Damn! He wasn’t that much older than my dad and my dad was only fifty-two. But he looked... Fuck! My dad is dead. Fifty-two or ninety-two. Dead is all the same.Ford looked at me, taking a moment to recognize me. He didn’t say anything, but left the door open and turned back toward their kitchen. I followed him.I’d been in here a few hundred times over the years. It always was a place of dread where Drew might be waiting behind any corner, ready to torment me in one way or another. Or Joanne might be waiting there to pull me into the pantry and protect me from her brother and my sister. I glanced toward the pantry door.“She’s not there,” Ford said quietly. “Neither of them.” I looked at him and saw him pour whiskey into a tumbler of ice and take a long drink. There were dirty dishes in the sink and I decided to just do something useful. I ran water and started to wash them. I reached for a greasy plate and spotted Ford’s old handgun on the counter. A box of shells was sitting next to. Jack heard from a 'source' that the mob killed the two jerks who tried to kill my family, that were in federal prison, to stop the interrogations. I wondered what that cost us.I pitched like a man possessed for the remainder of the month. KC called me up on a Friday night in August. I joined the team in Anaheim, for a weekend series against the Angels. When my jet landed in California, I carried an ERA of under one with me, and a heart full of worries.Martin Janacone, Manager of the Royals met my jet, and rode to the park with me, giving me the lay of the land. "We couldn't bring you along slow. We have a chance here. It's is small but it is a manageable chance, and we need a killer arm, who can kill a rally. I'm looking at using you for only a couple of batters at a time."You bring everything you have for as many hitters as I leave you out there. Our eighth and ninth innings are covered but I don't have a killer to get us to them, and guess what, you're it."There is nothing holding.
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