The Spy on Third Base Read online

  To Daren Krupa

  Copyright

  Text copyright © 1988 by Matthew F. Christopher

  Illustrations copyright © 1988 by George Ulrich

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. NO PART OF THIS BOOK MAY BE REPRODUCED IN ANY FORM OR BY ANY ELECTRONIC OR MECHANICAL MEANS, INCLUDING INFORMATION STORAGE AND RETRIEVAL SYSTEMS, WITHOUT PERMISSION IN WRITING FROM THE PUBLISHER, EXCEPT BY A REVIEWER WHO MAY QUOTE BRIEF PASSAGES IN A REVIEW.

  First eBook Edition: December 2009

  The characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

  Hachette Book Group

  237 Park Avenue

  New York, NY 10017

  Visit our website at www.HachetteBookGroup.com

  ISBN: 978-0-316-09603-4

  Contents

  Copyright

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  1

  He’s going to bunt.

  T. V. Adams, the Peach Street Mudders’ third baseman, studied the Green Dragons’ batter, Dirk Farman. Dirk was holding his bat a little lower than usual, and he was leaning forward. T.V. was sure he was going to bunt.

  It was the bottom of the first inning. Dale Emerson, the leadoff man, was on second base after he had hit a double off Zero Ford.

  Bunting wouldn’t be the greatest idea right now, T.V. thought. Not with a man on second base and no outs. But the decision was up to the coach. And, apparently, the Green Dragons’ coach had given the batter the bunt sign. It was meant to surprise the Mudders’ infield, and it might have if T.V. hadn’t figured out the batter’s move.

  T.V. considered yelling over to first baseman Turtleneck Jones to watch for a bunt. But that would only warn the Dragons’ coach and he might change his sign. T.V. decided to keep silent.

  T.V. stepped up to the baseline. He was short and stocky, but fast. He ran in a few more steps as Zero steamed in the pitch. T.V.’s heart leaped as he saw Dirk lower his bat and lay a perfect bunt down the third-base line!

  T.V. was on it like a dog on a bone. He scooped it up, saw Dale break for third base, then head back for second. But Dale was too late. T.V. snapped the ball to second baseman Chuck Philips, and Chuck tagged him out.

  “Nice going, T.V.!” a fan shouted from the bleachers near him.

  “Thanks,” T.V. murmured, more to himself than out loud.

  Greg Barnes, the Dragons’ center fielder, was up next. T.V. watched him carefully. The Dragons wore light-green, white-trimmed uniforms, and Greg’s was clean as a whistle.

  After Zero blazed in two inside, knee-high pitches, T.V. had him pegged. “Keep them up around his chin, Zero,” he said softly.

  Zero winked at him, letting T.V. know that he had gotten the message, then threw three straight pitches up close to Greg’s chin. The last pitch would have been a ball, but Greg swung at all three and struck out.

  “That-a-way-to-go, Zee!” T.V. cried, smacking his bare fist into the pocket of his glove.

  Cleanup hitter Eddie Kolski was up next. Eddie was a right-handed batter, and right-handed batters usually pull the ball to left field. But T.V. remembered that Eddie hit the ball to right field most of the time during batting practice.

  “Alfie!” he yelled to Alfie Maples, the Mudders’ right fielder. “Play closer to the foul line!”

  Alfie took two steps toward the right-field foul line.

  “More!” T.V. yelled.

  Alfie didn’t move.

  Eddie connected with the next pitch and drove it within ten feet of the right-field foul line for a triple, scoring Dirk.

  “I told you!” T.V. shouted, disgusted.

  Alfie didn’t respond, as if he hadn’t heard him. But T.V. was sure that he had. Alfie had snatched up a blade of grass and was chewing it.

  Then Andy Jackson came to bat and slammed a grass-cutting grounder halfway between T.V. and the bag. T.V. dived for it, gloved it, then whipped it to first.

  Too high! The ball sailed over Turtleneck’s head. Eddie scored. Andy went to second base, and T.V. was chalked up with an error.

  Peach Street Mudders 0, Green Dragons 2.

