Field of blue, p.1
Field of Blue, page 1
Field of Blue
Dan Stout
ALSO BY DAN STOUT
Coming Soon
TAUNT
FIELD OF BLUE
A Novel
DAN STOUT
Copyright
Field of Blue is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, events, businesses, organizations, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination and or are used fictitiously.
Copyright © 2021 by Dan Stout
All rights reserved
Published by Dan Stout
Print ISBN_ 979-8-9852224-2-5
Ebook ISBN 979-8-9852224-1-8
Cover design by Judy Bullard
Contents
ALSO BY DAN STOUT
COMING SOON
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
CHAPTER TWENTY
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
CHAPTER THIRTY
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
CHAPTER FORTY
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
CHAPTER FORTY-THREE
CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR
CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE
CHAPTER FORTY-SIX
CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN
CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT
CHAPTER FORTY-NINE
CHAPTER FIFTY
CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE
CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO
CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE
CHAPTER FIFTY-FOUR
CHAPTER FIFTY-FIVE
CHAPTER FIFTY-SIX
CHAPTER FIFTY-SEVEN
CHAPTER FIFTY-EIGHT
CHAPTER FIFTY-NINE
CHAPTER SIXTY
CHAPTER SIXTY-ONE
CHAPTER SIXTY-TWO
CHAPTER SIXTY-THREE
CHAPTER SIXTY-FOUR
CHAPTER SIXTY-FIVE
CHAPTER SIXTY-SIX
CHAPTER SIXTY-SEVEN
CHAPTER SIXTY-EIGHT
CHAPTER SIXTY-NINE
CHAPTER SEVENTY
CHAPTER SEVENTY-ONE
CHAPTER SEVENTY-TWO
CHAPTER SEVENTY-THREE
CHAPTER SEVENTY-FOUR
CHAPTER SEVENTY-FIVE
CHAPTER SEVENTY-SIX
CHAPTER SEVENTY-SEVEN
CHAPTER SEVENTY-EIGHT
CHAPTER SEVENTY-NINE
CHAPTER EIGHTY
CHAPTER EIGHTY-ONE
CHAPTER EIGHTY-TWO
CHAPTER EIGHTY-THREE
CHAPTER EIGHTY-FOUR
CHAPTER EIGHTY-FIVE
CHAPTER EIGHTY-SIX
CHAPTER EIGHTY-SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHTY-EIGHT
CHAPTER EIGHTY-NINE
CHAPTER NINETY
CHAPTER NINETY-ONE
CHAPTER NINETY-TWO
CHAPTER NINETY-THREE
CHAPTER NINETY-FOUR
CHAPTER NINETY-FIVE
CHAPTER NINETY-SIX
CHAPTER NINETY-SEVEN
CHAPTER NINETY-EIGHT
CHAPTER NINETY-NINE
CHAPTER ONE HUNDRED
CHAPTER ONE HUNDRED
CHAPTER ONE HUNDRED TWO
CHAPTER ONE HUNDRED THREE
CHAPTER ONE HUNDRED FOUR
CHAPTER ONE HUNDRED FIVE
CHAPTER ONE HUNDRED SIX
CHAPTER ONE
Saturday Afternoon
“I just wasted a year of my life,” declared Bill Sullivan bitterly.
Bill’s best friend, Jake Parsons, took a deep breath and let it out, closed the novel he was reading, then his eyes. He wanted to relax; not have the conversation he knew was coming. After taking and releasing another breath Jake opened his eyes, started frowning and looked over at Bill.
“What are you talking about?”
“You know what I’m talking about,” hissed Bill.
Bill and Jake, wearing Dodgers ballcaps, were side by side in first class seats. Bill’s daughter Natalie, was directly across the aisle, absorbed with something on her tablet. The three of them were on a flight from Los Angeles to Boise, after the Dodgers had lost the Divisional Series game.
“I won’t have another chance at the World Series until next year, all because of that damned rookie, Julio Chavez.”
Jake rolled his eyes and slowly shook his head back and forth. Here we go, he thought.
Keeping his voice down, Jake replied. “The team lost, Bill. This time it was the hot rookie’s turn, and he had the winning home run.”
Bill shot a poisonous look in Jake’s direction yet kept his profanity to himself.
“Do you like to lose?” Bill asked.
Jake, instantly angry, turned, looked up at his friend, and locked his eyes on Bill’s, until after several seconds the taller man glanced away.
“Now is not the time, Bill,” Jake said, glancing over at Natalie, so his idiot friend would get the message.
Natalie sighed and closed her tablet, bored with reading. She had heard whispering across the aisle and easily sensed the bad mood her dad was in. Glancing over she caught the staring contest between the two men and quickly looked away.
The flight attendant, Reagan, pushing a beverage cart, stopped in the aisle between Bill and Natalie.
“Miss, would you like something to drink?”
“A diet Coke?”
Reagan smiled and handed Natalie a cup with ice and her soft drink.
“Thank you,” said Natalie.
