THE LOCKOUT: EPISODE 1

FAN MAN & THE WOOD CHIPPER

JEFF STANGER

Copyright © 2022 by Jeff Stanger

All rights reserved.

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EPISODE 1

E ugene Debs unlocked the gate to the parking lot, put the key in his pocket, and turned around to find a revolver pointed at the bridge of his nose. He sighed, more irritated than afraid. “They’re not here,” he told the would-be robber.

“Who’s not here?”

“The players. There’s been a lockout.” Eugene motioned to the mostly empty team parking lot. “So, there’s no fancy cars to steal.”

“I’m not here to steal a car.”

“Then why are you here?”

“I want to park in there.”

“You want to park in the team lot? Why?”

“No more questions,” said the man with the gun. “Open the gate all the way and come with me.”

Eugene, being mostly bored to tears at work these past few weeks, decided to play along. He was the parking lot guard at the San Diego Missions spring training facility in Peoria Arizona. Eugene and his wife retired here from Minnesota seven years ago. She was a former school teacher, he was a former logistics manager for a freight company.

After opening the gate wide as ordered, he followed the man with the gun across the main road in front of the complex to the fan parking lot. They were headed towards a silver pickup truck with a trailer. On a normal morning in late February, there might be a handful in the lot now –eager Spring Training fans looking to get up close to their favorite players. It was 8:15 AM and the fans usually were lining up to get into practice by 8:45. But this year, the owners had locked the players out until a new collective bargaining agreement could be reached. The lockout started in December. Since then, very little bargaining had occurred, and agreement seemed far, far away. Today, the only vehicle belonged to the man with the gun.

Eugene asked, “Is that a wood chipper?”

The chubby man in his late forties replied, “yes, it is.”

Eugene’s curiosity grew. “My name is Eugene. And you are?” He held out his hand out of habit.

The man looked at the hand and held the gun back to Eugene’s head. “No funny business.”

“Wouldn’t think of it.”

The man waved the gun as he barked directions. “Get in the passenger side. Door’s open.” Eugene ducked ever so slightly. He hoped the gun wasn’t loaded. The man didn’t seem to be a natural with a weapon.

Eugene got in and watched his nameless kidnapper start the engine. He didn’t seem like a hardened criminal. I bet he’s a refrigerator salesman , Eugene guessed.

“Stanley,” the man said. “My name is Stanley.”

Eugene thought he looked more troubled than menacing. Like the weight of the world was on his shoulders. “What line of work are you in?”

“Air conditioner sales. Commercial units.”

I was close , thought Eugene.

Stanley put the truck in drive, pulled out of the fan lot and drove into the player lot. Instead of pulling into a space, he backed the trailer up to a set of double doors leading into the complex.

Stanley pointed the gun at Eugene. “Let’s go inside.”

You don’t look like the kind of guy that goes into a place and shoots up everything. Are you sure you don’t want to stay out here and talk this out?”

“No, and No.”

“You mean you are the type of guy who goes in and shoots everything?”

Stanley sighed and lowered the gun. “Nobody is going to get hurt if you do what I say.” Then he raised it back up to make a point, “But don’t think I won’t act out if provoked.”

Eugene wondered what “act out” meant. He decided to play along for now and walked Stanley into the building. “Take me to the laundry room.”

“You want to steal the uniforms? Like I said, the players aren’t here.”

“I know that. That’s why all of this is necessary.” He pointed the gun at Eugene again. “No more questions. Just do what I ask.”

Because of the player lockout and the early hour, few people were in the complex. Coaches and trainers wouldn’t be in for another 30 minutes and the minor league players (who weren’t part of the union and thus not part of the lockout) weren’t due for another couple of hours.

Eugene walked Stanley through a maze of hallways until he arrived at the laundry room. Industrial sized washers and dryers sat idle. “Grab that rolling laundry cart and take us to where the minor league players store their gear. Eugene was puzzled but went along anyway. Down another long hallway. At the far end, the door suddenly swung open and minor league hitting coach, Dale Chester emerged. He was shouting at someone on the other end of a phone call. Stanley lowered the gun to his side and kept walking.