  He was sick.

  2

  “Guess you didn’t predict that bad throw, did you, T.V.?” a voice said as T.V. headed back to his position.

  T.V. glanced toward the bleachers and saw that the speaker was the same fan who had yelled to him earlier. He was tall and husky and wore a red sweatshirt. A short kid with thick glasses was sitting next to him.

  T.V. didn’t answer him. He couldn’t take the time to talk to a fan right now, no matter whose side he was on.

  Cush Boochie popped a fly to Bus Mercer at shortstop, ending the bottom of the first inning.

  “You’re up, T.V.,” said Coach Russ Parker as he headed for the third-base coaching box. “Let’s get on.”

  T.V. got his bat and stepped into the batter’s box. He wished he could predict what right-hander Bucky Neal would pitch to him, but he couldn’t. Not this first time, anyway.

  “Strike!” the ump boomed as Bucky steamed in a knee-high pitch.

  Bucky’s second pitch was almost in the same spot. Crack! T.V. corked it to right center field for a double.

  He felt better. The hit made up for that wild throw.

  Chuck Philips flied out to left field. Then Alfie sparked up the team by smashing a ground-ball single through second base, scoring T.V. Bus walked. And Rudy Calhoun, with three balls and a strike, blasted a triple to the left field fence.

  The fans loved it.

  Watching them closely from second base, T.V. had figured out almost exactly where the batters were going to hit the ball. He hadn’t figured on Bus getting a walk — that was the pitcher’s doing, not the batter’s — but his guesses about Chuck’s and Alfie’s hits were right on the button.

  Guesses? No. He studied the way they stood at the plate and the way they swung at the pitches, and he knew. He didn’t have to guess.

  Both Zero and Barry popped out, ending the half-inning. But the Mudders had chalked up three runs to go into the lead, 3 to 2.

  The Green Dragons picked up a run during their turn at bat, then held the Mudders scoreless in the top of the third.

  Eddie Kolski led off in the bottom of the third and connected with a triple. It landed in almost exactly the same spot where he had hit his first three-bagger. Again Alfie had ignored T.V.’s advice to play close to the foul line.

  What do I have to do to make you believe me? T.V. felt like shouting at him.

  Andy Jackson drove a sharp liner over Chuck’s head, a hit that T.V. hadn’t counted on. He predicted Cush Boochie’s ground ball to short, which was an out. But he failed to read Beans Malone’s buntlike hit toward third base correctly. Both were hits he never could have predicted, even if he’d been able to read a crystal ball.

  “Closer to second, Chuck!” T.V. cried to his friend at second base as the Green Dragons’ first baseman, Lefty Cash, stepped up to the plate. “Stay in center, José!” he yelled to the center fielder, José Mendez.

  This time T.V.’s prediction was almost perfect. Lefty slammed a pitch directly at José but slightly over his head. José ran back, reached for the ball, had it for a moment, then dropped it!

  “Oh, no!” T.V. moaned.

  Bucky Neal doubled, scoring two runs.

  The inning ended with the Dragons leading, 6 to 3.

  “Hey, T.V.,” the man in the red sweatshirt said as T.V. headed for the dugout.
“You can really read those batters.”

  The boy with the glasses, who was eating a hotdog now, smiled. “Yeah. What are you, a spy?” he said, then chuckled.

  3

  A spy? T.V. wondered what he was talking about.

  Then he realized the kid must have meant that T.V. seemed to know a lot about the Green Dragon batters.

  He gave the sod a hard kick as he headed for the dugout. Spy! That kid made it sound as though T.V. had done something sneaky.

  “What’s the matter?” asked Mickey Stanner, the team’s scorekeeper, as T.V. sat down beside him.

  T.V. wedged his glove between them. “A guy in the stands called me a spy.”

  Mickey chuckled. “So, what’s so bad about that? I wouldn’t mind being compared to James Bond.”

  T.V. had to smile. “Yeah, I guess there are worse things than being a spy.”

  “Yeah, like having to move,” Mickey grumbled.

  T.V.’s eyes followed Chuck Philips as he stepped up to the plate. “What did you say, Mickey?”

