Thoroughbreds and Trailer Trash

by Bev Pettersen

  “But he gave me a set of keys. They’re still in my pocket.”

  Wally jerked around, stared for a moment, then embraced her with a clumsy hug. “You’re as loyal as your mom but as smart as your dad. And I mean that as the sincerest compliment.”

  “I don’t want to be like either of them,” Jenna said, swept with unbearable sadness. She’d actually believed Burke, believed he was beginning to care. Her mouth quivered with disgust. The Murphy women were such suckers.

  “The security checks are on the hour this week,” she added. “I’ll bring Peanut up as soon as it’s dark, ten minutes after nine. Put him under the lights and afterwards check the files. Meet you up there.”

  “How do you know when Larry patrols? Asshole Burke shuffled the times.”

  “When I was in Larry’s truck, I checked his schedule.”

  “See what I mean. You’re as smart as your dad.”

  “Who died in prison,” she said.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Nifty stretched his thick neck over the stall door and sniffed at Peanut, clearly delighted to have company. Jenna glanced over her shoulder at the long and lonely aisle. What kind of sadistic idiot would want a horse kept in isolation?

  During the day, the oxygen technologist was around but she wasn’t much company, not for a gregarious horse.

  Nifty quickly decided Peanut was no threat to his masculine superiority and nipped the pony on the neck. Undeterred, Peanut nipped back, and the two played an energetic game of tag until Peanut tired and turned to his hay. Yes, the valuable Thoroughbred stud and the two-dollar pony were now best of friends. Screw you, Burke.

  She picked up her phone and called Wally. “I’m here. Meet you in front of Burke’s office.”

  The hall was dark but Jenna knew the route blindfolded. So did Wally, and she jumped when he silently materialized from the shadows.

  “We’ll keep the lights out and use my flashlight,” he said, “just in case Larry drives past.” He shone it on the gleaming lock then glanced back at Jenna. “Come on. Hurry up.”

  Jenna inserted the key, ignoring the awful knot in her stomach. The key stuck and she glanced over her shoulder at Wally. “Maybe this isn’t the right key after all,” she said.

  He reached up and jiggled it. Click. The door swung open.

  “Bingo.” He rushed past her and into the office, panning his light over the filing cabinet. “Employee stuff used to be in the middle drawer.”

  “Guess I better take a sheet from my file too,” she said, following him to the cabinet. “I signed a form, claiming I have more than eleventh grade.”

  “What a surprise,” a cold voice spoke behind them.

  Jenna’s heart slammed. She swung around. A lamp switched on and she blinked under its stark light.

  Burke uncoiled from the corner chair. “Thick as thieves, I see.” Disgust darkened his face. “You both sicken me. Step outside, Wally, where we can discuss this awkward break and enter.”

  He removed his dinner jacket and rolled up his sleeves. She gulped, her breath escaping in painful jerks. His forearms had never looked so massive. Or deadly. She edged in front of Wally. “It’s not a break and enter,” she said. “Not if I have a key.”

  “Oh. You’re a lawyer now? Perhaps took a course…back in what…grade eleven?” He snorted with such disdain she flinched. “I’ll deal with you after.”

  “But this wasn’t W-Wally’s idea.” Her voice squeaked. “It was mine.” She glanced back, appalled to see Wally laying down his flashlight and flexing his knuckles. “You can’t fight. Please don’t.” She couldn’t hide her panic. “Someone will get hurt!”

  “That’s the general idea,” Burke snapped.

  She swung around. “Please, Wally. Don’t go outside.” She splayed her fingers over his rigid arm. “Remember Dad. Don’t fight. Please, don’t.”

  A muscle ticked in Wally’s jaw and she sensed he wavered. “It won’t prove anything,” she added, clutching him with shaking arms. She felt his stiffness, his own need for satisfaction, but a moment later he slumped and she knew she’d won.

  “Thank you,” she whispered. Burke wouldn’t fight in the office; he was too controlled. And too lethal.

  “We’ll sign and do whatever you want,” she said, keeping her eyes and arms on Wally, not looking over her shoulder. “We’ll just go away—” Her voice broke.

