by Maggie Estep
I decided to give each of my horses a quick grooming. I rubbed Clove some more and then did the other two, Karma Police and Mike’s Mohawk. None of them were particularly noteworthy specimens of the thoroughbred breed—although I liked all three of them just fine. They were close to bottom of the barrel claimers but they were all three sweet, well-intended horses. Which was good since I was not only training them but cleaning their stalls, feeding, watering, and grooming them as well as walking them off after their workouts. The Bureau had dropped enough money for me to have a few horses but not enough to hire any help, apart from riders.
I finished grooming Mike and put him away. I was planning to spend the next hour or so attempting to get chummy with Roderick, head groom for Giovanni Corso, one of the trainers who, I was pretty sure, was up to no good. Roderick, a huge redheaded fellow, was slow. Developmentally challenged. Whatever the correct lingo was. I didn’t think he was actually in on any of his employers’ shady activities but I thought I might be able to learn something if I could befriend him.
Before heading over to Corso’s shedrow, I stepped into the tiny office I shared with two other trainers. Those two had both already headed home for the day since, unlike me, they could afford to pay someone to feed their string at night.
I walked into the sour, windowless office and turned on the overhead fluorescent. I glanced into the little mirror hanging above the desk. One of the other trainers, Gerald, was a real lady-killer and spent a lot more time checking his hair and sunglasses than he did training his horses. The mirror was his. And I can’t say I liked what it showed me. I’d had to change my appearance for the assignment and this had meant growing facial hair. It made me feel dirty all the time and I don’t think it did wonders for my looks. I looked like some kind of fucking hippie.
I sat down in the straight-backed chair and stared at the phone for a few minutes. Eventually, I picked it up and dialed. On the fourth ring, Ruby’s machine came on, telling me she couldn’t get to the phone but to please leave good messages. I wanted to hang up but didn’t.
“Ruby, it’s Ed. Just saying hi. Call my cell when you have a chance.”
I hung up.
The overhead fluorescent was throbbing like a migraine. I locked the office and made my way toward Corso’s barn. A radio was blaring light jazz. The music rendered all the more vapid by the volume. An old man limped along next to a chestnut horse. Though the old guy had a stud chain running under the horse’s lip, the chestnut was pulling the man, leading him to specific patches of grass that the horse would then nibble at lightly before taking offense, picking his head up, and pulling the old guy a few feet farther to a different patch of grass. The man seemed fine with letting the horse pull him around. Probably relieved at not having to decide where to go anymore.
I found Roderick in front of Corso’s shedrow, hanging bandages out to dry. I watched him carefully pull all the wrinkles out of the wet bandages then make sure they were all hanging evenly. He stood back to examine his handiwork.
“Roderick,” I accosted him, “how’s it going?”
He turned to look at me. He was frowning and didn’t seem to remember that we’d met in the cafeteria a few days earlier.
“I’m Sam. Sam Riverman? Met you in the cafeteria a few days ago? I got a little string of claimers?”
“Oh yeah,” Roderick said, less than enthusiastically.
“How ya doin’?”
“Workin’,” he stated, letting his eyes skate over the whole barn area. It was impeccably clean. Sterile. No music. No cats or goats. All the dirt was raked.
“You want to get a drink later?” I asked him.
Now the guy really frowned and I realized I’d fucked up. He probably thought I was coming on to him. There are all kinds on the backstretch, including guys who’d hit on a slow-witted meat-sock like Roderick. I should have been more careful. I guess I was losing my touch.
I tried to backpedal. “I don’t know too many folks around here,” I said, motioning around me. “I just got into all this. I’m hoping one day I can hire a little help. Word has it you’re the best.”
“Yeah,” he said, cocking his big red head, like maybe the flattery had actually had an effect. “I got my hands full as it is and you couldn’t afford me anyway.” He laughed hard at this.
