Bullet Work

by Steve O'Brien

  “How do you figure?” Dan asked.

  “It was a shakedown, and I wouldn’t give in. So their only recourse was to beat the shit out of me. When they saw that it didn’t work, it just wasn’t worth it to them. They went after the easy targets and just left me alone.”

  “This is different,” said Dan.

  “No, it’s not. If I give in, it’s like giving in to those bastards from the high school. Not then. Not now.”

  “But this time it involves other people’s property. Mine, for example. Don’t let your pride cost you your business. It’s only twenty bucks a head. That’s nothing compared to what you’ve got invested in your business—and to make yourself a target as everyone else opts out?”

  “Everyone else hasn’t opted out.”

  “Enough of them have and more will. If you don’t, the odds go up dramatically. I’ve finally got a few good runners; I don’t mind the payment as long as I know my horses are safe. They’re tracking this guy down and will probably catch him. Can’t believe they aren’t onto him already. Jake, it’s not forever, and right now I need the security. Horses like Aly Dancer don’t come along every day. I need to know what’s going on, and I need to know my property’s safe. I could step in and pay on your behalf, but I’d rather we agreed on it rather than just jumping in. It’s not about the money.”

  “You’re right; it’s not about the money. Nothing’s ever about the money.” Jake watched Nino go by, looking at the hind legs of the colt. “Well, there’s a trainers’ meeting tonight over in the secretary’s office. I wasn’t planning to go, but if you want, I’ll take you.”

  “Why wouldn’t you go?” Dan asked.

  “’Cause I’m not paying, and I don’t give a da—”

  The calm of the backside was shattered. A horse cried out, and hooves cracking the wood of a stall brought everyone to attention. Dan spotted AJ charging toward the neighboring barn. He ran on one leg and hopped on the other, but he was motoring as fast as he could toward the sound. Dan threw out his coffee and jogged with Jake over to the edge of the adjoining barn.

  Three men were gathered outside a stall halfway down the shedrow. “He loco, boss. Loco.” One of the grooms was trying to reach into the stall but jumped back as the horse neighed loudly and snapped at the man. The trainer, Champ Hudgins, reached in to get a hand on the halter.

  “Shit,” he screamed out and jerked his arm back. There was blood coming off his arm, and half his shirt sleeve was missing. The horse cried out and kicked the stall.

  AJ moved toward the group of people assembled in front of the stall. He dropped to the ground and skittered between the legs of the groom and trainer, crawling beneath the webbing into the stall.

  “What the hell are you doing?” Champ yelled, clutching his forearm to staunch the bleeding. “Stupid kid, that horse is gonna kill you. Jesus H. Christ. Who is that kid?”

  The groom was yelling, but all that could be heard was “Mal, muy mal.”

  Suddenly the horse went quiet. Champ and the groom leaned in closer to the stall door. Jake and Dan moved a few stalls closer.

  “Move the colt next door.” The voice was AJ’s, stern and confident.

  Champ shouted, “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

  AJ yelled with urgency and command, “Move the colt next door!”

  “We just offloaded that colt from the trailer,” said Champ. “Hasn’t been there ten minutes.”

  “Now!” AJ shouted.

  Champ looked at the groom, and the groom shot over to the stall on the far side of the one that AJ had entered. The colt was whinnying and snorting from all the disruption. The groom put a cinch on the horse’s bridle, unhooked the webbing, and walked the colt out into the shedrow path.

  “Put him in number nine, Philippe.”

  AJ shouted again, “Get the goat out of there, too.”

  Champ walked into the stall and brought out a small white goat. Some animals were so high strung that they needed company in their stalls. Occasionally, trainers would put a goat or dog in a stall to calm a horse. Champ walked toward Phillipe, who had set the webbing for number nine, and passed him the bridle on the goat.

  A few minutes later all was quiet. AJ slipped under the webbing back out into the shedrow.

  Champ grabbed AJ’s arm and pushed him into the wall of the shedrow.

  “Hey, just a damned minute,” Dan said. He stepped toward Champ. Jake grabbed Dan’s shoulder.

