by Mark Paul
Big Bernie was smiling and open. His beefy arms were wide open, and he held his palms up. “Miami, if our filly wins the Derby, man I’m staying in Mexico. I’ll own my own motel right on the beach, and I’ll never have to work again. I’ll be known as ‘el jefe Bernie.’ No, I’ll be Don Bernie, you know, like in the Godfather movie…Don Corleone.”
By now, Miami was exhausted. He called a cab to get them both home. He didn’t want to say anything that would ruin Big Bernie’s dream. He now wanted Winning Colors to just stay healthy, and get into that Derby starting gate, not just for him and Dino, but even more for Big Bernie.
Chapter 8
Newspaper Execution
The morning of Wednesday, April 20, 1988, was cold and raining in Tijuana, Mexico. Hector Felix Miranda, known by his famous Zeta newspaper pen name, El Gato, awoke to get ready for his workday. In this city of great poverty, and great wealth, the bachelor El Gato followed an unwavering schedule. He woke, dressed, and had breakfast at the same café every morning. Often, he met with people during breakfast to learn new content for the gossip and news column he wrote, but his favorite subject was always Jorge Rhon.
As he got dressed, El Gato did not notice it, but he was being watched through binoculars. He also did not notice the black Trans Am sports car that was parked across the steep street. He donned his Members Only gray jacket, grabbed his colorful umbrella, walked to his Crown Victoria sedan, then paused to speak to his young neighbor, Ejival, a student at Universidad Iberoamericana.
El Gato warmed up the engine and turned on the windshield wipers before he drove down the narrow Tijuana street. It was 9:00 a.m. and the short drive was the last thing this journalist ever did.
Victoriano Medina Moreno, the man with the binoculars, whispered, “The target is on the move,” over a two-way radio and receiver to his accomplice, Antonio Vera Palestina, who was waiting in ambush mode, a ways down the street. The streets were wet, filled with potholes, and El Gato’s huge car was moving slow. A third accomplice, Emigdio Nevárez, moved his pick-up truck into a position that blocked El Gato’s car. Palestina exited the truck and pointed a high-powered shotgun at El Gato. The first bullets ripped El Gato’s shoulder and neck to pieces. The murderer and his accomplice moved to a point six feet away to shoot El Gato from behind the wheel of his car. The second blast hurled his dead body into the passenger seat and separated much of his head from his torso. The Crown Victoria kept moving downhill before crashing into a house.
A journalist was dead. A message had been sent.
The drivers of the pick-up truck and the Trans Am departed the scene in separate directions. Ten minutes later, they met again at the Agua Caliente racetrack parking lot. The drivers clocked in to work at their jobs in the security office of the racetrack.
The next night, Dino’s telephone rang at 11:00 p.m. and the sound woke him. “What’s up?” he answered. “It’s late.”
It was Amalia. “You have me always checking on that Tijuana newspaper, Zeta…right?…and you said you wanted to know about anything El Gato, that Mexican reporter, who writes about the track and its owner…right?”
“Yeah, of course, of course, thanks…what…?”
“Well, Zeta released today a special edition. El Gato was shot to death, execution style, in broad daylight.”
“Whoa, whoa…are you sure?” As Dino sat up in bed, he said, “That’s the reporter who was writing the bad shit about Jorge Rhon, the track owner, right?”
“Yes, I’m sure. I got a call from a friend of mine who is a librarian down in San Diego. She’s been reading the papers to me when she finds stuff on him. It’s the biggest story in years in Tijuana.”
“What else do you know? Do they have a suspect?”
“That’s it so far, but I’ll call you when I get to work tomorrow and get everything else I can find out,” said Amalia and she hung up.
Dino knew Miami was always up late, so he called and told him the story.
“Shit, Dino! That’s awful about the journalist…and as for Rhon…well, he can’t pay us if he’s in jail.”
Neither Miami nor Dino slept well the rest of that night.
