Part 9 (1/2)
”Not even close,” Satch replied, winding up for another one. It smacked into the mitt like a freight train.
”94 miles per hour,” Flip called. ”You think you can break 100?”
”Piece of cake,” Satch replied, grabbing my return throw and immediately winding up for another one. ”I ain't even hit the gas yet.”
My legs were getting tired from squatting. My hand was killing me from the pounding it had taken. But I wasn't complaining. I was going to catch the fastest pitch ever thrown. How many other kids could say that?
Satch let another one loose and it popped into the mitt.
”99 miles per hour,” Flip called out excitedly.
I returned the ball to Satch. This was it. He was throwing harder with each pitch. The next one was sure to crack 100 miles per hour, and who knows how much faster Satch could throw? Maybe he could hit 105110 even.
”Your hand okay?” Satch yelled.
”It feels great!” I lied. ”Is that all you got?”
”Burn it in, Satch!” hollered Flip. ”Stosh can take it.”
Satch went into his windup. He was about to bring that whip of an arm down.
Bam!
It was a blast. A gunshot. I heard a bullet ricochet off a tree. Satch never even let go of the ball.
”Drop that gun, sonny!” somebody yelled.
12.
The Clowns THE THREE OF US FROZE.
I really wanted to find out whether or not Satch could break 100 miles per hour on the radar gun. But staying alive seemed like a pretty good idea too. I looked around, but I couldn't see the guy who had shot at us. He must have been hiding behind a tree or something.
”We better do as he says,” Flip said.
”Listen,” Satch said calmly, ”I been in plenty of situations like this. That fella don't mean no trouble. He just wants us off his land.”
”So what should we do?” I asked.
”Do like I do,” Satch said. ”Walk slowly to the car. Don't run. That'll only rile him up.”
I was shaking, but I followed Satch's lead. Flip and I walked to the wooden fence near Satch's car and climbed it. But just as we got to the top- Bam!
The gun exploded again, and this time a bullet thwacked against the fence, not more than five feet from my foot.
”Okay, now you can run!” Satch yelled.
The three of us climbed, fell, clawed, or somehow made it over the fence. I didn't need Satch to tell me what to do after that. I was running toward the car like an Olympic sprinter. I even got there before Flip, and he was moving pretty fast.
”You promised me I wouldn't have to run!” Flip shouted.
”Get in the car!” I yelled, diving into the backseat and slamming the door behind me.
Flip and Satch jumped in the front. Satch turned the key and I was glad the engine started, because there was another gunshot, and I thought I heard the bullet ricochet off the dirt behind the car. Satch hit the gas and the wheels spun a second or two before they finally grabbed the road and we tore out of there.
”Woooo-heeee!” Flip screamed as we pulled away. ”Look at us! We're like outlaws! We should call ourselves the Baseball Banditos!”
”That guy shoots worse than I do!” Satch said, cackling with laughter. ”But still, sometimes it's best to get outta town fast.”
The two of them were slapping each other on the back like they were best buddies or something. I couldn't believe the laughing lunatic in the front seat was the same Flip Valentini who had been worried that traveling through time might be too dangerous.
Me, I was still curled up in a ball on the backseat, just in case that nut with the gun got off another shot. I didn't sit up until we were miles away from that field.
Satch drove for about an hour, then he and Flip switched places to give Satch a rest. I could tell Flip was having the time of his life, driving an old Packard with Satchel Paige sitting next to him. He and Satch started singing old songs Flip remembered from his childhood, and Satch told more of his hard-to-believe baseball stories.
I was anxious to get to Pittsburgh already. We had been in the car for a long time. The sun was dipping low in the sky. I was getting hungry and I had to go to the bathroom.
There was a sign at the side of the road: WELCOME TO VIRGINIA. We came to a little town. There were some African Americans on the street here, I noticed. We pa.s.sed a gas station and Satch said it would be a good place to stop and fill up. Flip pulled over.
”Hey, check it out, Stosh,” Flip said. ”Gas is nineteen cents a gallon!”
”Too bad we can't bring some home with us,” I said.
A black guy came out of the gas station to pump the gas. He took one look at Satch and pointed at him.
”You're Satchel Paige!” the guy gushed.
”All day,” Satch replied.
The attendant looked at Flip and me for a moment, as if he was wondering why two white guys would be riding in the same car with Satchel Paige.
”They're with me,” Satch explained, and the guy went to pump the gas.
I hopped out of the car and found the bathroom. I was in there doing my business when a piece of paper taped to the wall caught my eye.
I grabbed the paper and brought it out to the car with me. Flip was looking at a map while Satch paid for the gas. I got in the backseat and showed them the flyer.
”What's up with this?” I asked.
”Green is my favorite color,” Satch said. ”When somebody waves that green in my face, I can't resist.”
We got back on the road and it wasn't long before we pulled into a parking lot next to a ballfield. It was a rickety old dump with wooden bleachers.
”I a.s.sume this is not the World Series,” Flip said as we got out of the car.