  “Kid’s got no damn business messing around my barn. Don’t work for me.”

  “Seems like you need someone like him,” Dan said. “He did you a favor. You should just say ‘thank you’ and let him go.” The thank you came out a little more sarcastically than he’d planned.

  “Got no business bein’ here.” Then he turned to AJ. “Go on, get the hell out of here.”

  They stepped back and moved away. Jake leaned toward Dan. “Champ’s right. Kid has no business being over here. And with all that’s going on, everybody’s on edge about strangers near their barn. Kid should’ve known better.”

  “He helped him.” Dan gestured back toward Champ. “He fixed his problem. Would it kill him to say thank you?”

  AJ came by, heading out of the shedrow.

  Dan reached down and touched him on the shoulder. “You okay?”

  He kept walking, looking down. “M’all right.”

  “What was going on? That horse gone crazy?”

  “Horse is fine.” AJ looked over his shoulder back down the shedrow toward the stall. “Just was mad about that colt and the goat being next to him. Really upset him.”

  “How’d you know that?”

  AJ stopped and looked at Dan. Then looked back down and kept walking. “He told me.”

  Chapter 21

  Jake and Dan drove in silence from the backside around the track to the parking lot next to the racing secretary’s office.

  How can someone get access to these horses and not be noticed? Who would do this to an innocent animal?

  Dan needed more clues. “What’s the name of Skelton’s mare that was kidnapped?”

  “Exigent Lady. Five-year-old.”

  “Never heard of her.”

  “She’s a quarter claimer on her best days. She probably don’t have much run left in her anyway. Had seven outs between Keeneland and Churchill this spring.”

  “How do you think he pulled it off?”

  Jake put his pickup in park and turned off the ignition. “Don’t know.” That seemed to be the common answer to any question about the extortion scam.

  “Which trainer’s lost horses yesterday?”

  “Simpkins and Oliver.”

  “Were they poisoned?”

  “Beats me. The track management and medical board rode ol’ Doc Dancett like a rented mule over the incident. Looks like someone put some other substance in a counterfeit Lasix box. Poor bastard just did what he does a thousand times a year. Only thing is, this time two horses dropped dead.”

  “Dancett wouldn’t behind this, would he?”

  “Hell, no. Man’s been around racing since he was a kid. Can’t imagine him hurting a horse on purpose. He was set up, sure as hell.”

  “How do we know it won’t happen again?” Dan said as they got out of the pickup and walked toward the building.

  “Dancett had to tap dance like a motherfucker just to keep his license. He won’t be leaving his van unlocked anytime soon. All the other vets are just damn happy it wasn’t them. They won’t be leaving any doors unlocked either.”

  Just inside the doorway, Dan noticed a brick outhouse of a man with arms folded.

  “Jake,” the man said as they entered.

  “Ginny.”

  The three stood there for an awkward second. When Dan realized that Jake wasn’t going to introduce them, he stuck out his hand.

  “Dan Morgan.” He would have exchanged some pleasantries but locked his mouth to avoid squealing like a schoolgirl from Ginny’s crushing handshake
.

  “Ginny Perino.”

  A few more seconds and Jake spoke. “Ginny’s a farrier.”

  “Oh, okay,” said Dan. “I’ve seen you around.”

  Ginny nodded.

  “Dan owns Aly Dancer and Hero’s Echo.”

  “Nice filly,” said Ginny.

  “Thanks, hope so.”

  Ginny stared directly at Jake. “Everything okay, Jake?”

  “Fine. Fine, Ginny—and you?” Jake said, returning the stare.

  “All good.”

  Jake turned sideways, gesturing for Dan to continue farther into the room. Dan took his cue.

  “Nice meeting you,” said Dan.

  “You, too,” said Ginny, with his eyes never leaving Jake. “Take care, Jake.”

  Jake half waved without turning back and kept moving.

  “Jesus, Jake,” Dan whispered. “Think the guy broke three bones in my hand,” he said, shaking and flexing his fingers.

  Jake didn’t say anything.