They both went to see Amalia at the end of day on Saturday, at the library. She wore a grave expression and had much more information to share. “Apparently there is a lot of wealth there, mostly by the politicians and the cartels. I don’t really know, but they have big beauty pageants, and championship boxing matches, and big weddings and stuff….”
“So, here’s what we know now,” said Amalia. “El Gato used to be friends with the owner of the track, Rhon, and went to his events and hung out with him. For many years, he wrote about him, and it wasn’t too bad. El Gato sometimes criticized Rhon for being an outsider; the native Tijuanans hated guys that came from Mexico City, but El Gato liked Rhon because Rhon loved Tijuana, and loved his house, his track. Rhon became one of the prominent locals. El Gato also made fun of everyone and wasn’t afraid to call out the mayor, or anyone. Their paper, Zeta, is respected and not afraid of calling out the drug cartels, the corruption, and the politicos. El Gato wrote about torture.”
“Holy shit,” said Miami. “These Zeta newspaper guys are brave dudes. So how is Rhon tied to this at all?”
“People think that Rhon ordered the hit on El Gato, because El Gato was very critical of Rhon. That’s why they also assumed that Rhon ordered his men to use Uzi machine guns on the front of the Zeta newspaper offices last month—to send a message to El Gato and Zeta to back off…‘or else’…and I guess this is the ‘or else’ part. But here is what’s important—guess who they are looking for in the murder of El Gato?”
“Who?” Dino asked.
She grabbed the necklace on her throat, “Rhon’s bodyguard, Antonio Vera Palestina. He works as the head of security for the Agua Caliente racetrack! The guy is missing, along with another track security guard named Moreno.”
The library became even quieter as the three of them tried to process the information. Amalia’s source in San Diego also said that over a dozen journalists had been killed in Mexico over the last six years.
“These guys kill people for just saying bad things about them,” said Miami. “What do they do to the people who win millions?”
In the days after they received news of El Gato’s murder, the discussions between Dino and Miami became heated on the topic of where to watch the Kentucky Derby. Miami wanted to go to Kentucky to have some fun and party.
“Don’t you think that that may be just a wee bit premature?” Dino asked. “She still hasn’t won the Derby, there are like 16 other talented colts that can beat her, and we have the owner of the race book in Mexico having security guards kill people. Look, he’s not going to kill or rob people on the day of the Kentucky Derby, right? Agua Caliente will be packed that day. Even the parking lots will be full. And there will be a ton of other bettors there that bet on her too, mostly on like small $50 tickets. I say we go in person that day and bring a container to carry our money home when she wins.”
“Dino?”
“What?”
“How big a container do you need to carry $250,000 in cash?”
“How the hell would I know?” said Dino. “Will they pay us in hundreds or twenties? OK. Let’s figure for both. It might be 2,500 bills in hundreds or 12,500 bills in twenties. I figure that’s about three to four of those giant black trash bags, you know the big ones, if they pay us in twenties.”
This image was hilarious to the two gamblers and it took several minutes before they could recover from laughing.
“OK, let me get this right,” said Miami. “You want us to drive across the Mexican border, go into the Agua Caliente racetrack carrying giant plastic lawn trash bags, watch the race on TV…and…when she wins the Derby…we go up to the window, where they will count out 12,500 twenty-dollar bills. We then just pack ‘em up and casually stroll to my indiscreet red sports car…because I’m not driving your slow-as-hell Impala…to pick up $250,000 in ca
sh.”
“We could take a cab, I guess.”
Again, several minutes of laughter.
“All kidding aside, I think we have to take my car,” said Miami. “Remember? I used to race. I swear to God if you get me in my 300Z they won’t catch me until we hit the border! And if we get to the border they aren’t going to kill us in front of the US Border Patrol guards, right?”
“You can outrun a bullet? Does your car even have a trunk?”
“Not really a trunk…so suitcases are probably out. OK, we are back to the trash bag idea. God, just let our sweet filly win!”
