by Eric Wilder
Eddie and Josie climbed over the fence and began following it. The inside dividing fence they were looking for was farther away than Josie had thought. The ten minutes it took them to reach it seemed like an hour.
“Here it is,” she said.
“I was starting to get worried.”
“Don’t. I know where I’m going.”
“At least we don’t have to worry about someone spotting us,” he said. “the only problem is, how are we going to get Lightning Bolt out of here, even if we find him?”
“We’ll lead him out the same way we came in,” she said.
“How will we get through the fence with him?”
“There’s a back gate.” She dangled a large keychain in front of him, close enough so that he could see. “Farms like this often have multiple locks so all the different people that require access can enter when they want. Unless they removed my lock, and I doubt they did, I still have a key.”
“Slick,” Eddie said. “You real estate people are on the ball.”
“And don’t you forget it,” she said, stopping to give him a kiss.
Their embrace lasted longer than either of them had expected. Josie didn’t even try to stop him when his hand wandered a little too far down her back. Finally, she shoved him away.
“Enough,” she said. “We have a job to finish.”
“Sorry,” he said. “My mind was wandering.”
“So was mine. We’ll have time to take care of other business when we complete the task we’re working on now.”
Eddie didn’t ask her what she meant by her comment, his imagination working overtime as he followed her through the thick soup. They soon reached the railing of the exercise track, and Josie crawled through. With some difficulty, Eddie followed after her.
“The railing will lead us to the stable area,” she said.
“Then what?”
“They keep all the horses stalled in the main barn at night. The studs have their own area and are isolated from the rest of the horses. That’s where we’ll look.”
“What about security cameras?” he asked.
“I know where they are. We’ll be okay, as long as we don’t bump into a security guard.”
It wasn’t far from the main entrance of the practice track to the barn. A red light began blinking when they opened the door and entered. Josie began punching numbers on the flashing keypad.
“Hope they haven’t changed the code,” she said.
There was a single beep, and then the light on the pad returned to green.
“Damn!” Eddie said. “Glad you have a good memory.”
“I don’t,” she said. “I programmed it with the same code I use on all my listings. Anderson’s people apparently never changed it.”
“Sniggling little oversight,” he said. “Sounds like Anderson needs to fire his security force and start over.”
“It’s not just Anderson,” she said. “Most people never reprogram the keypad that opens their garage. Bet I can get into half the garages in New Orleans by punching in 1-2-3-4.”
The interior of the large barn was dimly lit. It didn’t matter because the visibility was ten times better than outside the barn. Eddie marveled at the craftsmanship that had gone into the structure and could only guess how much it had originally cost to build. He didn’t have long to wonder as they departed one portion of the barn and entered another.
“This is where they keep the stallions standing stud,” Josie said.
A gold plaque bore the name of each stallion occupying a stall. There were also pictures of the horses, either racing or else in the winner’s circle. A short bio gave the horse’s lineage, race record, and lifetime winnings. As they moved from stall to stall, looking for Lightning Bolt, Eddie could see that Anderson had acquired an impressive stable of champion studs that he apparently charged an equally impressive stud fee for.
“I found something,” Josie said.
“Lightning Bolt?”
“His brother’s stall.”
“Lightning in a Bottle?”
“Yes, let’s check it out.”
They entered the spacious room that housed the horse. The big stallion munching on oats raised his head when Josie and Eddie walked up to the railing on his stall. The first thing they saw was the distinctive blaze on his face.
“Good God, it’s Lightning Bolt,” Josie said.
“What’s he doing in Lightning in a Bottle’s stall?”
“We can worry about the answer to that question later,” she said. “Right now, we need to get a rein on him and then get the hell out of here.”
Eddie found a rein on the wall and was watching her slip it over the horse’s head when a big hand grabbed his shoulder. Even in the dim light of the stall, he could see the skull and crossbones tattoos on the knuckles of the hand.
When someone said, “Looking for something?” he didn’t have to see the man’s face to know who it was.
