by Mark Paul
“What’s a library?” Miami responded.
“It’s a place where they keep books. Remember when you went to college?”
“Not really. Can we get a drink there?”
“I think we should look for magazine and newspaper articles on the racetrack and its owner. They should have them there on microfiche.”
“I know how to fish. You get an ice chest full of beer and….”
“Seriously, we need to find out who the hell we are dealing with. Who are these guys?”
At the library, the friends asked for help from an older librarian. She pointed toward a dark haired, younger woman wearing a print dress with a bow at the neckline and low white heels. Her nametag read Amalia Duran. She spoke to them in English but with an unmistakable Spanish accent. Amalia was perhaps 32, had olive skin, wore glasses, and was quite cute, in a reserved way. Dino took immediate interest in her and explained that they were considering doing business with the Agua Caliente racetrack and its owner, Jorge Rhon.
“Amalia, have you ever been to a racetrack?” asked Dino.
“No, but it sounds fun.”
“It’s a wonderful, beautiful, special place. We…I…will take you there. The racehorses are beautiful, and it’s a fun place for a date. I mean more like a lunch…if you are interested?”
“I would love to see the horses. Is it safe for them to race?”
“It’s only dangerous for the gamblers like Dino and me,” said Miami.
She tilted her head toward Dino. “You’re a gambler?”
“Sometimes. But I really go because it’s the most amazing sport in the entire world. It’s called ‘the sport of kings.’ You’ll see. The horses are beautiful, and the baby 2-year-old colts and fillies are making their first starts this time of year. You can feed them carrots when we go, Amalia.” Dino stared at Miami while biting his upper lip and discreetly giving him a two-handed, palms down sign with both hands to be quiet.
Miami smiled and asked, “Is there a bar here?” then walked away to leave the two of them alone.
The research became much more enjoyable for Dino over the coming weeks as he and Amalia dated. He took her to a play and a comedy club. She was quiet but liked to laugh when Dino told her something funny.
Amalia helped Dino and Miami investigate information on Agua Caliente and the track’s owner. Dino got Amalia to go to the Los Angeles library’s downtown branch that had more microfiche and access to the Tijuana papers and magazines. She was bilingual and learned that Rhon’s father, the former mayor of Mexico City, had become one of the richest men in Mexico and had been quoted as saying, “A politician who is poor, is a poor politician.” In 1984, the father gifted his son, Jorge Hank Rhon, the Agua Caliente horse and dog racetrack. Later, Amalia found articles in the library on the younger Rhon that portrayed him as a saint, but also linked him to drug dealing and massive political corruption.
Jorge Rhon was the same age as Miami and Dino—31. He was a colorful character who often sported a red crocodile skin vest, and owned Mexico’s Grupo Caliente, which included a chain of off-track horse betting locations, a dog racing track, a hotel, a huge shopping mall in Tijuana, and his Agua Caliente racetrack. Grupo Caliente had for some time been trying to get sports betting on Mexican events, as well as US events, legalized in Mexico, but had so far been unsuccessful. Rhon ran the Miss Mexico beauty pageant and had just hosted the World Boxing title fight between Julio César Chávez and Danilo Cabrera. His house looked down on the Mexican track and was known as one of the largest mansions in Tijuana. The house had a private zoo with a collection of 20,000 wild animals, including monkeys, bears, camels, elephants, big cats, pygmy hippos, and a variety of birds, snakes, and wolves.
“This is all good. He’s rich!” Miami shouted.
“Apparently, personally owning wild and dangerous animals is common among wealthy cartel leaders,” Amalia said as she showed the gamblers an article to confirm the information.
The big cats always fascinated Rhon and he drove around with a baby white tiger in his Mercedes until he was caught by the US Border Patrol and fined $25,000. His personal cheetah once escaped and was hit by a pick-up truck near the track. Stories surfaced that for weeks he didn’t feed his Bengal tigers. Then he released other live animals into the cat’s cages for entertainment, and he and his friends watched the tigers devour horses, burros, and goats, in a violent blood bath.
