Dwayne popped out of bed the next morning at 5:00 a.m. sharp. He'd had maybe two hours of sleep. He didn't care. His bike had been calling his name lately, and he wanted to get a twenty-mile ride in before the sun came up. This was going to be a big day, and he knew he had to start it off kicking a.s.s.

The big game was at 6:00 p.m. that evening. Dwayne had taken a little time away from work the previous couple of days, and he needed to get to the office and muscle some more past-due accounts. At some point, possibly two or three times, he would need to make sweet love to Catwoman as well.

As he was walking out of the bedroom after throwing on a pair of wind shorts, Dwayne noticed a hole in the wall from where he'd thrown one of his Batman boots across the room. He chuckled all the way to the kitchen, where he filled up his water bottles for the ride.

After topping his bicycle tires off with air, Dwayne popped in his earbud headphones and cranked up the Original Motion Picture Soundtrack for Eddie and the Cruisers on his iPod. He headed down the driveway and off into the darkness of the early morning. He decided to hop on the bike trail that ran parallel to the Trinity River and take it by the ballpark to make sure everything was cool after burying the rival coach under the pitcher's mound.

When Dwayne arrived near the parking lot, he noticed that Russ's car and Dave the umpire's motorcycle were still parked behind the trees. It didn't take him long to find the guys. Dave was pa.s.sed out, face down and snoring, on the top row of the bleachers near the entrance. One of his arms and one of his legs hung over the back side. He was about a half an inch from falling off.

Russ was pa.s.sed out also, on the third baseline by home plate. He was lying face up, still totally nude, and covered in mud. He was completely stretched out with one hand touching the base, as if he'd slid headfirst into home and then fallen asleep. His other hand was firmly cupping his unfortunately sized genitals. Dwayne pulled out his phone and took a picture, as was customary in the modern age, and then decided to wake them up so they'd be gone before sunrise.

"Dave!" Dwayne yelled up to the bleachers.

Dave popped his head up quickly, startled. He went to prop himself up with his arm, misjudged the width of the bench he was on, and disappeared over the back side. Dwayne couldn't see him fall the ten or so feet, but he heard him land.

"Oh, Jesus, what happened? Where the f.u.c.k am I?" Dwayne heard from behind the bleachers.

Dwayne was happy that Dave the umpire had survived the fall. He had a busy day ahead. There wasn't time to dig another hole. He turned to where Russ was lying.

"Russ! Wake the f.u.c.k up!" Dwayne shouted from behind the backstop.

Russ took his hand off his package, arched his back, and extended both arms out behind him in a yawn. He had contracted a bad case of "morning wood," and his little buddy stood up straight as Russ rubbed his eyes, rolled over, and pulled himself to his feet.

With a full erection, he stood up facing Dwayne.

"What's up, bro?" Russ said to Dwayne as he stretched again.

"Dude, I've seen your p.e.n.i.s way too much in the last twenty-four hours," Dwayne stated.

"Pretty nice, huh?" Russ replied proudly. "I mean, sure, it's not that big, but the shape of it is phenomenal. It's straight as an arrow. No bend at all. And my man m.u.f.f is top-notch too. Not right now, of course, because it's full of dirt and debris, but it's normally really shiny and soft, not all bristly like we've come to expect from thick p.u.b.es. I even have special conditioner for it."

"Sweet Jesus, just put it away," Dwayne said, turning away.

"No way, bro. I drive my Ferrari naked all the time. It rules. Sometimes I'll wear a shirt so people think I have clothes on, but really it's just a shirt. A lot of the time, when I'm leaving work, I'll just whip my pants off real quick. I've probably talked to you a thousand times through my window with no pants on, and you didn't have a clue. Don't be so judgmental."

"I'm not listening anymore," Dwayne said dismissively.

"I love the feel of perforated leather on my bare a.s.s," Russ continued, oblivious to the fact that no one was paying attention. "Plus, it's easier when I see somebody cruising around with an Obama b.u.mper sticker. I just raise my a.s.s right up to the window."

Just then, Dave came crawling around from behind the bleachers on his hands and knees, groaning with every bit of movement. "Dudes," he struggled to speak, grabbing on to a bleacher rail beside him and pulling himself up. "I wouldn't go back there. I just hurled all over the place, and ... OH MY G.o.d, WHAT THE h.e.l.l IS WRONG WITH YOUR p.e.n.i.s, RUSS? OH JESUS! MY EYES! IS THAT THING ERECT? WHAT HAPPENED TO IT?"

"What do you mean, Dave?" Russ asked, brushing dirt out of his chest hair.

"WHY IS IT SO SMALL?" Dave screamed, pointing at it with both hands.

"Don't pay attention to the size, just look at how perfect it is. It's a masterpiece," Russ stated proudly.

"WHY DON'T YOU EVER WEAR PANTS, RUSS? WHAT THE f.u.c.k IS WRONG WITH YOU?" Dave yelled again.

Russ put his hands on his hips and glared at Dave.

"I'm not going through this again, Dave," Russ said, turning and grabbing his car keys. "f.u.c.k you guys. f.u.c.k both of you. Right in the earhole. I'm a s.e.x stallion. And a Jedi knight. I don't need to hear this s.h.i.t. I'm outta here."

