Wendy laughed.
Tom patted Hurry Sandy on the neck. “It’s a sad reality for most stud horses. Once they’re of breeding age they don’t usually get turned out with other horses, and they’re herd animals. Right around the age of two, they’re separated. Too much testosterone.”
He glanced back in at Beau to make sure he was “presentable” and they walked back by his stall. “I think Hurry Sandy has made him a gentleman.”
Wendy smiled. “A good woman.”
“Something like that I guess.”
Off in the distance, they heard dogs barking. “Oh no,” Tom said. Here came all six dogs, five Yellow Labrador Retrievers and a Black Standard Poodle, jumping, barking and slobbering. “Brace yourself! Incoming!”
It was a free-for-all. It was as if the dogs were saying, “New Person! New Person! Mine! Mine! Mine!” Wendy enjoyed all the attention, learned all their names; “Dawber, Gimpy, Piccolo, Sloopy, Runt, and Rotty.”
“They’re all litter mates, all except for Rotty here. Who put this bow in your hair?” Tom took it off and gave it to Rotty to chew and tear apart. “We all hand-raised them. The bitch died shortly after birth and the owner didn’t want the pups. She said they would remind her of their mom…oh well, anyway, we all nursed them with little bottles, round the clock, every two hours. Course every two hours meant five different every two hours each. It’s hard to part with them after all that, so we kept them.”
Wendy smiled. The dogs had settled down pretty much, except for the two playing tug of war with Rotty and his ribbon. “What about Rotty?”
“Oh, him. Randy brought him home one day too. He was a stray, abandoned. He doesn’t know he’s a poodle, he likes it outside.”
“How old are they?”
Tom had to think. “Oh, around five. Rotty’s around three.”
Wendy smiled. “What’s over there?” She’d pointed to the foaling barn.
“Well, I have to check on them anyway. Come on.” When they entered the barn, all six dogs followed along. The ponies looked up. The Palomino nickered.
“Hello,” Tom replied.
Wendy stared in disbelief.
“They’ve had it rough,” Tom said, from her expression.
“What happened to them?” It didn’t take a horseperson to see the horses were thin and ragged.
“Neglect and being worked too hard.” Tom glanced at the notations written on the blackboard. Last time they were hayed was two hours ago. “They should have cleaned up by now.” They each had hay left.
“If they’re so hungry, why aren’t they eating?”
“Well, for one, they’re exhausted.” He shrugged. “They’re drinking lots of water, so that’s good.” He topped off their water buckets. “I’ll come back out around eleven and see how they’re doing. They can’t have too much all at once.”
Wendy nodded. “I can’t believe someone would do this to a horse. What kind of person does that?”
Tom hesitated and decided to spare her the truth. “I don’t know.”
Wendy looked at him. “You’re a good man, Tom Girard.”
He smiled, glancing at her. “I’m an alcoholic.”
“Recovering,” Wendy said. “You’re a recovering alcoholic.”
Tom looked at her.
“Linda Dillon told me. I asked her about you.”
Tom nodded. Leave it to Linda.
“She also said you were a womanizer.”
Tom sighed.
“I told her you had good manners.”
“I’ll bet she had fun with that.” Tom laughed.
“No. She said it was true. But I already knew that. Thank you.”
“Come on,” Tom said. “I’ll walk you to your car.”
All six dogs trailed along.
“You might want to wear more sensible shoes next time.”
“I’ll try and remember,” Wendy said.
Chapter Fourteen
Juan Garcia came to the barn to gallop Native Born Beau; nicknamed B-Bo by Tom. Ben had him targeted for the feature race on Saturday. Dawn gave Juan a leg-up and stood watching as Tom and Red ponied B-Bo up to the racetrack. He was dancing and bucking. Ben had left a few minutes earlier wanting to be in good position to watch them “breeze.”
B-Bo would act up quite often on the backside, showing off, but as a rule, was usually all business once he hit the racetrack. He grabbed hold of the bit and started snorting and pawing when Tom held him up to let a horse pass. “I hope you’re tied on,” Tom said to Juan.
