by Mark Paul
Winning Colors was running near the rail, and running for her life. Stevens was not reserving her at all. He was stealing the race then and there as he continued to urge her forward with his hands and arms. He spoke to her in rhythm with each stride. She reached forward with her front hooves pulling forward in huge, strong strides. When she was six lengths in front, Stevens felt her become exhausted.
This moment was subtle, but even Miami, Dino, and Big Bernie, 2,000 miles away, watching on a little television monitor at an iffy, chaotic foreign racetrack, could see it. They saw a slight shortening in her stride, as she drifted toward the inner rail, skimming against the paint, allowing the closers to run the firm, outside part of the racetrack.
Stevens didn’t want her there! He wanted her out on the firm part of the track, where the closers would have to go wide and lose some ground to pursue her late. Stevens reached for his whip, took it in his left hand, and showed it to her, but did not hit her. He sensed she was still giving all she had in her body and heart. He felt Proper Reality closing ground and saw Forty Niner now flying on the outside.
Day reached for his whip with his left hand fully extended toward the sky. Whack! He hit Forty Niner hard. Again, and again, and again he tattooed Forty Niner, pausing just to show him the whip again. Under the whip’s pressure, Forty Niner passed Proper Reality and accelerated, pouring himself into the track now, making up ground with every massive stride.
Stevens went to work with his whip on Winning Colors too, but with just short bursts to her rear left hip, wanting to stop her from diving down into the rail. He could tell she was all out but wanted her to keep focused to the wire. They were 100 yards from the finish line.
The announcer screamed, “Here comes Forty Niner, 2-year-old champ from last year, putting in a bid from outside. Down the stretch they come!”
Miami, Dino, and Big Bernie had seen thousands of races in their gambling careers. They could judge that Forty Niner’s strides were making up too much ground on their dream filly. Would he catch her before she could get to the finish line wire?
With 300 feet remaining, she was still in front by three lengths, staggering toward the rail.
With 200 feet left, she was in front by one length, and Forty Niner was eating up the distance.
Winning Colors was gallant, out of energy, spent, and now she was lugging into the rail. She was going to be beaten…she felt and heard Forty Niner charging up to her on her right hind flank.
Pat Day had made one tiny mistake in an otherwise masterful performance from post number 17. He could have kept Forty Niner out toward the middle of the track where Winning Colors would not have heard or seen his climatic charge. He chose to come in and drift right on top of the filly. Perhaps Forty Niner was just too tired to run straight.
Just as the wire loomed before them, Winning Colors dug in again, and again, then, with her best effort, she pulled the ground toward her and lengthened her long, powerful, gorgeous body forward, and she stretched out to win by the length of her gray head.
Chapter 10
Drug Dogs
Some of the NBC TV cameras at the Kentucky Derby followed Winning Colors as she galloped out after her win. The other camera operators were searching for D. Wayne Lukas and his group’s celebration. They couldn’t find the winning trainer, but one of the operators found Eugene Klein celebrating with his hands above his head, giving the NFL referee’s touchdown signal.
In reference to Klein, announcer Jim McKay said, “Football was never like this!”
Klein knew, after experiencing two heart attacks, this was likely his last chance for a Derby win and it was the greatest sporting moment he could imagine. Klein accepted the trophy saying, “I would really like to salute all the women in America…this one is for all you gals.”
A reporter asked him,” Mr. Klein how many races have you won? And how much money?”
“I don’t really know, but we have won over 300 races and over $25,000,000 in purses.”
“Have you made a profit in racing now?”
“I think so…if you discount what my wife has bet!”
Lukas was still in the small out-of-the-way alcove. He’d achieved the most difficult training accomplishment in the world of horse racing—going from training cheap quarter horses in South Dakota in 1967, to the Winner’s Circle in the 1988 Kentucky Derby. At age 57, there was nothing in the world of American horse training that he had left to do. He wanted to run to his wife Shari, and to his family, and to the Kleins, but mostly he wanted to run to his son Jeff, to celebrate what they had accomplished together. In that emotional moment, he worked to absorb that he had just won the one race that had eluded him on his quest to be the greatest trainer in American history. He let it sink in.