“This guy is a cartel guy!” said Dino.
Amalia went on translating the research and telling them Rhon was nicknamed, “Tigre Blanco,” or, in English, “White Tiger.” He loved to throw wild parties featuring bullfights and cockfights on his massive estate. Gambling and drinking were the order of the day.
Almost weekly, scandalous articles about Rhon and Agua Caliente were written in the extremely popular local Tijuana newspaper, Zeta. The famous (and prolific) reporter, Hector Felix Miranda, known by his pen name, El Gato, penned a column titled “Un Poco de Algo,” or, “A Little Something.”
The articles about Rhon were plentiful, with El Gato often implying that Rhon was a drug sniffing, womanizing, rich boy who was running the racetrack toward ruin, but he was also a philanthropist and generous to the poor. El Gato often mentioned Rhon’s business associates. Amalia said some of these associates were possibly on the United States Drug Enforcement Administration’s (DEA) wanted lists, with the DEA offering rewards of tens of thousands of dollars to anyone who helped capture the brutal and dangerous drug traffickers.
El Gato infuriated Rhon when he chronicled Rhon’s infidelities and girlfriends. The reporter was apparently socially friendly with Rhon at times and attended many of his parties but wrote of Rhon’s cocaine use at the decadent parties, an accusation Rhon always denied.
There were written allegations of fixed horseraces and fraudulent bets. The relationship between the reporter and Rhon seemed acrimonious. In a March 1988 article, El Gato was invited to a beauty pageant held at Agua Caliente and the journalist wrote, “I have seven lives like cats, but I do not know how many I have left.” El Gato seemed to be implying that he was afraid of Rhon.
Since 1985 new off-track “simulcasting” betting facilities were opening throughout California, causing financial ruin for the Agua Caliente track in Tijuana. Gamblers could now stay in Southern California instead of crossing the border to bet. New technologies were changing the horse betting game and there were winners and losers at the bookmakers’ level. The winners were the big US racetracks and the new US simulcasting facilities. The losers were the small tracks everywhere as bettors could now bet on the racing signals beamed in from the big classy tracks like Santa Anita, Hollywood Park, Churchill Downs, and Saratoga. Non-US, off-track betting facilities, and private illegal bookmakers, were left out in the cold.
Business was so bad at Agua Caliente that Rhon sold off his black, twin-engine Lockheed JetStar executive jet, as well as six of his beloved sports cars including a Ferrari. Rhon admitted the track was bleeding money. He declined to say how much money he has lost in horseracing since he was given the track in August 1985, but he did admit, “Let’s just say that it totals in the millions. We have stables for over 1,000 horses and used to house between 800 and 1,000 horses every year. In the past year, we’ve only had between 150 and 280 horses.”
Dino said, “Agua Caliente doesn’t have enough horses and is dying. I bet that racetrack is bankrupt within a year now, because everyday horse bettors can just simulcast their bets in Del Mar. Why the hell would anyone go there now?”
Amalia had read rumors that the track company allowed Rhon to launder drug money, but there had never been any charges filed against Rhon; at least none that she could find. Rhon’s nightclub, Iguana, and his restaurants in Tijuana, allegedly were favorites of the Arellano-Felix drug cartel. To reporters and sources in Tijuana, Rhon was viewed as “the richest man and most powerful” person in the infamous border town.
“Guys,” said Amalia, “you are not going to believe this
, but I’ve read in several articles that Rhon mixes the penises of tigers, lions, and dogs into his tequila and drinks it!”
“Really? Who does that?” Miami asked. “I’m sure that kind of guy won’t mind paying off millions of dollars to us gringo horseplayers.”
“Well at least he could probably afford to pay us,” said Dino.
“Wouldn’t it just be cheaper to have us killed?” asked Miami.
Later that night, Miami read up on Agua Caliente. Amalia had given him another article about how back in the 1960s, the racetrack did not pay the famous restaurant owner Earl Jones, owner of the Earl’s Hamburger chain, $10,000 when he hit the 5-10 (the Mexican track’s version of the Pick 6). They claimed it was because of a corrupt ticket writer, not the track refusing to pay.