“Okay,” I shrugged, knowing it was time to back off. “I’ll see you around, huh?” I turned away from the big lug. And came face-to-face with Lucinda. She was all cleaned up now, wearing dark blue jeans and a vivid blood orange T-shirt. Her long hair was loose.
Roderick suddenly came to life.
“Hi, Rod,” Lucinda smiled at him. I hadn’t realized the two of them knew each other.
“Lucinda,” he choked out.
“Sam?” She looked at me. “I thought you had work to do.” Her eyes got smaller.
“I got an hour to kill before feeding,” I said.
“Oh.” She looked down at her feet.
“Let’s have a drink,” I offered, looking from Lucinda to Roderick. Lucinda agreed. Roderick did too. Which might not have been what Lucinda had in mind but it was fine by me.
We made our way over toward the track. The announcer was just calling the seventh race and we all listened as Birthday Suit and Alacrity battled neck and neck. Birthday Suit got a length on his nearest opponent and crossed the finish line first.
“I’d like to work that one,” Lucinda mumbled, more to herself than us, but Roderick heard.
“He’s one of Will Lott’s. Probably ain’t gonna happen. Lott’s got Asha Yashpinsky. Puts her on all his big shots,” Roderick said, looking at Lucinda earnestly.
“Oh, I know it ain’t gonna happen, Rod. I can dream though, can’t I?”
I listened to them going back and forth. Hoping maybe Roderick would say something useful but not really expecting it.
We went into the clubhouse, heading for the second-floor bar. It wasn’t crowded. Most of the people hanging around were serious handicappers or low-end owners. A few heads turned when we walked in. I knew Lucinda came here fairly often to mingle with owners, trying to scrape her way back to working good horses. I didn’t think she was sleeping with anyone to attain this goal. She wasn’t really the type. Probably just talked to them a little, turning her big eyes on and making sure they got a good look at her ass when she walked away.
We took stools at the bar and we all ordered shots of Jack from Battle Annie, the brassy blonde who’d been tending bar at racetracks since Secretariat’s time. Battle Annie would be remembered long after most trainers, riders, and horses.
I put the shot glass to my lips, letting it rest there a fraction of a second, anticipating the warmth to come. I hadn’t even realized I’d felt badly until the shot hit and my mood improved. Lucinda drank hers and pink bloomed on her white cheeks. She looked pretty. Ruby crossed my mind. I ordered another shot. The eighth race was about to go off and we watched the post parade on the monitor. Roderick and Lucinda discussed one of the entries. A filly facing the boys. I ordered a third shot.
A man with a red face sat down next to Lucinda. He was overweight and looked rich. An owner. He was wearing a pink shirt that clashed with his skin. I could tell from Lucinda’s body language that she knew who the man was and had willed him to sit there. As the owner started talking to Lucinda, Rod and I sat in silence, half listening to Lucinda who was spending a few moments letting the owner think he was getting somewhere with her before steering the subject to his horses.
Eventually, Roderick announced that he had to get back to his shedrow. I said I ought to go feed my string too. Lucinda’s owner had taken off. It was unclear if she’d accomplished anything with him.
“Want some help?” Lucinda asked me. Roderick’s big face went a little slack. She hadn’t offered him her help.
“It doesn’t take long to feed three horses,” I told her.
“I don’t mind,” she insisted.
We all three headed back to the barn area. Lucinda and
I bid Roderick farewell in front of Corso’s barn then made our way over to my spot in silence. The same old guy with a limp was still grazing that same chestnut not far from my barn. Lucinda greeted him. He smiled at her.
“Who’s that?” I asked her.
“Old Bill,” she said. “Hotwalker. Used to be an owner. His business went under and his wife left him. He showed up on the backside one morning going from barn to barn till he found someone who would hire him to walk hots. He was sixty-five then and this was a while back. Guy doesn’t have any sense about horses. He’s been stepped on and pinned against more walls than anyone I know, but he’s never let a horse get hurt or get away from him.”
I nodded in silent appreciation of Old Bill.
