Hard Case Crime: Fake I.D. (23 page)

“Oh,” Rob said. “The only reason I asked is because I heard that story on the news—you know, how that guy’s wife was killed. He owns some bar called O’Reilley’s.”

“I heard about that too,” I said.

“It was pretty fucked up,” Rob said. “They said the Super Bowl pool at the bar was robbed a few days before. Guy got away with fourteen grand.”

“I guess it’s a good thing I didn’t buy one of those boxes.”

“You can say that again.”

I interrupted whatever Alan was saying to Pete and said, “Don’t we gotta go up to the Steward’s office and put the slip in the claiming box?”

“Bill Tucker’s taking care of that,” he said.

“But shouldn’t we go up there anyway,” I said. “I mean what if he forgets to put it in?”

“He won’t,” Alan said, and he started talking to the other guys again.

I went to the bathroom. When I came out I saw a tall thin guy with curly gray hair standing with the other guys. I figured this was Bill Tucker.

When I came over Alan said, “And this is the fifth member of our little syndicate—Tommy Russo.”

“Pleasure to meet you,” I said, shaking his hand.

“Same here,” he said. He had a strong Southern accent and, I was happy to see, he was wearing a gray suit.

“I think you’re one of the best trainers in the business,” I said. “I know a lot of people probably tell you that, but I really mean it.”

I realized I was still shaking his hand, maybe harder than I should have. I let go.

“It’s great to meet you,” Tucker said, flexing his fingers. “Nice to have some fresh blood injected into the racing industry.”

It was five minutes to post time for the first race. Rob, Steve and Pete went to bet, so it was just me, Alan, and Bill Tucker. I didn’t like the way Alan was trying to hog the conversation, talking to Tucker about shit I knew Tucker didn’t care about. So I cut him off and said, “So tell me, Bill—you don’t mind if I call you Bill, do you?”

“Bill’s fine.”

“So tell me, Bill. You ever had horses run at Hollywood Park?”

“Sure. Once in a while I ship to the California tracks.”

“What’s it like there? I mean behind the scenes. You go to parties a lot, I bet.”

“Sometimes,” Bill said. “But I spend most of my time up to my ankles in mud.”

“Yeah, but I’m sure you go to a lot of Hollywood-type parties.”

“Once in a while...I guess.”

“Yeah? You think I can go with you sometime?” I said.

“I don’t know,” he said. “I don’t see why not.”

The other guys came back from the betting window and Bill started talking to them. I wished Bill and I were alone, so I could get to know the guy.

Then Bill said, “Come on, I’ll take you folks out to my box to watch the race.”

We went in past the same usher who’d given me a hard time before. I gave him a big smile as I walked by and I could tell he felt stupid.

It was a nice day—sunny and warmer than it had been lately, probably about forty degrees. I probably needed a coat, but I didn’t wear one to the track. It didn’t matter—I was so excited there could’ve been a blizzard and I wouldn’t’ve noticed.

I sat in the seat next to Bill and the other guys sat on the other side of him.

“So you think your horse has a chance?” my actress-girlfriend asked me.

“As good as any of the other horses, sweetheart,” I said, puffing on a hundred-dollar cigar.

“But do you think he’ll win the race?”

“I don’t know if he’ll win, but he’ll run good. I know that.”

“What do you want to do after the races?”

“I don’t know. I figured maybe we’d go to that big party at Clint’s house.”

“I don’t want to go to Clint’s party, I want to go to Jack’s party.”

“All right, we’ll go to Jack’s party then.”

Pete was in the aisle, passing by.

“Not gonna bet on the race?” he said.

“Nope,” I said.

“Why not? She’s five to one—that’s not too bad.”

“I don’t bet anymore,” I said.

Pete looked at me like I’d suddenly turned Chinese.

“Yeah, right,” he said. “That’s a good one.”

“I’m serious,” I said. “I gave it up—went cold turkey.”

“Smart man,” Bill said. “Nobody makes a living betting on this game.”

“Yeah, well I guess I’m not gonna make a living at it then,” Pete said, “because I’m gonna take this horse down.”

Steve and Rob stood up and followed Pete.

“I’m not gonna watch this horse win and not have any money on it,” Steve said.

“I’m game,” Rob said.