  “Man of few words. Been around long?” Dan said.

  “Few years,” Jake said, looking around the room.

  There were about two dozen folks in the room outside the racing secretary’s office, mostly grouped in threes and fours. Hank Skelton was on the opposite side of the room, talking with Champ Hudgins and Del Dellingham.

  “Thought there’d be more trainers here,” Dan said to Jake.

  “Those who are paying probably don’t give a damn about any update and those who won’t, well, if it weren’t for you, I wouldn’t be here either.”

  Allan Biggs and Chase Evert walked out of Evert’s office, and the attention of the group was focused on them. Chase raised his hand and waved people over. “Tim will be joining us in a few minutes. But let’s get started.” He gave the group a few moments to step closer. “I wish we had more information for you, but here’s what we know so far. Whoever is doing this has kidnapped a mare and killed four other race horses. At some time the last two Tuesdays he left a list in the overnights box near Crok’s.” Biggs held up a piece of paper. “The list identifies each of the trainers with horses on the backside and those who are paying the fee.”

  Hudgins shouted from the back, “Call it what it is, Chase. Extortion.”

  “Champ, it is what it is,” said Evert. “But those who are paying have their names crossed off. What we figure is the uncrossed names are those he’s targeting. At least that’s what we believe.”

  “What the hell is the track doing about it?” Dellingham yelled. “Seems like not a damn thing, far as I can tell.”

  “Del, we’re on it. Tim will be here in a minute to update everyone.” Biggs gestured with his arms to quiet the mob. “One other thing I want to talk about before Tim takes over.” He swiveled his head around like he was going to have a private conversation with the group.“There are probably some reporters going to be asking around. I can’t tell you who to talk to, but I can tell you that it’s in all of our interests to keep this contained as much as possible.”

  “Just trying to cover your own ass,” Hudgins shouted. “Might help to have a little public exposure to crack this.”

  “You’re wrong, Champ,” Biggs said. “The industry’s in a tough enough spot as it is. You know that. Bad publicity is good for no one. Not your owners, not the betting public, and certainly not us,” he said, extending his arms to the group. “Be careful who you talk to and what you say. I don’t want a bunch of rumors and theories floating around in the press, and I sure as hell don’t want PETA reps protesting out front. I’m having conversations with media folks right now. Feel free to send them my way if you want. Let’s make sure we don’t make this worse than it is.”

  “It’s damn bad right now, Allan. Jesus, how could it get any worse?” Dellingham asked.

  Tim Belker walked into the area from his office down the hallway. Biggs and Evert turned as if to say you take it.

  Jake stepped forward and grabbed Belker’s forearm as he walked toward the front of the room. “Tim, you talk to Dagens yet?”

  “He don’t mean nothing,” Belker replied. “He’s just trying to round up some rides.”

  “He don’t ride for me,” said Jake. “Got no business being at my barn. If he comes around again, he’s going to get hurt, and I won’t be responsible. Got me?”

  Belker eyed Jake, nodded, and continued toward where Biggs and Evert were standing.

  He turned to address the group. “Del,” Belker said, “I was just on the phone with the FBI. They’re helping run a trace on all the licenses for everyone on the backside. Should have some feedback from them soon.”

  “Shouldn’t that be done by now?” said Skelton. “What takes so damn long?”

  Belker motioned for calm, then continued, “Please be patient. With law enforcement assistance, we’re getting the best of the best. They’ve dealt with this kind of thing before and know what they’re doing. We’ve got the extra cameras up, and the additional staff has been put on. We’re gonna catch this guy.”

  Angry grumbling rang out from the back of the room. “And we’re just supposed to pay or what?” someone shouted. “What’s the track gonna do?” another yelled.

  Biggs stepped forward. “We’re doing all we can to track this guy down. Tim and his staff have been working round the clock on clues and working with other agencies on information. We learned there was a similar threat at Louisiana Downs a few years back, but it never got off the ground. This might be the same guy.”

  “We’ve also tried to track the drops, but it’s been kind of difficult,” said Belker.

