Hanging Curve by Troy Soos Read Free Book Online

ponder: What makes someone want to burn a family out of its home? Or drive around in hoods and sheets, terrorizing a neighborhood? Or kill a colored baseball player for beating a white team?
    Was that really why Slip Crawford had been lynched? I hoped not. I didn’t want to believe that a man could be murdered because he had a good curveball.
    As the taxi neared the hotel, I looked off in the direction of Lake Michigan and recalled the incident that set off those two weeks of terror in 1919. A colored boy named Eugene Williams had fallen asleep while floating in a tube. When he drifted over to a section of the beach traditionally off-limits to Negroes, white bathers woke him up by throwing stones at him. Then they continued to stone him until he was dead.

CHAPTER 4
    T he Cleveland Indians put an end to our winning streak, easily taking the first two games of the series in League Park. One of them was a 17—2 thrashing that served to remind us that we needed to concentrate on winning in April instead of making World Series plans for October. We came back strong in the finale this afternoon, and exacted some measure of revenge by pounding five Cleveland pitchers in a 15—1 romp.
    I got to play in both of the high-scoring games, replacing Wally Gerber at shortstop when we were behind by a dozen runs, and filling in for third baseman Frank Ellerbe after we were ahead by ten. Apparently, Lee Fohl would only risk allowing me onto the field when my presence couldn’t affect the final outcome.
    The long game meant that we had to take a later train out of Cleveland, and we didn’t pull into St. Louis until after midnight. It was another half hour for a cabby to drive me to Union Boulevard.
    I unlocked the door as quietly as I could and stepped softly into the parlor. Margie, wrapped in a red floral kimono, was nestled in a corner of the sofa, fast asleep. She’d let down her hair, which curled about her shoulders and flowed down almost to her waist. A chintz throw pillow was tucked under her chin; she hugged it like a little girl cuddling a teddy bear.
    Tired as I was, I didn’t want to go to bed yet. Instead, I eased into the Morris chair across from the sofa and simply watched Margie sleep for a while.
    Before we started living together, the best thing about coming back from a road trip was checking the mail that had accumulated. Now I had Margie, who always tried, and usually failed, to wait up for me. Knowing she’d be there when I got home almost made the long separations tolerable.
    Before the sound of her rhythmic breathing could lull me to sleep, I got up and walked over to the sofa.
    The kiss I planted on Margie’s forehead failed to wake her, and the subsequent ones on her cheek were no more effective. It took a couple on the lips before she stirred and looked up at me, her brown eyes foggy. “Mmm,” she purred. “That was nice. If I pretend I’m still asleep, will you do it some more?”
    I kissed her again, long and deep enough to show there was no need for her to feign sleep. “Let’s go to bed,” I said.
    She stretched. “Okaaay.” The word turned into a yawn. “Oh, I kept some supper for you in the icebox. Want me to heat it up?” Her puffy eyelids slipped down a notch.
    “No, I ate on the train. Thanks, though.” I put my arm around her waist and steered her toward the bedroom. “All I want is a pillow.”
    We were almost to the door when Margie said, “By the way, Karl got in tonight.”
    “He’s here?” The mere thought of Karl’s presence took a lot of the joy out of the homecoming.
    Margie smiled at my reaction. “No, he called. He’s staying with another friend—a writer, I think he said.”
    I let out a sigh of relief. “Did he say when he wants to get together?”
    “Tomorrow. I’ll bring him to the game, and we’ll have dinner afterward.”
    “Okay. I’ll leave a couple passes for you at the gate.” I was so tired, I didn’t even want to think about the fact that we had