Great American Ball Park
Griff found his seat in Section 117 of Great American Ball Park. He had no intention of using the ticket Johnny gave him when he left the Newport office building, but the little voice in his head nagged him relentlessly to go to the game. Since that little voice often showed great wisdom and foresight in the past—and having saved his life on at least two occasions—he abandoned his original plan to drive to Pine Hollow to check out Blue Wing, LLC.
Johnny’s seats were good ones, in the lower deck behind the third base line. Being a 1:05 game on a Tuesday afternoon, the stands were sparsely filled, so Griff took the end seat on the aisle, opened his Cracker Jack and watched the Reds and Braves battle to a 2-2 tie by the bottom of the fourth inning.
“You’re in my seat,” a woman called out coming down the steps behind him.
Griff pulled his leg off the empty seat in front of him and sat up from his slouch. He made a show of pulling out his ticket to check the seat number. “Oh, so I am. Sorry.” He slid over two seats to his left.
The skinny woman in her late twenties with jet-black hair and dressed like a glammed-up biker—breast-hugging tank top, black leather jacket scarred with big silver zippers, skin tight jeans, and stiletto heeled boots—stepped in and sat down in the seat next to Griff. She pulled off her aviator sunglasses and, without taking her eyes off the field, asked as if the huge outfield scoreboard was invisible, “Who’s winning?”
He eyeballed her with a sideways glance. Something in her facial features struck him as familiar. “Tie game.”
One row back, a huge muscular biker, his hair pulled back tight in a ponytail, sat down behind the woman and stared at Griff.
Griff immediately regretted disarming himself to attend the ball game.
The three watched an inning of play in silence. The Braves scored an unanswered run, and the home team went three up-and-out.
“Well, that should make you happy, eh, Tonto?” The woman looked at Griff and smirked.
“So…you know Mr. Leonard, too.” Griff glanced over his shoulder at the biker behind him, then directly at the woman. “Didn’t really figure you two for baseball aficionados, on first impression.”
“Grandpa used to drag us to the games all the time. Broke his heart a little when I declared myself a Dodgers fan.”
Griff squinted to look through the dark, blood-red lipstick and heavy eyeshadow. “I see the family resemblance now.”
“How observant of you.”
“Who’s our friend back there?”
“Oh, he works for me.”
“And what business would you be in?”
“Why? You want to talk shop?”
“Nah, I was enjoying the game.” Griff looked back towards the field. “Tonto?”
“The name Griffith Crowe seems to pop up on a lot of legal filings for folks on an Indian reservation in Wyoming. Mostly pro bono. Figure there's got to be a blood connection.”
“I didn’t catch your name.”
“I ain’t throwed it out yet.”
“Well, I can call you Ms. Leonard, but that seems a bit formal for the occasion.”
“Maura.”
“Pleased to meet you, Maura.”
“Hmmm. You want a beer? My treat this round.”
“Sure.”
Maura turned to the man behind them. “Dewey, get us a couple of beers, would ya?”
“Be a good boy now.” Dewey patted Griff on the shoulder hard, then got up and headed for the concession stand.
Maura smiled at Griff. “He looks out for me.”
“Like you look out for Johnny?” Griff asked.
“Nothing’s going to happen to him, right?”
“Is that a question or a command?”
“You got a problem taking orders from a woman?”
Griff laughed. “I got someone you need to meet.”
“Oh, yeah? Who’s that, Helena Nickolson?”
“You know what they say, the customer’s always right…”
“Is that so? My clients are usually ill-informed, ill-advised, and often down right ornery.” Maura scoffed.
“Yeah. Mine, too. But they’re still right—as long as they pay their bill.”
“And who are you working for now? Helena?”
Griff shook his head. “I’m always working for myself.”
Maura smiled and nodded her head. “Good answer, Mr. Crowe.”
Dewey came back and handed Maura and Griff their beers.
“Thanks, Dewey.” Then to Maura he said, “And call me Griff. After all, you just bought me a beer.”
Maura took a swig of her beer. “So, Griff, you up for taking a ride tomorrow?”
“The three of us?”
“Nah, just you and me. A little road trip to Pine Hollow, maybe.”
“Is this your idea or Johnny’s?”
“You’re lucky. He seems to have taken a shine to you for some reason.” Maura looked Griff up, then down again with her dark green eyes.
“I’m honored.”
“Oh, he doesn’t trust you. But he says you seem like the kind of guy who gets things done. You found him after all.”
“And he wants you to help me get things done?”
“Don’t flatter yourself. He don’t like you that much. He’s got questions, too.”
“About Donald Wallace?”
Maura nodded. “A fellow Marine, evidently.”
“And you?”
“Two tours in Afghanistan.”
“I was there once.”
“So, we’ve all seen the ass end of the world, then.”
Griff smiled. “Dewey, too?”
“We became acquainted through our work.”
“Which is?”
Maura smiled. “Bail recovery and such. We mostly work the north side of the river here where it’s still legal.”
Griff sized up Maura and nodded. “What time do you want to leave in the morning?”
“I’ll pick you up at eight.”
“Good, then.”
Griff bought the next round.
Maura, Griff, and Dewey watched the Braves beat the home team 6-3.
***~~~***