Winning Odds Trilogy

by MaryAnn Myers

  “Señor here had to get ten stitches in his hand the one day,” George told Mark.

  “Not even a week later, George got a concussion when an overhead board fell and hit him in the head,” Señor said. “I’d never seen a person’s eyes roll back in their head before.”

  Everyone laughed.

  “Who’s that?” Ben asked when he saw headlights pulling into the driveway.

  George leaned over to look. “Ah, it’s Richard!”

  Richard tapped on the door and came inside. There were lots of hellos and how are you’s since most hadn’t seen him since he’d gotten home from the hospital.

  “Sit down, sit down,” Ben said. “We just got started.”

  Richard washed up at the sink and sat down near the end of the table. A platter of rigatoni and Italian sausage was passed to him, salad, garlic bread. He helped himself and passed them on.

  “What do you want to drink?” Glenda asked.

  “Water’s good,” he said.

  Randy reached for the pitcher and filled his glass. “How are you feeling?”

  “Good, everything’s good,” he said. “Well, not everything.”

  Ben pointed his fork at him with just a hint of a smile on his face. “How about you let me finish my meal first?”

  Randy introduced Richard to Mark and the two shook hands across the table.

  “So,” Richard said, settling in. “What did I interrupt?”

  “Well,” Liz said. “We were all fondly reminiscing about the remodeling project in this house last year and all the trips to the emergency room.”

  Richard chuckled and waved to D.R. and Maeve.

  They both giggled.

  “So how did it go next door today?” Dawn asked. “Did you get started on the bathroom construction?”

  “Started?” George said.

  “We finished it,” Señor said. “All we have to do tomorrow is paint the walls.”

  Dawn smiled. “You’re kidding?”

  “Nope. We’re getting this down pat.”

  “And not one trip to the emergency room,” Glenda said. “How do you like that?”

  They all laughed.

  “How are you doing, Matthew?” Richard asked.

  “Oh, all right I guess. I had a good day.” He moved side to side and then forward and back. “Is that you, Richard?”

  “Very funny,” his mom said. “His eyesight is going to return completely. It’s just going to take time.”

  “Could you pass the rigatoni,” Dusty said.

  Carol held the platter for him to help himself.

  “Thank you,” Dusty said. He glanced at Ben. “I’d like to bring up a subject. I guess it’s not too controversial. Not really. Well, maybe.” He reached for the grated cheese. “We’ve talked about this before and I’m not sure what the ramifications would be, but what about if we establish a kind of gentlemen’s, well, ladies and gentlemen’s code of sorts to….”

  “Dusty,” Ben said. “What are you talking about?”

  “Hannity claiming Jackson’s only horse.”

  “Oh.” Ben nodded. Just about everyone nodded.

  Mark looked at Randy. “The horse I examined today?”

  “Yep,” Randy said. “The plot thickens.”

  “I have a feeling Hannity’s going to lead him back over there on the raise with the hopes that Jackson’ll claim him back.”

  “How sore is he?” Tom asked. “Will he finish the race?”

  Mark shrugged. “He shouldn’t race, not for a couple of weeks at least.”

  “Jackson loves that horse,” Glenda said.

  “Eat, D.R.,” Randy said.

  “I’m full.”

  “Me too,” Maeve said.

  “Then I guess you won’t want any of Grandma’s angel food cake, will you?” Dawn said.

  “Yes!” they both chorused.

  “All right. Then finish eating.”

  “Mark’s going home tomorrow,” Randy said.

  “Oh?” Ben looked up.

  “I’m going to go get some of my things, close up the condo, try and talk my girlfriend into coming back with me. I found a furnished place close by here I can rent.”

  “Speaking of girlfriends,” Tom said.

  “Oh?” Wendy looked at him.

  “Lucy,” he said. “I’m talking about Lucy. They’re going to get married.”

  “Well, that’s good news,” Ben said, everyone echoing those sentiments. “When?”

  “As soon as possible,” Tom said. “Pastor Mitchell’s going to marry them in the chapel. I’m going to be the best man.”

