The Sea Horse Trade

by Sasscer Hill

  “I don’t believe so,” she said.

  Like she wouldn’t remember if she’d seen that face before.

  Carla frowned slightly. “You aren’t involved with the hotel and restaurant industry, are you?”

  Currito’s focus sharpened onto Carla. He seemed fascinated by her. “What is it that you do, Miss Ruben?”

  “She sells meat,” I said, regretting my quick tongue when Currito started and took a half step back.

  Carla’s light laugh covered the momentary awkwardness. “I work for a Baltimore wholesaler. We sell quality meats to restaurants and hotels up and down the East Coast.”

  Currito appeared to relax, placing his hand on the back of an empty chair, smiling at Carla. “I see. A true businesswoman.” Turning to me, he said, “And how are our horses, Nikki?”

  When I gave him an update, his next words surprised me.

  “I spoke to Mr. Ravinsky earlier. There is a race coming up for Diablo Valiente.”

  “There is? When?” I hoped I didn’t sound as dubious as I felt. I had only galloped the horse and didn’t even know when he’d last run. “Shouldn’t we give him a work first?” I asked, referring to the morning speed works given to prep a horse for his next race.

  Unless, of course, the horse had run quite recently. I should have researched the past racing performances of Maldonista’s horses and wished I hadn’t spoken about the work. But too much had happened for me to keep on top of my game.

  “There is no problem. I have arranged everything. Eduardo Carmanos will work the horse tomorrow morning. I will watch the work from the grandstand. The race is in four days.”

  This time I kept my mouth shut and simply nodded. Carla watched me—she knew me so well, I’d lay odds she knew I was fuming inside.

  After taking a slow breath, I said, “Great. He’s an excellent jockey. He’ll ride Diablo in the race, then?”

  Currito nodded, his glance resting again on Carla. “Jim Ravinsky knows the details.” Of course Currito would want a top jockey. I didn’t really want to ride that beast anyway, did I?

  I could see fluid starting to leak from the outside corner of Currito’s bad eye. He pulled his silk kerchief, but instead of dabbing at the liquid, he said, “But I interrupt your meal. It has been a pleasure to meet you.” He nodded at Carla, then left abruptly.

  “He’s an odd one,” said Carla.

  “Especially when he’s got that eye thing going on.” I poked at my shrimp with less interest.

  “He can’t help that.” She took a big sip of her second vodka. “Why were you upset about the race thing?”

  “Because the horse just got here, I don’t know when or how well he raced last, I don’t know what kind of race he’s in, and I don’t like Eduardo Carmanos.”

  Carla leaned back in her chair. “And he’s a male jockey and everyone making decisions for you is male, and you weren’t included.”

  “Yeah, that too.”

  “What’s wrong with this Carmanos guy?”

  “His nickname is ‘The Intimidator.’ He’s a macho man and almost ran me off the track one time in a race.”

  “Need a slug of this?” She held up her vodka.

  “No, I’m fine. Besides, I beat the bastard in that race.”

  Carla grinned, but it faded quickly as a red-haired man in a wrinkled gray suit walked into the dining room, looked around, then made a beeline toward us. He carried a black briefcase.

  “That must be George Turner, the detective. I haven’t met him, only seen his photo online. He—” she had to clear her throat before she could continue. “He’ll have a picture of Jade.”

  Her upper teeth pressed into her lip so hard, I expected to see drops of blood.

  George looked rushed and tired in his rumpled clothes. His black-framed glasses sat crookedly on his nose.

  Carla frowned. “He looked better online.”

  Though exhausted and stressed, she didn’t have a hair out of place, and her black knit suit was impeccable.

  When George reached us, he held his hand out to Carla, and after introductions were made, he set his briefcase on our table.

  I stared and felt a little kick of adrenalin. When I glanced at Carla, she seemed frozen in place, like she’d forgotten how to move or breathe.

  “I have two pictures for you,” George said, unsnapping the clasps on his case. “The first one is from the school. The second I was able to get from Mrs. Paulson’s sister.”

  Why couldn’t the police have done this for Carla?

  George pulled out an eight-by-twelve envelope. “I don’t know who the other girl is in the second picture, but it’s the more telling of the two photos.” He held the envelope out to Carla.

