Bossing the Bronx Bombers at Yankee Stadium by David Aretha

Author:David Aretha [Aretha, David]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Fiction, Mystery, Adventure, Baseball
ISBN: 978-1-62285-136-2
Publisher: Enslow Publishers, Inc.
Published: 2014-03-15T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 4

Benching Bobby Banks

Considering that Mr. Muscles had just locked us into the equipment room with him, Omar was pretty cavalier.

“So what’s your name—what do you do?” the Big O asked.

The guy picked up a thirty-pound dumbbell and started doing curls.

“People call me Bobby’s Boy,” the guy said in a New York accent. “I take care of all of Bobby Banks’s personal business.”

“Ah,” Omar said. “I see.”

“Oh, yeah?” said Bobby’s Boy. “Do you see this?”

In a violent twirl, the guy spun and fired the dumbbell across the room, smashing it loudly against a weight bench. I stepped back, shuddering in fear. Bobby’s Boy walked up to us, shoving his finger in our faces.

“If you ev-ah,” he warned sternly, “take Bobby Banks outta da lineup again, I’ll bash your heads against da wall. Do you hear me?”

Scared to death, we each managed to nod. Bobby’s Boy stared into Kevin’s frightened eyes.

“What did I just say?” Bobby’s Boy barked.

“Not . . . to take . . . Bobby out of the lineup,” Kevin squeaked, a bead of sweat rolling down his nose.

“That’s right,” he said. “And if you punks ever tell anyone about what just happened here—including your old mans—I’ll break all fifteen of your fingers. Got me?”

Again we nodded. He left the room, closing the door behind him. I for one was trembling in my cleats.

“What does he mean, fifteen fingers?” Omar asked. “Does he mean five each? Because we have thirty . . .”

“He’s a moron!” Kevin blurted. “He can’t count—that’s why he busts heads as Bobby Banks’s personal goon!”

“Well, what do we do now?” I asked.

“Nothing,” Kevin said. “Just keep our mouths shut and make sure Omar doesn’t take Banks out of the lineup again.”

“Hey, it’s not my fault he was batting .032,” Omar said.

After changing out of our uniforms, we met our dads in the Yankees’ parking lot. Another $15,000 richer, they greeted us with cheers and hugs—then took us to John & Joe’s for “the best pizza in the Bronx.”

“You can get any two toppings you’d like,” Mr. Ovozi said to Omar, as if he were really being generous. “Any two!”

We spent the next day, Wednesday, chilling in the hotel. I ate breakfast in the hotel lobby. Talked to my mom on the phone. Watched a little ESPN News. Took a dip in the pool. Then at four o’clock, it was back to Yankee Stadium.

“So if the Yankees lose tonight,” Kevin asked his dad during the limo ride, “we’re allowed to go home, right?”

“That’s what the Boss said,” Mr. Kernacki replied. “But we want to keep that money rolling in, right Kev?”

“That’s right,” Mr. Ovozi answered.

“And if we win tonight,” my dad added, “it’s off to Fenway Park for a weekend series. That would really be something.”

When we got to the Yankees’ locker room, everything seemed normal. Bobby Banks gave us a cold stare, but that was to be expected. Interesting guy, that Bobby Banks. He had played in five All-Star Games with Toronto, hit forty home

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