  Wendy smiled. He’d told her this at home and she was so proud of him for saying yes.

  “Well, well,” Randy said. “That’s interesting.”

  Tom looked at him. “I know what you mean.”

  They all laughed. Tom and Junior’s constant bickering was well-known by everyone.

  “He had a good idea, old man,” Tom said.

  “Oh, and what’s that?”

  “He thinks you ought to race Bo-T off the farm in the Burgundy Blue.”

  Ben looked at him.

  “He says he’s going to be here every day anyway. Why not let him gallop him and keep him fit and decide down the road?”

  Ben sat back.

  “That last part, I added,” Tom said.

  Ben nodded, figuring as much. “I’ll think about it.”

  “What’s the horse’s problem?” Mark asked.

  “Too much testosterone and bred too well to cut,” Randy said. “He’s a Beau Born - All Together colt and track record holder. He’s got a breeding career ahead of him.”

  “Ah,” Mark said.

  Ben looked at Dusty. “All right, so let’s get back to Hannity. What are you thinking? What were you trying to say?”

  Dusty sighed. “I’m thinking we can’t let that horse start. Not until we’re sure he’s okay.”

  “How does that work?” Mark asked. “How do you stop them?”

  “I don’t know,” Dusty said. “It’s uncharted territory.”

  “We,” Randy said, “as an attending veterinarian can’t flag the horse.”

  “So, can’t you just have the track veterinarian scratch him?”

  Dusty looked at him. “Well, doing that in the non-socialist, hands off ownership, we’re all private contractors here way, is the bailiwick. What if the track veterinarian doesn’t see anything out of the ordinary with the horse? What if he’s walking sound in the paddock, in the post parade? What if two steps out of the gate…?”

  “Oh, Lord,” Richard said. “I’m wishing I had two gallbladders. I could go get the other one removed and you could all call me when this situation is over.”

  They all nodded. It was said in jest, some even laughed, but it was a serious matter and no one knew that better than them. They took each and every horse’s wellbeing seriously.

  “How would we be dealing with this right now if the horse wasn’t sore?” Tom asked. “That’s the question. But at the same time, if Hannity doesn’t think Jackson’s going to claim the horse back on the raise, no trainer’s going to lead the horse back over on the raise. Not if he’s sore. They’re going to patch him up and wait out the time limit and drop him down.”

  “That’s just not right,” Dawn said. “I hate that part of racing.”

  “Claiming races keep racing honest,” Ben said; something he’d told her time and time again. “Without a designated price of that horse’s worth….”

  “Speaking of a horse’s worth,” Richard said.

  “Aw, Jesus,” Ben said. “All right, go ahead.” Richard had practiced a great deal of restraint listening to everyone else’s concerns. It was obvious whatever he was about to say was utmost on his mind - and big. Ben reached for another piece of bread.

  “I have a feeling, backed up by some fairly good circumstantial evidence, that the driving force behind RJR Enterprises wants slots at Nottingham Downs and they’re not going to let anyt
hing stop them, even if it means shutting us down.”

  “Now what benefit would that serve them?” Ben asked.

  “Well, assuming you wouldn’t just sit on the property and have to sell, the sooner they buy it the better. It would become the new and improved Nottingham Downs and Casino. We’ve already brought the horse-racing fans back. They’d just target the rest.”

  Ben sat back. Dawn sat back. Randy sat back. Tom sat back.

  “That’s just not right,” Liz said. “You all have worked so hard to build the integrity of the sport at Nottingham. That’s just not right.”

  Richard nodded. “Right or wrong, slots are what they’re in it for. They can put them downtown. They can put them down by the river. They can put them wherever they can get the zoning. But Nottingham Downs is where it’ll succeed the most. I guarantee you that’s what they’re thinking. They want Nottingham and they want it bad. They’re going to keep after us until they bring us down, and there’ll be no racing with integrity after that, I promise you.”

