by Sam O'Brien
He looked up from an article about uterine infections. “I’m sorry?”
“Painter Girl: Juvenile Fillies winner. You bought her?”
“Guilty as charged,” he smiled.
“Emmy Harris,” she stood and offered him a business card. “I write for Trackspeed magazine. Y’know, I’d love to do a piece about y’all. You bought three horses and they’re all winning.”
“Well sure, I’ve been lucky. And we’ve a good team looking after them. So fingers crossed we’ll win a big race or two next year.”
“Uhuh,” she scribbled on her notepad. “God, I love your accent, by the way. Who do you work for? I’ve heard rumours.”
Oliver dearly wanted to get his name in this magazine, which was the bible for American race fans and breeders alike. An article would be the perfect advertisement for his talents, but that churning feeling in his stomach returned. He thought for almost a minute, and just as Emmy was beginning to look at him strangely, he said. “I’d love to sit and talk, but not right now.”
“Okay,” she said, nodding slowly with a knowing look in her eye.
“But you can quote me about luck and a team effort.”
“I’ll put a few lines in a side column, but I’ll need meat to do a full piece.” She sighed again. “You should consider it: people love rags to riches stories. It keeps the dream alive.”
“Oh, the dream’s alive alright,” he said with a chuckle.
Rebecca appeared from the corridor behind Linda, wearing a green medical smock and drying antiseptic scrub from her hands. “Giving interviews to the press, are we?” she joked.
Oliver stood and kissed her. He wrinkled his nose. “I love the smell of iodine at lunchtime!”
“Sexy, huh?” She tossed the paper towel into the bin and glanced at Emmy. “Hi.”
“Dr. Liddell. I’m here to interview your boss for the piece on the practice.”
“Oh, yeah. Don’t hold your breath. He’s up to his neck in intestines right now.”
Emmy looked disappointed. “I’d better call the office.” She pulled a phone out of her pocket and stepped outside.
“What kept you, Bec?” asked Oliver.
She rolled her eyes. “Oh God, don’t. Had a mare come in that was pregnant, due January tenth, aborting. Smelly and messy. Had to evacuate the foetus, treat the mare, and prep samples for necropsy.”
“You get all the glamorous jobs.”
“Tell me about it. Smelled like the thing had been dead inside her for some time. God knows how she didn’t get toxic and die.”
"Will she make it?”
“Should do. I’ve got her stuffed full of antibiotics and painkillers. Have to quarantine her till the results come in.” She smiled and held his hand. “Enough shop talk. I don’t have rounds till two. Where’re we going for lunch?”
“Well, I know this greasy truckstop . . .”
“Smartass,” she laughed. “Let’s go before I get called back to assist with the colic.”
At a nearby café, Rebecca asked, “Did you guys give any thought to insuring the horses?”
“Yeah, I told Claude to get the exams done and we’ll pay the premiums out of the winnings. But Marco only wants to insure Painter, says it’s not worth insuring the other two until they prove their worth – no big wins yet.
“Risky. Concrete Boot cost a lot of money,” she said, munching on her salad.
"I know, I know." Oliver looked uneasy. "Still, Marco has his money back with bells on. We’ll be alright.”
A phone chimed and Rebecca jumped. “Mine or yours? Shit, I should go.”
“Relax, Bec, it’s me.” He pulled the device from his jacket pocket and frowned when he saw his brother’s number. “Fuck him,” he muttered, rejecting the call and tossing the phone on the table.
“You really should talk, hon.”
“You sound like my mother!”
“He’s still your brother. Give him a chance.”
Moments later, it beeped with an incoming message. PLEASE CALL. Something big might go down. Need to talk. Please, Ollie.
“Probably wants to announce the latest deal he’s done,” said Oliver in disgust. “Later, bro,” he said, turning off the phone.
Chapter 33
The Freefly Airlines executive jet coasted to a halt, and the engines powered down on the tarmac of the airstrip on the outskirts of Dublin. Pietro was sprawled out, fast asleep on one of the recliners. He loved these return journeys when they didn’t have passengers; it was like he had his own plane. He slowly rubbed his eyes and stretched.