  She stared at it, but didn’t move.

  “Carla,” I said, “take a breath.”

  She did, suddenly coming to life and snatching the envelope from George’s hand. She jerked the flap open, and two photos slid out.

  I was out of my chair and looking over her shoulder by the time the pictures hit the table. I stared at the images, and my knees almost buckled with relief.

  “It’s not her! Carla, it’s not the girl who died on the street!

  Carla seemed to struggle to get a grip on herself. I exhaled slowly and studied the pictures. The first was obviously a school portrait. A lovely young woman who looked a lot like Carla gazed solemnly at the camera. Her hair was long and blond, her eyes brown and bright with intelligence. Like Carla’s.

  The second picture took my breath away. Jade had posed with the unknown girlfriend. The friend was cute, but Jade was drop-dead gorgeous. Nubile and curvaceous, she wore a magenta miniskirt and skintight top. Lipstick covered full lips and shadow turned her eyes smoky and alluring.

  But it was her expression that twisted my heart—wistful and lost, like a child alone on the street.

  I shook my head to clear the image and looked at the legs beneath the miniskirt. Miles long and shapely, just like her mother’s.

  Carla’s fingertips trembled where they rested on the edge of the photos. I could almost feel the electric shock coursing through her. She hadn’t said a word, but tears were streaming down her face.

  CHAPTER 16

  When I woke up on January fourth, I stretched beneath the covers, then remembered it was opening day for the Gulfstream Park meet—the day Eduardo Carmanos would ride Diablo in a five-eighths-of-a-mile work. I scooted out of bed and sped into the bathroom.

  Later, when I arrived at the track, I stopped at the stable gate and picked up the new overnight sheet with a list of races scheduled for January 8. Scanning the page I found Diablo and Carmanos named in the ninth, going a mile and a sixteenth in an allowance race—a step up from a claimer, but not as classy as a stake’s race. Diablo shouldn’t have any trouble with the distance.

  As I headed toward my barn, a restless energy filled the backstretch. For many of the grooms, trainers and jockeys, the waiting was almost over. The low hum of human excitement flowed into the horses, and a filly got loose in the next barn over. She ran free for almost five minutes, galloping wildly down our shedrow, snorting and bucking. Diablo almost broke open his stall gate, and I sighed with relief when they caught the runaway. Fortunately, she hadn’t hurt herself.

  Eduardo arrived on time, and he looked just the way I remembered, eyes predatory over a sharp, hawk-like nose, lips curled in an arrogant smile. For once, Diablo’s behavior pleased me. He wiped the smirk right off Eduardo’s mouth by shoving his large Roman nose over the stall gate, baring his teeth, and snapping them inches from Eduardo’s face.

  Eduardo’s eyes narrowed, and he took a quick step back.

  “Is he manageable?” he asked me, his glance flicking toward the track.

  “I rode him out there yesterday,” I said.

  Right about then, Beth and Bullwinkle showed up, and Diablo nickered at the huge gelding.

  The previous evening I’d arranged for the pony-girl to bring the monstrous Bullwinkle to our bar
n to escort Eduardo and Diablo through their warm up and on to the starting gate.

  Taking advantage of Diablo’s fascination with Bullwinkle, Orlando and I got the colt’s tack on, Eduardo into the saddle, and the colt turned over to Beth, who took them for a few turns around the shedrow. I climbed on the bay filly, Imparable, and followed at a safe distance. When Diablo and his rider turned a corner ahead of me, I could see the colt’s eye rolling back to glare at Eduardo. Diablo’s back was humped up, a clear sign of a pending explosion.

  We made it out to the track, and Imparable’s action—smooth, quick and powerful—lifted my spirits. When Beth eased Diablo into a slow gallop ahead of us, I steered Imparable closer to the rail, and she switched into high gear like she’d been released from a slingshot. She did not have a long ground-eating stride that needed to build on momentum; she produced speed in an instant. Like Jim had said, she was a sprinter.

  I steadied her back to an open gallop. She was the kind of horse who listened and didn’t live up to her name, which translated to “unstoppable.” Still, we blew by Bullwinkle and Diablo like they were parking meters. I planned to gallop my filly a mile, then jog her to the starting gate to see Diablo break. I would have preferred to watch the colt more closely, but I still had to get La Bruja out and didn’t have the luxury of time.