Sunday, May 1, 1988, was a sunny, beautiful, 80-degree Los Angeles spring day. With just six days to the Derby, Dino and Miami made the 40-minute drive from West Los Angeles to Santa Anita. This racetrack is far prettier in the winter months when there is virtually no smog, and the mountains with snow-capped peaks are visible, giving a beautiful backdrop to the track. In summer months, smog can be prevalent on hot days and the mountains become barely visible. Dino and Miami were soon seated at their regular table in the turf club, and their excitement level was even higher than normal.
In addition to their worries that the prime execution killing murder suspect was now the owner of the racetrack, Dino had a new problem on his mind. “Miami, I’ve been handicapping the field of Derby horses our girl will face in the race next week. Unfortunately, it is by far the toughest field I’ve seen in years. Just listen to the competition Winning Colors is up against.” He read the information and inserted commentary.
“Risen Star, winner of six races already, including the Louisiana Derby and the Kentucky Derby prep last month, and a son of Secretariat.
“Next, Private Terms. This horse is frickin’ undefeated! Seven starts and seven wins! This horse could go off as the favorite. He just won the Gotham and the Wood Memorial. Raced against the best and has never been beaten! Private Terms’ grandfather is Secretariat. “Now, Seeking the Gold. He almost beat undefeated Private Terms’ last race in the Gotham Stakes.
“Forty Niner. This horse is a beast. Winner of six stakes already, just lost to Risen Star by a head, and trained by Woody Stephens. Ah, Woody Stephens. I hate that guy; he never shuts up. Forty Niner has good speed and can sit just off Winning Colors and try to out finish us. He scares the hell out of me! This horse was the champion 2-year-old in the country last year, winning two Grade 1 stakes at Saratoga by seven total lengths. This horse has been the future book favorite for like over a year now.”
Miami asked Dino to stop.
Dino shook his head and said, “Miami, we really, I mean she really, has gotten unlucky to have to run in the Derby this year against such an awesome field of colts. In any normal year she would be the odds-on favorite to win, but this year she may not even be the favorite.”
“Yeah, but everyone thinks she is just some little filly that will get smoked by the boys. I’ve been reading too, and she is now over 1,200 pounds of legs and muscle. She is by far the biggest and tallest horse in the race. These colts won’t know what hit them when she breaks out of the gate and goes right to the front!”
The 1988 race was the most anticipated Kentucky Derby since Secretariat won in 1973. Everyone had a different opinion of who would win this stellar edition of the world’s most famous horse race. Woody Stephens was mouthing off about his 2-year-old champion Forty Niner. Many knowledgeable horse people were saying that the field had a real problem on their hands with Winning Colors in the race, as she gave the field a perhaps insurmountable problem. If the field let her have her way on the lead uncontested, she could then slow the pace of the race down, and save her energy for the stretch, and they likely could not catch her. But to send a horse to run with the gray Amazon early was considered suicide because she ran at such an insane high cruising speed, the other horse would get fried trying to run with her at the start and would fall apart in the long Churchill Downs track home stretch.
Woody Stephens said of Winning Colors on the lead: “She’s not gonna get loose, don’t worry about it. If I turn her loose, I might as well go on home.”
As was usual for the Kentucky Derby field of 3-year-old horses, no horse had yet been asked to run the one-and-one-quarter-mile distance. Risen Star had just won the Lexington Stakes, the Kentucky Derby prep race two weeks earlier, and had sat back in last place for the early part of that race, before he swept to a neck and neck victory over Forty Niner. Risen Star stayed back as many as 14 lengths behind fast early pace runners, saving energy for one tremendous run to victory in the stretch.
In an interview about Winning Colors before the Derby, Lukas stated, “This field can hit her from every angle, but I don’t think they will be able to run with her early, and hopefully the big field in the Derby will cause traffic trouble for many of the closers like Risen Star. The last eighth of a mile will be the test for her, but I believe in my heart she is the best and will win this race.”
