The Closer by Alan Mindell Read Free Book Online Page B

of them began processing a police report on Murdoch's car. He wondered whether the officers would want to question him too, once they finished with Murdoch. Minutes later, Murdoch came back alone. Terry saw that his clothing was still unkempt. And his expression grim.
    "Take me home," he directed Terry, getting into the car.
    "Sure."
    After glancing quickly at the policemen, who remained in their vehicle, Terry started the engine and began to drive off.
    "Sorry about your car," he said.
    Murdoch didn't reply.
    "Any chance the police will recover it?" Terry continued.
    "No chance," Murdoch answered sullenly. "Those guys got it stripped by now."
    "Then how come you went through all the trouble making a police report?"
    "Smokescreen," Murdoch replied.
    "Smokescreen?"
    "Mine wasn't the only car stolen."
    Terry could feel his facial muscles contort as he realized that, technically, he had committed a crime.
    "What do we do with this one?" he asked anxiously.
    "Park it where you found it," Murdoch answered. "Guarantee...those guys'll pick it up by morning."
    "You know those guys?"
    "Never seen them before in my life."
    "Thanks for not implicating me," Terry said while parking the car in almost the exact spot he'd taken it from.
    "Least I could do…way you saved my ass."
    "Least I could do," Terry replied. "Way you saved my ass...that catch in Seattle."
    Terry couldn't be certain in the dark, but he thought he detected a slight smile cross Murdoch's face.
    Â 
    The first thing Terry did after getting up early the next morning was return to where he parked the car with Murdoch last night. Murdoch was right. The car was gone.

Chapter Eight
    Terry entered the game at the start of the ninth inning, with Oakland leading 3-2. He sensed this wouldn’t be easy. He’d be facing Boston’s four, five and six men in the lineup, all of whom had hit the ball hard earlier that evening.
    One thing was to his advantage, though. There was a strong wind—the prevailing one Rick had alluded to the night he informed Terry of the trade, the wind he said would favor the knuckleball. It was blowing off the nearby bay in an easterly direction, from the third base dugout toward right field. As Terry warmed up on the mound, he could tell “the diver” had extra break to it, both down and away from a right hand batter.
    The first hitter swung at the first pitch, topping a weak grounder to first baseman Phil Steiner. Terry raced toward first base, received Steiner’s toss and stepped on the bag. One out. Two more and Oakland would record its eighth consecutive win, a streak that began with that initial victory in Seattle.
    Yesterday’s newspaper had featured a lengthy article on the team’s resurgence. It gave most of the credit to the pitching staff, especially to the young starters like Myong Lee Kwan, who had come over with Terry in the trade. But Terry would argue that Rick was the major difference, working tirelessly in the bullpen, before and often long after games, tutoring pitchers on arm angle, release point, follow through; keeping baserunners close, developing new pitches.
    The next batter took a called strike before bouncing weakly to Collie Quinn, halfway between first and second. Terry again headed for first, but stopped when Steiner, after starting for the ball, reversed himself and got to the bag to handle Quinn`s throw. Two outs.
    Yesterday’s newspaper carried another story Terry read with interest, though with more concern. It disclosed the theft of Murdoch’s car and that no progress toward recovery had been made. While there was no mention of him, Terry grew uneasy that the incident reaching print would heighten investigation and possibly lead to his eventual involvement.
    He considered approaching Murdoch for an update. But when he had looked across the locker room at Murdoch at his locker after last night’s game, he seemed, as usual, eager to leave. And, within seconds, was dressed and