  After Imparable and I motored around the mile-oval one time, slowed to a jog, and walked toward the gate, I could make out Bullwinkle towering over a black horse on the far side of the starting gate. I still had time.

  I could almost feel Currito watching his horses train from the grandstand with his top-of-the-line Leica binoculars. He could probably read my mind with those things.

  I urged Imparable into a jog, passed by the side of the gate and into the chute behind. Several horses milled about with Diablo and Bullwinkle. A figure hurrying toward us from beyond the rail turned out to be Orlando. What was he doing here? Maybe he had a dark side with a taste for mayhem.

  The head starter, a tall muscular guy named Greg Haskell, gave me a questioning look. “You working from the gate?”

  “No. I just want to see how that black colt breaks.”

  Haskell nodded, and I rode Imparable to the back end of the chute close enough to watch, yet keep the filly out of trouble. I kept her moving in a wide circle so her muscles wouldn’t tie up.

  By now, Orlando had reached the rail, where he paused and stared at Diablo. Even his double gold-earrings flashing in the sun weren’t bright enough to lighten his dubious expression. He was probably observing the humped back and Diablo’s latest addition—violent tail-swishing.

  An assistant starter took the lead strap from Beth. Diablo resisted the man, bucking twice and rising in a half-rear. The starter held on, then tried to lead the colt closer to the gate. Diablo bared his teeth and sank them into the man’s arm. The guy screamed, and Eduardo’s crop flashed as he struck Diablo’s neck. The colt dropped the man’s arm, then reared like a skyscraper, twisted, and fell against the gate. His weight pinned Eduardo against the steel cage.

  Frozen in place, I watched Diablo scrabble away from the gate. Eduardo dropped to the ground like a squashed bug, but somehow staggered to his feet. His face was a mask of pain, and one arm looked twisted and broken.

  Eduardo was hurt bad, and my colt was going to be ruled off.

  I jumped from Imparable. “Orlando! Hold this filly.”

  He did, and I ran to where Diablo stood, eyes defiant, lead strap trailing beneath him onto the ground. Three of the gate crew formed a loose circle around him. The one with the savaged arm was leading Eduardo to safety, and no doubt they’d both head for the hospital.

  “Hey, big stuff,” I said softly. Diablo’s head turned. His ears pricked toward me, and his head lowered a tad.

  “Beth,” I called, “can you bring Bullwinkle over here?” She did, and Diablo pushed his nose against the giant horse’s neck. Beth leaned forward in her saddle and grabbed the strap.

  The gate crew guys stepped back and began to look around at the other horses and jockeys still behind the gate.

  “I need a leg up,” I said to the head starter.

  Haskell turned and stared at me like I’d sprouted hooves and a tail.

  “Are you serious?” he asked.

  “Don’t do it,” Beth whispered.

  “This horse needs to work.” I said. “Will you help me out?”

  Haskell’s eyes were shadowed by the bill of his ball cap and I couldn’t read them.

  “If somebody take this filly, I do it,” Orlando said, leading Imparable toward us. “I not afraid!”

  Haskell shrugged, and gave a nod to a crewman, who took Imparable from Orlando. I walked to Diablo and put my palm near his nostril, sort of testing him. When he stayed calm, I stroked his neck, and he leaned slightly into my hand.

  “Let’s do it,” I said to Orlando, and quick as a wink he lifted me onto Diablo’s saddle.

  I continued to pat the black neck as I spoke to Haskell. “I’m thinking we should open the front door as well as the back for this colt, and put his pony just outside the exit door. This colt might walk right in to see his buddy.”

  “We’ll try it one time,” Haskell said, his expression hard. “But if he goes nuts, you’re going to have to get him out of here.” He glanced at the impatient faces of the other riders. “Those horses have to work, too.”

  Beth circled Bullwinkle around the gate and parked him outside the two hole after Greg opened the exit door. A guy named Fred took Diablo’s strap from Orlando, who flipped back his long hair.

  “Nikki, I go to barn now. Everything be ready when you come back.”