Chapter 32
Eddie flinched when he saw Lonzo Galvez’s hand resting on his shoulder, and then heard his voice. He had little time to react as Anderson’s big Latino bodyguard wheeled him around and backhanded him, the blow knocking him back against the railing of the stall. Galvez didn’t wait to see if the blow had knocked him out as he opened the door to Lightning Bolt’s stall and went after Josie.
Suddenly wide-awake, the big stallion became animated and began bucking and kicking. Thinking Galvez was after him, he kicked the man in the shoulder with his dangerous hind hooves.
Galvez recovered quickly and began circling the periphery of the stall, trying to stay away from the hooves of the bucking stallion. Josie could see Eddie lying comatose on the hay-strewn floor. Seeing something hanging on the wall that she recognized, she grabbed it, hiding it behind her back.
Lightning Bolt continued raising havoc, wildly whirling in circles, bent on kicking something or someone. Josie managed to keep the horse between her and Galvez as she maneuvered her way to the stall door. Galvez wasn’t far behind her.
Eddie was lying on the ground, one leg beneath him and his head canted at an odd angle. Josie barely had time to touch his scalp when Galvez exited Lightning Bolt’s stall. His fists clenched, a scowl contorted his face as he charged toward them. When he got there, he quickly got a surprise.
Josie had grabbed an electric prod, a device for helping to control the dangerous stallions when they became unruly. When Galvez reached her, she stuck the prod between his legs and pulled the trigger.
Lonzo Galvez was big, strong, and mean. It didn’t matter. When Josie shocked him with the electric prod, he dropped to his knees like a sack of cement. He wanted to get to his feet but couldn’t. His legs and his entire body had turned to the consistency of jelly. Not waiting for the shock to wear off, Josie broke the prod on his head, and then began trying to beat him senseless with what remained. Eddie grabbed her arm and stopped her.
“Don’t kill him,” he said. “He’s out like a light.”
Sirens were sounding, and security lamps were flashing all through the barn.
“We don’t have much time,” he said. “Let’s get Lightning Bolt and get the hell out of here.”
“Are you okay?” she asked.
“Just a sore jaw and a little whiplash. At least I’m better off than he is.”
Josie tossed what was left of the electric prod to the stable floor. “Those things should be banned, though I’m glad for that particular one,” she said. “How can we calm down Lightning Bolt? He’s going crazy in there.”
Eddie didn’t answer, entering the big horse’s stall and approaching him with caution.
“It’s okay, boy. I’m not going to hurt you.”
Something in Eddie’s voice calmed the big stallion. After grabbing the reins, Eddie patted the side of Lightning Bolt’s head and led him out the open door of the stall. Josie jumped on his back, not waiting to ask.
“Hop on,” she said.
“Not yet. Someone needs to open
the front door.”
“Then hurry. We don’t have much time.”
Security personnel was entering the front of the barn as Josie, Eddie, and Lightning Bolt exited the rear door. Grabbing Eddie’s hand, she helped him up behind her on the horse. Lightning Bolt recoiled when he walked out into the rolling fog bank. Though they had no saddle, they somehow managed to stay on the big animal’s back when he raised up on his hind legs.
The gate to the practice track was open, and Josie raced Lightning Bolt through it. A late October wind had picked up and was beginning to blow away the fog. Through the still hazy darkness, they could see the railing on the far side of the track. There was no exit other than the one they’d entered. The shouts of angry men echoed behind them.
“What are you going to do?” Eddie asked when they reached the railing.
Josie didn’t answer, turning the horse and running back a hundred feet or so before stopping. Wind was whistling through the railing, the rolling fog mostly gone. She and Eddie could clearly see the dozen or so men running toward them.
“Hang on,” Josie said, giving Lightning Bolt’s rear a swat.
Eddie grabbed hold, his arms latched around Josie’s waist as they raced toward the railing. He’d seen quarter horses run many times but had never, until that very moment, had any earthly idea just how fast they were.