All three of my horses had their heads poking over their stall guards as they stared at me intently, ears forward, all of them too well mannered to bite at the air or kick the sides of their stalls.
“You got yourself three very polite horses,” Lucinda remarked.
“Yup. Figured if I’m gonna struggle along trying to keep claimers sound and feeling good, I might as well get some with nice manners.”
She laughed. She was sweet.
I gave the horses their dinner as Lucinda refilled their hay nets.
“I guess that’s it,” I said. “I’m gonna go home and do some paperwork.”
Lucinda stared at me with those strange blue eyes of hers. It made me nervous.
“I’ll see you tomorrow,” I said. She nodded but didn’t move. “Okay?”
“Sure,” she said. She looked sad.
I turned and walked very quickly to the lot where I had my Honda parked. The shots of whiskey had already worn off and left a headache in their wake.
As soon as I got inside the car, I turned my cell phone on, hoping to find a message from Ruby. There wasn’t one. The boss had called wanting a progress report. My cousin Erica had left a bubbly message asking me to call. Erica still lived in the old neighborhood on Long Island and periodically felt it her duty to call and bring me up to speed on the incredibly tedious neighborhood gossip, hoping this would make me divulge fascinating facts about cases I was working on. The girl couldn’t get it through her head that what I did for a living was basically incredibly fucking tedious.
I got back to the unattractive complex where I rented a small apartment. Because this is Florida, even a low-rent complex like mine has a swimming pool, and this particular pool is not known to attract any great beauties. Willow Clark, the sun-ravaged matron who spends 90 percent of her life lingering by the pool in a string bikini that does nothing to hold back her tides of flesh, was in her spot and, as I came by, lifted extravagant sunglasses and eyed me.
“Hi, Sammy,” she said, giving a little wave.
“Mrs. Clark,” I said, shoving the key in my lock and retreating into my apartment.
Cat came and rubbed her tiger-striped body against my legs. I picked her up, scratched under her chin, and pulled my cell phone out of my pocket to see if a message from Ruby had miraculously appeared. It had not.
I opened a can of food for Cat and poured myself a finger of whiskey. I drank it down quickly, trying to kill the headache. I made a few notes on my pad about Roderick even though I really hadn’t learned anything interesting. Eventually, I put a PJ Harvey CD on my portable machine. I can’t say it made me feel much better but at least it didn’t hurt.
BEN NESTER
13.
Darwin’s Hiccup
I’d left Oklahoma three days after I’d taken care of business with the dirtbags that had abused Sandman’s chestnut mare. It had been a big to-do in the town. The lady hadn’t been lying when she’d told Sandman that her brother was the sheriff. And the sheriff didn’t take lightly to someone blowing his sister’s head off. They immediately launched a big investigation. Apparently though, the dirtbags hadn’t told the sheriff about me and Sandman coming to take the mare back from them. The cops only paid Sandman a quick visit asking if he knew what had happened to the horse he’d sold those people. Sandman told them the lady lost interest and just gave the horse back. I guess that kind of thing happened often enough and Sandman was a trusted member of the community and so that was that.
As soon as the cops left, Sandman told me to split town and never show my face again. He never came out and said he knew I did those people in, but of course he did know. It was his shotgun that had done it and Sandman must have noticed it missing. I’d carefully wiped it down and taken it apart and put most of it in Dirt Stick Pond and the rest in Miller’s Pond.
I packed my few items of clothing. I put Crow, the dog I’d rescued from the dirtbags, into the Chevy and we drove off.
I drove east.
I was not too far from Baltimore when I ran out of money. I got a job in a box factory. At night, I slept in the car with Crow. They wouldn’t let me bring Crow in to work though so I didn’t last that long there. I made my way to Laurel Park Racetrack and, after making a nuisance of myself awhile, finally found a lady trainer named Nancy Cooley who gave me a job walking horses off after their morning exercise. I moved into one of the dorms with eight other grooms and hotwalkers. Crow had to sleep outside but I built him a little shed and put my old sweater in it for bedding. Crow was happy. He’d put on some weight and his white coat was shiny and healthy. He’d been timid for a few weeks after I’d first gotten him but already he was coming out of his shell and people liked him. Things were okay for both of us.
