The River City Pier was once one of the busiest ports on the Mississippi, shipping necessary freight both to and from the burgeoning west. But its heyday was nearly one hundred years before, in an era where river transport was far more convenient than it was in modern America.
The Pier remained alive now as a tourist attraction. While several historical sites littered the area, the Pier was mostly just an expansive complex of shops and mini-malls. Even in the late fall air, hundreds walked the Pier in search of anything from shirts to fresh vegetables to high priced coffee. Anything you needed in River City could be found here, even a few things less legal than others.
Stomp always loved the Pier. As a kid, he discovered a couple great game shops here and affection for it only grew as he did. As a teenager, he would use the area to meet girls. The beautiful people of River City were often on display both working and playing on the Pier.
As they walked through the crowd and browsed the few street shops still open, Rosa took in the Pier with a casual grace. Stomp new many folks new to it were often overwhelmed by the area, but she showed no sign of worry in the large crowd.
“What do you think?”
“It reminds me of the street markets in Guadalajara, but not as busy.”
Stomp couldn’t help but laugh.
“What? Did I fumble my English?”
Stomp shook his head. “You just always seem to have a way to surprise me. That’s all. But come on. I still have something to show you.”
Stomp couldn’t help but catch Rosa’s glances his ways as they walked. They weren’t particularly subtle. They seemed almost like nervous ticks, but he realized it wasn’t just a tick after the first dozen or so. With her powers a momentary glance could take only a fraction of a millisecond. She was probably trying to move slowly in order to look more natural.
“What is it? Is something on your mind?”
“What do you mean?”
“You keep giving me the glance. I thought you might have something on your mind. Something you want to talk about.”
“You saw that? I mean I—” She stopped short, obviously flustered.
“I noticed,” Stomp said. “You can talk to me though. If I’m anything, it’s a good listener.”
“It-it’s nothing.”
Stomp stopped walking and met her eyes. “You’re lying.”
“No, I—”
He tilted his head, made it clear he knew she was just making excuses.
Her cheeks turned red. “I’m sorry. It’s just so embarrassing.”
“What?”
“It’s just that I think you’re kind of cute. I’m sorry. That sounds so stupid.”
Stomp laughed. “You don’t have anything to be sorry about. I’m flattered actually. I don’t really set out to attract the opposite sex, but it’s flattering that I still can.”
She pushed a stray strand of hair out of her face. Stomp could see she was feeling self-conscious now, but still had something on her mind.
“Ask it,” he said.
“Ask what?”
“Whatever you’re thinking.”
“It’s just—why don’t you have any interest.”
Stomp shrugged his shoulders. “I was given these powers by a group of alien monsters. They took me apart and rebuilt me. And ever since that time, I’ve been different. I mean, everything is where it is supposed to be, more or less. But I really don’t feel the desire anymore. I know when I see someone attractive, but nothing makes me feel any real desire for them.”
“Oh, I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be,” Stomp said. “I’ve lived a strange life and I’ve lost far worse things than my sex drive. He paused. He realized he couldn’t just leave it there, but he didn’t want to turn this conversation dark. “But thank you. You’re a beautiful woman and I’m sure someday, you will make someone very happy.”
“Someday,” Rosa said. “We’ll see. I’m already twenty-two. In the neighborhood I came from, that practically makes me an old maid.”
“You’re anything but that.”
“I guess.”
Stomp took her around the final major corner, passing on of his favorite schwarma stands, still open while most of its nearby competitors were already closed for the season. His stomach grumbled at the mix of meat and spices that filled his nostrils. But he knew they would have time enough for that afterwards.
He started down the last block to their destination.
“Here it is,” Stomp said proudly.
Rosa looked at the building at the end of the block. She studied it for several moments. “Is this all of it?”
“Yeah, isn’t it awesome?”
Rosa looked at Whitey’s Dugout and scratched her head. She seemed confused.
I guess it doesn’t look like much from the outside, Stomp thought. But its awesomeness will be apparent inside.
“Come on. Trust me.” He offered her his hand. She took it with no hesitation.
“I trust you.”
He ran with her through the front door. Inside the slightly dilapidated white structure, a small café filled the front area. A half dozen televisions showed baseball games, all highlights from the previous season.
She marveled at it for a moment, but he pulled her past it.
“We can eat later. We have some place else to be.”
He pulled her down the short patch through to the back of the facility. Here was the highlight of the whole place: the batting cages.
Whitey Davi was at the pay station himself. He was thinner than the last time Stomp saw him. His chemo was going well, but his weight clearly waned under the treatment. Still he smiled when he saw Garrett.
“Little brah,” Whitey said. His teeth were bright white against his nearly ebony skin. He still spoke with a hint of a Jamaican accent despite it being nearly forty years since he last lived in his home country. “A long time no see, kiddo.”
Stomp realized he hadn’t yet introduced Rosa. He quickly made them for both his old friend and his new. Whitey took her hand and gave it a friendly shake, followed by a regal bow in front of her.
“Your name is really Whitey?”
Whitey laughed. “You’re clearly not a baseball fan. Yeah, they call me Whitey on account of my name being Whitman. It’s a play on my looks and a bit of a comparison to old Whitey Ford. I took the name as an honor.”
“I see.”
Whitey laughed again. “You ready to take a few swings?”
Rosa looked a bit awkward in a batting helmet. She seemed a little bit too worried as she clutched the bat tightly.
Whitey smiled broadly as he watched her step to the plate. Stomp knew he enjoyed playing around with new batters, just as he did when he pitched for the majors two decades ago. She stared down the ball machine.
“I’m not quite sure what to do,” she said.
Stomp walked up to her. He reached around her quickly and grabbed her arms. He brought them back and up, positioned her in a good batting stance.
“Okay, all you got to do is wait for the ball to come. Stay loose, wait for it and smash it into the net as hard as you can. The readout will tell you how fast your ball flies.”
“That’s all?”
“That’s it.”
Stomp stepped back. Whitey stood by the controls. Stomp gave him a nod and Whitey turned on the machine.
“You can let the first one go by to get the feel—”
The ball flew out. Rosa swung at the ball with ease. The bat crashed in to it. It all moved so fast Stomp thought the bat had teleported.
The ball flew into the net and blasted right through it. It smashed against the far wall, leaving a dent.
Rosa’s cheeks grew red. “Sorry.”
Sorry?” Whitey said. “You’re a natural, kid!”
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