As the railing approached, he closed his eyes. They both held on as the big stallion went airborne, clearing the railing with room to spare. She didn’t slow him down until they’d reached the back gate.
“Damn!” he said. “I didn’t know quarter horses could jump like that.”
“Me either,” she said.
She slid off the horse, opened the gate, and waited until Eddie had trotted Lightning Bolt through it. He gave her a hand, and she jumped up behind him.
“You drive,” she said. “I have a call to make.”
Tony answered his cell phone on the first ring. “What’s up?”
“Eddie and I have Lightning Bolt. We’re heading toward the farm. Anderson’s bodyguard recognized us. From the lights and the shouting coming from Anderson’s place, I’d say there’s a small army heading toward Murky Bayou.”
“What do you want me to do?” Tony asked.
“Call Dad and tell him to alert the cavalry. And Tony, tell him to please hurry.”
When they reached the edge of Frankie’s farm, Eddie raced the big stallion through the phalanx of Black Tahoes lining the dirt road bordering the entrance. Josie jumped off into the arms of her dad.
“You okay, Baby?” Frankie asked.
“Just barely. Look behind you.”
An armada of white Suburbans came racing up the road behind them. Seeing the wall of Tahoes, the drivers of the vehicles began falling in line beside one another in an empty field across the way. Angus Anderson exited a Suburban. Shielded behind one of the vehicles, he began talking through a bullhorn.
“Frankie Castellano, you wop horse thief. Give me back my stallion.”
Frankie had his own bullhorn. “Or what?”
“Spend some hard time in prison. You know who my cousin is.”
“Probably better than you do.”
“Unless you give my horse back right now, you’re going to soon find out, not to mention that pretty daughter of yours is in deep shit.”
“What about my daughter?” Frankie said.
“She almost killed one of my men with a horse prod. Give me the horse, and I won’t press charges.”
Before Frankie had a chance to reply, a row of Black Navigators began driving up and parking beside the Suburbans. Soon, there was a semicircle of expensive SUVs across the road from the entrance to Frankie’s farm.
Men armed with shotguns and automatic weapons began filing out. A Latino man with his own bullhorn exited one of the vehicles and started talking. It was Chuy Delgado, headman of the Mexican crime cartel.
“Castellano, you and me got a score to settle. Now, you’re gonna pay for killing my son-in-law.”
“I didn’t kill nobody. Until last night, I thought it was you that killed my jockey and trainer. Now I know you didn’t do it and I know who did. The same person that killed Diego.”
Chuy Delgado didn’t immediately respond. “Who?” he finally said.
“Your good buddy Angus Anderson.”
“You’re a lying sack of shit,” Delgado said. “Anderson didn’t kill nobody.”
“Then why did he have my horse? His newspapers reported it was killed, along with my two men. I’ll bet he told you the same thing.”
“He’s a liar,” Anderson said on his bullhorn.
“Am I? My daughter just found the horse at Anderson’s ranch and rode him home. What do you think Anderson and all his men are doing here?”
“Show me the horse,” Delgado said.
When Frankie grabbed Lightning Bolt’s reins, Josie stopped him.
“You’re not going out there. They’ll kill you the minute they see you. They won’t kill me. I’ll show them the horse.”
“No you won’t,” Eddie said, snatching the reins out of Frankie’s hands.
Before they could react, he sprang up on Lightning Bolt and rode him into the circle of headlights. He didn’t stop until he was directly in front of Delgado’s car.
“There’s not another horse in the entire world that looks like this one. Recognize him?”
Delgado walked out of the shadows, straight up to where Eddie and the horse waited and touched the bolt on his forehead.
“Where did he come from?” he asked.
“Like Frankie said, Josie and I just liberated him from Anderson’s farm.”
“What was he doing there?”
“The name on the stall we found him in was Lightning in a Bottle. As you probably know, that horse is Lightning Bolt’s full brother.”
“So what?”