“I have to use the john,” Alan said. “On my way back maybe I’ll just make a small wager.”

He winked at Bill as he passed by.

“So lemme ask you something,” I said to Bill when we were alone. “When we get this horse, when are we gonna run her again? I mean you’re gonna put her in a race by next week, right?”

“I don’t know about
that
,” Bill said.

“What do you mean?” I said.

“Well, next week might be a little too soon,” he said. “We’ll have to see how she comes out of this race, then we might want to get her on the track a few times, get some works into her—”

“So why can’t you do that by next week? I mean I’ve seen trainers run horses back two days after the claim.”

“Yeah, and then they have to lay the horse up for six months because they ran him into the ground. No, we’re gonna take it a little easier than that with Sunshine Brandy—especially because she’s a filly. With the girls you gotta be a little more gentle than with the boys. On the other hand, I like what I’ve seen of this horse so far—I really like it. She has a nice easy stride, a good pedigree, a good age too. Filly, lightly raced. She didn’t run as a two-year-old and when she turns four next year I think she’ll really have an edge. Yep, I think this horse has a chance to do something in state-bred allowance company.”

“And then we’re gonna enter her in some big stakes races, right?”

“Well, we don’t want to get ahead of ourselves now, do we?” he said. “I think we’d be happy if we got into allowance company and ran a couple of good races.”

“Why would we be happy then?”

“Because that would mean the horse was running good. That’s the most we could hope for, right?”

“No. The most we could hope for is for her to win a Breeder’s Cup race.”

“Well, that sure is ambitious.”

“Why?”

Bill looked at me funny, like he was confused about something.

“You’re only paying thirty thousand-plus dollars for this horse,” he said. “A champion race horse costs a lot more than that.”

“John Henry only cost about twenty thousand dollars and how many millions of dollars did he win?”

“John Henry was a rare exception. For every John Henry there’re a thousand horses who don’t win anything.”

“Maybe this horse will be another John Henry.”

“Unfortunately,” he said, “I don’t think that’s going to happen.”

“It will,” I said. “You’ll see.”

Pete came back from betting and started talking to Bill. Bill’s negative attitude pissed me off. Now I realized why he was always at the bottom of the trainer standings.

The horses were coming onto the track for the second race. I stood up and stared at Sunshine Brandy, the number three horse. Bill was right about one thing—she was in great shape, all right. She had big muscular legs, a nice shiny coat, and she was walking on her toes and her ears were perked up. I wished I had binoculars with me so I could get a better look. Pete must’ve been reading my mind because he said, “Want a better look, Tommy?” and he was holding out his binoculars for me.

“That’s all right,” I said.

Pete was a loser and I was afraid if I touched anything he owned part of him might rub off on me.

Alan, Steve and Rob came back from betting and sat in their seats. I was still standing up, watching the horses pass the grandstand in a line, each one next to a pony. Sunshine Brandy looked so much classier than the other horses, like she didn’t belong on the same racetrack. She had a good jockey on her too—John Velazquez.

I glanced at the tote board—there were only six minutes to post time.

I sat down, but I couldn’t stop looking at Sunshine Brandy. The race was six furlongs so the starting gate was on the backstretch, on the other side of the track. Velazquez was jogging her toward the gate now, taking it nice and easy, airing her out. Even from far away she stood out from the field like a champion.

The horses were going into the starting gate. I looked at the tote board—there was less than a minute to post. I stood up on my seat to get a better view. Then the track announcer said “They’re off!” and Sunshine Brandy, with the pink and red silks, shot out of the gate like a bullet. It was like she was pulling Velazquez along, doing all the work. She had a three-length lead, but it was an easy three-length lead. If Velazquez wanted to, it was obvious he could’ve opened up five or ten lengths on the field and the horse wouldn’t’ve even broken a sweat.

Alan, Pete and the other guys were screaming their heads off, but I was just standing there, watching. Rounding the far turn, Velazquez let it out a notch and, suddenly, Sunshine Brandy opened up five lengths on the field. She looked like she was running even easier than before. It was like this was a workout for her while the jockeys on the other horses were whipping and driving, trying to keep up. In the stretch, Sunshine Brandy still had that big lead and Velazquez still hadn’t used the whip. He was sitting straight up on her with a stranglehold. She still had about a five-length lead, but to me she looked like Secretariat in the ’73 Belmont—all alone on the track, a champ. Then, about fifty yards from the wire, she went down. It happened in a split second. Maybe she took a bad step, or maybe one of her legs just snapped, because she stopped short and Velazquez went flying over her head, landing on his ass, and then the hind legs of the horse went off the ground and the horse tipped over, just missing Velazquez.