Miami also read of a big 5-10 payout of $350,204 to one winning ticket 10 years earlier to a gambler. That night Miami didn’t sleep well thinking about the track’s apparent connection to the drug trade and its financial condition. He went to sleep thinking that maybe the 25-1 odds on Winning Colors in the Las Vegas future book would have been a better bet than 50-1 in Tijuana. He also knew that Dino just didn’t think that way. Dino’s life was about getting the edge in odds, and he knew his best friend would not have taken half the odds offered on the same horse in Mexico despite the risks. Hell, Miami thought, Dino would go to the African Congo if they had higher odds offered.
The next day, Dino checked on the current Las Vegas future betting odds on Winning Colors and learned she was now bet down to 12-1 in the Nevada casinos. He remained convinced she was a great bet and eagerly awaited her next start on a weekend in late February. Dino was now handicapping Winning Colors’ next race and was wondering what Lukas would do next. Would he stay with conventional training methods and keep the star filly running against her own sex or become aggressive and go against the tougher male runners? He knew Lukas and Klein would have to decide soon.
The Derby was becoming a personal thorn to Lukas who could not win the biggest race despite having sent out more Derby entrants than any other trainer in history. The previous year he had won over $17,000,000 in purses and 22 Grade 1 races, but his lone Derby entrant ran fifth. Would he risk the humiliation and risk running a filly again? Or, would he keep the big gray Amazon running against her own sex and earn easier Grade 1 purses against the smaller fillies?
February 19, 1988, Santa Anita Racetrack, California
Fridays were always track days for Miami and Dino and they were wearing the required sports coats and ties while having lunch at the Santa Anita Turf Club restaurant. It was the perfect venue overlooking the track, and in the distance, snow-capped mountains to the north were visible. Miami was in a state of complete and total happiness watching the horses prance to the gate for the first race of the day. He enjoyed the sight of the jockeys’ colorful silks as much as he enjoyed a glass of crisp California chardonnay. He ripped open the Daily Racing Form’s past performances to see prospects for the race Winning Colors would run the next day. The Saturday race was a prestigious Grade 1 level stakes race. The level of horses that compete in stakes races are ranked in order: Overnight, Listed, Grade 3, Grade 2, and Grade 1. Approximately 100 elite Grade 1 stakes races are run each year in America. The Kentucky Derby, Preakness, Belmont, and Breeders’ Cup races are all Grade 1, and are often referred to as the year’s classic races.
Upon glancing at the competitors’ track records, Miami saw a new immediate threat to Winning Colors. “Jesus Christ, Dino,” he said, “have you looked at this New York filly named Goodbye Halo? They flew her in to compete with Winning Colors tomorrow. Shit! This filly keeps destroying her fields. She won her first race by eight lengths, and then won the Demoiselle Stakes at Aqueduct by 10 lengths! That’s a Grade 1 stakes in New York! That damn horse can really run.”
“I saw her last race in the Starlet Stakes. I don’t think she can handle Winning Colors. Our girl has too much early speed and Goodbye Halo will be too far back to catch her.”
“Goodbye Halo won that race by three-and-a-half lengths and it’s a Grade 1, too. I’m nervous as hell for tomorrow.”
“I’m hammering Winning Colors tomorrow at the windows. You’ll see,” said Dino.
Chapter 4
Stakes Class
Miami was a top sales broker in his office. He was used to making money and this new reality—lack of income—was causing him to doubt his career choice. On October 19, 1987, the historic financial event known as Black Monday had happened. On that day, the DOW dropped from 2,400 to 1,500 in a day. Four months later, investors still had no confidence to pull the trigger on any real estate deal, especially with the insane interest rates. Something has to give, or I am going to have to take a J.O.B., and stop going to the track, he thought.
Miami was not sleeping well. He had another problem—a $45,000 second mortgage coming due in less than two months on his two-bedroom condo in Westwood, and he didn’t have the money, or now, even prospects to get the money. He tried to get the loan refinanced through a bank but had been turned down due to lack of equity in his unit.