He then stood tall and walked with elegance to the Winner’s Circle. Every person he saw on the way congratulated him, and the fans cheered him as he arrived into their view.
He saw his son Jeff, and Luis. Both were walking Winning Colors to the Winner’s Circle. They were surrounded by hundreds of people, all giving congratulations.
As a camera operator found him, Lukas hugged his son and raised Jeff’s fist into the air. Lukas addressed the national television audience: “I want to thank my son. He did it…and he worked so hard. This is for all our guys…we are on top of the world…and we are looking down!”
As Gary Stevens dismounted, he saw his friend, jockey Jacinto Vasquez, who yelled to him, “I guess you do know how to win a Derby!”
Stevens came to the infield, to the NBC stage. He looked like a million dollars as he took off his helmet. Every hair was in place as he explained, “I asked her at the quarter pole for her life…and she gave it to me! We tried to steal it…and that’s what we did! The last 25 seconds of the race were the longest 25 seconds of my life.”
He then accepted the keys to a new car for an added victory bonus.
Luis had found a good vantage point to watch the race on the ground near the horse tunnel. When his Mamacita crossed the wire, he exploded in joy, jumping up and down again, and again. Then he rushed down to the track to await her triumphant return to the Winner’s Circle. He knew that she did not like to be in crowds. He pushed the fans away from her and gave her space with his arms before he draped a heavy blanket of fresh red roses over her neck. Only then did he kneel and make the sign of the cross, then wept tears of joy.
In his mind’s eye, he saw her as a baby 2-year-old frolicking on her back in her stall, the times he gave her treats, the times he’d given her fresh straw every night before he left her stall, and the times he traveled with her across the country to keep her safe. His tears spilled for each day that she’d come back to him uninjured from competition and training. He cried for all the good ways that Winning Colors, Mamacita, had changed his life.
Mr. Lukas would likely have other chances to be in the Winner’s Circle of the Kentucky Derby. But for Luis, born into poverty in Mexico, Winning Colors had been his one chance to win the ultimate race. His family and friends had watched him on national television as he walked the filly into the Winner’s Circle.
Tucked away in his wallet was the Caesars Palace Futures 100-1 bet ticket. It was now worth $200,000. I’m going to need a bigger box in our closet, he thought.
Miami, Dino, and Big Bernie exploded in celebration as Winning Colors crossed the finish line in front. They hugged each other and then hugged the Mexican cowboys next to them. Miami found Camila and hugged her. He asked her to bring margaritas for everybody.
Dino’s big white suitcase was the center of their attention. They were ready to stuff it with as many hundred-dollar bills as it would allow. Dino couldn’t stand still. He was hopping around like a jumping bean. “She did it!” he yelled. “She is the best 3-year-old in the country! I told you six months ago!”
Miami confirmed it. “You did! You are a track god! Who do you like in the next race?”
The Tijuana party wound itself down. Tequila had been flowing into the gamb
lers and revelers for many hours. Bets and cocktails had separated most of the gamblers from the money in their pockets. Dino and Miami still sat, enjoying their margaritas. Big Bernie stood next to them.
“Big Bernie, did you bet your $20,000 in one betting ticket, or multiple smaller tickets?” Dino asked.
“I made it into four $5,000 smaller bets each. I brought only one of them with me today to cash today with my buddies. Holy shit. I didn’t really want to think about it. Didn’t want to jinx it. I just realized that ticket is now worth…$250,000.” Big Bernie plopped his huge frame down on a chair.
Miami realized the win was just setting in on Big Bernie’s consciousness. He also knew that winning $1 million cannot be processed instantly by anyone. Big tears were coming out of the corners of Big Bernie’s eyes. Miami noticed and said, “We did it, Bernie.”
“Guys, I want you to come with me tonight to see the motel I’m buying. It’s so awesome, right on the water, and my office…it’s upstairs on the corner…white trim with a drop-dead view of the Pacific Ocean. You can see the whales from there like every day. We will stay there tonight. You gotta join me, boys!”