“He no run any faster than I ride.”
Tom laughed.
Ben stood within hearing distance. “Half a mile, that’s it,” he said.
Juan grinned, posting and flapping the reins. “You say mile? I no speak-ezy Inglish!”
Ben shook his head and laughed. Juan spoke perfect English. Besides, Tom had a good hold on B-Bo. He wasn’t going anywhere. They let two more horses pass and then jogged onto the racetrack. Ben picked up the clocker’s phone, called in Native Born Beau’s name, half mile, and walked down to 7/8ths pole. He never worked a horse to the wire, always a furlong after the wire. He didn’t want a horse to get into the habit of pulling himself up at the finish line.
B-Bo kicked at a horse on the outside rail. Red pinned his ears, digging into the ground. “All right, it’s party time.” Tom clicked to Red and the two horses broke into a canter. After a good long warm-up, he glanced over his shoulder, all clear, and eased B-Bo down toward the rail. “You got him?”
When Juan nodded, Tom let them go. For some, a horse breaking out of the starting gate was most exciting. For Tom, it was moments like this. To see all that horsepower just kick into gear. “Amazing,” he said, and cantered Red up and out of the way, positioning himself to help pull them up.
B-Bo breezed the first quarter in 23.6 and the half in 47.8 then galloped strong for another furlong. Tom was waiting out in the middle of the track on the backside at that point, and pulled them up easy. B-Bo was used to the routine. He was used to Red.
“He looked good,” Tom said. “How’s he feel?”
“Strong! He so strong!”
Ben liked hearing that. He followed them back to the barn. Brubaker walked out from under his shedrow to talk to him. “I just heard something disturbing.”
Ben sighed. So much for his good mood.
“Someone up at the kitchen said the purses are dropping.”
Ben shook his head and walked on. “That’s news to me.”
“Is it true?”
Ben stopped. “First off, Dave, I just said that’s news to me. Second, if you want to tell me who you heard this from, I’ll follow up on it.”
Dave just stood there.
“That’s what I thought,” Ben said, and walked on. At the barn, he made sure B-Bo was okay, looked him over, and headed for the secretary’s office. “They won’t know,” Tom said. “Check upstairs.”
Wendy wasn’t at her desk and Spears’ door was closed. Ben rapped on it. “Come in,” Spears said. He was on the phone. Ben sat down to wait, not in the mood to wait, and promptly stood up to leave.
Spears hung up the phone quickly. “What can I do for you, Ben?”
“First of all,” Ben said. “You can leave your door open. What’s the point of having it closed?”
Spears sat back. “Quiet. Privacy.”
Ben heaved a sigh. “There’s a rumor on the racetrack that purses are dropping. Is that true?”
“No, not yet at least.”
Ben looked at the man. “Do any have any idea how this rumor got started?”
“No,” Spears said. “I’d had a conversation with Frank Dillon, but that was days ago. I had no idea where we were headed then.”
Frank Dillon? Ben tried placing the name. He was one of Brubaker’s owners, a heavy hitter. Ben motioned to the papers on his desk. “If you have a minute…?”
Spears nodded.
“Let’s go on down to the secretary’s office. I want to nip this
in the bud.”
Spears walked to the elevator with him.
“And no more of this, okay?”
“As I said, Ben, that was before….”
Ben held up his hand and glanced at him. “Get rid of the tie.”
Spears time in the secretary’s office was well-spent. Joe Feigler was trying to fill two races. This was all new to him. “So if a race doesn’t fill…?”
“We’re up shit creek without a paddle,” Joe said.
“I don’t get it,” Spears said. “The condition looks good to me.” Non-winners of three this year for $4500. “How many horses do we have here that fits this condition?”
“A good guess would be about fifty, maybe sixty.”
“And they’re not entering because…?
“Because they might have just run. Maybe they don’t like the way we write races. Or maybe they’re holding out to see what happens to the purses.”
