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    Striking Out
    Striking Out
    Striking Out
    Ebook85 pages1 hour

    Striking Out

    By Dennis Coslett

    ()

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    About this ebook

    Tommy Vincent is a journeyman baseball with a dark secret. Sydney Carter is a failed actress turned private investigator. When Sydney learns of Tommy's dark secret, they wind up on a collision course toward a meeting that could be deadly for one of them.

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherDennis Coslett
    Release dateDec 26, 2016
    ISBN9781370181919
    Striking Out
    Author

    Dennis Coslett

    I was born in London, England, and emigrated to the United States with my family when I was three years old. After graduation from a high school in East Suburban Minnesota, I went to college for a journalism degree. I have been in the U.S. Army National Guard or Army Reserve since 1990, during the course of which I deployed to Iraq in 2005 – 2006. I have worked as a newspaper reporter, a medical biller, and a Paralegal for the U.S. military. I am also a civilian paralegal.

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      Book preview

      Striking Out - Dennis Coslett

      1

      Striking Out

      A Novella

      By

      Dennis Coslett

      Copyright 2016 by Dennis Coslett

      First ebook Edition: December 2016

      Published at Smashwords

      Cover by http://www.selfpubbookcovers.com/Fantasyart

      This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

      Table of Contents

      Chapter 1

      Chapter 2

      Chapter 3

      Chapter 4

      Chapter 5

      Chapter 6

      Chapter 7

      Chapter 8

      Chapter 9

      Chapter 1

      Tommy Vincent waited, watched, his bat ready. The pitch seemed to take forever.

      Finally, the pitcher threw the ball. Moran swung at it, missed. He frowned, stepped out of the box. He held his bat in one hand and reached down to his back pocket with the other. He pulled out his handkerchief, wiped sweat from his brow. That was when the manager walked up and said, Can I talk to you for a minute, Tommy?

      Sure. What do you want to talk about?

      Hank Tracey, Angels manager, shook his head. Not here. Grant’s office. He turned and walked towards the dugout. Tommy put down his bat and followed him to the front offices. With every step, Tommy’s mood worsened. He was certain he knew where they were headed, and he was right.

      Tracey led him into the General Manager’s office. Jerry Grant, general manager of the Angels, sat behind his desk, his trademark unlit pipe in his mouth. His face, as it nearly always was, was unreadable. Hank stopped in front of his desk. This is Tommy Vincent, he said.

      Grant said with no change of expression, Vincent, sit down. He waved his hand at one of the chairs in front of his desk. Vincent sat, wondering what the point of it was. He knew what was coming, and he would just as soon take it standing up as sitting down.

      Vincent, Grant said, you’ve played well this month, and we appreciate your contribution to the club, but we just don’t have any need for you. Not with the catchers we already have.

      Vincent was expecting these words. He seemed to hear them, or some variation on them, every September.

      So you’re sending me back down, Vincent said. He could already feel the anger building up inside, the same anger he felt every time this happened.

      Grant nodded. Now the look on his face changed. He was trying his best to look compassionate. No. We’re cutting you from the roster after tonight’s game. We are releasing you from your contract and allowing you to become a free agent. Grant held out his hand. I’m sorry.

      Vincent shook Grant’s hand half-heartedly, then got out of his chair and left the office.

      He had known what to expect. The same thing happened to him nearly every season.

      Tommy Vincent was in an awkward position. He was a decent defensive catcher, who consistently batted .260 to .270 left-handed, and had moderate power. He was a good enough ballplayer to dominate the minor leagues and get a lot of call-ups in September when the rosters expanded, but for some reason, he never did well in the majors.

      Every time he got called up, he hit a wall. His average dropped, his power went down, and his ability to clutch-hit disappeared. It meant one inescapable thing; he was good enough to get called up, but not good enough to stay with the major league club.

      He ended most seasons by learning that he would start the next season back in the minors. Then, to add insult to injury, he would probably be traded for a prospect, and find himself starting over in a different club’s minor-league system. Meanwhile, the player he was traded for always seemed to get called-up and end up on the major-league roster to stay, in the process making a name for himself as a player for the future.

      In this manner, he had spent the last several Septembers playing for the Saint Louis Cardinals, the New York Yankees in two different years, the Texas Rangers, the Cleveland Indians, and the Oakland A’s. And he had never started one season on the roster of the major-league team he ended the previous season with.

      He wanted nothing other than to play in the major leagues for at least one full season.

      And he wasn’t even going to get sent back down this year. Instead, he was being cut from the roster and released.

      Vincent wasn’t scheduled to start that night’s game, so he watched from the bench.

      After the game, he changed back into his street clothes without joining in the talk and horseplay around him. He went out to the parking lot, got in his used Nissan Sentra, and drove off without saying anything to any of his team-mates.

      He drove straight back to his hotel room, stripped out of his clothes, and got into bed. He lay quietly, eyes closed, trying not to feel his anger.

      It didn’t work. He was still angry. And he knew of only one way to deal with that anger.

      * * * * *

      The next night, he drove around, restlessly touring sports bars and country-western bars, always making sure he went to places he had never been to before.

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