"I would be happy to oblige you, replied Kingston, sipping coffee and puffing on a cigarette. However, because of the murders, we're not exactly on anyone's A list of teams they want to be traded to."

Half in anger and half in frustration, Silvers picked up Kingston's lighter and threw it across the office, shattering the glass in the door.

"Killarny isn't going to be at his best with a bum ankle, shouted Silvers angrily. I don't have anyone I can use as a pinch runner or a late inning defensive replacement. How am I supposed to win games"?

"Catch the murderer and you'll get your outfielder," replied Kingston meekly.

Silvers felt as if he were trapped on a wild merry-go- round ride that was never going to end.

"Look, continued Kingston as he lit another cigarette. We're in a difficult position because of these murders. Until the killer or killers are caught, we're just going to have to make the best of a bad situation."

"That's not going to win me games or a pennant," snapped Silvers.

Kingston flashed his weary manager a sympathetic smile to let him know he understood where he was coming from.

"I'm sorry, apologized Silvers as he regained his composure. You didn't deserve that outburst."

"That's okay, laughed Kingston. I'll just go home and kick the kids and beat the wife."