The current lender had called Miami the week before asking what his plan was to pay off the maturing loan.
“I’m planning on winning a large bet on a horse race,” Miami said, and then added, “just kidding…don’t worry…I’ve got it covered.”
Besides the mortgage, Miami had even more on his mind. He’d had another date that night with Ava Bouchon. She was smart, tall, classy, exotic, and dressed with great style and taste. Ava had a top marketing executive position in downtown Los Angeles, and a big corner office, but Miami was convinced she spent 150 percent of her income on clothes. Based on her wardrobe, he figured she was probably making more money than he was in his commercial real estate (commission only) business. She was flying all over the world because of her work and appeared to be killing it. Whatever she was doing, she had his attention. She was fun to be with, but he wasn’t sure what she thought of him.
Miami first met Ava while they were both on vacation in the mountains over the Christmas holidays, when there was no racing. They had been having some fun together on several dates, but now Miami was thinking that having a steady girlfriend could be cool. She seemed interested, but he couldn’t really tell. She was keeping her feelings guarded. Being with someone that could understand the passion he had for thoroughbred horse racing was uncommon. He was happily confused.
He was so confused that he was planning to break one of his most important and strictest codes in life: Never bring a woman along when gambling.
He made it through the next workday on Friday and that night he picked up Ava with the convertible top down and took her to a restaurant in Malibu. Ava looked great, but she kept asking about what hat to wear at Santa Anita tomorrow.
Miami didn’t tell her all the details, but women’s hats at the racetrack were a total annoyance to him. On big days at the track, when the best horses in racing and the best gambling opportunities of the racing year were present, it seemed that women only wanted to look at, talk about, and be seen in huge, over-stuffed hats. Sometimes on big race days, Miami couldn’t see over the women’s hats to watch the race, as they had entire fruit baskets perched on top of their heads.
“Ava, promise me you won’t wear a hat to the track.”
“I already picked it out. You’ll love it. It’s small and delicate.”
“You’re kidding…those track hats are ugly.”
“You expect me to take fashion advice from a guy that has 11 identical jackets from a character on a TV show?”
“They’re not identical… I have three different colors.”
Miami had given the waiter his credit card, but it was declined.
“Let me get this,” she volunteered.
“No, I’ve got it, Ava.” He put down another card that he hoped had a positive balance on it. It went through.
It was quiet on the drive back down Pacific Coast Highway toward Westwood, until Mia
mi opened up to Ava. “Right now, being a commercial real estate broker is nearly impossible,” he said. “I’m struggling to get deals closed.”
“You don’t have to explain. Interest rates are high. I know.”
“Not just high, they are over 10 percent...everyone’s scared. The stock market is a mess, too.”
“I’m sorry. It has to be difficult.” She smiled at him and put her hand to his face. “Thanks for sharing with me.”
“I’ve always been successful…and I will be again.”
February 20, 1988, Santa Anita Racetrack, California
The next morning, Miami brought Ava coffee and opened the curtains. The winter morning sun reflected off the Westwood skyline office towers. “My track buddy Dino is going to join us today. He’s the best horse handicapper in the country. We’re going to drive there with him because my car doesn’t seat three.”
“He’s coming with us on our track date?”
“I never go to the track without him. If you want to win, believe me you always want him with us.”
They relaxed as Ava made avocado and bacon omelets. She read the Los Angeles Times and Hollywood Reporter as Miami read the racing form, with the Saturday college basketball games on in the background, with the sound on mute. He was relaxed and had no interest in betting on the games today.
Later that morning they dressed for their afternoon at the turf club. Miami put on a teal blue sports jacket, crisp white dress shirt, and tied a blue silk tie as he told Ava for the first time about their recent bet on Winning Colors to win the Kentucky Derby, still three months away. He told her about how spectacular Winning Colors was, and that today she would have to defeat the best fillies in California to continue her advance toward the Derby and have a chance to beat the males.