Several months passed. Then a year.
I got promoted to groom and Nancy even had me rubbing a nice little stakes filly named Glassy Jane. She was a pretty chestnut filly, very calm and affectionate and basically a joy to look after. I still thought about Darwin though.
Finally, one day about a year and a half after I’d left Oklahoma, I found what I was looking for scouring the results charts in the Daily Racing Form. A three-year-old colt named Darwin’s Hiccup had run second in a maiden race up at Aqueduct, in New York. My horse had just been named Darwin. None of this Hiccup business. But maybe there’d already been a racehorse named Darwin and the Jockey Club made them come up with another name. I dunno. They’d registered the little guy as Darwin’s Hiccup. It was definitely him though. Listed his dam as Bubbledance and she was the one Sandman had told me about. The mare that had won a stakes race in New York.
The trainer for Darwin’s Hiccup was a guy named Robert Cardinal. Right away, I started asking folks around Laurel what they knew about the guy. At first no one had heard of him, but then it turned out that my very own boss had actually been his assistant for a few months a long time ago.
“He’s a good-hearted guy but he’s had some shitty luck lately,” Nancy Cooley told me in that no-nonsense way she had. “How’d you hear about him, Ben? He bringing a string down to Laurel? You gonna turn your back on me and go work for Cardinal?” She was teasing me I guess. She was a nice woman. Always paid me on time and never poked into my business.
“No, nothing like that, Miss Cooley just he’s training a colt I’m interested in.”
“You’re interested in a colt? What, to buy? You been holding out on me, Nester? You some trust fund kid slumming on the back-stretch?”
She was laughing. Her blue eyes were sparkling and her choppy hair was sticking up more than usual, like it was laughing too. She was making me nervous though. I didn’t want to tell her the story about Darwin and me since it would lead back to Sandman and Oklahoma and, potentially, my having killed those people.
“No,” I said, “I’ve just been trying to pick out horses to follow and that’s one that I decided to follow. I’m just trying to learn.”
She grinned at me. Then patted me on the arm and bustled on down the shedrow.
I found the phone number for Aqueduct and called up asking for Robert Cardinal’s barn. A mean-sounding woman told me he was stabled at Belmont. I called there and actually got Robert Cardinal on the phone. When I offered my services as a hotwalker, he gruffly told me he had all the
hotwalkers he needed. I wasn’t gonna let that set me back though.
The next day, I went into Nancy’s office. She was hunched over a condition book, trying to find the right race for a problematic two-year-old she’d just been given to train. Her hair was drooping a little and she looked tired.
“Miss Cooley?” I said, because she hadn’t looked up even though she must have sensed me standing there.
“Oh, Ben, hello,” she said.
“I’m sorry but I’ve got to give my notice. I’m gonna go up to New York. To Belmont,” I said, feeling sort of frightened but excited too.
“Oh? You got an offer up there?”
“Nah. Just always wanted to see New York.”
Nancy Cooley frowned a little.
“It’s a little tougher up there, Ben, you know. You’re a good worker and I’d recommend you to anyone who asked but you might have a hard time getting hired.”
“I know,” I said, “but I’m gonna take my chances. I appreciate all you’ve done for me. I don’t want you to think I don’t. And I feel bad about leaving Glassy Jane.”
“She’ll miss you. I will too,” Nancy Cooley said.
I felt a little embarrassed. I hadn’t known she cared either way. Sure, I was good with the horses but so were plenty of people.
“That’s nice of you to say, Miss Cooley.”
She looked at me for a few moments then asked when I wanted to leave. I told her as soon as she could spare me. She shrugged and told me to give her a few days.