“Gentlemen?”
Reagan did not miss the tension between the two men. When the trio boarded, she noticed the Los Angeles Dodger’s baseball caps and the men’s team jackets. She had checked the manifest after departure, noted the three passengers’ names, then asked the pilots, both avid baseball fans, about the men. The pilots had given her a quick brief on the two players, and about the important game that the Dodger’s had lost the evening before.
Bill asked for vodka and orange juice, and Jake wanted a rum and Coke.
Jake looked over. Bill was seething, but keeping his mouth shut. It was not something Bill usually did when angry.
Natalie was ready for the flight to be finished and was glad they were almost to Boise. This was her seventh plane ride to attend games in Los Angeles when her dad was pitching, and until now, they had all been fun.
Jake was staying overnight with her dad, before flying to Denver to see his parents. The three of them were supposed to go to a movie tonight. Natalie was wondering how that would be with him in a bad mood, and she didn’t blame him. Losing a chance to go to the World Series was a crushing blow, and she didn’t have any idea how to make it better.
Natalie loved her dad, but at times was a little afraid of him. He could be a jerk when things did not go his way, although with her he was incredibly generous. He never yelled at her, but they did not have a lot in common, and often ran out of things to talk about. He did have a few cool friends, Jake being one, and did take her to do stuff when he wasn’t practicing, working out or watching game films.
She shot a quick glance at her dad, concerned about his anger, which made her think about his past. Two years ago, her mom, Rachel, had told her what happened, how their relationship had ended poorly and with a lot of pain, and why she thought Natalie’s father would not open up to anyone easily.
“We met in high school when I was a cheerleader, and your dad was a rising star on the Boise High baseball team. I was fifteen and he was sixteen when I became pregnant with you. When Grandpa found out he was furious. He yelled at your dad, made a lot of threats, and started causing problems at the school. A week later, on a Friday, I came home from school and there was a moving van in the driveway. We left for Seattle within minutes. He would not let me call your father and I was devastated.
“Before we moved to Seattle your dad was already making a name for himself pitching. He had thrown pitches at the stadium for the minor league players, and I guess they were shocked by his speed. They included him in some unofficial practice sessions, and his star began to rise.
“Your father received a scholarship to UCLA in California, and we drifted farther apart, since we were not allowed to see each other. After graduation he was drafted into the minor leagues and sent to Albuquerque. He never made much money, but he would send what he could for us, Natalie.
“When he was moved up to the Major League, his life became easier, and your grandparents couldn’t stop him from connecting with you. He loves you like crazy, Natalie, but he had a tough start in life. Growing up he had to work like a dog and was given little. He developed into a hard m an, so he has difficulty showing anyone love.”
The pilot announced they were on final approach and would be landing momentarily jolting Natalie into the present.
Minutes later they were walking through the gate. Natalie was surprised to see her mother and turned to her dad with a frown on her face. “I thought we were going to a movie tonight?”
Rachel stood silent, but her compressed lips and tight jaw gave away her displeasure.
“I texted your mom and asked her to pick you up. I’m in a crappy mood and need to be alone.”
“You just don’t want me around!” stated Natalie, stomping away. She did not look back.
“You just hurt your daughter,” said Rachel, with a mix of anger and sadness, before leaving to follow Natalie.
“You should go talk with Natalie, Bill,” suggested Jake mildly.
“And you need more batting practice, Jake,” responded Bill in anger.
Jake stared at Bill for several seconds. “You dumbass!”
CHAPTER TWO
Saturday Night
Bill grimaced while vigorously rubbing the back of his neck where it met his skull, trying to ease the small knots of muscle and pain. He rolled his shoulders, trying to get his neck to release. That did not work, so he went back to picking at his food and watching sports news on the big screen televisions. Bill was wearing his ball cap pulled down and slouching in one of the high-backed corner booths of the Ram Pub. One couple recognized him anyway and asked for an autograph. After asking their names he signed the napkin they held out. He smiled but it came off halfhearted.
His server came over. “Sorry about the game, Bill. You’ll get ‘em next year,” she said. “Another beer?”
“No thanks.” One was his limit. He knew what his personality was like after too much alcohol, coupled with too much disappointment.
Earlier in the evening, while working out, he had suddenly stopped and left the gym, returning home because he was not able to maintain his concentration. Back in his condo he had started the game film, fast forwarding to the one pitch that came back and glanced off his ribs. Touching the bruise on the left side of his chest Bill knew he had thrown a high and inside fastball. It was weird because he had not been tired, the pitch had been thrown perfectly, yet the ball had drifted down and over the center of the plate. He watched the pitch in slow motion again, when suddenly, with chills running down his back, Bill realized Chavez should have been able to knock it out of the ballpark. But he hadn’t.
Chavez appeared sure that the ball was going to hit me.
Bill was still angry about the insults from Chavez and the other Cubs batters, and he would retaliate next season. I will break a few ribs, thought Bill. He had shut off the TV, showered, and had headed out for a late-night meal.