  “What’s so damn hard about it?” Jake said.

  “Well, Hank, why don’t you tell them about the drops?” said Belker.

  “Yeah, what the hell—I’m the guy getting screwed the most here. Guy kidnaps my horse right under your nose and makes me his friggin’ chamber maid. I’m going to sue you bastards for everything you got.”

  Belker interrupted, “Hank, that’s not helpful. Just tell them about the drops.”

  Hank settled himself. “As you know, the letter says to put the cash and names in a newspaper with a rubber band around it. Then I’m to leave the park after eight p.m. on Mondays.”

  “Why Mondays?” Dan asked. Some of the trainers looked at him as if to say why the heck are you here?

  “Guess because it’s a dark day at the track,” said Evert.

  “Anyway, I drive away and get a call on my cell phone,” Skelton continued. “Some guy directs me to the drop point. Both drops have been different. I get two or three separate phone calls on each trip. The same guy each time. Says he’ll kill Exigent Lady if I don’t follow the instructions exactly. He tells me that they’re watching to see if I’m being followed.”

  “Where have the drops been?” Del asked.

  “Both have been in D.C. I was told to drive toward Alexandria, then as I approached I was told to get on 395 into D.C. Then, after a few minutes, a call came in and told me to take Connecticut Avenue through downtown D.C. As I approach the bridge where Connecticut crosses Rock Creek Park, I get another call, and I’m told to throw the newspaper off the bridge down into the park.”

  “That would sure make it hard to track,” Dan whispered to Jake. “Can’t get down there on foot, and by the time you drove your car around to anywhere near that spot, whoever it is would be long gone.”

  “The second drop was similar. I was directed toward the city and instructed to cross Key Bridge into Georgetown. I get another call. This guy is watching because he knows exactly where I am all the time. Anyway, I get another call and was told to veer right onto Whitehurst Freeway and throw the newspaper off the right side into the park below. Says if I don’t make a good throw, he’ll put my mare’s head on my desk.”

  “Yeah, same thing,” Dan said. “Again, the person will be long gone before you could get your car back down K Street, which runs below Whitehurst. Also, anyone following Hank is in the same position. Can’t jump off the bridge.”<
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  “As long as Hank gets these messages while driving, there isn’t much anyone can do in terms of tracking,” said Belker. “Even if you are tracking, it wouldn’t do any good. It’s all under the cover of darkness, and the drop points are places where you can’t pull over and stop your car. You have to keep moving.”

  “Guy’s pretty smart,” Jake whispered to Dan.

  “That’s what bothers me.”

  Chapter 22

  Kyle Jonas drove west on Interstate 66. At 4:30 in the morning the traffic was light. He would be at the track in twenty minutes. Three years on the circuit and he was still hustling rides in the morning. This meant riding training mounts for free in the hope that he could get on some horses in the afternoon. Jocks were supposed to be paid for working horses in the morning. Sometimes they got paid; sometimes the trainer “forgot,” and it was considered bad form to remind a person that he owed money, when you were looking for a favor.

  TP Boudreaux had handled his book for the past year. Being a former jockey, TP knew the life, and he knew how income drops to zero without the right mounts and a deep relationship with a big barn. TP worked Kyle’s butt off.

  Kyle’s former agent, Skip Dawson, was a full-time gambler with a part-time interest in being a jock agent. The jock agent status allowed him access to the backside to find information that he could convert into some kind of wager. He found Kyle at Meadowfields racetrack and brought him to the big time—or at least at the time it seemed like it. Skip helped Kyle’s career, but he was more interested in cashing a big bet than in helping Kyle move to the next level. Kyle moved to TP’s book at the close of the Fairmont season last year.

  Although Kyle had shed his apprentice bug two years before, he was still considered inexperienced by many. Some barns would only ride guys with ten or more years’ experience. There was one thing that changed the hierarchy—winning.

  Kyle had to start winning races that he shouldn’t win or else run big long shots well above the level of their prior experience. He could get attention by either ramping up his win and in the money percentages or by hitting the board with long shots.