Secretariat Reborn (24 page)

Jeffery nodded, and Christian gave the jockey a leg up into the saddle. Allie led the colt and rider to the track opening where a post pony rider took over, leading Mystery to the starting gate on the other side of the track.

“Well, this is it,” she said. “If we hurry, we can still place a bet.”

Christian tittered. “We won’t make much money, even with a winning ticket.” Unlike Hunter, Mystery’s
correct
workouts were in the racing catalogue, and with the colt’s fast times, he was going off with three-to-one odds, the second favorite.

“Doesn’t matter. Come on.” She grabbed Christian’s hand, and they jogged to an outside betting booth, each plunking down twenty dollars to win.

Despite the drizzling rain, they rushed back to the rail and watched Mystery load into the starting gate. Everything happened too fast. Before Christian could absorb or enjoy it, the bell sounded, the doors opened, and the horses lunged out. Mystery gamely dashed out but was bumped and cut off by the zigzagging number two horse. Jeffrey had to check Mystery, pull him up, to avoid a collision.

“Shit!” Allie cursed. On the backstretch, Mystery was struggling in the mud and in last place. “Come on, boy,” she said. “Level out, level out, get it together.”

At the turn, Mystery began to gain ground, but faced a wall of horses. Jeffrey tried to squeeze him through on the rail, but another horse cut in front of them, slamming Mystery’s side. Jeffrey checked him again to avoid the other horses’ back hooves.

“Asshole, take him wide, goddamn it,” Allie screamed to the
jockey who couldn’t hear her. “The moron just checked him again.” Angry, she looked down for a second, unable to watch.

“He’s moving, Allie!” Christian yelled. Jeffery had found a narrow space between two horses, and Mystery blasted through, leaving three of them. Six horses still lay far ahead. Rounding the turn in the short race, Mystery flew over the puddles as the other horses seemed to just coast along. He plowed past two more and was neck and neck with the fourth horse on the home stretch.

“And here comes Clever Chris,” said the track announcer. “He’s moving fast.”

“But he’s running out of ground,” Allie answered. “He’ll never catch them.” Mystery blazed down the track, passing the fourth horse and only a length and half behind three tightly packed front-runners. At the finish line and with one more stride, Mystery overtook all of them, but too late.

Allie was happily hopping up and down. “What a race! What a horse!”

With the loss, Christian was a little numb. “But he got fourth.”

“It doesn’t matter,” she said, excitedly. “Did you see him move? He got bumped, cut off, was checked twice, and dealt with a sloppy track and an idiot jockey, and he didn’t flinch. He moved through horses like a confident three-year-old and made up the distance in record time. Damn, Christian, you’ve got yourself one nice colt.”

He swiped back his dripping wet hair and held his forehead. “I know, but he got fourth,” he repeated. “I thought he’d be like Secretariat—that he couldn’t lose.”

“Secretariat?” She knitted a brow with puzzlement. “Don’t you think you’re aiming a little high? Besides, even Secretariat lost four races, including his first one.”

Christian stood in a daze, as if a two-by-four had smacked him in the back of his head. Why didn’t he know that information? Stupid, he thought. Up until today, he had never uttered Secretariat’s name or discussed him with Allie. Fearing she might make the connection with the cloned colt, he even avoided bringing books or information
on Secretariat into the house. With the race, he realized his mistake. He needed to learn about Mystery’s famous donor.

Mystery, with the jockey, trotted up covered with mud, so thick that the dirt concealed his chestnut coat and forehead. Allie walked out on the track and held the colt’s head, and Jeffrey demounted.

“This is a damn good colt,” Allie ranted, eye level with the jockey, “and you rode him like a cheap nag through those horses. Instead of taking him on the outside, you rode him right up on their asses and risked clipping hooves. Then he got slammed on the rail and had to be checked for a second goddamn time. You cost him this race.”

Jeffrey shrugged. “I did not take him through the field,” he argued. “He took me.” He held his saddle and walked to the scales, but stopped near Christian. “Your trainer—” He grumbled, glancing over his shoulder at Allie. “She is hot tempered, but the colt—never have I felt such power.”