Spears had already dispelled that rumor.
“Yeah, but they don’t know that.”
“Make an announcement.”
Dusty entered the secretary’s office and looked around for Ben. He was sitting at the table behind Joe. Dusty walked over and sat down next to him. To say all eyes were now on the two of them was an understatement. Dusty chuckled and shook his head. “No one else died. Go away.”
It lightened the mood, somewhat.
He leaned in close to Ben. “I just heard that Gibbons applied for stalls at Mountaineer.”
“How’d you hear that?”
“My daughter works there, remember?”
Ben nodded. He’d forgotten. There was no reason to remember. He looked across the room. Gibbons was standing right there. Should he approach him?
Dusty read his mind. “No.”
Ben nudged Spears. He turned.
“We’re raising the pots across the board, a thousand dollars.”
“Every race?”
“Claimers. Allowance and starters, two thousand.”
“Are you sure?”
“Positive.”
Spears held out his hands. Did Ben want him to announce that now? He motioned to Joe. Did he want Joe to announce it? “Starting when?”
“Today?”
Ben sat there, mind scrambling. Raising the pots one and two thousand dollars wouldn’t match the pots at Mountaineer, but when you figured in the cost of shipping and the risks of trailering a horse , maybe the horsemen would think twice. He reached for a piece of paper, scribbled something, and handed the note to Spears.
“Listen up,” Spears said. “And this is not a rumor. Starting today, purses are going up a thousand dollars in all claiming races and two thousand dollars for starter allowance and allowance.”
“You hear that?” Feigler said.
Some cheered, some stood quiet, obviously skeptical. They all looked at Ben and he nodded. Jeannie Simpson, the track’s leading female trainer walked up and placed an entry. Gibbons followed.
“Joe, you’ll need to make an announcement for the backside.”
Joe picked up the microphone and handed it to Spears. He’d rather take entries. Spears hesitated, hit the on button and repeated the same announcement, complete with, “Listen up.”
Ben smiled. Spears had broken out in a sweat and was peeling off his jacket. With no tie or jacket, he almost looked like one of them. Dusty had another issue to discuss with Ben. “It can wait. I’ll see you over at the barn.”
Dawn was on her cell phone with her Uncle Matt as Ben walked down the shedrow, listening and shaking her head. When she hung up, she relayed the news to Ben. “Six years ago, Billy Martin had a truck registered in his name. It was sold for $1 to a, and I quote, a John Doe Salvage Yard. His address at the time was the same one Tom mentioned. He has not owned a vehicle since. He has not paid taxes. Uncle Matt said for all practical purposes, he ceased to exist at that time.”
Ben sat down in the tack room and glanced at the coffee pot. “Who drank all the coffee?”
“Pastor Mitchell,” Dawn said. “He was here looking for you. Do you want me to make another pot?”
Ben shook his head. “What’d he want?”
“He wouldn’t say. Then again, I didn’t ask.” She smiled. “I didn’t want to know. Also, Wendy was here. She came over to find out how long you want to put Linda Dillon up at the hotel?”
Ben buried his face in his hands. “I forgot about that.”
“She said she suggested that maybe social services could help and Linda all but had a coronary. I gave her your cell number so she doesn’t have to walk all the way over here again.”
“I hate talking on that thing.”
“Yes I know, Ben. But you’re going to have to.”
He looked at her. “I just upped all the purses; a thousand for claiming, two thousand for allowance races and starters.”
“Do we have the money?”
Ben shrugged. “I’m not sure. I’ll have to find out.”
Dawn studied his expression. She could read him like a book. “We haven’t messed up yet.”
Ben smiled. “Did you get the tape of the funeral?”
“Yes, I gave it to Wendy.”
Ben nodded.
“I’m heading over there now to see the spectators’ reactions to it. I’ll be back in a few minutes. It’s scheduled to run the first time in about ten minutes.”
“Where’s Tom?”
“He’s up talking to Rupert.”
Ben sighed. “We’re probably giving away more money even as we speak.”
