Ballopeño, the Puffy Taco is like a sidekick.”
“What the hell is a Ballopeño?”
“It’s like a half baseball, half jalapeño.”
“What the fuck?” I mumbled.
“Exactly.”
“How does that have anything to do with the Missions?”
“No idea.”
“So what’s your connection to the Puffy Taco?”
Ox grumbled, but Rob happily filled me in. “The Puffy Taco is in love with Ox. It’s a working relationship.”
“What the hell does that mean?” Dalton demanded.
“It means, it’s a summer fling and both parties know.”
“Is that your discreet way of saying you’re boning her?”
“Bingo.”
“So you’re boning a stripper.” I nodded to Rob. “And you’re, uh, boning a taco mascot?” I asked Ox.
“The chick that works the taco suit is a total cleat chaser. I’m not the first player; I won’t be the last.”
“So she’s just your working relationship.”
“Sounds like you’re her working relationship,” Rob said.
“She’s not holding me down, that’s for sure,” Ox said.
“Yeah, Ox’s not holding her down either. She and a few other guys went at it in the mascot dressing room,” Dalton said.
“Could you imagine doing that,” I asked, “with all those weird