  When everyone remained quiet, he continued. “Do you think anyone else will care as much as you all do about the soft whip, the zero tolerance for drugs, or even this trainer whose only horse got claimed? Do you think they’re going to care about each and every Thoroughbred that ships in and out of here? I don’t think so. It’ll all be about the bottom line, the profit margin.” He pulled a piece of paper out of his pocket. “This is mind boggling. The CEO of RJR Enterprises made three billion, four million and twenty-five thousand dollars last year. Do you think he cares about anything any of us at this table hold dear?”

  Silence permeated the room until Maeve tugged on her mother’s arm. “Mommy, can we have dessert now? I ate ev’ything.”

  “Yes,” Ben said, answering for Dawn.

  Mark looked at Randy. “This is great. Now you tell me. I was just getting attached to all of you.”

  Randy laughed. “We’ve been here before. Though admittedly,” he added, looking at Richard, “this might be our toughest fight yet.”

  When the evening ended and they all parted, Tom, Ben, and Matthew started the walk home. The nights were getting cooler. “I’m still glowing,” Ben said, watching his feet move forward. “Guess that says something.”

  Tom and Matthew laughed. The moon was big and bright. The horses could be seen grazing in the pastures. As they approached T-Bone’s Place, they saw Junior sitting in the bed of his pickup truck, drinking a beer.

  “What’s going on?” Tom asked.

  “She said no,” Junior said.

  “What?”

  “I asked Lucy to marry me and she said no.”

  “Why?” Tom asked. “Did she say why?”

  “Well....” Junior took a swig of his beer. “She said she thinks I’ll probably make a good father, but that she’s not so sure I’d make a good husband.”

  “That’s what she said?” Tom asked.

  “Yep. Her exact words.”

  “Well did you tell her that you’ve changed? Or that you’re going to change?”

  “Yes. I told her all of that.”

  “What did she say then?”

  “She said she’d think about it.”

  “So what are you doing out here?”

  “I’m thinking about it too.”

  “Well, that’s good I guess.” Tom hesitated, just looking at the boy. “We’re going to go on home now. You okay?”

  “Yeah, I’m fine.”

  “Good night.”

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  What Richard had said last night at the dinner table weighed heavy on everyone’s mind, and worse when Dawn arrived at the racetrack and was handed a copy of the Morning Banter opened to the Sports page. “Nottingham Downs owner Ben Miller sees the Writing on the Wall.” Under a photo of a horse van was the caption, “Ben Miller ships his own horses South.”

  She stormed into the tack room to find Ben already reading the article and Tom leaning over his shoulder. “That’s not even our van. How can they do this?” The article had been written by the same supposedly syndicated F.D. Crenshaw. “Who’s feeding them this information?”

  Dusty walked in behind her, paper in hand, and speechless. He sat down on the cot.

  “Well, at least it says I’m a kindly old man,” Ben said. “The sons of bitches.”

  Dawn looked at him and drew a breath and sighed.

  “It’s lies,” Ben said. “That’s all it is, just lies.”

  “Yes, but people believe what they read in the paper,” Tom said.

  “Good. Dawn will write another article and tell them it’s not true.”

  “And then they’ll say that’s all lies, and then the next day….” Tom threw up his hands. “How did….? How did…?”

  Junior came in behind them with a copy of his own. “Who is this fucking Crenshaw guy?”

  Dawn made room for him to sit. “I think we all need to calm down. We all need to just pause for a minute and calm down.” She was saying this as much for her own sake as theirs, but it gave them a moment to collect their thoughts.

  “You know what’s freaky about this,” Tom said. “Wondering where they’re getting their information? Are they sitting somewhere across the street watching us come and go? I mean, come on, aside from us, Randy, and the stable guard….” Tom started across the tack room.

  Dusty grabbed his arm. “Wait a minute. Let’s think this through. If it was Jason or any stable guard, they’d have the horses’ names and precisely where they were headed. In this case, the farm.”

  Tom looked at him. “All right, so tell me this. Why do we all of a sudden have so many copies of this newspaper? Why is Jason giving them out to everyone?”

