There's a bang at the door.
"Get your ass out of bed, you worthless piece of shit. We're here because Frankie ain't happy"
Aaron arises in a stupor, thinking to himself 'How the fuck did I get myself into this situation.'
The door busts open to see a 5 foot 7 man with tanned skin and hair that resembles the fur of a skunk that had fallen into a vat of cooking oil. The man's chest hair clings to the gold chain around his neck. Behind him is another man an inch or two shorter with a protruding nose and a poorly groomed unibrow.
The first man says to the second in a naisily voice "Grab the tire iron Jimmy. I don't think he's getting it."
Aaron, finding his bearings, realizes that it's Louie and Jimmy Caritello, two brothers from one of the toughest mafia's in New York. The same two guys who have been hassling him for the past year and a half.
"We've got a fucking car waiting, you toothy bastard," Louie screeches at him.
Aaron realizing how pissed these two guys are, throws on his XXXL champion sweatpants and a dirty beater from the night before and goes with the brothers.
They walk down the stairs to of his dilapidated apartment building. The smell of vomit and sewage attacks Aaron's Lincoln tunnel-sized nostrils. It's nothing he's not used to. The walk through the lobby where one of his neighbors is passed out cuddling with a bottle of Hennessy that he certainly didn't purchase legally. They walk out the front door to see a maroon 1976 Lincoln Continental which has lived quite a life based on the worn paint, various sized dents and shattered taillight.
"Sit your Hulk-looking ass in the back seat." says Louie.
"More like the Thing. Am I right, Lou?" chimes in his brother.
"What the fuck did I say about not talking over me? Sit in the back with him, you jackass" Louie pipes back
Aaron crawls into the back of the beat up vehicle and crams his snow ski sized feet under the seat in front of him. They drive across town, but before anything Jimmy puts a bag over his head with a smell resembling a mozz from Sal and Carmine's. Aaron begins fearing for his life. With his knees in his chest and the ceiling liner burshing against the top of his head, he speaks up.
"Uhh. Lou.. Louie? What's this about?"
"Frankie ain't please with your performance, my friend," he said matter-of-factly. "Now quit flapping those elephant sized gums of yours."
Aaron sits quietly contemplating the last 8 years of his life. Thinking back to the glory days of 2017 when he played for the home town heroes. He missed being an idol. He longed for the opportunity to get back in the game.
The car comes to a screeching halt.
Aaron worriedly whispers to Jimmy, "Can you tell me what's going on?"
"You're barking at the wrong bush, pal"
The door opens next to him. "It's 'you're barking up the wrong tree,' you idiot...and Frankie said don't talk to him." said Louie dissatisfied with his insolent little brother.
Aaron feels a tug on his arm. "Get up, you cave man. We're here," Louie says.
Aaron, now disgusted by the smell of the bag, is being led down a hall way in a rundown warehouse. A door opens in front of him and he is led in the room. An aura of power is being radiated throughout the room. Aaron then jumps as the door slams behind him.
A belowing voice speaks
"Take that fucking bag off his head."
Jimmy jumps up to grabs it and misses. He tried again and this time pulls the bag off.
Sitting stoically in front of Aaron is a borderline obese man with a clean shaven face and slicked back gray hair. He has a cigar firmly pressed between his lips. He pulls it out to speak.
"Do you know why I brought you here, Aaron?"
He hesitates. "N.. no sir."
"Do you remember why we first met?"
"Yea.. yes sir."
"Tell me," the large man says calmly.
"You needed me to help fix games, Frank."
"And why did I do that? Is it because I thought you were the best in the game?"
"If a bear shits in the woods, does it make a noise? Of course it's because you thought he was the best in the game," Jimmy annoyingly chimed in.
"Louie can you and your half-wit brother leave the room for a minute?" Frank said.
The two men exit as Louie slaps his brother upside the head.
"You've let me down," Frank says. "You failed me again, just like you failed me when you go caught fixing those game in the 2019 season. I chose you because I thought you could handle yourself. I chose you because you handled all the fame gracefully. Was I wrong!"
"S-sir, I.."
"DID I SAY YOU COULD SPEAK, YOU DUMB MAMMOTH MOTHERFUCKER? I will tell you when I'm done," he returned to a calm tone. "I thought I could trust you when I told you rig the record for most consecutive game with a strikeout. You we're gonna get all the money in the world, all you had to do was strike out on purpose. Once a game. You could even play well the rest of the game so Yankees fans everywhere could go on the internet and say 'but he still has a decent on base percentage during this terrible streak.' Then you turned on me. You thought you could turn me in and go into hiding? You thought you could betray me, get rid of me? Luckily the brothers dim out there came through for once and tracked you down. So here's whats gonna happen. I got a guy named Johnny Gaviello who owes me quite a bit of money. You're gonna go get it back."
