Vindicate Me

Chapter 2****

Arm curls, with my left arm. I couldn’t press because my right arm was MIA. I noticed something as I was curling, the pitcher the Cards called up from AAA to replace me, was looking at me.

I hadn’t liked him from the get-go. He was 20 and too big for his britches. He was a damn good pitcher, but his attitude stank. He had the slick good looks of a Tom Cruise and the media loved him, the loudmouthed, brash, arrogant guy he was. He actually reminded me of Jose Canseco, sans mullet.

Jason Barry sat, across the weight room, looking at me. The other Cardinals milled around, in the room, the clubhouse, the trainer’s room. I turned my eyes to look back at him. “Hey,” I ventured.

He nodded acknowledgement. There he’d been, his eyes on me since I’d come in, and as soon as I give him what he wanted, attention, he casually flicks me away like a fly on a hot day. Asshole.

I went back to my curls. The room emptied as the day went into night. It was an off day, but every day the Cards were in town, the home side of the clubhouse was hopping with activity. I went to replace my weights and Jason was still there. This was a getting a little too weird for me. I passed by him, his eyes following me. I looked back, asking a silent What the fuck? He looked away with an insanely annoying level of non-chalance. “Look, pal, what’s going on,” I said, finally exploding.

His body was turned away but his eyes met mine. A sly smile spread across his matinee idol face. “I think I can help you out,” he said.

“Help me out with what?”

“You’ve been rehabbing your arm since I got here, right?”

“Yea,” I said, put off a bit. I’d never known him to be concerned about anyone but himself.

“Why aren’t you in the rotation, then? Shouldn’t four months be enough work?”

I gritted my teeth. “It’s called Tommy John surgery, assbite.”

He nodded, still with that sick smile. He leaned back on htooltool. “You do need help, then. I can help you, but it won’t be cheap or easy.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Jesus, man, do I have to spell it out for you? Fuck,” he spat. He pulled his wallet from his jeans. “That was me in high school.” I looked at the picture he handed me. A stick-thin kid looked back at me. I compared it to the live Jason. He looked about the same, but a little more filled out. I handed it back to him. “Back then, I could throw about eighty. Nocan can crack a hundred.”

“Cripes, twenty MPH in two years,” I asked. “How’d you do that?”

“ ‘roids, man!” He looked at me again, thinking I was a real dolt. “I was just some skinny fuck from Los Angeles back then. You think I would have been drafted like that? Shit no! You know how they say, God helps he who helps himself? Well, some of that Christian shit can actually benefit you, my man. A little help goes a long way.”

“You juice,” I asked, beside myself.

He nodded without a trace of remorse. “Gotta do whatcha gotta do.”

“You’re nuts,” I said. “You’re fucking nuts. You know how much hell you’ll catch for this?”

“You know how dead you’ll be for blabbing?” His face took on a more serious look. “Look at this situation for what it’s worth, Matty. You’ve been rehabbing for too damned long, and you’re sick of it, right? You just wanna get back on the mound, right? Well, you’ve been working and working and praying and hoping and whatever else you’ve been doing to ease your mind, and it ain’t working, right? I have the answer, and while it’s expensive it can be done.”

“I thought only hitters took it,” I said, trying to divert him. “I don’t want twenty-eight inch biceps.”

“See, that’s the beauty of pitchers using the juice,” he went on. “We use it to build strength in our backs and legs. But the juice can help your arm. You need mass and strength in it. Well, ‘roids can build up the tissue in your arm that just won’t get up otherwise.”

“What? How do you—,”

Jason turned his arm over. A crooked U-shaped pink scar graced his left elbow. “Tommy John and me, we’re pals too. I juiced after, and now look at me.”

“Won’t it shrink my balls,” I asked, half-serious. “I think my wife might notice something like that."

“What, does she put them in her mouth?”

“Don’t talk that way about my wife!” I was angry enough to punch him in the face.

“Unclench, dude.” He stood up. “Look, it’s just an idea. You don’t have to take me up on my generous offer. One thing I do ask—you keep your goddamned mouth shut. But if you do decide you’re out of options—and you are—well, you know I’m the man. See ya.” He pulled on his cap and left.