“They don’t exactly look like your blond, blue-eyed Germans to me.”
Conrad looked out across the ball field. He had to agree.
There seemed to be a fair number of blacks, Hispanics, and other minorities. For the most part everyone appeared to be middle to lower middle class. He turned back to Suzanne.
“And Eli?” he asked. “I suppose you’re going to tell me he’s Jewish, right?”
hththt 5/14/01 11:34 AM Page 47
47
Suzanne’s smile brightened. “Why don’t you ask him yourself?”
“Hey.” A pleasant voice spoke from behind. Conrad turned to see Eli approaching—his coal-black eyes sparkling with pleasure, while at the same time gently probing. “My name’s Eli,” he said. “You’re a friend of Suzanne’s?”
“Uh, yes, we, that is—”
“We used to be married,” Suzanne explained, “a long time ago. Conrad Davis, meet Eli Shepherd.”
The two shook. Eli’s grip was firm, his hands somewhat rough and callused.
“That was quite a stunt you pulled over there,” Conrad said.
Eli’s sparkle did not disappear. “By the looks of things you and your crew have it all on tape.”
“Probably.”
“And if I’m lucky I might be able to make some late-night filler piece.”
Conrad smiled at his candidness. “If you’re lucky.”
Eli grinned and pretended to quote a headline. “‘Con Artist Fools Hundreds, film at eleven.’” There was no malice in his eyes, just good-natured bantering.
Conrad couldn’t help smiling back. “That’s how it works.
Of course if you’re the real deal, well, now, I’d have myself quite a story, wouldn’t I?”
“At least worthy of Jerry Springer.”
Again Conrad smiled. Despite himself, he was beginning to like this kid. “Suzanne says you do that sort of thing all the time.”
Eli said nothing, but looked over to the crowd and the game that was just starting. “The world’s full of sickness, Conrad.” The sparkle faded slightly from his eyes. “Unfortunately, most of it is not physical.”
“And you think you can change that?”
Eli turned back to him. “I came into the world to change that.” He held his gaze. For the briefest moment Conrad wasn’t sure he could look away, even if he wanted. Sensing hththt 5/14/01 11:34 AM Page 48
48 his discomfort, Eli’s smile reappeared. “It was good talking with you, Conrad.” He patted him on the shoulder and started to pass. “But my team’s up to bat and ol’ Jake’s at the plate.”
He motioned to the burly man he’d thanked earlier for the use of the RV. “The poor guy’s about zero for forty right now, so I think he could stand a little coaching. I hope we can talk again.”
“Me, too,” Conrad said. “Oh, and about that tape.” Eli turned. “If what you’re doing is the real McCoy, I could get you some quality exposure.”
“Thanks.” Eli grinned. “Don’t need it.” Then on second thought he added, “But if it’s good for you, feel free. In fact, the sooner, the better.”
The response surprised Conrad. “Why? What’s the hurry?”
“I’m afraid neither you nor I have that much time left, Conrad Davis.” With that, Eli turned and headed toward the backstop.
The comment left Conrad uneasy, as uneasy as when their eyes had first connected. He couldn’t put his finger on it, but if there was the slightest possibility that this Eli was who he thought he might be . . . considering Endo’s theory, considering what he’d seen and heard at the river baptism, considering what he’d experienced in that seventies motel laundry room . . . then was there also a chance that Eli knew who he was, and where he’d come from? No. Conrad shook his head.
Such things were not possible.
“Hey, Jake,” Eli called as he approached the backstop.
“’Sup?” Jake shouted, throwing a look over his shoulder, then taking a few practice swings.
“If I were you, I’d keep my eye open for a high lob, outside corner.”
The big man turned to him. He coughed then
Conrad looked out across the ball field. He had to agree.
There seemed to be a fair number of blacks, Hispanics, and other minorities. For the most part everyone appeared to be middle to lower middle class. He turned back to Suzanne.
“And Eli?” he asked. “I suppose you’re going to tell me he’s Jewish, right?”
hththt 5/14/01 11:34 AM Page 47
47
Suzanne’s smile brightened. “Why don’t you ask him yourself?”
“Hey.” A pleasant voice spoke from behind. Conrad turned to see Eli approaching—his coal-black eyes sparkling with pleasure, while at the same time gently probing. “My name’s Eli,” he said. “You’re a friend of Suzanne’s?”
“Uh, yes, we, that is—”
“We used to be married,” Suzanne explained, “a long time ago. Conrad Davis, meet Eli Shepherd.”
The two shook. Eli’s grip was firm, his hands somewhat rough and callused.
“That was quite a stunt you pulled over there,” Conrad said.
Eli’s sparkle did not disappear. “By the looks of things you and your crew have it all on tape.”
“Probably.”
“And if I’m lucky I might be able to make some late-night filler piece.”
Conrad smiled at his candidness. “If you’re lucky.”
Eli grinned and pretended to quote a headline. “‘Con Artist Fools Hundreds, film at eleven.’” There was no malice in his eyes, just good-natured bantering.
Conrad couldn’t help smiling back. “That’s how it works.
Of course if you’re the real deal, well, now, I’d have myself quite a story, wouldn’t I?”
“At least worthy of Jerry Springer.”
Again Conrad smiled. Despite himself, he was beginning to like this kid. “Suzanne says you do that sort of thing all the time.”
Eli said nothing, but looked over to the crowd and the game that was just starting. “The world’s full of sickness, Conrad.” The sparkle faded slightly from his eyes. “Unfortunately, most of it is not physical.”
“And you think you can change that?”
Eli turned back to him. “I came into the world to change that.” He held his gaze. For the briefest moment Conrad wasn’t sure he could look away, even if he wanted. Sensing hththt 5/14/01 11:34 AM Page 48
48 his discomfort, Eli’s smile reappeared. “It was good talking with you, Conrad.” He patted him on the shoulder and started to pass. “But my team’s up to bat and ol’ Jake’s at the plate.”
He motioned to the burly man he’d thanked earlier for the use of the RV. “The poor guy’s about zero for forty right now, so I think he could stand a little coaching. I hope we can talk again.”
“Me, too,” Conrad said. “Oh, and about that tape.” Eli turned. “If what you’re doing is the real McCoy, I could get you some quality exposure.”
“Thanks.” Eli grinned. “Don’t need it.” Then on second thought he added, “But if it’s good for you, feel free. In fact, the sooner, the better.”
The response surprised Conrad. “Why? What’s the hurry?”
“I’m afraid neither you nor I have that much time left, Conrad Davis.” With that, Eli turned and headed toward the backstop.
The comment left Conrad uneasy, as uneasy as when their eyes had first connected. He couldn’t put his finger on it, but if there was the slightest possibility that this Eli was who he thought he might be . . . considering Endo’s theory, considering what he’d seen and heard at the river baptism, considering what he’d experienced in that seventies motel laundry room . . . then was there also a chance that Eli knew who he was, and where he’d come from? No. Conrad shook his head.
Such things were not possible.
“Hey, Jake,” Eli called as he approached the backstop.
“’Sup?” Jake shouted, throwing a look over his shoulder, then taking a few practice swings.
“If I were you, I’d keep my eye open for a high lob, outside corner.”
The big man turned to him. He coughed then
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