"But si.."
"Boys, get him out of my sight." The door opens before he finishes speaking and in a flash Jimmy, Louie, and Aaron are gone from the building.
They get in the car and drive off.
"What'd he say, Aaron? He sounded pissed," Jimmy says curiously.
"Shut up, Jimmy." Louie says from behind the wheel. "You know what's going on. You're not supposed to talk to him."
"I've been burning the midnight oil at both ends, Lou. Cut me some slack. I bet Aaron's got a great new gig here." Jimmy pleads.
"You're a fucking dumbass, Jim. I ever told you that?" His brother rebuttals.
"Look Louie, I'm an optometrist. I like to see the good side of everything." Jimmy states.
"You know that old rule we had about thinking before you speak? Yeah, new rule. Don't speak at all."
The rest of the car ride is silent. Aaron sits nervously thinking to himself. I don't want to have to hurt anyone. I can't. I'm a gentle giant. I can't believe my life has spiraled out of control. It's a shame I didn't get drafted by the Rays. No one even watches their games, let alone bets on them.
The car stops and Jim takes the back off of Aaron's head. He looks out to see the docks on the Hudson. Not many people are around, but there is a gaunt balding man who runs when he sees their ramshackle chariot arrive. Louie jumps out of the drivers seat, barely managing to put the vehicle in park. He pulls a revolver and gets the guy to stop dead on the middle of the pier.
"Johnny, where the fuck do you think you're going?" he says. Louie grabs the mid 60s man and brings him behind a couple of shipping containers. Aaron and Jimmy aren't far behind. Jimmy shoves him onto a crate, but then lets him sit up. "Where's my bosses money? Huh? Where the fuck is it?"
"I don't know what you're talking about." the man says nervously.
"You know exactly what I'm talking about" Louie clocks the man in the face and a tooth pops out.
"I..I.. don't have it right now" the man pleads as he assumes a defensive position.
"Well getting you to admit that was easier than I thought." Louie says as he turns his head to Jimmy who now discretely has a gun of his own pulled on Aaron.
Aaron smiles nervously.
"Jimmy, go get our friend here his new toy." Louie says.
Jimmy disappears for a minute and then returns with a long object that Aaron can initially make out. As Jimmy approaches, he begins to see the silhouette of a baseball bat. He begins to sweat from the top of his forehead down 6 inches to the bottom of his forehead.
"Here you go buddy. AJ44. just like you used to use." Jimmy puts it to his nose and inhales. "Ahhhh.. maple." He shoves the bat in Aaron's face. "You know what you gotta do"
Aaron take the bat then hears the spinning of a revolver. He's in way over his head, which is hard for him considering he's 6 foot 7 inches. He thinks how he can't do this to a person, but then convinces himself that it's either bust this guys knees up or die.* Sure the guy isn't going to look pretty when I'm done, but we'll both have out lives.* Louie stand the elderly man up.
"Do it," says Louie.
Aaron pulls the bat over his shoulder and assumes a stance he hasn't been in in 4 years. Millions of things are running through his head. He doesn't want to hit the man like the baseballs he was clobbering in his rookie year. He closes his eyes and grips the bat. He swings.
Strike one
He opens his eyes and Louie is staring at him with an unamused look on his face. He thinks to himself I guess I'm going to have to watch myself do this.
"S..sorry, Louie," Aaron say.
He grips the bat once more. He puts it over his shoulder. There are now voices in his head. "The count is 0-1, and here's the pitch." He swings.
Strike two
The sweat in his palms caused him to lose control, and the bat went flying until it clunked a nearby container. He hurriedly runs over as Louie and Jimmy chip like birds at him.
He get right back to it. "The count is 0-2." He winds up for a swing and goes for it. That one second felt like a million. He remember his strike out streak. He remember one moment in particular. One at bat in particular. A Friday night in August 8 years ago. The bases were loaded and he left them all stranded in what would have clinched the win for his team. Then he was flooded. Every strike out began coming back. Every man left on base. Every dirty look the guys in his dugout made. Every meme on the internet making fun of him.
Strike Three
He fell to his knees. His face in his hands. Saline falling from his chin. He spoke his final words that day. After everything, he found solace in these words.
"I didn't rig those games. I just sucked."