  “Well, maybe he’s not. Maybe he’s just giving them to us,” Ben said. “Junior, go find out how many he’s got. Don’t ask him anything. Just say you need an extra one.”

  They all waited for Junior to go and come back. “He’s got a stack this high,” the boy said. “He’s says they’re delivering more of them these days. And yes, he’s passing them out to everyone.”

  “Now that’s just suspect,” Tom said. “That’s not right.”

  Ben read the article again, as did Dawn. “You know what’s odd,” she said, “the use of the word ships. Ben Miller ships his own horses South. That’s distinctly a racetrack term. A van’s not a ship. Why would they say ship? Nothing else in the article sounds like they know racetrack life, just that one word.”

  Johnny walked into the tack room, Morning Banter in hand. “You shipped Bo-T to Mountaineer?”

  Ben looked at him. “I told you yesterday we were taking him home.”

  “Yeah, but….”

  “What made you say Mountaineer?” Tom asked, suspecting everyone and anything at the moment.

  “The West Virginia license plate on the van.”

  Everyone looked at their own copies. Tom started to say something, but Dawn stopped him. “Bo-T’s at home, Johnny. Just like Ben said. B-Bo’s home too.”

  “That’s who the second horse was?”

  “Yes. All the other horses are still here. We’re not going anywhere. B-Bo will be back and actually Bo-T may be back.”

  “What do you mean?” He looked at Ben. Next to Beau Born and All Together, Bo-T was the finest racehorse Johnny had ever ridden. Bo-T had put his career on the fast track.

  Ben looked at Dawn. She wanted him to go on with this, to say something. “We’re uh, thinking of running him off the farm in the Burgundy Blue and waiting to retire him after that. The meet’ll be almost over. It would work out good.”

  “I’m going to gallop him,” Junior said.

  Johnny pressed his hand to his heart. “I’ll come out too if you want. Just let me know.”

  “You’ll be the first to know,” Ben said. “Now let’s just all get to work.” He looked at the training chart and realized how much clearer everything looked this morning, how easy it was to read. “We have two to gallop, one to pony, Whinny, half-mile breeze
, Morning Dew walks. Let’s get started.”

  ~ * ~

  Wendy picked the note up off her desk and quickly phoned Tom. “Joe’s going to be late. Can you come cover for him? I don’t know how to take entries.”

  Tom had just finished tacking Red. “Here,” he said to Junior. “Pony Alley for me. I’m gonna go do entries till Joe gets in.” Off he went, chaps, helmet and all. “I’ll be right back, Ben. I’ve gotta cover entries.”

  “Joe’s late again?”

  This wouldn’t be the first time Tom had filled in on entries, but it had been a while. “Yep.”

  It was after eight before Joe arrived, looking frazzled. “What’s going on with you,” Tom asked, when there was a lull in entries and it was just the two of them.

  “It’s nothing. I just have some family problems.”

  “Well, you need to get them taken care of. If you need help, let somebody know.”

  “Thank you. I will,” Joe said.

  “All right, I’m going back to the barn. By the way, would you happen to know anything about those articles in the Banter?”

  Joe looked at him. “Why would I know anything? Why are you asking me?”

  “Don’t go paranoid on me, Joe. I just asked a question.”

  “No,” Joe said. “I don’t know anything.”

  ~ * ~

  Richard boarded the plane and found his seat. “Excuse me,” he said, to the tiny woman on the aisle seat. “Would you rather the window?”

  “No, I’m fine,” she said. “Thank you for asking.”

  Richard stashed his carry-on in the compartment overhead and squeezed in past her. There was a time he used to always fly first class. He smiled at the memory. Ben put a stop to that as soon as he took over ownership of the racetrack.

  “What’s so funny?” the tiny woman asked.

  “Oh nothing,” Richard said. “I was just remembering my first day on the job. Well, actually it wasn’t my first day on the job, it was the new owner’s. I was recalling how I used to fly first class up until then.”