Tough Young Ladies

By William Plante

A resort town on the shores of Lake Michigan has a group of young women who play baseball on an all-girls hardball team. Male combatants from nearby states travel up north to a diamond in the dust, there, to teach the ladies a lesson. The men return battered and beaten; some in love.
Baseball team catchers seem to absorb the brunt of injuries. Brogan, the girl who wore the titanium mask, batted .304 on the Bay Harbor team. She had a record of hitting two grand slam home runs, knocking in 43 runs, and stealing 97 bases. Men trying to steal second base on her were gunned down.
Mess with Brogan and be jabbed with a mean elbow, known to knock down and out, big men, sliding into base. She had an ugly black and blue bruise covering her entire left hip, a shoulder that popped in and out, and a broken nose. She was one of those indestructible young ladies on the diamond. At home, in pajamas, something else - a come a little closer woman.
A land developer had his eyes on the stadium property. It was one of the last parcels suitable for a resort complex. For five years, the developer played it cool, did not do anything rash. He thought woman's baseball would not last. Now it appeared the games might go on forever, something must be done to dismantle the team, stakes were high.
Finally, he was compelled to take drastic steps. He would have to injure enough players to a degree they were unable to play, disbanding the game from lack of players.
The mission was to take at least six down; if some had to die, one by one, so be it.

• Language: English
• Publisher: William Plante
• Release date: Nov 19, 2021
• ISBN: 9781005197490

William Plante

I write to entertain, laugh at, intrigue and gasp. No shortage of subjects. I lugged my cameras and tripod over oceans through countries; photographed hippos and hips.Bunked down in the ‘talked’ about hotels, drank in 'the water holes'. Met a spectrum of characters; sat in Hemingway’s Ritz chair, drink scotch now.I'm writing days and nights now; tales of suspense and spice. Voila.Read less

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TOUGH YOUNG LADIES

INTRIGUE

WD PLANTE

Copyright © 2021, WD PLANTE

All rights reserved.

TOUGH YOUNG LADIES

A resort town on the shores of Lake Michigan has a group of young women who play baseball on an all-girls hardball team. Male combatants from nearby states travel up north to a diamond in the dust, there, to teach the ladies a lesson. The men return battered and beaten; some in love.

The combatants make solid contact during a doubleheader on Saturday and a single on Sunday afternoon after church. No night games: the old wooden stadium does not have lights.

So, instead of guys standing around on street corners, the town holds a 'Welcome' Friday night dance. The men meet the team of girls wearing pretty dresses and perfume. Their creed: be polite to the boys, for, Saturday morning, they morph into fanatical tough young ladies.

No waltz's up there in the woods, not to worry. This bunch have their unique variations of gyrations. If you are 30 or over, you will come apart.

There is a positive aspect of dancing together, the boys and girls have something to talk about, baseball. The music is supposed to end early, but everyone has a guitar or some instrument, a tambourine maybe, so the clinching goes on.

The next day when the umpire shouts Play Ball, many of the contestants know each other reasonably well. For the girls, last night was a ploy to bring the boys guard down, before the slaughter.

The girls were coached in the questions to ask, such as, what pitch are you best at - high or low, fast, or a sinker. The sucker's answer went into a playbook.

Do not feel too sorry for the males. It would be the women that were in danger up north. Not from one in a baseball uniform. Oh no, from a successful man in the stands, a land developer. He had his eyes on the stadium property. It was one of the last parcels suitable for a resort complex.

The developer did not make it known he was interested in the land; its price would soar to the clouds. He tried to scare the landowner, an older woman, with a rumor there was a sinkhole under the bleachers. If it opened up during a game, patrons would be swallowed up. She would be sued for every penny she had. Not so dumb, she had a bore test done, found solid rock underground.

For five years, the developer played it cool, did not do anything rash. He thought woman's baseball would not last. Now it appeared the games might go on forever, something must be done to dismantle the team, stakes were high. Finally, he was compelled to take drastic steps. He would have to injure enough players to a degree they were unable to play, disbanding the game from lack of players.

