And that was all it took. No sooner had his finger pushed against Dwayne's shirt, than the barbs from a Taser gun shot forward at several hundred MPH, hitting Pastor Jim right in the lips. Thousands of volts of electricity sent his body into convulsions, causing him to fall over onto home plate and flop around like a fish.

Dwayne was amused to see it was Detective Loffland standing behind him holding the Taser gun, smiling. "Well, I'm sure we all saw that a.s.sault take place," the detective said. "Thank G.o.d I was here to step in with nonlethal force."

"Oh my G.o.d, are you kidding me?" Noah cried out. "He didn't do anything! You guys are a.s.sholes! Somebody call an ambulance!" Noah unleashed a long line of impressively descriptive profanities at Dwayne and Detective Loffland.

"How do those things work?" Alex asked one of the officers.

The officer pulled out his Taser gun. "You just push this little safety b.u.t.ton, which activates the charge," he said as he demonstrated to Alex. "Then you pull the trigger, just like a gun. Here, try it out."

Alex clicked the safety b.u.t.ton on the Taser, pointed it at Noah, and pulled the trigger. The Taser barbs stuck into Noah's ankle-the high-voltage shock sending him to flop around next to his dad.

One of the Mariners' a.s.sistant coaches stepped forward.

"Hey! You can't-"

WHAP! Taser barbs, right on the cheek.

Dave the umpire looked around, waiting to see if anyone else cared to step forward and object to his ruling on the field. No one did. "BALLGAME!" he shouted, throwing his arms into the air.

The Tigers poured out of the dugout and ran to embrace their coaches. The fences along the baselines were incapable of holding back the crowd, collapsing as thousands of fans came stampeding onto the field. TJ and Jackson hoisted a large cooler full of water and dumped it over Dwayne's back. He laughed it off, grabbing them, squeezing them, and giving them high fives. Media cameras surrounded the team, shouting questions and congratulating the boys. Beers went flying through the air everywhere, cutting through the fog of pot smoke that was quickly forming.

Dwayne blew his whistle and called the Tigers in for a final postgame speech. The boys gathered round, hugging each other with ear-to-ear grins.

"Well, soldiers," he announced to his team as they all took to their knees around him, "you accomplished something out here today that you'll carry with you for the rest of your lives. Everyone said you couldn't win, and you metaphorically grabbed them by the ears and smashed their faces into a steaming pile of dog s.h.i.t ... and I couldn't be more proud."

The boys fist-b.u.mped each other. The parents were arm in arm, feeling joy for their children's hard work paying off so fully, but also secretly happy that they wouldn't be subjected to the abhorrent language of the coaches any longer.

"I want you men to learn a lesson from this season. I want you to know that, throughout your life, people will pretend to be better than you. They're just insecure a.s.sholes. Don't believe them. Throughout life, people will try to give you overwhelming amounts of s.h.i.t. Don't take it. Throughout life, people will lie to you, cheat you, do wrong to you, try and fit you into a box that you know, deep down, you don't belong in. Be who you're supposed to be ... and bring the baseball bat of justice down upon them."

One last time, Dwayne looked each player in the eye. "I want to thank you boys for bringing honor back to the game. At the end of the day, honor is what it's all about. So, one last time, warriors. WHAT DO TIGERS DO?"

You could hear the response for miles.

When the team returned to the dugout to pack up their things, Dwayne told his a.s.sistant coaches to get babysitters; it was time for a five-star dinner.

Russ and Tommy, with their families, signed hundreds of autographs along the way to the parking lot. Steve and Dwayne hung back, taking it all in, signing posters, newspapers, napkins, and b.r.e.a.s.t.s. Their wives and kids had gone ahead of them with a police escort.

They stood at their cars, parked beside each other, and shared a couple of beers while answering questions for the media and fans. Finally, it was time to go. Steve was fading fast from the day's overwhelming excitement and ongoing police company. In an effort to help his weary friend, Dwayne carried Steve's son's baseball bag to the parking lot and tossed it into the backseat of Steve's Prius. When he did, the bag accidentally knocked a jacket down that had been hanging in the rear.

Three envelopes full of pictures fell out of the jacket onto the seat. They were the same kind of pictures as before, but more graphic ... and this time, it was clear who the two guys with Estelle were.

Dwayne froze. It was like he'd been kicked in the chest. He looked across at Steve.

"Jesus, Dwayne ... I tried to warn you. I'm sorry. f.u.c.k ... it's just that ... I ... Jesus, Dwayne, they were boning her for months, man ... I just didn't want you to get hurt."

Dwayne closed his eyes, holding in the screams. He knew that there were still dozens of cameras pointed at him, unaware of what he'd just seen. He couldn't let the world know. He simply tapped on the roof of the Prius and smiled.

"I'll see you tonight," he told Steve.

Dwayne fiddled with the MP3 in his Audi before leaving Jenny Field. He finally found what he was looking for: "Civil War" by Guns N' Roses. The intro to the song was a scene from Cool Hand Luke starring the great Paul Newman. He loved that movie. He loved this song. He turned it up loud.

Dust and gravel shot out from behind his car as he fishtailed out of the parking lot. He headed straight for his office warehouse. It was time to execute the "just in case" plan.

Dwayne pulled into the warehouse, which was closed for the weekend. He needed to get his head together before he did anything else. The car came to a screeching stop once inside the large metal building. The light disappeared as the ma.s.sive garage door closed behind him.

He whipped out his phone and texted Uzi.

DWAYNE:.

Time to put the plan in place.

UZI:.

No s.h.i.t, brah? I thought things seemed fine.

DWAYNE:.

That's the problem with this town, homie. Just when you think things are going fine, your friends are f.u.c.king you over.

UZI:.

d.a.m.n, brah ... That s.h.i.t is cold. I hope it works out for you.

DWAYNE:.

It will. I'm a f.u.c.king Jedi knight. It's everyone else you should be worried about. You get my new pa.s.sports, IDs, and credit cards?

UZI:.

d.a.m.n straight, brah, just got 'em back. I'll drop 'em in your mailbox.

DWAYNE:.

Cool. Also, I bought an RV at Westside RV a few days back. I need you to pick it up for me ASAP and park it in my backyard, then hang out inside it until I say otherwise. Just bring the ID stuff then. You'll be well compensated.

UZI:.

I'm on it, boss. You cool?

DWAYNE:.

I'm cool.

UZI:.

Cool.

DWAYNE:.

Oh, one more thing ... Put a pound of good weed in the RV.

UZI:.