  “Nothing. Just that I’m moving away.” Mickey pushed his sunglasses up on his nose.

  “Oh? Have you told Coach Parker?”

  “Not yet,” Mickey said.

  “Better tell him,” T.V. suggested. “We can’t play ball without a scorekeeper. Especially a good one like you.”

  Mickey grinned. Few guys paid any attention to the scorekeeper. He just did his job and hardly ever said anything. The coach might have a tough time finding a replacement for him, T.V. thought.

  T.V. turned back to the game and saw Alfie strike out. Then Bus walked, and Rudy flied out, ending the top half of the fourth inning.

  Neither team got a runner on base again until the last inning when, with two outs, Chuck drew a walk.

  “Keep it going!” Coach Parker cried from the third-base coaching box.

  T.V. glanced at the scoreboard on top of the fence in left field. It was still Mudders 3, Dragons 6.1 wonder what it would have been if I hadn’t figured out where the Dragons were going to hit the ball, T.V. thought. Probably Mudders 3, Dragons 12.

  But the Mudders had to get hits, too, he told himself. Without hits you don’t get runs.

  He could read those Dragons like a book. They could still be beaten. He was sure of it.

  It was up to him.

  He put on his helmet, picked up his bat, and stepped to the on-deck circle. José was leading off.

  “Come on, José!” T.V. called to him. “Belt it!”

  José grounded out to short. Then T.V. stepped to the plate.

  “Where you going to hit it, T.V.?” the short kid in the bleachers yelled at him. “Over the fence? Ha! Ha!”

  Oh, pipe down! T.V. wanted to say to him.

  He took three balls and a strike, then flied out to center field.

  “Tough luck, T.V.!” cried the man in the red sweatshirt as T.V. walked sadly back to the dugout.

  Chuck drew another walk, Alfie singled, and the Peach Street Mudders began to roll. The bases were loaded when Zero came to the plate. The lefty already had a single to his credit. T.V. felt sure that Zero had done his share for the day.

  He began to reach for his glove when crack! came the solid sound of bat meeting ball, and T.V. saw the white pill soaring to deep right field! His heart soared, too, as the ball sailed over the fence for a home run!

  The Mudders fans went crazy. Zero was the last kid on earth anyone would dream would hit a grand slammer!

  “Keep it going, Barry!” T.V. shouted, as Barry McGee came to bat.

  He didn’t. He flied out. Mudders 7, Dragons 6.

  The Dragons came to bat for their last chance, and T.V. studied the leadoff batter, Lefty Cash. Lefty had already gotten a single, and had struck out his second time up. But T.V. didn’t think that Lefty was a weak hitter because he batted eighth in the lineup. He could still be dangerous.

  “Play deep, you guys!” he yelled to José and Alfie.

  José moved back, but Alfie didn’t.

  He resents my telling him where to play, T.V. thought, a little hurt.

  Zero stepped on the mound, got the sign from Rudy, then pitched. Smack! Lefty met the ball head on, driving it to deep right field. It missed being fair by inches!

  “Back up, will you, Alfie?” T.V. shouted again.

  This time Alfie moved back closer to the fence.

  Smack! Another long drive to right field! This one was fair!

  Alfie, his back against the fence, jumped and caught it.

  “Good catch, Alfie!” T.V. shouted.

  The fans gave Alfie a lusty cheer.

  One out.

  T.V. had Barry play close to the foul line on Bucky Neal, and Bucky nailed one directly at him for the second out. Then Dale grounded out, and the game was over. Mudders 7, Dragons 6.

  T.V. leaped with joy as he ran in toward the dugout.

  “Nice game, you guys!” he cried, slapping Chuck on the back and then Alfie. “Great catch, man! Like a big leaguer!”

  Alfie’s eyes narrowed. “You the coach or something?” he said, his face straight as a ruler.

  “Yeah,” Chuck cut in, eyeing T.V. as if he’d done something dirty. “You act as if you’re the only one with brains. The only one who counts.”

  4

  T.V. stared at them.

