Read Online Thefts of Nick Velvet by Edward D. Hoch - Free Book Online
Authors: Edward D. Hoch
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reluctance.
“You’re a writer?” Pop asked, eyeing Nick with open suspicion. They’d met in the dressing room at Shea Stadium, just after the Mets defeated the Beavers by a score of 9 to 1.
“That’s right,” Nick confirmed, passing over a card. “With Sports Weekly . We want to do an article on your team.”
Pop Hastin grunted, rolling the plug of chewing tobacco to his other cheek. “More Meager Beaver stuff?”
“Nothing like that. My editors want an in-depth article with a sympathetic slant, to balance some of the other stuff.”
“How long will it take? We’re flying to Atlanta in the morning.”
Nick hesitated, then said, “I was going to suggest that I might fly down with you. That way we could talk at leisure and I’d get to meet some of your key players.”
Hastin snorted. “This year the Beavers got no key players. We haven’t gotten more than four runs in any game all summer.”
“Still, there’s Karowitz at first base—”
“Yeah, he’s pretty good.”
“And that rookie shortstop, Nesbitt.”
“The kid, yeah.” Pop Hastin shifted the tobacco again. “Well, I guess you could fly down with us. There’s plenty of room these days. Not many of your sportswriters come along any more.”
Nick Velvet smiled. “I’ll meet you at the airport in the morning, then.”
The chartered jet which flew the Beavers between cities on the National League circuit was piloted by a young man named Farnsworth. He stood by the ramp with a pretty, long-legged stewardess welcoming the players aboard, smiling and joking with them about the previous day’s game.
Nick Velvet, walking beside Pop Hastin, boarded the plane with a friendly nod toward the pilot and stewardess. It was a clear August morning, perfect for flying, and the players seemed in a good mood considering their recent losses. There were nineteen of them making the trip, plus Pop and the coaches. A publicity man—a slight harried individual named Roswell—was also along, as were the trainer, batboy, and a few others.
“Sometimes we have a planeload,” Hastin explained, settling comfortably into his seat and strapping himself down. “But this isn’t much of a trip and a few of the regulars aren’t making it. We have a couple of injured players back home, and some of the front-office people stayed in New York for a league meeting.”
Roswell, the publicity man, dropped into the seat across the aisle, eyeing Nick with open suspicion. It had not been an easy season for him. “What sort of an article did you say you were writing?” he asked.
Pop Hastin interrupted, trying to avoid trouble. “All the equipment on board, Ros?”
“Sure it is. That’s not my job, anyway.” He turned his attention back to Nick. “We’ve had a pretty bad press the last few months—all this Meager Beaver stuff. If you’re going to write something like that, forget it.”
“No, nothing like that,” Nick reassured them. “I’m planning something that will put the Beavers on the front pages of every paper in the country and make people forget you’re in last place in the National League.”
The jet had risen smoothly from the runway and was climbing into the clear blue sky. Pop Hastin relaxed. “We’re on our way,” he said. “Now just how do you propose to give us all this publicity? Through Sports Weekly ?”
“Partly,” Nick answered vaguely. “Suppose you introduce me to a few of the players.”
They went forward in the plane and Pop spoke to the team’s muscular first baseman. “Stan Karowitz, this is Mr. Nicholas, a writer with Sports Weekly . He’s going to give us a good article.”
Nick dropped into the seat next to Karowitz and started asking the Beavers’ star some routine questions, taking notes as he talked. “Do you think the Beavers are coming out of their slump, Stan?”
“It’s a little late in the year now,” Karowitz replied, “but we think our rookies might make a strong foundation for next
“You’re a writer?” Pop asked, eyeing Nick with open suspicion. They’d met in the dressing room at Shea Stadium, just after the Mets defeated the Beavers by a score of 9 to 1.
“That’s right,” Nick confirmed, passing over a card. “With Sports Weekly . We want to do an article on your team.”
Pop Hastin grunted, rolling the plug of chewing tobacco to his other cheek. “More Meager Beaver stuff?”
“Nothing like that. My editors want an in-depth article with a sympathetic slant, to balance some of the other stuff.”
“How long will it take? We’re flying to Atlanta in the morning.”
Nick hesitated, then said, “I was going to suggest that I might fly down with you. That way we could talk at leisure and I’d get to meet some of your key players.”
Hastin snorted. “This year the Beavers got no key players. We haven’t gotten more than four runs in any game all summer.”
“Still, there’s Karowitz at first base—”
“Yeah, he’s pretty good.”
“And that rookie shortstop, Nesbitt.”
“The kid, yeah.” Pop Hastin shifted the tobacco again. “Well, I guess you could fly down with us. There’s plenty of room these days. Not many of your sportswriters come along any more.”
Nick Velvet smiled. “I’ll meet you at the airport in the morning, then.”
The chartered jet which flew the Beavers between cities on the National League circuit was piloted by a young man named Farnsworth. He stood by the ramp with a pretty, long-legged stewardess welcoming the players aboard, smiling and joking with them about the previous day’s game.
Nick Velvet, walking beside Pop Hastin, boarded the plane with a friendly nod toward the pilot and stewardess. It was a clear August morning, perfect for flying, and the players seemed in a good mood considering their recent losses. There were nineteen of them making the trip, plus Pop and the coaches. A publicity man—a slight harried individual named Roswell—was also along, as were the trainer, batboy, and a few others.
“Sometimes we have a planeload,” Hastin explained, settling comfortably into his seat and strapping himself down. “But this isn’t much of a trip and a few of the regulars aren’t making it. We have a couple of injured players back home, and some of the front-office people stayed in New York for a league meeting.”
Roswell, the publicity man, dropped into the seat across the aisle, eyeing Nick with open suspicion. It had not been an easy season for him. “What sort of an article did you say you were writing?” he asked.
Pop Hastin interrupted, trying to avoid trouble. “All the equipment on board, Ros?”
“Sure it is. That’s not my job, anyway.” He turned his attention back to Nick. “We’ve had a pretty bad press the last few months—all this Meager Beaver stuff. If you’re going to write something like that, forget it.”
“No, nothing like that,” Nick reassured them. “I’m planning something that will put the Beavers on the front pages of every paper in the country and make people forget you’re in last place in the National League.”
The jet had risen smoothly from the runway and was climbing into the clear blue sky. Pop Hastin relaxed. “We’re on our way,” he said. “Now just how do you propose to give us all this publicity? Through Sports Weekly ?”
“Partly,” Nick answered vaguely. “Suppose you introduce me to a few of the players.”
They went forward in the plane and Pop spoke to the team’s muscular first baseman. “Stan Karowitz, this is Mr. Nicholas, a writer with Sports Weekly . He’s going to give us a good article.”
Nick dropped into the seat next to Karowitz and started asking the Beavers’ star some routine questions, taking notes as he talked. “Do you think the Beavers are coming out of their slump, Stan?”
“It’s a little late in the year now,” Karowitz replied, “but we think our rookies might make a strong foundation for next
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