Suddenly, the whole crowd went quiet. The other horses ran by, but nobody was paying attention to the race anymore. Everybody was looking at Sunshine Brandy, trying to stand up on three legs. It was obvious she’d snapped one of her front legs now—the bone was sticking out through the skin, all covered with blood.

For the first time since before the race started I looked at the other guys. They were staring down at the racetrack in shock.

“I’m really sorry, fellas,” Bill Tucker said. “I don’t know what else to say.”

“Don’t apologize,” Alan said. “It’s not your fault.”

“I still
am
sorry,” Bill said. “I really am.”

“What the hell are
you
sorry for?” I said to Bill. “You didn’t know the horse was gonna break her leg.”

“I know, I know, but I still feel responsible.”

I slapped Bill on the back.

“Forget about it,” I said. “Let’s just thank our lucky stars the horse didn’t finish the race. At least now we can take our money and go claim another horse.”

Bill looked at me and the other guys were staring at me too. I wondered what the hell was going on.

“I’m afraid that’s not the way it works,” Alan said.

“What do you mean?” I said. “It’s our money. We can do whatever we want with it.”

“It’s not our money anymore,” Pete said. “According to rules, once somebody puts a slip in the claiming box to claim a horse and the race goes off, the horse belongs to the new owner.”

I stared at Pete for a few seconds, then I started to laugh.

“That’s a good one,” I said. “You guys almost had me going there a second.”

“It’s true,” Pete said.

“Come on, you gotta be kidding me,” I said. Nobody was laughing. “What about all the insurance we bought? The insurance must cover this.”

“The policy kicks in
after
the race,” Alan said. “Unfortunately, Sunshine Brandy is ours now.”

I looked over at Bill Tucker and I could tell by his face that they weren’t bullshitting. Then I looked back toward the track. An ambulance had pulled up next to the horse and the workers were setting up the screen so the fans didn’t have to see them give the horse a lethal injection. In a couple of minutes we were going to own a thirty-thousand-dollar piece of horsemeat.

Suddenly, I lost it. I remember screaming and cursing like a wild man, running through the grandstand, pushing people out of my way. Somehow I made it back into my car. Next thing I knew, I was driving out of the racetrack, going as fast as my car would go, running red lights and swerving. I pulled over on a side street and took deep breaths, trying to get a hold of myself.

The horse was dead. It was still impossible to believe. One second she looked like the best horse in the world, the next she was on the ground and they were getting ready to give her the needle.

I needed to unwind. I spotted a bowling alley on Rockaway Boulevard and I pulled into the parking lot. I bowled for about an hour. I was just letting off steam, tossing the ball down the lane on two or three bounces to the pins. Afterwards, I felt better, more like my old self. Bowling had cost eleven dollars and now I had only three dollars and some change left to my name. I’d have to figure out a way to get some more money soon, that’s all. I knew I could talk Frank into giving me another advance on my salary, and then I’d have to figure out a way to get twenty grand, or however much I would need to buy another race horse.

It was a little after four o’clock. Driving over the Queensboro Bridge, I was looking forward to going to work tonight, getting my life back on track.

I exited the bridge onto First Avenue and headed uptown. I found a good spot near East Sixty-second Street and walked uptown, toward my apartment. Turning the corner onto Sixty-fourth Street, I noticed two cop cars in front of my building. I turned around and walked back toward my car, as fast as I could.

I had no idea how the cops had caught on to me and I didn’t have time to think about it. I had to get away, maybe leave the city, then I remembered I only had three dollars and some change.

Avoiding First Avenue, I walked up Sixty-second Street to Second Avenue and headed uptown. On Seventy-first, I cut over two long blocks to York. The sun had set and it was almost totally dark outside. I went into the vestibule of Janene’s building and rang the buzzer. She didn’t answer. Afraid she wasn’t home, I rang again, pressing down hard with my finger. Then I heard Janene say, “Who is it?”