Pat O’Connell appeared in the cabin. “Jesus, lad, make yourself at home, anyway,” he said, putting on his jacket.
Pietro shrugged dismissively. “Hey, the hours I work, it is my home, Capitano.” He knew the pilots didn’t like his casual attitude, but he didn’t care. He glanced out the window to check the weather, and his mood instantly changed. It was a bright, blustery day, but there were Customs agents and Garda Siochana approaching the plane with an eager-looking Labrador. Jonathon Coleman joined his colleague in the cabin.
He glanced out the window and then at Pietro. “What’s wrong? Seen a ghost, have we?”
“Vaffanculo,” said Pietro in a jovial tone, with a huge smile.
Jonathon gave him a look of disgust, then muttered, “Pat, open the door and let’s give that little fucker a pain in his hole.”
“What?” said Pat.
Pietro’s eyes darted about.
“Just open the door,” said Jonathon.
Pat shrugged and pulled the levers, flipping the door open and extending the steps. Pietro composed himself.
The Customs officer skipped up the steps, ducked to enter the cabin, and announced, “How’re ye, lads? Have to hold you up a bit. We’re doing checks of all traffic today,” he said, giving a quick wink to Jonathon.
“Be my guest,” said Jonathon, waving his arm about the cabin.
The officer beckoned the dog handler on board with his charge. The animal began sniffing the carpet, seats and eventually – to Pietro’s horror – his hands.
“Oo’s a good boy then?” he said, trying to remain calm.
The dog lost interest in him and followed its nose directly to the flight deck. He then sat down at the back of the cockpit beside the small locker for the crew bags. There was an exchange of glances between the two officers. One of them asked Pat to open it. The dog sniffed Pietro’s bag, then sat down.
“Whose bag is this?” said the dog handler, pointing at the large duffel.
“His,” said Jonathon, pointing at the Italian.
Pietro nodded, resigned.
The Customs officer beckoned the two Gardai on board and asked them to apprehend Pietro on suspicion of having a controlled substance in his luggage.
Pietro stood and remained mute. He was whisked across the tarmac to the waiting police car.
Jonathon and Pat were escorted to the terminal by the Customs officers as two more Gardai arrived to seal off the plane.
“Listen, lads,” said the officer. “Thanks for the tip off, the dog makes it easier to get the job done, otherwise we’d have to go over every inch of the plane.”
“Ah sure, just trying to do my bit,” said Jonathon.
“The Guards’ll still want to question you, though, so you’ll have to stay till they get someone over. You’d better call your families.”
“What about the company?” said Pat. “Who’ll tell them?”
“The Guards’ll take care of that.”
“Jesus,” said Pat, laughing, “but I’d give anything to see the boss man’s face when he hears this.”
“Priceless,” said Jonathon, sporting a satisfied smile. “Priceless.”
Pat frowned. It occurred to him that the airline’s future might not look so rosy all of a sudden. Jobs might be lost.
Chapter 34
A week after the message from his brother, Oliver returned from America. He wanted to spend December and Christmas with his mother,
and though Rebecca had to work over the festive period, she planned to join him in early January. They decided to keep their engagement a secret until then. During the journey, the excitement of America began to leave his system and he felt exhausted.
When he got in the door, he saw his mother at the top of the stairs. She looked gaunt and frail. “Oliver! I was worried sick. You haven’t called since you won your race. What on earth have you been doing? I tried to reach you a couple of days ago.”
“Relax, Mum. I mean, sorry. I turned the phone off and took some time out to be with Bec.”
“Relax? So you’re having a grand old time while your brother’s business is involved in a scandal.”
“What?”
“Oh, don’t tell me you didn’t hear,” she said, slowly descending the staircase. “You really must drag yourself out of the horse world once in a while.”
“Mum, what’re you on about? What scandal?”