  She sensed Burke’s frustration, his raw fury, but didn’t dare look. Couldn’t bear to see the contempt in his cold eyes. A long moment. Then heavy footsteps, the door slammed and the air in the office felt safe again.

  “It would have been okay.” Wally squeezed her shoulder, his voice strained. “People don’t usually die in a fistfight. That was bad luck for your father.”

  “Bad luck for the other guy too. Dad punched the life out of him.”

  “I think Burke just wanted to have a couple swings. Wanted the satisfaction. Can’t blame him really.”

  “Men.” Jenna shook her head, her voice breaking. “So what do we do now?” They both turned, momentarily silent as Burke’s car streaked from the lower lot, headlights slashing the window.

  “We’ll go upstairs and drink the last of my beer,” Wally said. “On Monday, let’s hope all you receive is a pink slip. Pray he doesn’t press charges. But he’s a hard man.”

  They trudged up the steps to Wally’s apartment. Cardboard boxes littered the hardwood floor, and a library of dog-eared equine books was stacked on the table.

  Wally shoved a beer in her hand. “Only two left. Drank everything else. The glasses are already packed up, I’m afraid.”

  “You were allowed to stay here another four months, Wally,” Jenna said, taking the bottle, shocked to see her hand still trembled. She couldn’t shake the image of Burke’s cold eyes.

  “Obviously I’ll have to move out now. But I’ll find another job. No problem.”

  Jenna’s throat tightened. Without a reference and blackballed by the powerful Burke family, Wally might have considerable problems. As would she. “What did you do with all that cash from the massages?” she asked quietly.

  “Paid for the surgery for the Tutty horse. Remember Copper Duke…also the Fraelic mare.”

  Jenna squeezed her eyes shut. Two expensive surgeries. No wonder Burke despised Wally. The Canadians had ignored all the help Wally gave struggling owners. Overlooked the free services the Center provided. But Burke called it stealing. The reason didn’t matter. He didn’t condone thieves or liars. And he considered her to be both.

  “I’m sorry. You tried to help everyone, and it turned out to be such a disaster. You lost your severance because of me.” She blew out a ragged sigh. “Emily is quitting college,” she admitted.

  Wally shrugged. “Not surprised.”

  “She was doing well until her boyfriend dumped her. That messed her up.”

  “You blame everything on men.” Wally’s voice turned dry. “Emily is just spoiled.”

  Jenna automatically shook her head then stopped and blew out another sigh. “Guess she lied about how well she was doing.”

  “And you can’t blame that on the boyfriend.” Wally propped his legs on a bulging box and leaned against the sofa. “Wonder if the new manager will put the sofa by the other window. I always liked the view of the gallop track.”

  “Don’t know.” Jenna swallowed, relieved he’d changed the subject. Wally was ever empathetic. “Expect she’ll want the walls painted though. Think she favors red.”

  “Red? Good grief.” Wally forced a carefree laugh. “Glad I’m moving.”

  Jenna managed a weak smile but set down her unwanted beer. “Larry is due for his security check. I’m going to gather Peanut and get out of here once his truck leaves. Tomorrow I’ll come up with my car and we can move your stuff to my place.” She hesitated. “Don’t drink any more, okay?”

  “Nah, I’m done. Take the flashlight, kid. Larry won’t see a thing.”

  “I’m okay. Don’t need one on t
he path.” She impulsively reached over and kissed his cheek. “You’re the best friend I ever had. The best friend Mom ever had too.”

  He smiled. But it was flat and humorless, and her heart twisted. “See you tomorrow,” she added, slipping out the door.

  She padded down the dark hall, pausing when she heard Larry’s diesel. Stayed motionless while he checked the locks. At least, Burke didn’t know she’d been sneaking Peanut in for free sessions. He’d only despise her more.

  Larry’s pickup rumbled off and she continued toward the oxygen wing. Nifty stuck his head over the stall door, eyes bright and content. Obviously he enjoyed having company in the next stall. Of course, other than Burke, who didn’t like Peanut?

  She couldn’t even see her pony and had to press close to the door and peer down. Peanut lifted his head, stalks falling from his mouth, then turned back to the expensive hay as though keen to finish.

  “Okay, fellow. Eat up. We won’t be back here again.” She stepped into his stall and ran her hands over his shiny coat. So much improved. Peanut would be an excellent testimonial for Three Brooks if only his treatment hadn’t been so furtive.