There would be a search for substitutes for a couple of years before women qualified. All the Slimeball had to do was eliminate a few from the team, out of players out of business. The mission was to take six down; if some had to die, one by one, so be it.

The man, young and charming, well known, a competent businessperson on the outside, twisted on the inside, a psychopath, concluded there must be accidents. He would start with the star of the team. The catcher a tough lady, she had one of the highest batting averages. How many young ladies were available in town, capable of being proficient ballplayers? He knew her loss would be traumatic. The psycho had a plan.

Baseball team catchers seem to absorb the brunt of injuries. Brogan, the girl who wore the titanium mask, batted .304 on the Bay Harbor team. She had a record of hitting two grand slam home runs, knocking in 43 runs, and stealing 97 bases. Men trying to steal second base on her were gunned down.

Mess with Brogan and be jabbed with a mean elbow, known to knock down and out, big men, sliding into base. She had an ugly black and blue bruise covering her entire left hip, a shoulder that popped in and out, and a broken nose. She was one of those indestructible young ladies on the diamond. At home, in pajamas, something else - a come a little closer woman.

Bay Harbor, of the north, is on the eastern shore of the Great Lake Michigan, a Victorian town, founded in the late 1800s. It is now recognized as America's Sport's Town, bisected into four squares by its 'Yellow Brick Road'. No parking on the zigzag pedestrian pathway, cars are parked in free slots around the peripheral, or valet service is available.

A gaggle of shops and stores to satisfy every whim of sports fans are available, an adventure in shopping: golf, skiing, tennis, sailing, kayaking, fishing, hunting and baseball, the place to buy a boy's glove and now women. Purchase a birch-bark canoe; it will be delivered.

Want to be a sports merchant? You must locate along the Yellow Brick Road if you can find space and afford it. The surrounds are zoned residential: homes, condos, motels, B&B's, and small hotels. There are no high-rises. Business exceptions are restaurants, clothing stores, foods and existence services, clinics, gas, hair salons, and of course, lawyers. The State Police have a post on the highway.

There are few vacancies in Bay Harbor. Ski chalets and golf cabins are tucked in among valleys and fairways stretching up into wooded hills. Most have smoke curling out of chimneys year-round. Three substantial marinas provide storage and service for power and sailboats. Visiting yachts dock along a public pier, a popular attraction for tourists, in awe of gleaming varnish and towering masts. Often, from quarters below, parties spill out onto the wooden planks. No invitation is needed to join in.

The town has a residential waiver for the shops and stores in the four squares to have living quarters above them with balconies overlooking the Harbor. Most of these abodes have been converted into apartments for lease. It is common for a woman, out of college, on her own, to take up residence in these perches. An idyllic view of the Harbor and a couch strategically positioned, prompts, Would you like to come up, count the sailboats?

Access to second floors is in the rear by stairs structured from bar-grating. Serrated steel steps provide sure-grip footing in Bay Harbor, labeled as 'Iron Stairs' hazardous, yet necessary. The open grating keeps snow and ice from collecting on the surface. Young bound up and down like gazelles; the elderly watches their step.

'Dead on Arrival' is the guaranteed emergency room affirmation when one tumbles down iron stairs. The woman, who was the catcher and had the highest batting average, was marked to take a fall.

A state trooper, Lieutenant Slate Parker, was transferred from a big city to the sports kingdom of Bay Harbor. He looked forward to being stationed in the tranquil town that never witnessed a murder. It reported its share of drug offenses, break-ins, and car thefts; too many for the eight-man police force and one sheriff. The State Police Post was beefed up to tamp crime down.

Arm out his SUV window, it slowed down on the two-lane highway, sloping into town. A couple of years since he visited Bay Harbor, here to stay, duffel bags and a TV set in the car, skis on top, a mountain bike bolted to the rear, and a white Persian snuggled by his side.

He passed white-picket fences, Victorian houses, and slashes of green through pine and oak timber curving thru golf courses. Off to the left was a deer compound, where children came to feed and pet the spring fawns and gaze at