“It hit the papers three days ago. Your brother is distraught. They’re saying that drugs were found on one of his private jets. It’s too awful.”
“Drugs? How? I mean, what’s the story?”
“Oh, I don’t know. They probably fell out of the pocket of one of those seedy musicians he always carts about the continent. Dreadful types.” She sighed. “Aren’t you going to give your mother a kiss?”
“Sorry, Mum.” He hugged her and kissed both cheeks.
“I could do with your support, and I want you to ring your brother. He’s in an awful state.”
Oliver looked at her; he knew he would have to do it sooner or later. “OK, Mum. I’ll call him tomorrow morning. I’m too tired now.”
“Good boy. Bury the hatchet.”
“Yes, Mum,” he said.
Oliver went to his room, dropped his bags, showered, and flopped onto his bed. Thoughts of his brother’s predicament were fuzzy at the back of his brain.
He woke, bleary-eyed, six hours later, to the sun shining onto him through the window and a terrible wail coming from the ground floor. He jumped out of bed and bounded downstairs. He arrived into the hall to see two stunned-looking policemen standing at the front door and his mother collapsed in a heap on a chair. She was bawling and convulsing. Oliver dashed to support her.
“Oh, my boy, my boy,” she wailed.
“Jesus, what’s going on?” he asked the policemen.
“Are you a relative, sir?”
“Yes, I’m her son. For the love of God, what’s the matter?”
“Sir, I’m afraid it’s my sad duty to inform you that your brother, Richard, was found dead on the street outside his apartment in the early hours of this morning.”
PART II
Chapter 35
“Actually, no. No, I don’t,” said Martin. “You see, um, the thing is, I know you work for Marco Romano.”
“What?” said Oliver, stunned.
Martin explained about the photos of Marco and Oliver, and how he had shown them to Richard.
“I also know that he went to the horse sales last year to meet you and Marco, and just after that, your brother took the Italian on as a flight attendant.”
“So you think Marco had something to do with Richard’s death?” said Oliver, eyebrows raised.
“Yes, I do. Look, I’m, um, interested in organized crime – the Mafia. Your brother’s death seems too convenient. I mean, it happened at just the right time.”
“What do you mean?”
“Think about it, if you were using somebody’s planes to transport drugs and there was a bust, you’d want to cover your tracks, wouldn’t you?”
Oliver remained silent, his mind whirring. He wanted to say that Marco was an old-fashioned gangster and that they didn’t get involved in drugs, but he kept thinking of all the cocaine he had seen and been given. A terrible feeling came over him. “So you’re saying that Richard and Marco were in business together?”
Martin sucked air through his teeth, wincing as he did it. “I wouldn’t say that, exactly. The last few months I’d been working closely with your brother, and for years before I’d worked under him, so I kind of know his style. And I don’t think drug smuggling was it.”
Oliver shrugged. “He loved his money, though.”
“He did,” Martin nodded. “He did indeed, but he was more of a man to bend the rules, not shatter them.”
“That day he came to the sales to see me, he was all Marco, talking shite and trying to impress.” He cast his mind back. “Come to think of it, he did disappear with Marco for a few minutes.”
“Anyway,” Martin cut in. “I’m not sure what happened, but with all the meetings and stuff, it’s possible he was going to go to the police. And then he ends up dead.”
“I don’t know, I mean the cops said these kinds of crimes are fairly common.”
“Not in the area your brother lived in, and anyway, what does it matter what the Guards said? If it was a professional job, then it would fool them; that’s how these guys work.”
Oliver found himself wondering if his brother had possibly got what he deserved. Then he felt sick for thinking such a thing, but surely it didn’t matter too much, as long as he never said it out loud?
“So why are you telling me all this? Shouldn’t you be giving a statement to the police?”
“Oh, I tried. They all but laughed at me. Said that I read too many books.” He sighed. “I’ve no proof, you see. I gave the only photos of you guys to Richard. Anyway, they’re only photos. They proved nothing except that you had flown here with somebody who looked like Marco Romano, and he’s virtually unheard of over here. So I wanted to tell you. To mark your card, like.”
