::Somewhere in the bowels of Yankee Stadium::

So. Adrian Beltre. How are you?

Fine. Just fine.

Excellent. And you feel quite comfortable here amongst your friends, right? Because the Boston Red Sox and New York Yankees have always been the best of friends. Correct?

That’s true.

So then… as my friend, you’d want to do me a favor, right? If you knew it would make me happy?

Well, shit. We’re friends, right?

Splendid. Now, remember when you helped us eliminate Jacoby Ellsbury and Jeremy Hermida because they were enemies of the Yankees?

I do.

Well, we’ve identified another threat to the Red Sox-Yankees alliance. His name is Josh Beckett. And we need you to take care of him.

Another “collision”?

A collision, a shivving, rat poison “accidentally” slipped in the chewing tobacco. Anythign like that and I think Josh will cease to be a threat to all this peace and goodwill our teams have cultivated.

I see.

Remember: You do nothing until you see the Queen of Diamonds. Got it?

The Queen of Diamonds. Got it.

Excellent. Your flight to Seattle is waiting. And when you arrive back amongst the Sox, you will have no recollection of this conversation whatsover.

Sweet. I like planes.

Wonderful. Now f$%k off.

Nice work. But I don’t know if I understand.

It’s brainwashing 101, Hank. We’ve been using Beltre as our sleeper agent to take out the Red Sox from the inside. So far, he’s done a magnificent job.

Good, good. But just tell me this. Am I talking to Cashman or the headwarmer?

Wouldn’t you like to know…