Eugene could have signaled that something was wrong, but he didn’t bother. The coaches and players routinely ignored him anyway. Dale Chester passed the two men in the hall, still shouting obscenities into his phone. Apparently his luggage was in Butte, Montana.

Through the door, they reached the equipment room. “Load all the bats into the laundry cart.”

“All of them?”

“Yes, all of them.”

Eugene filled the cart, “okay what’s next?”

“That’s not all of them.”

“What do you mean?”

“He pointed to a stack of boxes with brand names like Rawlings and Mizzuno. “Those are filled with bats too.”

He pointed at the already full cart. “How are we supposed to get those into this cart?”

“We’ll get another basket,” answered Stanley.

They went back to the laundry room and took the remaining two laundry carts just in case. That proved a wise decision as the boxed bats filled up both.

“Now what?”

“Back outside.”

They retraced their steps to the team parking lot.

Once outside, Stanley flicked a switch and the woodchipper roared to life. Eugene realized what was about to happen and chuckled to himself. “You think this will solve anything?”

Stanley looked at the bats and the woodchipper and back to Eugene. “This? Not likely. But this isn’t the end. It’s just the beginning.”

* * *

Back in San Diego, David Taylor, San Diego Missions Vice-president of Marketing and Community Relations was playing grab ass with the Deputy Director of Luxury Suite Sales. He was three buttons into removing her blouse when his phone buzzed.

Mr. Taylor, you have an urgent call from Peoria,” his admin assistant said.

“Dammit, I said don’t bother me while I’m meeting with Lana.”

Janey, the admin assistant grinned, knowing she had interrupted the tryst. “Sorry, sir. They said it’s an emergency.”

“Transfer it to someone in player development. I don’t have any responsibilities in Peoria.” This of course was true. In reality, ownership (David’s father and his business partners) had structured the org chart to give his son a high-ranking title with plenty of underlings to actually get things done. They strategically placed a firewall around him as he was a) an harassment lawsuit waiting to happen and b) unsuited for any meaningful work.

“This falls under marketing sir.”

“How does this fall under marketing?”

“They said we’re about to go viral,” Janey replied.

“Viral? What the hell? Go ahead and transfer the call.” He shook his head as he watched Lana button up.

She mouthed, “you want me to leave?”

He shook his head no. “Hello, this is David. Who’s this?”

“This is Travis, operations manager. Mr. Taylor, we have a problem.”

“What is it?”

“There’s a crazy many here in the parking lot. He’s demanding to speak to you or he’s going to destroy all of our bats.”

He looked at Lana. “This is what happens when you legalize marijuana in some states.”

“It’s legal here sir.”

“We’re California. We know how to hold our weed.”

Lana looked at him skeptically.

Travis asked, “Sir, What do you want us to do?”

“Right. Call the local police. I’m not giving in to blackmail.”

“You sure? I think this could make us look pretty bad.”

“Travis is it?”

“Yes sir.”

“Travis are you a vice-president?”

“No sir.”

“Is your last name Taylor?”

“No sir.”

“Then don’t ever question me again.” David hung up before Travis could answer.

* * *

Back in Peoria, a crowd had started to gather. Stanley had started a Facebook Live stream under a fake profile he had created a week earlier. Going by the name of Fan Man, he set up a camera on a tripod so that it could capture him loading the wood chipper.

At this point, Eugene was more of a bystander than a hostage. He had called the front office like he was asked. They in turn contacted the Padres main office looking for answers. The idiot son of the owner gave them none. The police were called, but when they arrived, the officers, like Eugene, thought they might just watch this one play out as no humans were in danger and they were disgruntled baseball fans themselves.

Eugene approached Stanley to give him the bad news. “Looks like Mr. Taylor is refusing to speak to you.”

“I expected that. What I didn’t expect was the police not trying to stop me. They haven’t even asked what my demands are.”

Eugene looked back at the three officers who were leaned against their squad cars just taking it all in. “I don’t think they care. One of them said something about being pissed off at the owners too. That tall one said he would come over and help toss the bats in himself if he wasn’t in uniform and you weren’t filming it.”