“Same DNA, that’s what. Since you and your son-in-law sold Lightning in a Bottle to Mr. Anderson, my guess is you knew he was shooting blanks. When Contrado refused to give Anderson his six million bucks back that he’d paid for the horse, he had him killed. Then he had Frankie’s trainer, and jockey killed and stole Lightning Bolt. He faked the horse’s death and replaced Lightning in a Bottle with Lightning Bolt. As you can see, he was hoping like hell you and Frankie would cancel each other out.”
“How do I know you speak the truth?” Delgado said.
“Have the dead horse’s body exhumed. This, as you can clearly see, is Lightning Bolt. The dead horse is his brother, Lightning in a Bottle. Anderson killed your son-in-law, Frankie’s jockey and trainer, and his own horse to get even with you and Frankie.”
“I want to take the horse just to make sure what you say is true.”
“No way,” Eddie said. “This horse is state’s evidence. He stays with Mr. Castellano. You got a problem with that?”
Angus Anderson was standing in clear view of Chuy Delgado. Delgado gave him a burn-in-hell look before returning to the back seat of the lead Navigator. He peeled off down the road followed by a caravan of similar-looking vehicles. Eddie rode over to where Anderson was waiting.
“In case you don’t already know, I’m a Federal D.A. I’m filing Federal murder charges against you tomorrow. Your cousin and all of your influential relatives will be powerless to help you. If I were you, I’d pack my bags before then and go someplace where they can’t extradite you.”
Anderson’s Suburbans were driving away, Frankie’s men cheering when he rode back to where they waited. Frankie was the first to shake his hand when he dismounted the horse.
“Like I said before, you got a set of balls on you.”
Josie had her arms clamped around Eddie’s waist. “I am so proud of you,” she said. “How did you know the dead horse was Lightning in a Bottle?”
“I don’t, at least for sure. Tony and I talked about it, and we decided he wanted Lightning Bolt long before he bought Lightning in a Bottle. Wendell Swanson likely sealed his own fate whe
n he took a bribe instead of buying the horse at auction like Anderson had wanted him to.”
“What’ll I do now?” Frankie said. “Return the horse to Conrad Finston, or give him to Jojo?”
“Neither,” Eddie said. “Like I told Anderson, Lightning Bolt is state’s evidence. Tomorrow, when Jojo wakes up, there’ll be a pony waiting for him. His own pony.”
“But I told him he could have Lightning Bolt,” Frankie said.
Eddie held up a hand and shook his head. “We don’t always get everything we want. Jojo’s an intelligent young man. Take him aside and explain to him why he can’t have Lightning Bolt. He’ll understand. I promise you that he will.”
“You seem pretty sure about that,” Frankie said.
Eddie looked him straight in the eye and said, “Trust me on this.”
Frankie’s big smile returned, and he slapped Eddie’s shoulder. “Then let’s go to the house and celebrate.”
Through the conversation, Josie’s arms had remained wrapped around Eddie’s waist.
“The only place this man is going right now is to bed with me,” she said. “And don’t even think about trying to wake us up early tomorrow because we’re not answering the door.”
Chapter 33
J.P. waited on the trail until we’d joined him. The path had led us to a small clearing in the hardwood forest, in front of us the strangest house imaginable.
A lifelong resident of New Orleans, I’d seen many large live oaks. There were several such trees in City Park, their drooping branches covered with Spanish moss and resurrection fern. They were ancient, maybe centuries old. The tree in front of us was even larger, older, and stranger.
The tree pierced a ramshackle, wood-framed house. Trunk and branches skewered the wooden structure, the resultant symbiosis somehow breathing life into the walls, roof, shuttered windows, and doors of the house. In short, the tree and the house were one.
The cobblestone path ended at the red front door, the old paint job flaking around the edges. The shutters were yellow, the walls light blue, reminding me of the many color schemes in the French Quarter.
The colors of the house weren’t the only things that caught my eye. Everywhere I looked, the greens were greener, browns browner, and so on. The colors of everything around prompted me to think that maybe someone had slipped me some LSD. The others were equally awed.