  He couldn’t believe it! His best friends — Chuck and Alfie — saying those awful things? Had he sounded so bad?

  “I didn’t mean …” he started, but stopped short. He didn’t know what to say. He didn’t think it would make any difference to them. They had made up their minds, and nothing he could say would change them.

  Heck, he thought. I didn’t mean to bossthem. I wanted to help them. Help the team. And I did. Don’t they realize that?

  He looked around and saw that they were already heading off the field. Almost always the three of them would walk home together. Now, suddenly, a barrier had come up between them, just because he had wanted to help. Maybe being a spy wasn’t such a great idea after all, he told himself.

  “T.V.!” someone called to him. It was Coach Parker.

  “Nice work out there,” the coach said, smiling. “You figured out those Green Dragon players pretty well.”

  T.V. shrugged. “Yeah. But I guess the guys aren’t that keen about it,” he replied. He was glad, though, that the coach had noticed it. He hadn’t thought about that.

  “Don’t worry about it, T.V. Maybe one or two aren’t, but most of them are.” The coach paused, thinking. “Why don’t you give them more of a chance the next time? Let them use their own judgment. If you see they can’t do as well, then use yours.”

  T.V. grinned. “Okay.”

  “You never know,” Coach Parker said. “You might wind up being a great coach someday.”

  T.V. laughed. “Oh, sure!” he said. “Well, I’ve got to go.”

  He started to head toward the gate.

  “Just a minute,” the coach called to him. T.V. turned. “A reporter, Mel Thompson, was asking me a lot of questions about you. He noticed your ability to predict where the batters were going to hit and was really impressed. He wondered how you do it.”

  T.V. laughed and shook his head. “I just study the batters, that’s all. I don’t always guess right.”

  “Maybe not. But most of the time you do.”

  T.V. felt nervous. He’d never thought guessing the batters would have attracted that much attention, especially from a newspaper reporter.

  “He might still be around,” Coach Parker said, glancing behind him. “If you’d like to meet him —”

  “No! I mean, I can’t,” T.V. said, starting to edge toward the exit. “I promised my parents I’d come home right after the game.”

  The coach waved. “Okay. Take care.”

  T.V. left the park and headed for home, thinking about the dumb excuse he’d given to the coach. His parents probably didn’t even know he had a game. His mother always seemed to be too busy, and his father ha
d never played a sport in his life, unless you counted horseshoe pitching.

  As he had suspected, his parents were surprised to see him in his uniform when he got home.

  “Well, how did you make out?” his mother asked.

  “We won,” T.V. said, collapsing into a chair.

  “Congratulations,” Mrs. Adams replied. “How about celebrating with some dinner?”

  T.V. was hungry enough to eat a horse, but not exactly in the mood for celebrating.

  “Guess what?” Mr. Adams said to T.V. when he came to breakfast the next morning. “You made the news.”

  T.V.’s appetite disappeared. He had forgotten about the reporter at yesterday’s game.

  His father picked up the Morning Herald. “Listen to this: ‘Theodore Vernon Adams, the Peach Street Mudders’ sensational third baseman, has more up his sleeve than a good throwing arm. In a tense game against the Green Dragons, yesterday, he predicted almost exactly where the batter was going to hit more than 90 percent of the time. What is this boy wonder’s secret? Is he psychic?’”

  5

  “Psychic! Me? Is he nuts?” T.V. cried. He started to run out of the room.

  “Hold it, hold it!” his father called to him. “What are you angry about? That’s good news, not bad.”

  “Right,” said Mrs. Adams. “We always knew you were smart, but we had no idea you had such a special talent.”

  “Mom…”

  “I’m just teasing you. Come back here and tell us all about it.”

  T.V. inhaled a deep breath, let it out, and sat back down. He was halfway through explaining what the article was about when the phone rang. His mother answered it.

  “T.V., it’s for you,” she said.

  He took the receiver from her. “Yes?”

  “Hey, man!” said a male voice. “See this morning’s paper? It says you’re psychic!”

  A cold streak shot up T.V.’s spine. “Who is this?” he demanded.