  Something about his expression told me he was thinking, “If you come back.”

  But he was a godsend, and I told him so. He grinned at me. A crewman gave Orlando a leg onto Imparable, and he jogged the filly away.

  I stared at the massive metal cage before me and took a deep breath. Patting Diablo’s neck, I clucked at him and gave a light squeeze with my legs as Fred started to lead him in. Bullwinkle nickered at Diablo, and my colt strode boldly into the gate behind Fred. The crewman removed the lead strap, quickly hopped onto the metal rail beside Diablo’s head, and held onto one rein.

  When they locked us in, I swallowed and glanced at Fred. He looked a little shaky. A sour odor wafted from his skin. I kept stroking the colt’s neck, choking back the fear when Beth reined Bullwinkle off to the side and away from us.

  As they loaded three other horses, I could feel the rage draining from Diablo. I gathered the rubber-covered reins, crossing them over his neck. I held the cross with one hand, and grabbed a handful of mane with the other. As soon as the last horse was in, a gap opened in the traffic out on the track. Haskell hit the release.

  With a clanging bell and a crash of metal, we exploded from the gate. Diablo broke well, but took longer than his companions to lengthen his stride. I’d been so used to seeing him next to Bullwinkle, I’d forgotten how big this colt was. I could feel his powerful hindquarters driving us forward. Ahead, two horses ran nose to nose on the lead, and the third hugged the rail to our left, surging a half-length in front of us.

  Diablo’s body lowered to the ground as he stretched his neck out, found his stride, and began to run. We passed the third horse and quickly drew even with the two on the lead. Three across, we flew around the turn, and at the top of the stretch, I asked him. He opened up and tore past the eighth pole like a runaway train. I glanced back under one arm, astonished to see we were a good three lengths ahead. I sat real chilly and let the wire come to us, standing in the stirrups and asking the colt to ease his speed.

  With a snug hold, I eventually got his nose down closer to his chest and his speed down to rapid gallop. I couldn’t use him up with a race scheduled in only four days!

  But I couldn’t pull him up, and we passed by the gate and headed down the backstretch again. How do you stop a locomotive?

  With relief, I saw Bullwinkle lumbering into a
gallop ahead of us and crowding in close as we sped to him. Beth leaned over and grabbed Diablo’s left rein, and soon we were cantering, jogging, and finally walking down the backstretch.

  Gasping for air, I said, “Did you see that?”

  “This devil can run!” she said. “Bite, too.”

  “Have you heard how Eduardo is?” I asked.

  “Not yet, but bet you a bag of bagels he won’t be riding in that allowance race.”

  CHAPTER 17

  When I rode Diablo onto the shedrow and dismounted, Curitto and the tall Asian I’d seen at the Diplomat restaurant were waiting for us. They’d watched the work from the grandstand, and they must have seen Diablo crush poor Eduardo into the starting gate. Yet they appeared unconcerned and asked no questions.

  Orlando grasped the colt’s rein and led Diablo into his stall. I followed, closing the stall gate behind me. Currito stood outside the gate, staring with open admiration at his colt.

  “Good job, Nikki!” he said.

  He smiled broadly. I hadn’t seen him do this before. The effect was unpleasant, pushing his jagged scar up, wrinkling and folding it into a red-and-white worm.

  Had the guy never heard of plastic surgery?

  “Thanks,” I said, turning away to pull the bridle from Diablo’s head.

  Still holding my saddle, I followed Orlando as he led the colt from the stall for the cool out.

  Currito moved down the shedrow to the filly stalls, making a fuss over them, stroking Imparable’s neck, and murmuring to La Bruja in Spanish. He surprised me by pulling several carrots from his suit pocket and feeding them to his girls. He was a sucker for horses, which was okay in my book.

  But his companion loitered indifferently in the aisle. His silky midnight blue suit was made with a fabric so fine and a fit so excellent it had to be custom made. He caught me staring and though he kept his face immobile as plastic, his eyes revealed an intense energy. The same small smile I’d seen in the restaurant stamped his mouth.

  “Nikki,” Currito said behind me. “This is Tau Chakri.”

  “My pleasure,” Chakri said, with a stiff nod and a slight bend forward.