Dino was quick to answer. “We would like to, but I don’t feel safe here holding winning tickets on Winning Colors worth $250,000. I want it to calm down in here just a little, get our money, and get back to LA. We’ll come back and stay with you someday soon. I promise.”
“Man, you will never have to pay. You come down and you can have the biggest rooms with views, on me, for life!”
“Thanks, that’s great, thanks. But what’s the plan now? When do we cash our tickets and get the fuck out of here?” Dino was ready to leave.
“I don’t know,” said Miami. He looked around. “I’m living a moment right here…give me a minute.”
The race book was thinning out now, and the cocktail waitresses were picking up used glasses from the tables.
“You guys stay here. I’m going to go out and move my car and park it right out front. Then I say Dino goes up and cashes one ticket. When they start paying him, then Bernie and I’ll go up to two other windows and cash our tickets. Big Bernie, where are you going to put $250,000? Into your pockets? And where did you park your car?”
“I took a cab from the border,” he said. “I was planning on watching the Derby alone in my apartment. I really didn’t plan it out. But then, I thought it would be lonely, you know, winning all this money by myself. So, I woke up and headed across the border to watch and celebrate with…well, I was hoping to see you guys. I’ll drive back over the border with you. I don’t really want to get into a cab now with $250,000 on me…alone.”
Miami couldn’t believe it. “I only have a two-seater Z!” he said. “You can’t come with us! We have the suitcase that barely fits, and it’ll be full of money too! Let me go move my car while I figure this out.”
In the few minutes it took to move his car, Miami came up with a plan. He was eager to share it as soon as he got back to his friends. “Big Bernie, don’t cash your ticket. Just take a cab back to the border. You’ll be safe as long as they don’t see you cash the ticket.”
“OK. I trust you,” said Big Bernie. “Whatever you say.”
Miami now looked at Dino. “Go cash a $50,000 ticket. When they start paying you, I’ll go to the window down the line, and cash out for $100,000. Then you go to another window and cash the remaining $100,000. Put it in the suitcase and we’ll book it for the US border like bats out of hell.”
Dino was thinking about where to get the cash into the suitcase without making a scene.
Miami continued with his plan. “Big Bernie, I think you should leave us now. Once we have that kind of money on us, we are toxic to you. As soon as we leave the building, catch the first cab and get the hell back to the US. I’ll call you when we get back there tonight. Then I’ll help you with the attorney that will get you your check for your $1 million.”
Next, Miami called Camila over and paid his bill. She seemed afraid to be too near him now, but then whispered, “Be careful, Miami. They know you guys. Do not trust them.”
The hairs on the back of Miami’s neck went up when he heard this. Camila apparently knew more about what was going on than he thought, and her English was better than she let on.
He told Dino, “Go get the cash, Dino. Do it now!”
Dino went to a cashier’s window and told the teller, “I have a big Derby futures ticket to cash. I want $100 bills, please.”
The teller looked at the ticket, opened his mouth in a startled expression, and told him, “Un momento, por favor,” and left to go into the back room. Miami and Big Bernie were watching from the other side of the room.
Several minutes passed.
The older man with the gold tooth who had been there in January returned. He was wearing a cheap dark brown suit and burnt orange tie.
“Señor, you need to come back later,” said the man with the gold tooth.
“Later? When…like in an hour?”
“No…not today. Possible manaña.”
Dino’s voice rose much louder, “What the fuck are you talking about? Manana my ass. Look…the ticket says, ‘Winning Colors to win the 1988 Kentucky Derby.’ She just won the race and I want my fucking money!” Dino waved Miami to come over, while Big Bernie stayed seated.
Miami came over and Dino said loudly, “They want us to come back another day. I’m telling him she won today. Today was the Derby, and we want to be paid. Today. Now!”
Miami looked at the manager and asked him, “Who is in charge? I want to see him now.”
“Si, señor, un momento….”