Dino and Miami were also worried about Goodbye Halo entering the Kentucky Derby field. Her trainer had recently paid a $3,000 late nominating fee to keep her eligible for the Triple Crown honor, which is winning the Kentucky Derby, Preakness Stakes, and the Belmont Stakes. They were thrilled to hear Goodbye Halo’s trainer quoted earlier in the week saying, “There’s too much money to be made just by running within her own division. And I think Mr. Hancock would love to win the Kentucky Oaks.” The Kentucky Oaks, for 3-year-old fillies, is run at Churchill Downs the day before the Kentucky Derby and is the most prestigious race in the country for 3-year-old fillies.
In their continuing conversations, it was Miami who broached the subject of the assassination of El Gato. “How does Jorge Rhon being suspected of the murder affect us? Apparently, the murderers are his racetrack security guys. What if they arrest Rhon?”
“These politicos are protected in Mexico. His dad was the mayor of Mexico City. I bet nothing ever happens to him. Still, I know the racetrack is in serious financial trouble and this has to hurt big time. Who in the hell is going to go to Agua Caliente racetrack now—with the track’s guards in the newspapers every day as murder suspects? Do you want to go make bets there? It doesn’t matter that they offer better future book odds than Las Vegas. Everyone will just go to Vegas. That Mexican racetrack is toast. I worry that if Winning Colors wins, they’ll just close the doors. Why pay out tens of millions now and then file bankruptcy a few months later?”
“I’ve been reading that Rhon still has a chance to get Mexico licensed as a sports book betting company. He has to keep that going. It would make a ton of money. If he doesn’t pay the Winning Colors bet, then no gambler will ever bet with him again. I think he will pay… and Dino? You know that’s the gamblers’ code, man. You may not pay your rent, or your car payment, but you always pay your gambling debts…that’s the way it works.”
Miami was quiet until he could articulate even more fear. “What I am really concerned about is that after she wins…they’ll know we are coming to collect our money. There are bad guys all over and they know a bunch of gringos are coming to collect millions of dollars in cash if she wins. They are probably setting the roadblocks for us now. We have to think this thing through. Jesus Christ, this is scary.”
They agreed to meet again later that night to make their plans for watching the race and cashing the biggest score of their gambling lives.
Luis woke at 3:30 a.m. and put on some clean jeans, his better pair of black cowboy boots, a clean white long-sleeved shirt, and his tan cowboy hat. He kissed Mariana goodbye, grabbed his duffel bag, and headed to his pick-up truck. He had a plane to catch with his favorite horse.
When he arrived at the barn at 4:15 a.m., Winning Colors had already been fed and her legs were wrapped. She came to the front of the stall to meet him, or perhaps for the carrots she knew he would bring. He talked to her softly in Spanish, telling her that it would be a long day of travel to Kentucky, but he would stay with her as much as he could. He’d traveled with her before to New York and ba
ck, knew she was high strung, and he was worried about anything happening to her before her debut in Kentucky. He hooked up her halter, which she now allowed only Luis to do, and he led her from her stall for the quarter-mile walk to the horse transportation van at the Santa Anita barn entrance.
Their drive to the airport was one hour away. She was calm and still as he walked her up the ramp to the custom-made trailer. The trailer was clean as an operating room and Jeff Lukas already had placed the type of fresh straw and water preferred by the horse on the floor of her tight stall. Another two horses were already on the van across from her and were going to Kentucky as well. Luis rode with her to the airport in the cab of the truck.
The Boeing 727 could fly as many as 21 horses, but today there were just five making the flight. Luis was glad she would not be alone; she seemed to enjoy the sense of safety being next to other horses gave her, even if she often tried to bite them. If she was the first one on, and first one off the van or the plane, she tended to stay calm. He led her down the ramp into the horse stall that would be then lifted on a special forklift to the tall jet. The padded travel stall was also lined with the Lukas brand of fresh straw and water, but was small and close, designed to keep her in a tight box to avoid her moving and hurting herself if there was air turbulence during the four-hour flight. She did not want to enter the tight box, but he had saved carrots for this reason. Luis went to the front of the stall and when she saw him and the carrots he offered, she moved in with ease.