Allie removed Mystery’s blinkers and doused his head with water, cooling him and getting the mud out of his eyes. Before going to the barn, Christian stroked Mystery’s neck. “You did good, boy, real good.” All the while, his mind was on Vince and the unpaid loan.

The following morning Christian was back at work in Sarasota and, as expected during the first part of summer, the boat rental business was slow. Standing on the white sandy shore dotted with seaweed and a few dead horseshoe crabs, he stared across the still, green bay. In the low tide, he watched a school of mullet darting over a shallow grass flat. Farther out, a flock of seagulls screeched and dove for bait-fish. Several of their stately brethren, the pelicans, floated amid the hectic action. Although Christian had seen the view thousands of times, it never grew old.

Today, though, he couldn’t enjoy it. Anxious and distracted, he turned away from the bay, birds, and fish and took the checkbook from his back pocket. Twenty-five hundred was the measly balance. In a few days, he could expect another twelve hundred from Mystery’s
fourth-place purse, but not enough, not even close. To offer it to Vince could be an insult.

He tossed back his head, closed his eyes, and felt the jittery tension within, a new feeling for him, but well known to addicted gamblers who bet, lost, and then felt the panic, since they lacked the cash to pay off the deadly loan shark.

All his life, Christian had played it safe and honest. What the hell had he been thinking when he jumped into the horseracing frying pan? It wasn’t for money, power, or glory.

Buried deep down, he knew. He rubbed his left arm, the arm he broke when ten years old because he disobediently took out the gray colt and fell off—the broken arm that ended his parents’ marriage.

If he fulfilled his father’s dream and made Mystery the greatest horse since Secretariat, perhaps then he would squelch his nagging guilt. Reason told him he was likely blameless for their breakup, but his injury had coincided with the tragic loss of his home and father, scarring his childhood and leaving him with a lifetime of insecurity. With Mystery’s success, he hoped to make atonement. He would prove, if only to himself, he was a good son. That he was okay.

In the rainy afternoon, Christian closed up shop, secured the boats, and put the equipment away. He slowly drove to Longboat Key and Vince’s house. To avoid the man would only make matters worse. He knocked on the door, and Vince opened it.

“Fourth place, huh?” Vince said before Christian could open his mouth. “I watched the race on the cable channel. Come in. Never gamble on horses, sports, or people unless you hold all the cards and know the outcome.”

“Right.” Christian sighed and walked in with his head and shoulders drooping. “I guess it’s no surprise that I’m not going to meet the deadline and pay you off.” He pushed the hair back from his forehead and massaged his temples. “So what do you want to do, Vince, beat me up, break my legs? Just please don’t involve Allie or my family.”

“Lighten up, Christian.” Vince said with an alligator smile.
“Don’t plan on hurtin’ my fishin’ guide. Let’s have a drink and celebrate our new workin’ arrangement.”

Christian sunk his teeth into his bottom lip and followed Vince to the bar. Over drinks, Vince confessed he had counted on Christian’s failure to pay and laid out his new occupation. Using the Scarab, Christian would cruise twenty miles out in the gulf and pick up overseas goods, as Vince called it, from freighters entering Tampa Bay. “Do as you’re told, and no one gets hurt.”

“Overseas goods from south of the equator, I take it?”

Vince turned, giving him a sideward glance. “Just pick up the packages and don’t fuckin’ worry about what’s inside.”

“Okay, Vince,” Christian said and took a gulp of his drink. Several moments passed. “I just don’t understand. You’ve got plenty of men. Why do you need me?”

“You’re a local kid with local ID and lanky with a mop of yellow hair. You’re the typical type seen cruisin’ in a speedboat, so you won’t attract attention. The Coast Guard takes one glance at my bunch—dark-haired Italians in a fast boat—it’s like waving a red flag. They don’t exactly fit the profile of boaters or fishermen. Same thing happens to blacks and Hispanics in big cars running goods on the freeways. Cops get suspicious and pull them over.”

