Page 73 of The Suit

“But this…” I nodded over to Penn, who was now standing and holding the rim of a beer cup between his teeth while he clapped “this is extra level because it’s Yankees versus Dodgers. And while he loves the Yankees more than life, his favorite player is Jupiter Reeves, so he’s conflicted.”

“Oh… who’s that?”

I just managed to stop myself from barking a laugh in her face. She was definitely the only person here - maybe on the planet - who didn’t know who Jupiter Reeves was. However…

“Don’t tell me you spent a whole day with Penn yesterday, plus the flight here, and he didn’t once mention Jupiter Reeves. You memorized the entire law school handbook; how do you not remember this?” I smirked.

She guiltily chewed on her top lip, as her face scrunched, “Honestly, there was a lot of information to take in, and he likes a lot of players. The playing card one, the one who came from Atlanta, the one who hit all the balls… I tried my best.”

That did it, and my head fell back in a loud laugh that had the people in the row in front turning around. “Please tell me who the playing card one is?”

She counted out on her fingers, muttering under her breath, “Ace? I think that was it.”

“Ace Watson, the pitcher?”

“Maybe,” she shrugged.

“He’s there,” I nodded over to the mound where Ace was standing, holding the ball in one hand and mindlessly running his thumb over the stitching, while the other held his note card; his cheat sheet on the next batter – where he was weak, where Ace should aim, all to get the edge. He’d need it.

“You’d better remind me who Jupiter Reeves is again, before I get quizzed.”

I pointed to the player currently sauntering up to home plate like he’d decided to come and join in the game because he didn’t have a better offer and was doing everyone a favor. We were so close to the diamond we could probably reach out and touch him, but even if we hadn’t been, there was no disguising his imposing presence, his goliath frame covered in enough tats that even I was impressed; the casual spin of the bat in his gloved hand; the way he marked the dirt in his trademark zigzag before he stood straight; the way he cracked his neck on each side - always left then right – before finally getting into position.

I used the opportunity to inch behind Beulah and pull her in to me, hugging her curves against my body, leaning over her shoulder and facing her toward the game.

“Watch this, you’re about to witness magic.”

Ace Watson, the Yankees pitcher – or the playing card one, which is how I would forever be referring to him, and who Penn also seemed to have a boner for - had finished running his pre-pitch ritual and was now flexing his wrists. The camera zoomed in on his face, televised round the stadium on the enormous screens; then just as Jupiter Reeves had, he zoned in. You could see the split second he did it, his eyes darkening as he focused with eerie calm.

Then his knee raised.

His arm went back.

The ball shot from his hand…

And… CRACK.

Jupiter Reeves’ bat hit the ball dead center, even at ninety-six mph - smacking it out to the far left of the field, flying past one hundred feet, two hundred feet, three hundred feet… its homing beacon somewhere in the middle of the crowd on the second level of the stadium. The cameras followed it to the guy who caught it one handed, while falling back and sloshing his full glass of beer over everyone in his vicinity.

The Dodgers’ fans who’d travelled went wild. Even the Yankees’ who appreciated they just witnessed greatness were cheering, albeit with less enthusiasm now their team was down a point. Yankees fans… except one.

“Fucking hell! Did you see that?! Did you fucking see that?” Penn spun Beulah round and away from me, throwing his arm over her shoulder, and this time, she managed not to jump out of her skin which meant he’d succeeded in conditioning her to his excitability. It was anyone’s guess why he’d suddenly made her the focus of his attention, though it was more than likely that he’d decided Murray and I weren’t enthusiastic enough for him when it came to baseball, and he needed a new disciple.

Most of the crowd was chanting ‘GOAT’ as Jupiter Reeves casually jogged around the bases, barely raising his heart rate. As he passed home plate, he stopped, tapping his bat against the sole of his cleats, then drew his zigzag in the sand once more before sauntering off as slowly as anyone could possibly walk, his face unreadable save for the wry curl on his lip as he dropped his head and stepped into the dugout like he hadn’t just smacked a ball harder than anyone else would tonight. Would this week. Even this season.

“Holmes, did you see that?”

“I did.” She glanced at him with wide eyes. “I don’t understand though, that guy is on the other team, right? He just scored against us?”

“And here’s where it gets complicated” I grinned at her, “Penn becomes Switzerland when Jupiter Reeves plays. This is when he appreciates the player more than the game.”

“Oh, so why’s he so special again?”

I was expecting Penn to look annoyed that she hadn’t remembered what was likely something he’d repeated to her parrot-fashion, but he didn’t. If it was possible his eagerness increased, probably because he didn’t need any excuse to reel off the stats he studied daily, just in case they changed.

“That guy,”he took a deep breath, and counted out the points on his fingers, “is widely regarded as the greatest third baseman of his generation, maybe ever. He’s been at the Dodgers for the entirety of his career. His career batting average is three eighteen, he’s had four hundred and seventy-eight home runs, on base plus slugging is one point zero seven five, as well as two hundred and ninety-eight stolen bases, and he’s still got years left in his career. Fucking Dodgers don’t know how lucky they are,” he finished with a grumble, while Beulah looked like she was trying to mentally calculate the actual stats he’d thrown at her, beginning with the batting average.

“You want him to come here, to this team? The Yankees?”

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