The Fourth Stall - Chris Rylander [62]
“That was the best; did you see that bunt?” Vince asked as he sat back down.
“Yeah, that was a good one,” I said. “I was just thinking about how amazing it’d be to be at Wrigley to see the Cubs pull off a squeeze in a World Series game.”
Vince shuddered and his smile disappeared.
“It’s almost cruel to hope for something so amazing. I’m so excited for the Cubs trip right now it’s like I’m in a reverse coma—a constant state of hyperactivity. Or as my grandma might say, ‘Don’t wash the cat until the raccoon eats his glue stick.’”
I just shook my head at him. I didn’t really get the impression that he was all that excited. Sure, he’d been acting extra cheery all night, but it was like he was just pretending that I hadn’t caught him stealing money and lying to me.
“Anyways, I just thought of a good one: Who was the first manager to win the World Series for the Cubs?” Vince asked.
“Come on, Vince. Don’t you remember that I’m obsessed with Cubs World Series trivia? It was Frank Chance, and they beat the Detroit Tigers. And I’ll even go ahead and say that their final record was one hundred seven wins, forty-five losses and that you should try a little harder next time,” I said.
“Careful what you ask for, Mac,” Vince said with a cheesy smile.
“Okay, whatever,” I said.
We watched the game in silence for a few minutes.
“Do you think it’s Great White?” Vince asked suddenly.
“I don’t know. We’ll just have to wait and see, I guess. If it is him, he’ll slip up eventually.”
I was careful not to sound too complacent. I still felt bad about keeping my Tyrell plan from him, but that’s what this had come to.
After the game we watched Cartoon Network for a little bit. Some show was on about a box of French fries, a meatball, and a milk shake who all talked and fought crime. We didn’t talk much, which wasn’t like us at all.
“I think I’d better go,” Vince said after the show.
“Oh okay. I’ll see you tomorrow then, right?” I said.
“Sure.”
He headed upstairs and I heard the front door open and close a few moments later. After he left, I realized something that bothered me so badly, I barely slept that night. Together that night we’d watched the Cubs win a play-off game to take a commanding 2–0 lead over the Phillies in the NLCS, but it had felt more like we were watching a funeral. The Cubs almost never made the play-offs. This was the first time they’d made it this far in our lives. And usually when we watched even a regular-season Cubs game together, there was yelling and shouting and cursing and then we’d both do a really horrible job singing “Go Cubs Go” with the crowd on TV when they won. But that night, other than after the suicide squeeze the Cubs had pulled off early in the game, we’d basically just sat there and watched like zombies. It became very clear to me right then that there was a whole lot more falling apart than just our business.
The first sign that something was seriously wrong the next day was that Vince didn’t come to school. I wasn’t sure exactly what that meant, but I knew it probably wasn’t good. And as much as I wished I was wrong about that, what unfolded the rest of the day proved me to be more right than I’d ever wanted to be before.
It started during morning recess. I was sitting in my office with my face in my hands trying to figure out just where everything had gone wrong. How had I gotten myself mixed up in this mess?
Eventually I looked up.
“Holy . . . ! Are you trying to give me a heart attack?” I yelled.
“Sorry, Mac,” Tyrell said.
He was seated across from me in my office. The kid is amazing. I had no idea how he got inside the office and into the chair without Joe, Fred, or me noticing. I guess that’s why he’s the best.
“It’s okay. It’s what you do, I guess. So what’s up?”
“I have information for you,” he said.
“Already?”
“I work fast, Mac. You know that.”
I nodded. I guess I did know that. He is a darn fine spy.
“What did you find?”
“Okay, Mac. You’re really not going to like what I