"See you at the game, bro," Dwayne said as Russ stormed off. "The game is at 6:00 p.m., so we'll warm up and throw some batting practice starting at 5:00 p.m."

Russ held up his middle finger as he walked away. Dwayne hopped back on his bike to finish his ride before he took Alex to school. He'd been at the ballpark long enough, and the sky was just beginning to get a bit lighter.

"I'll see you tonight, Dave," he said as he popped his earbuds back in.

"Later, Dwayne."

Dwayne finally sat down at his desk after a quickie with Estelle and dropping Alex off at school. In front of him was a list of his biggest past-due accounts, those that hadn't been responsive to friendly payment reminders.

It was time for a stepped-up approach. Dwayne lit a doob and called the first delinquent customer.

"Eric Schimmy, please," he said to the receptionist who answered the phone. "This is his doctor."

Eric Schimmy had been an extremely successful Fort Worth real estate agent before the economic bubble in the market burst. He had purchased several dozen commercial and residential properties just weeks before the s.h.i.t hit the fan and was financially devastated as a result.

As a favor, Dwayne had helped keep Schimmy's lawns in shape until he could unload the real estate at a huge loss. Eventually, Schimmy turned it around and found success again. Dwayne was now handling more than thirty properties for Eric.

The whispers on the street were that Schimmy had been offered several million dollars for his agency, and the deal would be closing any day. The whispers also said he'd decided to quit paying his bills a few months back and would walk away from the deal, s.c.r.e.w.i.n.g many folks out of what they were owed. He hadn't been taking or returning calls, and that left Dwayne having to pretend he was his doctor.

"What's up, doc?" the voice on the other end of the line said.

"Sorry, Eric," Dwayne offered, void of emotion. "It's not your doctor. It's Dwayne. You haven't returned our calls. You're five months behind on your payments. You owe me $137,000."

"Dwayne!" Schimmy said, having been caught completely off guard. "How's it going, man? Hey, I heard my boy is playing your boy tonight at the ballpark! That was really good of you to take over coaching after Ricky Dale and the Walmart guy died."

"That's great, Eric," Dwayne replied. "I'm sure it'll be a great game. And thanks for the kind words. You're going to love Alex's pitching. He's got a great fastball. Hey, I've got an idea ... How about you bring me all of the money you owe me right now, and I'll tell Alex not to bean your kid in the f.u.c.king head with a baseball tonight? Sound good?"

"Yeah, Dwayne, I just-"

"You just nothing, d.i.c.k. I helped you when you needed help, and just like so many motherf.u.c.kers on this side of town, you don't know how to do the right thing. You just f.u.c.k people. And that's fine. The only problem is that I dropped out of the game. I'm a freedom fighter now. So bring me my money right now, or I'll cut your f.u.c.king limbs off and give your boy a concussion tonight. Sound good?"

"Jesus, Dwayne, I-"

"Great talking to you too, Eric. Drop off $137,000 with my secretary before noon. See you at the ballpark. Take care."

Up next was Jimmy Watts. Jimmy Watts had made over a hundred million dollars as CEO of National Bank. He was a king in the arena of predatory loans and risking his customers' investments. He almost single-handedly took down the entire bank and ruined the lives of many thousands of people around the world in doing so. A government bailout saved the bank, and he stepped down from his CEO position with a fifty-million-dollar severance package.

After banking, he took a brief foray into lobbying for Republican interests, such as deregulation of the banking industry. But that bored him. So he decided to get into the fast-food business and opened Awesomeburger.

He spent nearly twenty million dollars, all from nave investors, getting forty-five stores opened around North Texas. He made the front page of newspapers and investment magazines, posing with his prize purebred teacup poodles, bragging about his new enterprise in the fast-food world. Dwayne won the bidding war for the landscaping contract at all of them.

The only problem with Awesomeburger was that the burgers tasted like a.s.s, and the project failed miserably. All of the investors lost their shirts, and Jimmy gave himself a big bonus before filing for bankruptcy protection.

This p.i.s.sed Dwayne off more than most past-due accounts. He hated that white-collar criminals were never held accountable. The company hired by Watts to build the buildings and the advertising agency that launched Awesomeburger in the media both went out of business because they had never been paid. He owed Dwayne a very sizable chunk as well. And he had the money to pay all of them. He just didn't.

Dwayne picked up the phone and called his office.

"James W. Watts Enterprises," the young receptionist answered. "How may I direct your call?"

"Yes, this is Mr. Watts's girlfriend's gynecologist," Dwayne said. "I'm calling with some results."

"But Mr. Watts is marr- ... umm ... please hold."

A few moments pa.s.sed. The religious praise music being played while he was on hold nearly made a vein pop in Dwayne's head.

"This is James Watts. Who the h.e.l.l is this?" the angry man on the line demanded.

"This is one of the thousands of people you f.u.c.ked over in the last few years, Jimmy. The only difference between the others and myself is that I'm not going to take it. My name is Dwayne Devero. You owe my landscaping company $182,000 for several months of work we did at your Awesomeburger restaurants. I need that check by noon today."

