by Brian Cain
CHAPTER FORTY FIVE
Graham, Bob and Winston had a meeting mid week in the stable kitchen at Shangri La discussing plans. The long weekends away were causing problems and they had only just started. It was taking until Thursday for everyone to pick up from what they affectionately called float lag. Clifford Barking wanted to attend every meeting up to the cup as well, and it left three days for the busy crew to cover work commitments. Many things were weighted up. The owners of one horse were two children, they spent every evening Flaxmead was home with him. Sleeping at the stable complex occasionally they rose early to help Jessica before going to school. Everyone thought this was an intricate part of Flaxmead's state of mind especially Winston whom had seen Flaxmead's connection with children from when he was a foal. Losing his balanced state of mind could be as devastating as losing his level of fitness. Jessica had always maintained a regular exercise regime, Flaxmead seemed to run himself into the ground whenever he felt like it but Celtic Storm and Meadow needed guidance. Jessica and Ross sat in on the meeting for a while, they had little time with the preparation of three horses between them in the run up to the cup. Taking the horses away form Shangri La and stabling in Melbourne was discussed but quickly shelved, no benefit could be found other than making things easier for the team. The unknown cloak and dagger was tabled also carrying weight supporting the hit and run tactics, the guard must not be dropped. If travelling affected the horses it would show up in their performance and they certainly had no evidence to table in that regard.
The hunter valley wine and thoroughbred industry was enjoying an expansion fuelled by the success of Flaxmead and the eccentric seniors. The logistics of the next months lead up to the Melbourne Cup could see a massive growth in hunter industry. Winston, Wilson, Bartholomew and Clifford Barking would be spread thin spending nearly zero time at the float. In fact Winston was thinking of travelling with the eccentric seniors to make better use of time, the team agreed. Winston had found the float and its bland hard work and preparation for an average of three minutes of thundering horses and vocal mayhem, to be like the back store room of a major elaborate shopping centre. All the things of value stored in boxes and displayed for the final discretion of the consumer. The reality in the engine of the back room he found most driving, the things consumers could not see, children, families and goals. His ploy to more direct people skills in the shop front left a hole in the team's security. He had thought about how to introduce Stanton into the team, a man from personal experience he trusted. However the occasional comment from the populous when his name was mentioned during his time in the valley, led him to approach with caution. Although highly respected he was greatly feared. Winston put his toe in the water, it doesn't make a splash.
"I had a man help me out once not so long ago with a problem, I was thinking of asking if he wanted to help with security around the float, fill the hole in the team."
"Who was that, anyone we know?" asked Bob.
"Gentleman called John Stanton from Newcastle."
"Stanton, you know Stanton?" asked Graham.
"Yes, he's helping me find leads on the disappearance of my daughter Rose."
"Have you met him?" asked Bob.
"Yes, I spent time with him."
"Look at his hands next time you see him, they say he has the blood of countless people on his hands, they call him the Vigilante," added Graham.
"Mr Stanton's a lovely man," said Jessica.
"You know him too?" asked Bob.
Winston gave a quick smile at Jessica as she searched his face for guidance. "He got me out of a lot of trouble and kicked me up the bum. Only the evil need fear Mr Stanton," added Jessica.
"Yeah, I've heard the same thing," said Graham. "I've never met anyone that knew him, let alone two people."
"I've heard of this man," said Ross. "I did'ny know he lived round here. I first heard of him in the corridors of military power in Scotland. I thought he lived in London."
"He came here chasing his family when he retired, he never left," said Winston.
"You can get him to help," asked Bob.
"Yes I think so. I've notice his car at race meetings. He's quite fond of our exploits to say nothing of some of the people involved," he smiled at Jessica.
"What did you do exactly Jess," asked Graham.
"She was a little bit misguided and protective got her into trouble with some nasty people. Mr Stanton was able to put Jessica back on the straight and narrow no questions asked. I'm sure we can continue that approach," stated Winston.
"Fair enough, you can get this bloke to help with security round the float?"
"Yes I think so."
"Might put some more people off side, bloke like Stanton standing over the establishment round the float," added Bob.