“So, basically you’re putting two and two together and getting five?” Oliver shook his head.
“I don’t know, Martin, I really don’t. I mean, it all sounds a bit far-fetched.”
“I know, but I don’t think it is. Look, you’ve a lot on your plate right now, I’m sorry to throw this at you, too, but I wanted you to know and I had to tell someone who’d listen.” He stood, produced a business card from his pocket and thrust it at Oliver. “Here, if you ever want to talk, or if there’s any help I can give you, give me a shout. Right, grand. Well, I’ll be off.” He slipped out as imperceptibly as he had slipped in.
Chapter 36
In the build-up to Christmas, Oliver and his mother made small talk and tried to avoid mentioning Richard. Oliver wanted it all to be over, and for Rebecca to join him on January second.
Richard’s solicitor called to explain that Richard had asked him to be the executor of his will and that the reading of the testament would take place on January ninth.
Oliver thought about Richard’s attempt to contact him before the terrible events. He spent a lot of time thinking, and on Christmas Eve, he plucked up the courage to talk to his mother properly.
“Mum, I have to come clean with you,” he said one evening.
She looked up at him, startled. “Go on, then.”
“Look, Mum. I’ve been doing a lot of thinking since Richard . . . passed away.” He took a long breath. “I’m sorry for not contacting him to make peace. I know it would probably have been too late, even when I got home. But, well, oh God . . .” Tears formed in the corners of his eyes. “He tried to contact me when I was in Kentucky and I ignored the call. He even sent me a message, but I didn’t care. But I should have. I should’ve been there for him, to listen or to help or whatever, because he was my brother.”
“Oh, Oliver, Oliver,” she said.
He held up his hand. “Please, Mum, let me finish. It’s like, well, I know I lost him without ever making peace, but I was so pissed off by how he rejected me the day I went to him with my idea. It just stuck in my throat, Mum. So when I actually succeeded myself, I decided he didn’t have the right to share in it, or even acknowledge it. I mean, when he called me after we sold those yearlings, he even admitted he had to check the sales figures on the net – just to be sure. So I shut him out. But I should
n’t have, because we grew up in this house and we were friends – well, at least till he went to college. Oh Mum, I wish I could take it all back.”
Tears were streaming down Evelyn’s cheeks and her voice quivered as she spoke. “Please, Oliver, sit beside me. I have things to tell you.”
He sat, and his mother put her arm through his in an unusually affectionate gesture.
“I know Richard always thought you were a bit soft and lacking in the ‘killer instinct’, as he called it. If truth be told, it was probably your father who instilled that into him.” She paused. “I know I was never very good at heart-to-heart chats – that was how we were raised in my day; chin up and keep your feelings to yourself – but I’m sorry that I never encouraged you more. Your father always said that it was a man’s job to deal with his sons’ coming of age. He didn’t mean to belittle you, it was just his way of trying to rile you up.” She smiled. “But you were always unflappable. He just didn’t want either of you to slave all your lives on a farm the way he did. I believe that’s why he gave most of the money to Richard. I think if you had got out of horses and come to him with a business idea, he’d have given you a share, too, or made Richard help you out.”
“Why on earth are you telling me this now? Isn’t it a bit late?”
“It is, dear. It is. That is what I wish I could change. Perhaps then, at the very least, you two would have ended up as friends. I tried to say this to Richard after you stormed out the day you asked him for money, but he wouldn’t hear it.” Another pause. “And now look at the mess we’re in. It’s just us now.”
They both sat drying their eyes for nearly half an hour, without saying another word.
“That reminds me,” said Evelyn at last. “When are you going to make an honest woman out of the lovely Rebecca? It’s about time you did.”
Oliver threw her a sideways glance. “It’s funny you should say that, Mum.” He paused to think for a second. “We were going to wait till she came over to tell you, but I suppose we need a lift before Christmas. We, er, got engaged at the Breeders Cup.”