"Sorry, Dwayne. Awesomeburger is under bankruptcy protection by the courts. I'm sure you'll get a portion of your money someday. So I guess you-"

"You missed the part where I said I'm not going to take it," Dwayne interrupted. "You see, you've got tons of money and tons of power. That's great. Good for you. And that may intimidate a s.h.i.tload of people, but-"

"Who the f.u.c.k do you think you're talking to, jacka.s.s? Do you know who-"

"Don't f.u.c.king interrupt me, Jimmy. I'm talking now. Yes, I know who you are. Your bank account is a lot bigger than mine. You know many more powerful people. Again, good for you. But I'm a lot bigger than you, and I carry a baseball bat. If I don't have my money by noon today, I'm going to find all of your cute little f.u.c.king teacup poodles and beat the f.u.c.k out of them. I will pound them into the ground, brother, and I will enjoy the s.h.i.t out of it. Those are the stupidest looking dogs on the f.u.c.king planet. When I'm done with them, I'm going to find you, break your legs in several places, and knock all of your teeth out."

"Listen, Dwayne, maybe we got off on the wrong foot."

"Have it here by noon, Jim. And have a blessed day."

Dwayne's heart was racing. He loved being able to speak to people the way they deserved to be spoken to. He was convinced that he had cracked the code to the universe with his new outlook on life. There was no more dancing around s.h.i.t.

On the corner of his desk, he kept a baby wipes dispenser to remove dirt and sweat from his hands and face. Dwayne loved baby wipes. Noticing that he had worked up a sweat while making calls, he pulled two from the dispenser. The first one came out fine. The second one, however, didn't attach to the first one like it was supposed to. In a perfect world, each wipe, when pulled out, was supposed to pull the next wipe up through the chute. This lack of perfection p.i.s.sed him off. No one cared anymore. No one took pride in their work.

He turned over the dispenser and found the customer service phone number and called them.

"Customer service. This is Lisa. How may I help you?" said the polite female with a Southern drawl.

"Hi. My name is Dwayne Devero. I just pulled a baby wipe from my dispenser, and it didn't pull the next one up. Now I'm going to have to dig through that little hole with the ends of my fingers and try to pull one out, with the hope that it remains attached to the one that follows it. But you know what always happens? I either tear off a small piece of the next one and pull out a tiny piece, or I end up pulling four or five out, and the last of those four or five ends up not being connected. It's remarkably frustrating. Why can't they just get it right?"

"I'm so sorry, sir, I-"

"Get your s.h.i.t together, Lisa."

Dwayne set the phone back on the receiver again. As soon as he set it down, his secretary called. Apparently Eric Schimmy had just dropped off a check clearing the $137,000 balance of what he owed, and Jimmy Watts's secretary had called to get directions to bring a check for $182,000 over. Dwayne could now pay off all of his credit card debt and still have plenty of working capital in the company. He breathed a sigh of relief.

All of a sudden, life was working out. Dwayne was hopeful that the baseball game that night would go as smoothly. With the big accounts in order, it was time to get to work on the lineup and field positions. Dwayne would've gotten right on the baseball work, too, but Estelle showed up wearing pretty much nothing.

They destroyed his office for the second time in a week, making pa.s.sionate, crazy love on every desk, window, chair, phone, one-year-old-but-now-obsolete computer, and file cabinet in the room.

Aside from s.e.x, Estelle had another reason for stopping by. She tried to break it to Dwayne gently, because she knew what his feelings would be to this news.

"Like three months ago, I agreed to sponsor a table at the 'Helping Hands for the Homeless' event downtown," Estelle said apologetically. "We both know it's just another bulls.h.i.t event, babe, but I bought a table for eight. It's one of those silent auction things for blue bloods and social climbers. It's tomorrow night. I'm really sorry. I totally forgot. Things have been so good between us, I forgot about the life I'd been living before, which is a good thing. I really feel like we need to go, though. We're on the sponsorship list. But you don't have to suffer alone. I called your buddies' wives."

"f.u.c.k," Dwayne muttered. "Well, babe, you gave your word, so we'll honor it."

He loathed these situations. The crowd that would be in attendance had a lack of sincerity for helping others. It was such a dishonest gesture. But because he loved Estelle again, Dwayne tried to put a positive spin on it. "At least we can tie on a good buzz together and laugh at people. h.e.l.l, it may even be fun."

Dwayne sat down once again to prepare his baseball strategy. Game time was just hours away. And then his phone quacked.

RUSS:.

WHAT THE f.u.c.k DID YOU GET US INTO, DWAYNE? A f.u.c.kING FUNDRAISER??? NOT COOL, BRO.

TOMMY:.

No s.h.i.t! Kelly just called me! I mean, really Dwayne? Do you know how uncomfortable it is being black at an event like that? Do you know how many drink orders I'll be taking, or how many cars I'll be asked to park?

RUSS:.

Here goes Tommy with the race card again.

TOMMY:.

Really, Russ? How many people there have gotten back-room lap dances from Jade in the last couple of years, huh? Maybe a tug job too? Isn't that uncomfortable for you?