Chapter Fifteen
Dawn bought a hot chocolate and positioned herself near one of the main monitors. It was flashing up-to-the-minute race results from other racetracks around the country. Few people were paying attention. At ten minutes to post time the monitors displayed the newscast. “And now we go to Nottingham Downs where one of their own was laid to rest.”
Dawn noticed several people look up.
“Billy Martin, one of the leading trainers at Nottingham Downs….”
At the sound of the song Danny Boy, more people stopped what they were doing and paid attention. “Look at that,” a man said, pointing to the horse-drawn carriage and procession.
Dawn walked toward the next monitor. Several people watching the broadcast there quickly turned into quite a few. The clip only played for a minute and a half, but most everyone that had stopped to watch, watched the entire segment.
“That’s so sad,” a woman standing next to her said.
Dawn nodded and glanced ahead. A small group had gathered at just about every monitor along the main corridor. A few seconds later, everyone was back to what they were doing initially. “But for that brief moment,” she told Ben and Tom back at the barn. “They stopped and listened. They cared.”
“Wish we could get them over here on the backside so they get to see who we all are, what we all go through every day,” Tom said.
Ben looked at him. “Spears says liability is a huge expense, remember?”
“Yes, what if we just do virtual tours?” Dawn suggested.
“What?”
“Videos. I can do it. Heaven knows I’ve done enough videos of the kids.”
“And what, play one once a week?” Tom asked.
“I don’t know. Why not one every day? Just the like the one today. It doesn’t have to be as long. We don’t want them to be annoying. We want them to be entertaining.”
“Like what?” Ben asked.
Tom popped a toothpick in his mouth, thinking. “Well, we wouldn’t want to feature a horse that’s about to race; we all know how superstitious we all can be with a horse in.”
“What about just everyday things, a horse getting bathed, a horse going to the spit barn, a horse retiring, a horse on their way to the track in the morning. We could videotape all these things,” Dawn suggested.
“Does that mean another employee?”
“No, I’ll do it,” Dawn said. “At least until we decide if it has any appeal.�
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Ben scratched the back of his neck. “I guess it’s worth a try. Maybe if they see what goes on over here at the backside every day, they’ll appreciate the racehorses more.”
“Right,” Dawn said, “and nothing negative.”
“Which reminds me,” Ben said. “I saw Dusty earlier and he let on that there’s something he needs to talk to me about. What do you suppose it is?”
Tom sighed. “He thinks we’ve got a couple of illegal grooms in barn 9.”
“Do we?”
“I don’t know. I’ve never seen the guys before.”
“Well, how’d he get wind of it?”
“I don’t know. He’ll be here in a few minutes. You can ask him.”
Dawn picked stalls while they waited. Tom topped off water buckets. B-Bo was all wound up, playing in his stall. When Dawn hurried out from under the webbing, Tom chuckled. “Ah, does that bring back memories.” Years ago during Dawn’s first week at the track, Fancy Pat pinned her in the stall. Tom sidetracked the mare, gave Dawn a hand, and pulled her out of the stall with such force she ended up landing in the muddy ditch the other side of the shedrow. “I saved your life.”
“Don’t remind me,” Dawn said. “That mare hated me.”
“That mare hated herself.”
“Whatever happened to her?”
“Last I heard she was raising Quarter Horse babies.”
“Oh, I’ll bet they’re fun.”
Dusty walked down the shedrow and into the tack room. Dawn and Tom followed. “Well?”
“They’re gone.”
“Is that a good thing?” Ben asked.
“I guess,” Dusty said. “I mentioned I’d be back to talk them and they left - lock, stock, and barrel.”
Ben shook his head. “Well, between you running people off and Tom and me giving money away, we’re rewriting the book on how to succeed.” It wasn’t exactly funny, but they all laughed.
When Ben’s phone rang, he handed it to Dawn.
“Ben!” she said. “Come on, you have to start using this phone.”
“Take it. I don’t want to talk to anybody.”
Dawn sighed. “Hello.”
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