“Glad to know there are people out there who understand me.” He nodded to the officers. They nodded back. Stanley looked at Eugene and said, “Well, I guess it’s time.”

“Good luck.”

* * *

In a hotel bar Glendale Arizona, three real estate agents from Chula Vista were getting an early start on their day drinking. They had booked this trip to see the San Diego Missions’ Spring Training and the player lockout had scuttled their plans. To save money, they booked and paid for everything in advance. In exchange for lower rates, there were no refunds. So, they were in the greater Phoenix area for a week with no baseball. They decided to get drunk and play golf —in that order—every day.

As they waited for the next round, the news channel playing on the TV behind the bar interrupted their programing with a live on-the scene report. “We’re going live to the Peoria, AZ where there is a hostage situation at the Peoria Baseball Complex.”

One agent shouted, “That’s where the Missions have Spring Training!”

“I’m David Bloomquist, Action 10 News. We’re here at the headquarters of the San Diego Missions where there is an active shooter incident.”

The three police officers shook their heads. David approached them. “Officers, what can you tell us?”

“No shots have been fired.”

“My sources tell me otherwise.”

One cop asked, “who are your sources?”

“I can’t say.”

Disgusted by the state of modern journalism, the other two cops walked away. The other cop continued, “we’re treating this as a vandalism case, not a hostage situation.”

David turned back to the camera and said, “Obviously the police are downplaying the magnitude of the gun violence here today. Once again, they seem to be siding with the NRA in support of guns.”

The officer shook his head again and secretly hoped that if anyone was shot today it would be the reporter.

David approached Stanley. Sir, can you tell us why you are doing this?”

Irritated by the interruption of his Facebook livestream (which only had 2 viewers) Stanley told the reporter to stand next to his camera if he wanted to the story. David and his cameraman moved next to Stanley’s tripod. David asked Stanley what his name was. He replied to the camera, “I’m Fan Man. And you can also watch this on Facebook Live.”

Stanley started over. “Hi. I’m Fan Man. For the last three months, we’ve listened to professional baseball owners claim they can’t afford to give into the players demands for a new collective bargaining agreement. We’ve also listened to a lot of silly arguments from the players. But the bottom line is, neither side cares about us, the fans.” He paused, held up a bat and fed it into the woodchipper. When the noise settled, he continued. “Some of us have lost deposits on Spring Training accommodations. Some of us have had vacations ruined. And now they say that the start of the season will be delayed.”

Another bat in the chipper. Cheers and high fives broke the peace back at the hotel bar. In San Diego, David Taylor let go of Lana and her head crashed onto his desk as he watched the TV in his office. “Ow, you clumsy fuck,” she shouted.

Back in Peoria, Stanley continued, “So, today, I’m saying ‘no more.’ Today is the beginning of the fan revolt against professional baseball.” Two bats into the chipper. “Today we rise up and say we aren’t going to be taken for granted.” More bats in the chipper. “I’m coming for all the owners.” More bats in the chipper. “I’m coming for that clueless director of the players union, George Olney.” More bats in the chipper. “But most of all, I’m coming for you David Taylor.” One single bat in the chipper.

Watching back in San Diego, David Taylor covered his junk with his hands, while his mouth hung wide open. Lana asked, “What did you do to piss him off?”

Back in Phoenix, three drunk real estate agents ran to their rental car, “We’re going to Peoria to meet this guy.”

On Facebook, 200,000 people commented on Fan Man’s live broadcast. Copies of the video later made it to Twitter, YouTube, and the tonight show. And in Peoria, a policeman ticketed a TV news van while a silver truck towing a wood chipper drove out of the sports complex parking lot. Fan Man was still on the loose. And trending.

ALSO BY JEFF STANGER

Tales From a Roundabout

Volume 1

Volume 2

Quick Mystery Novels

The Fungo Society

Tangled In The Web

Quick Mystery Short Stories

72 Hours in Savannah

Sexy Shoes

Keep Your Eye On The Money

Other Novels

Trolley Dodgers

Kansaska

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