Vince pulled out a cigar and lit it. “Besides, Christian, you’ve proved you got balls, can handle the boat, and know these waters. At night you can outrun or hide from the cops. Even if you’re pulled over, your record is clean. Never been in jail except—” he laughed, “when you popped that horse trainer in Miami. Remember, I checked you out. You’re known for bein’ dependable and honest.”

Christian set the glass down on the bar and inhaled deeply. “Then honestly, Vince, I’d prefer the broken legs rather than do what you ask.”

Vince’s expression darkened, his smile gone. “No, boy, no broken legs; this is a do-or-die thing. And because you’re so devoted to your family and that girl, you’ll do as you’re told. They’re the cards
I hold. Screw me over by runnin’ or talkin’ to the cops, and someone you love is bound to disappear.”

Christian gripped the bar to conceal his tremors. The rush of emotions—anger, fear, worry—all hit him at once. He sucked up air and collected himself. “Fine, Vince,” he said, barely above a whisper. “When do I start?”

“In a few weeks, I’ll call ya.”

Christian walked out to his SUV, climbed in, and started the engine. For a minute, he sat in the driveway and chewed a nail. “Jesus,” he mumbled. “How did I get myself into this shit?”

Although shaken, he wasn’t surprised by the conversation with Vince. Christian had seen the boat and knew Vince was crooked. Early on, the man made it clear he did not care about Christian’s horse or boat business. He had loaned Christian the money because he needed a drug runner, one who could drive the Scarab like a madman through local waters. Christian, stupidly, had proved he qualified.

The reality hit him hard. He felt nervous perspiration popping out of the pores on his forehead. Wiping it away and pushing back his saffron hair, he straightened and looked into the rearview mirror at himself.
Dumb blond. Perhaps there’s truth in those jokes
. His gullible personality occasionally got him into jams.

He left Vince’s house, grateful for the long ride ahead. With plenty of time, he’d have his act together before he reached home and Allie. He left the barrier islands, made his way through the downtown area, and drove east.

He realized he wasn’t above breaking the law. After all, he had just committed fraud by racing the illegal colt. And concerning drugs, he was far from sainthood. At parties, he rarely turned down a hit off a joint, and in the past he had trespassed and hopped many a cow pasture fence in late summer where he picked the purple and golden mushrooms so he and his buddies could hallucinate and trip
all night. He had even given cocaine a try with Kate. Although the sex was incredible, he did not care for the uptight effect and never did it again.

He considered his hairpin temper and the past scuffles when a good-for-nothing pushed him too far, although up until Miami, he had never been arrested for assault and put in jail. Luckily, Frank had talked to the prosecutor and had Christian’s misdemeanor battery charges dismissed.

Vince’s gig, though, was a whole different animal. If caught hauling a mass quantity of drugs, he faced serious felony charges and a long prison term. If he refused, he put his family and Allie at risk, not to mention Vince’s men would probably kill him.

“Fuck me,” he cursed. “I’m such an idiot. Should’ve never taken Vince’s money.”

He looked at the overcast sky layered with black clouds. “Christ, Dad, when you made me promise to get the damn colt, did you have this shit in mind? I was happy, had a decent life. Now it’s gone.” He shook slightly and seethed. “You and your goddamn dreams.”

A little more than two weeks had passed since Mystery’s first race and Christian’s visit with Vince. At the farm, Allie loaded Mystery into the horse trailer. “I can’t believe you’re not coming with us. You’ll miss his second race,” she said to Christian and shut the trailer door. “He’s going to win.”

“I’m sorry. I wish I could come,” Christian said, “but Vince made plans for the fishing trip with friends. I can’t get out of it.”

“You don’t need to explain,” she grumbled. “I’ve heard it before. Without Vince’s money, you wouldn’t have Mystery. You owe him.” She shook her head. “Vince is a Thoroughbred owner. You’d think he’d understand the importance of this race and postpone his fishing trip.”

“You’d think,” he said, “but apparently his friends are from out of town and don’t have much time.”