“Wonder Woman has her own sense of justice.” Law dropped onto a long wooden bench to tie his athletic shoes.
“We could hit the club again tonight,” the shortstop suggested. “Maybe she’d show a second time.”
Law doubted it. Wonder Woman had left so abruptly, he had the gut feeling she’d rush to return her costume and attempt to erase all memories of their dry hump on the dance floor. She’d write off her lasso and pay the rental shop for its loss.
At that moment, Law couldn’t commit to another night out anyway. “We’ve got nine innings on a ninety-degree field. After the game, I meet with Zen Driscoll. If I’m not wiped out—”
“Don’t go old on me, man,” Brody said as he smeared black grease under his eyes to cut the glare of the sun. “My costume’s rented for a week. I’d like to get some use out of it.” He grinned. “If not Haunt, I could be Hulk at Hangovers.”
Hangovers was a sports bar two blocks from the stadium, where crowds flocked nightly and the players got their egos stroked. Brody had proved an instant favorite. While Law had cut his teeth on the majors right out of college, Brody had spent three years in the minors. Nothing came easy for the West Virginian. Fans saw him as scrappy and persistent. He’d bled for his spot on the team roster, a position vacated by Zen Driscoll.
Zen had broken his ankle the previous season. The bones had healed nicely, but he’d lost the jump and pivot needed to play shortstop.
Fortunately, Zen had skills beyond baseball. He was also a financial genius. He’d left the Rogues and opened his own firm, dealing in investments, savings, stocks, bonds, annuities, mutual funds, government securities, and real estate. His specialty was matching properties and corporations to potential investors.
All the Rogues had tattoos on their groins, and Zen’s read EINSTEIN. He was competent, trusted, and never let his dick think for him. Most of his teammates had sought Zen’s assistance at some point to pad their retirement portfolios.
As the season progressed, Law planned to strong-arm Brody to meet with Zen. It was time the rookie invested his money in more than his dates.
Zen had given Law a list of potential investments, including Haunt. No one else knew the club was up for sale. Law hoped to close the deal today. He even had the perfect manager in mind.
Afterward, he’d look into smaller investments. Zen had assisted Law in establishing Prosper, an organization that supported graduates from the Richmond Business College in starting their careers as small-business owners.
Josh Prosper had inspired the foundation. He’d been a loyal fan of the Rogues for more than four decades. He slapped every player on the back after a game, win or lose. He went so far as to meet the team at the airport for out-of-town games, wishing them well on their departure, then welcoming them home on their return. Josh became the Rogues’ good-luck charm, up until the day he disappeared.
The players had been puzzled over his unexplained absence. A month passed, and Law, Kason Rhodes, and Risk Kincaid searched him out. They’d found him sitting on the steps of his home, a foreclosure sign in the yard. Depression had wiped all expression from his face. Law had never seen a more vacant stare.
After a little nudging, Josh pressed the heels of his palms to his eyes and fell apart. He’d lost his job to downsizing and his wife to divorce, all in the same week. Bills had stacked up and credit agencies hounded him. He was close to jumping off a bridge.
He had a high school education, but company managers were looking for college graduates. Josh had filled out two hundred applications and no one had called for an interview. He no longer gave a shit.
The three Rogues came up with a solution. Kason wrote Josh a check to clear the foreclosure, which Josh insisted he’d pay back. Risk lined Josh up with a job at Jacy’s Java, his wife’s gourmet coffee shop. Josh was soon a barista with a cash flow.
Law went for the long-term solution. He helped Josh apply to the local business college. Once Josh graduated, Law helped him start his own business.
Josh now owned All-Sports Memorabilia. From baseball cards to autographed hockey sticks, he covered every professional sport. He’d become a new man with a bright future.
Law knew several of the professors at the college. The screening process for Prosper was rigorous. Law remained anonymous, no more than a silent partner, while those students who qualified went on to work and repay their loans. Once paid in full, each took ownership of his new business.
Many of the students were in their late thirties to early fifties, all good people with bad credit. Most had faltered under the poor economy and were trying to regain their footing. Law believed in second chances. He became their banker so they didn’t have to jump through all the mortgage-lender hoops. They didn’t need the humiliation of being denied credit. People deserved their dignity.
He was gratified to have sponsored twenty-two individuals, and he valued each success story.
Stretching now, James Lawless pushed to his feet. He needed to get his mind off Wonder Woman and Prosper and onto the game. The Rogues were currently second in the National League East standings, just behind the Marlins.
A commotion at the locker room entrance drew Law’s attention. He glanced up to see the Bat Pack shoulder through the doors. Tight as brothers, third baseman Jesse “Romeo” Bellisaro, catcher Chase “Chaser” Tallan, and right fielder Cody “Psycho” McMillan could power the ball out of the park on just about any given pitch.
Behind the Pack came Kason Rhodes, the Rogues’ intense left fielder. Team captain and center fielder Risk Kincaid sauntered in next. Starting pitcher Brek Stryker brought up the rear.
All the men were tough, dominant, and competitive. They owned cocky. Over the past four years, many of them had married. The bad boys of summer had become good husbands. While they kicked ass at the stadium, outside the park they were making babies. They’d soon be family men.
“Anyone have two lines on his pregnancy test?” Psycho asked the room at large. He stood before his locker and rolled his navy T-shirt off his shoulders. The shirt pictured a large white sperm and the words VARSITY SWIMMING.
When the players all shook their heads, Psycho pumped his arm. “Ante up then.” He slipped a hundred-dollar bill from his wallet. “It’s Psycho Daddy any day now.”
Risk Kincaid fished out his own Benjamin Franklin. “My swimmers are faster than yours.”