  Snap. She stiffened at the sound of breaking metal. A door? Not Wally. The noise came from the receiving doors at the other end. Burke? Shit. She dropped into the straw, pressing against the wooden wall. If he didn’t look over the door, maybe he wouldn’t spot Peanut.

  Two people, masculine voices. Her chest thumped and she pressed deeper into the prickly straw. Burke? Back with the police? Was he having them arrested?

  She hadn’t really believed he’d press charges. Thought he’d be content to fire her. But he’d definitely view Peanut’s presence as an added betrayal. He’d really hate her then. Probably would involve the police.

  Despairing, she slumped in the straw, trying to gather an excuse. But oh, God, she was so screwed.

  “Is this the horse?” someone asked, an unfamiliar voice, low and rough.

  Police? She knew many of the officers. They’d visited often when her father was binging, but she couldn’t place this voice, not at all.

  “Yeah. Useless fucker’s shooting blanks.”

  Jenna’s nails curled into her palms. David Ridgeman—unmistakable. But they’d already moved away. Something clicked, then a grinding noise, a mere twenty feet away.

  “Explosion will hide the break-in.” David’s laugh was thick with satisfaction. “Can’t have another accident on my property.”

  Oh, God! Horror chilled her. Her breath jammed in her throat and she couldn’t move, was grateful she was already on the floor. The oxygen chamber? An explosion would kill Nifty. No wonder David had wanted the horse stabled in this part of the building.

  She groped for her phone, fingers so stiff she could barely tug it from her pocket. 911 or was it 411? Her mind blanked. She pressed a familiar speed dial number, and Wally answered on the second ring.

  “David Ridgeman and a man are here,” she whispered. “Think they’re planning to kill Nifty.”

  “Can’t hear you, Jenna. Speak up.”

  “They’re trying to blow up the oxygen chamber. Get help please,” she hissed. “Call Larry or someone.” The sawing stopped and she abruptly ended the call.

  “Wait. I heard something.” David Ridgeman’s voice moved closer. She stared at her phone, trembling with horror, blocking the illumination with her hand. If she turned it off, did it chime? It was so new, she didn’t know. Was it on vibrate or ring? She couldn’t remember that either.

  Don’t call back, Wally. Please, please, please, don’t call me back.

  “It’s okay. Let’s get that oxygen turned on. We’ll light this place up.” David’s voice quivered with excitement.

  Powerful lights flicked on. “Hey!”

  She slumped with relief at Wally’s indignant holler. He was here. Everything would be okay. Even the bright aisle lights made her feel safer.

  “This is a restricted area,” Wally said, his voice hard and authoritative. “Who let you people in—”

  “Shut up,” Crude Voice said. Thump. A grunt of pain.

  “Don’t shoot him.” David Ridgeman’s voice turned urgent. “They’ll notice a bullet.”

  “What do we do?”

  “Stick him in the oxygen chamber,” David said.

  “What the hell—” Wally’s voice thinned with shock, and Jenna jammed her hand over her mouth, flinching at the scuffling sounds. Then silence, horrible silence.

  She dropped back into the straw, her hand trembling. Pressed 911 and whispered frantically into the phone.

  The operator’s calm voice was reassuring. “Stay on the line,” the voice said. “We’ll have help there soon.”

  “How soon?” Jenna whispered.

  “Very soon. Just stay on the line.”

  She almost choked on her panic. If they were driving from town it would take at least fifteen minutes. Not fast enough. Once oxygen released, the chamber filled quickly. Burke was closer. She cut the connection, pressed his number but it rang endlessly. Oh, God, maybe he was too furious to take her call.

  She hunched in the straw, hands shaking. Were they opening a valve now? Setting some sort of incendiary device?

  There was no time. The oxygen supply had to be cut. She inched the door open and crept down the hall, willing her trembling legs to obey.

  David and a shorter man in a dark shirt leaned over the control panel, but the jimmied door was wide open. No way could she pass without being seen.

  Impossible.

  The gap was too wide, too visible, her legs too wobbly. They’d spot her. She wanted to slink outside, hide in the dark and wait for help. She’d heard enough burn stories. Seen too many pictures of gas explosions. Horrible, horrible pictures.