He pushed his food away with a sigh. He needed to make things right with Natalie and Jake. He was still depressed and angry, and had reacted poorly, which they hadn’t deserved.
Picking up the phone he sent Jake a text.
BILL: Jake, sorry I was a jerk. Can we talk tomorrow?
Bill took another sip of beer. He loved Natalie and hated her grandfather. Rachel had to be a single parent after she was forced to move to Seattle. They had been in love when Rachel was taken from him to have their child in another city, far away. Rachel’s father had robbed him of the experience of the birth of his daughter.
Bill picked at the label on his beer bottle. Natalie was a beautiful young woman, and he was proud to be her father, although he felt like an imbecile half the time. Often not knowing what to say as he had little idea of what teenage girls liked. It was easier when they were watching a movie, or going shopping, or getting ice cream. He had a lot to learn, and he didn’t want to lose her.
BILL: Natalie, I love you. I am sorry I am not very good at the dad thing, but I can learn. Please hang in there with me and I’ll get better. Can I take you to a movie on Sunday?
Bill sent the text and put the phone down. It was late, and she should be in bed, so he would wait until tomorrow for her answer.
The server cleared his plate and offered him another drink which he turned down. Then his phone vibrated and with a smile he picked up his phone to see what Natalie had sent back.
JAKE: Bill, of course we can talk. I accept your apology, but you’re still an idiot! Smiley face.
Bill smiled briefly, until the sports news coverage shifted to baseball, and he saw that Chavez was being interviewed. The sound was off but closed caption was on.
“I will be in Boise tomorrow. I am flying up to volunteer with a kid’s cancer group that I got involved with, when I was with the Boise Hawks. They are having a fundraiser, and I will be there for the kids.”
“How did it feel to win the game?”
“It felt great, as you can imagine, and it was wonderful to bring home a win for Chicago!”
“You got under Sullivan’s skin and hit him with a line drive. How do you think that will affect your future interactions with him?”
Chavez did not look happy with the question.
“Bill Sullivan is a great player and a fierce competitor. He is dedicated to the game, he is disciplined, and he is a winner in life. I have the utmost respect for him, and his abilities.”
“But you’re going to Boise, his hometown, right after the Dodger’s loss. Isn’t that pushing things a bit?”
Chavez eyes flashed. Annoyed with the reporter, he held up his hands and turned away.
Bill’s mood soured. He dropped cash on the table and left.
I can’t get away from that guy.
Julio Chavez performed a quick survey of the cockpit gauges while the twin engines of the King Air were warming up. Satisfied, he went back to working through the pre-flight checklist until every item was complete. The navigation coordinates to Boise were entered, the weather forecast was calm, and the skies along the route were without clouds for the next few hours.
He was bringing his best friend, Tommy Rodriguez, and another teammate with him for the cancer camp fundraiser. It should be a safe and pleasant flight, and the views of moon while in route would be spectacular.
Flying was another passion he finally had time to indulge in. His father thought it was extravagant but being able to quickly fly where he was needed was helpful. And cruising above fifteen thousand feet helped clear his head. Most of the time the flights were as smooth as a velvet carpet, with a little engine noise thrown in.
Julio told his friends to buckle up. With a smile he keyed the mike and asked the LA tower for clearance to taxi.
Bill caught a green light at Broadway and Front, ready to be home. As he entered the intersection, he caught a glimpse of something out of the corner of his right eye. The old truck, driven by a drunk driver, was doing eighty without headlights, when it hit the passenger side of Sullivan’s Porsche Carrera, just as Bill’s body instinctively tensed from the danger.
Bill was shoved violently left. He had been heading west and the crumpled vehicles spun one hundred and eighty degrees and fifty-five feet south.
Bill’s sports car ended up lying on its side.
Motor oil from broken crankcases drained slowly from underneath both vehicles, spreading across the pavement, mixing with antifreeze, gasoline, and pieces of red and amber plastic, headlight glass and road debris. Wisps of acrid, dark smoke curled lazily off the hot, dead, engines.
Inside the truck, blood was smeared on the windshield and forming a puddle on the floorboard. The driver was not moving.
Bill was struggling to stay conscious.
Everything is still. Why can’t I hear anything?
Bill blinked slowly, his mind struggling to catch up.
He noticed the airbags had deployed, and his turn signal was on.
Why is the little green arrow flashing?
Blink…blink…blink…blink. Ah, now I hear it.
I don’t feel right. Why am I on my side?
He tried to move, squirming in the seat.
I’m screwed up.
Frantic, Bill tried to move, and was slammed with pain. Cold knots settled in his stomach.
I’m hurt.
Bill stopped moving, exhausted, and trying to determine the extent of his injuries. Bits of glass and road pebbles poked his shoulder. He was having trouble breathing.
Somebody’s running my way.
“HEY! Are you alright? Call 911! Call 911 now!”
CHAPTER THREE
Thirty-six hours earlier.
