Normally, I carpooled to work, but this evening I planned to drive into San Francisco alone. By the time the Golden Gate Bridge came into view, traffic had slowed. Almost stopped. On my right was the Pacific Ocean, with an impenetrable layer of cool fog advancing toward the span. The wind swirled around the cars inching across the iconic landmark. A quick glance in the opposite direction showed the city in full afternoon sunlight, washing everything with a smoldering glow. I knew that when the sun set, the fog would tumble into the city, sprawling until it reached the ball field and making for a damp night.
I reached the parking lot an hour early. I usually catch up with the other employees walking toward the ballpark and chit chat about the upcoming game. But this time, I wasn’t in the mood. The last time someone disappeared in my world, they turned up dead. Then thugs harassed me in this very parking lot. I didn’t want a repeat of the experience.
A loud, long clanging tore me out of my daydreams. The Lefty O’Doul Bridge (better known as the Third Street Bridge) was about to open. I stopped on one side while a deep siren blasted through the early evening air. Traffic halted; the long span of the bridge moved in an upwards arc, reaching for the sky as one lonely sailboat motored out of China Basin. The arm went down, and traffic and pedestrians scooted back on their way. A lot of effort for one boat. The solitary craft reminded me of Jon, who occasionally moved boats from one side of the Bay to the other. He’d turned it into a lucrative side gig. I took out my phone and texted him.
Enjoying your walk with TB?
I had no reason to worry when he didn’t respond. Reception could be spotty in La Cruz Canyon.
Once inside the tall, cavernous hallways of the ballpark, I bolted down the halls into the fan area, headed for the small radio studio that housed KSPT. Jan, the woman who’d been filling in for Tyler, sat at the console.
She was of average size, but that’s where the average part of Jan ended. She wore her dark hair short, spiky and tinged with bright purple. Her hoop earrings were the size of silver dollar pancakes and her lips blazed with bright red lipstick. She punched buttons on the large control board in front of her, then glanced up and smiled at me through the glass window. I motioned for her to come closer. A puzzled expression flitted across her face. She flipped a few switches on the board and came over.
“Make it quick,” she said when she opened the door. “Only have thirty seconds.” “Tyler,” I said. “You took his place on the air the other day. Do you know why he wasn’t there?”
“I know you, don’t I?”
“We met once. Tyler introduced us. I live in his grandfather’s house. We can’t locate him. Earl, his grandfather, is worried. Have you heard from him?”
“Can’t talk right now but stop by after the game. I might be able to help,” she said, closing the door and sprinting to her board. Behind me, a supervisor walked by.
“You know you aren’t supposed to talk to the broadcasters.”
“Yeah, I know. Sorry. But it’s kind of a family emergency and I thought she might be able to help. She knows my—”
“Talking to the ballplayers, broadcasters, or famous guests should not take place.”
I didn’t say anything else, just nodded, then turned and scooted in the opposite direction. Just my luck to have someone in charge spot me. I had a feeling I would hear about it later.
I pulled open the door to the wardrobe department and a stream of employees walked out, talking, laughing, and zipping up parkas as they moved on to their evening’s assignment. I slipped into the lady's locker room.
Sitting down on the wooden bench, I leaned over to open my locker. My friend Charlee Ann walked in. She pulled off her Giants beanie. “Child, I don’t know if I have enough clothes stashed in my locker to keep me warm.”
I smiled but didn’t answer.
“You okay?”
I shrugged.
“Not feeling so fine, are you?”
“We have a missing grandson in our house.”
“A what?”
“Earl … you know the friend of my dad’s? I’m staying at his house? Well, his grandson went missing. He works here.”
“The radio sports guy?”
“That’s the one.”
“And you’re about to stick your nose where it doesn’t belong. Am I right?”
“I have to go,” I said, closing my locker.
“You know, a cat only has nine lives. What’s left for you? Two? Three?”
“More than that,” I corrected, wrapping my orange and black scarf around my neck and tucking it into my oversized parka. I slipped on my beanie and twirled around.
“How do I look?”
“Like you always do.” Charlee Ann said. “Those lives are disappearing real fast. And once they’re gone, they’re gone.”
“If you don’t hurry, this game will start and you’ll still be sitting here,” I said, walking out the door. I heard her giggle behind me.
I had been assigned to the Garden, which is an actual garden right outside the centerfield wall. Although the fans inside couldn’t see the field, except through the slats at either end of the wall, there were at least six televisions broadcasting the game. A crowd-pleasing bar held court in the middle. Two vendors used the vegetables and fruits grown in the planters to concoct organic and veggie-oriented dishes. To some fans, the Garden bordered on sacrilegious. This was a ballpark, after all. Others loved the place, especially before games.
A mom and her seven-year-old daughter stopped and asked for directions to the ladies’ room.
“I’ll walk you there,” I said and led them into the women’s bathroom. I went into a different stall and pulled out my phone and texted Jon again.
Find anything?
No response. About forty-five minutes before the game, the Garden filled up with enthusiastic fans. A girls’ choir from San Francisco sang the national anthem and ten minutes later, the first pitch was thrown, right on schedule, 7:15 p.m.
The baseball game took three and a half hours, and the Giants had a much-needed win. As the fans left the bleachers, hundreds of seagulls streaked across the sky, dive-bombing for leftover hotdogs, popcorn, garlic fries and whatever else had missed the mouth. The first set of glaring stadium lights switched off. My co-workers waited until the second set of ballpark lights went dark and then began shooing the rest of the fans through the Marina entrance. Once the last fan reluctantly left and security locked the gate behind him, I rushed down the hall, clocked out, and speed-walked to the small broadcast booth. It was empty. No Jan. My shoulders sagged as I placed my forehead against the radio studio glass window. I had hoped to learn something, anything, about Tyler. Instead, I reluctantly forced myself to turn around and walk back toward the employee’s exit.
“Hey, wait,” Jan yelled at me, jogging down the hall. “Had to break down some equipment outside.” She pulled off her Giants ball cap, pushed back her purplish hair, and put the cap back on.
“Very busy night,” she added. “We had some technical problems that kept me running back and forth from the fifth inning to the end of the game.”
She took a deep breath.
“You haven’t heard from Tyler yet?”
“No,” I said.
She glimpsed into the little radio booth at a red blinking light on the console, took her cap off again and fiddled with her hair.
“I don’t know where he is. But for the last few weeks, there have been some strange things going down at the station. Can’t talk now, but do you want to meet me at the Sports Pub in about thirty minutes?”
“Sure. OK. See you then.”
The last thing I wanted to do was go to a bar. I wanted to go home and stretch out in a warm tub. My back ached from standing close to six hours and my hands and feet felt like blocks of ice. I wanted to walk away from what was left of the 25,000 fans who had attended the game, not rub elbows with them in the Sports Pub. It would be packed because the team won. I was sure all twenty-four of its televisions would blast different channels, different sports. I considered canceling, but my worry overwhelmed my sore, tired body.