He was gone for five minutes, then ten. Dino looked at Miami and said, “I don’t like this. The place is getting too quiet now. How can they not pay us?”
Finally, the older man returned with the handsome younger man who looked like a Mexican version of Elvis. Four security guards came into view, with rifles shouldered on their backs. The younger man spoke, “There is no problem, señors. But you must come back another day to collect. We are not prepared today for such a thing.”
“You were damn well prepared to take our money. You should be damn well prepared to pay the winners!” Dino shouted as he put his face within six inches of the lead guard’s face. The other security guards moved closer to the gamblers.
“Leave him alone! When should we come back?” Miami asked.
“Posiblemente mañana. Call us first,” said Mexican Elvis.
Miami looked at Dino and said, “Let’s go. We are bringing Big Bernie with us. We can’t leave him here.”
“How can we fit him in your car?”
“I don’t know, put him on your lap, I don’t care. We can’t leave him here with these liars! I am so fucking pissed! You can’t take our gambling money and not pay us. Man, that’s against the gamblers’ code. They know that. Fuck them.”
They walked over to Big Bernie and said, “They won’t pay us today. We have to leave…now…fast…let’s go. Let’s go. I don’t trust them. You have to come with us…don’t take a cab, Bernie. It’s not safe! Let’s go! Now!”
Big Bernie looked at Miami and held up both his palms to the sky. “What do we do now, Miami?”
Miami pointed in the direction they had to run.
They jogged off the betting floor, down the stairs of the grand old racetrack. Dino was dragging the empty suitcase, and Big Bernie was struggling to keep up. They heard the loud heavy footsteps of several security guards now rushing to catch up to them on the stairs. On the lower floor, more guards were watching them while talking on their radios. Miami looked back and saw that two of the four guards seen at the cashiers’ windows were now following them.
They slowed the pace and Miami took his chance to say to Dino in a low voice, “We have $250,000 worth of winning tickets on us, plus Bernie’s $250,000 ticket. We can’t let these guards anywhere near us…they’ll steal the tickets. Run!”
Big Bernie was now moving faster as they sprinte
d down the marble lined floors, out the main entrance doors, to the Z. Miami jumped in and fired up the turbo engine. Big Bernie stopped, saw two small seats, and looked at Dino.
Dino yelled, “This isn’t going to work. Miami! Put the top down.”
Miami got out to take the convertible hardtop roof off and store it in the back. He tossed the white suitcase out and left it in the parking lot.
Big Bernie squeezed his huge frame into the small car, tried to put on the seat belt, but it wouldn’t fit over him. Dino leaped into his lap; his head was sticking one foot over the roof line of the convertible. “Let’s roll!” Dino yelled.
Miami got in, put on his seat belt and his fingerless leather racing gloves, checked his rear-view mirror, saw the guards coming toward the car, and hit the throttle hard. The turbo boost kicked in at 20 mph, and Miami hit 60 before he exited the parking lot, while driving over the curb. He raced up the avenue toward the US border. Over the wind noise in the convertible, Miami yelled, “Is anyone following us? Keep looking. I need to know if you see anyone following us between here and the border. These fuckers are not catching me!”
Miami was driving like it was the last lap at a Formula 1 race, weaving through and around slow-moving cars and the noisy, lumbering trucks. When he got to a red light, he merely slowed, then hit the gas, and ran the light. He hit the main avenue, Paseo de los Héroes, at 93 mph as he looked over and saw Dino’s face getting pummeled by the air flow. Miami saw that Big Bernie’s eyes were bulging, but…he was smiling.
“Man…I love you guys!” Big Bernie yelled. “I’ll never forget this day…ever…!”
Big Bernie was dropped off at his car where it was parked just across the border. The drive back to Los Angeles for Miami and Dino was done mostly in silence. Bernie agreed to call later and meet Miami and Dino the next morning at nine a.m. for a Sunday breakfast at the café.
Amalia and Ava joined the three of them at the breakfast. They all looked ragged from the adventure and a lousy night’s sleep, but the women looked great, ready for a day together at the beach.