  Wally’s white face pressed against the window of the oxygen chamber. His gaze caught hers, and he abruptly banged on the thick glass. Both men swiveled toward the chamber, and she bolted across the opening and down the hall.

  Oh, God. She couldn’t believe she’d done it. Thank you, Wally. But her breathing was so ragged she was afraid they’d hear. She stumbled through the door of the control room, her gaze scrabbling for the master valve. Where the hell was it? She’d always listened to the safety talks but never imagined she’d have to use the information.

  But there it was. Definitely the safety valve. She tugged at the red knob on the left wall then wrenched it desperately to the right. It moved one inch, three, then was completely buried. Done!

  She pushed a chair in front of the conspicuous knob and crawled beneath the table, shaking with fear and adrenaline, unable to move another step. Pressed against the cold wall, her breath escaping in terrified pants.

  Had she turned it off in time? She didn’t want to sit here, didn’t want to die, but couldn’t desert Wally or Peanut or Nifty. Ring. Oh, damn. Her phone. Startlingly loud. Way too loud. She grabbed it, frantically scrambling for the mute button. Oh, God! Burke.

  A hand yanked her wrist, twisting until the phone clattered to the floor.

  “What the hell? Someone else is in here,” Crude Voice grumbled, kicking the table back and dragging her out. “You said the place would be empty.”

  David loomed in the doorway. His eyes narrowed then gleamed with satisfaction. “Good. It’s just the massage girl. She knows how this works. Bring her here.”

  She tried to scramble away but the man yanked her arm behind her back, so high she thought it would break. A helpless whimper squeezed from her throat.

  He shoved her into the oxygen room.

  “We had pressure for a moment but it disappeared,” David said, checking his watch. “Turn it on, Jenna. And hurry.”

  She swallowed, tried to speak, but her throat was too constricted. “It’s…the green button,” she finally managed, staring at the controls, not wanting to look into David’s glittering eyes. “It takes a while. Pressure will build in about fifteen minutes.”

  The gun was on the table, on the other side of the control
panel. Fifteen feet away. She tried not to stare, but the man’s grip had loosened. Maybe she could grab it.

  “That’s not what you said on the tour. Or what was written on the spec sheet.” David’s hand shot out, squeezing her arm in frustration. “What did you do, bitch!”

  His hand tightened and she winced. He gave a spiteful smile and squeezed her wrist harder. “Still a little tender, I see.”

  She raised her knee, tried to kick, but the man behind wrapped her legs with his, cranking her left arm higher. A hairy forearm banded around her chest. Rancid breath fanned her face.

  “Good. Hold her still. Listen to the squeal.” David wrapped his fingers around her hand and pressed. Crack. Something shattered, the pain so intense it ripped away her cries. She jerked in agony but the man behind yanked her up. She retched, almost throwing up. David’s face blurred, and helpless thumps sounded from the chamber.

  “She’ll talk soon. Has to.” David’s voice rose with excitement. “I’ll break the other wrist. Then she can join—

  His body abruptly lifted, jerking in the air like a marionette. She was released so quickly, she crashed against the table and instinctively extended her hand. White-hot pain lanced her arm, and she gave an involuntary cry.

  She glimpsed Burke, face contorted with fury, almost unrecognizable. He grabbed Crude Voice, smashed him in the face then tossed him aside like garbage. Turned back to David and yanked the man to his feet. Gripped the front of his shirt with a big fist. Thud, thud, thud.

  Red covered David’s nose, his jaw and splattered Burke’s fist. A cracking noise replaced the thud. But still Burke hammered, holding David like a punching bag.

  Crude Voice rose, clutching his jaw, looking much smaller now. His eyes scuttled to Burke who resembled a maddened mobster. The man turned and fled.

  Burke kept striking. Hammering. Crushing. He was going to kill David.

  “He’s not worth it,” she yelled. She lurched forward, trying to grab Burke’s piston arm. Something smashed her head, driving her against the metal chamber. Pain knifed.

  She fought to remain conscious, struggled to listen to Burke’s frantic voice, then Wally’s. But waves kept crashing, carrying shards of agony, and finally it was easier to let the darkness cover her.