Matt eyed the pitcher warily; neither trusting his motives nor his morals. He choked up on his makeshift bat, a long metal pole covered in motor grease he had found by the side of road about twenty minutes ago. The challenge was simple, he had to hit a home run. In this instance a home run consisted of tagging the Johnston’s new beamer from thirty yards away with the ball.

Of course they had neither ball or bat, so today they played with they could find. Matt had picked up the greasy pole, and Joe had found a raw potato in his kitchen. They walked four blocks until they had found a suitable target, something that would mark well, the alarm in the BMW was just an added bonus. Now they stood in position, the road clear of cars waiting for their planned act of villainy to commence.

Matt was having doubts though; something in Joe’s eyes told him that there was more to this than a simple pitch and smash. Joe was up to something even more vile than his usual tactics. Perhaps he would chuck the potato at Matt’s head intending to wound him with it. Or maybe he would trip Matt as they ran, leaving him to take the blame. In any case Matt knew he was doomed; Joe was just too clever for him to figure out. He had learned that Joe had a tell when he was up to something that was particularly nasty and witty. Joe’s tell was showing.

Joe’s lip was curling up on the left side more than his right and his eyes had an impish gleam to them. Matt turned and spit on the ground, stalling the moment when the inevitable prank would come. Fear was beginning to gnaw at Matt’s stomach, the longer he waited, the worse it got. He decided it was time, no matter what evil Joe had in store for him, he would face it head on. He looked Joe square in the eyes, and signaled for the pitch.