"He has an extremely overpowering presence, I thought of that. Until we're sure about this cloak and dagger stuff, my gut feel is it's a positive move," said Winston.
"You're the first bloke I ever talked to who actually met him. Everyone else I hear talk about him is an expert from a bar stool. I'll make my own assessment of the bloke when I meet him," said Graham.
"Now that's a good Idea," added Ross.
"Wow, Mr Stanton looking after me, I feel safer already," said Jessica.
"That settles it then, can you swing it Winston," asked Graham.
"Yes, I'm almost a hundred percent sure. I'll let you know by tomorrow at the latest. I have a meeting with Wilson, Bartholomew and Clifford this afternoon, I'll proceed on the assumption my place in the float team has been filled."
"Will I get another ride in My Stanton's horse car, its like riding Flaxmead all the hair on the back of my neck stands up," Jessica asked Winston.
"I'm sure Mr Stanton will oblige if you ask him Jessica."
"Horse car, that's a red, nineteen sixty nine, four twenty nine cubic inch, supercharged Boss Mustang," said Bob. "I've seen it at car shows, no expense spared, mechanically bullet proof, wins everything. He must spend hours working on it and keeping it clean. What a weapon, a muscle symbol of might a power."
"I thought the same thing when I first met John Stanton. After knowing him a while, I think there's a far different reason he has that car. He loves that car and all it stands for. My gut feel is that car represents something far greater than a trinket in a car show. I hope I'm right."
At the exact time the Shangri La team was meeting, a meeting of a different kind was underway near Flemington Racecourse. Some influential people were making noises in the corridors of horse racing power. At the Quest serviced apartments on the corner of Epsom Road and Princess Highway Flemington, in a top floor apartment overlooking the racecourse. Business and finance consultant Hans Reichmann waited for Jarrod Carpenter chief steward from the racecourse, he paced up and down impatiently as the appointment time passed. Hans Reichmann, a German lawyer operating from the UK, handled business affairs between steak holders, and the board of directors for Flemington race course. He handled affairs of a delicate nature, paid well for his services but disposable should things get grubby.
Jarrod Carpenter finally arrived half an hour late, tied up with an overload of work with the spring carnival he had no idea why Hans Reichmann, a man he hardly knew wished to see him. They greeted and Reichmann sat Jarrod down at the apartment rumpus room table seated with commanding view of the racecourse. He then began pacing up and down in front of the window with his arms crossed obscuring Jarrod's view. Following a well rehearsed line of intimidation developed over years of experience of hard nosed negotiation Jarrod felt the tension. The tinge of expensive cigar smoke, high quality after shave and polished leather bit his censes. Hans Reichmann was a big man of intimidating stature with connections as far as the annals of Canberra.
Reichmann, had a slight lingering accent from his birth place Frankfurt. "Jarrod, I have come to present one of those crossroads in life the surface every now and them."
Jarrod looked puzzled, a middle aged local he loved his job and keeping
busy. "I'm not sure I'm with you."
"Ah, just the question I have come to ask. I deal with everyone Jarrod, time is money. Some very powerful people sent me to find some things out and give some advice."
"What do you do, I've seen you around but sure. You have horses."
"No, I detest horses. I deal in information, the law and money. Many of my clients are being affected by something you can assist with. A protest was lodged at the Turnbull Stakes about the dangerous conduct of a horse called Flaxmead. They want to know why it wasn't acted on."
Jarrod became suspicious and agitated. "Why don't they ask me personally?"
Reichmann clasped his hands together in front of his face putting his thumbs on his chin. "Come now Jarrod, these people are far too busy to follow up petty points of law, that's why they pay me."
"It was acted on, there was nothing to it. Only one steward made the allegation, I watched the race myself. The horse you mentioned is high spirited, certainly nothing new in the character of a champion galloper. The processed paperwork is available for anyone to see."
"Your missing the point here, let me make it clearer. My clients are loosing considerable business and income. Assist in regaining there business status and it could be most rewarding for your career and lifestyle."
"That horse is breaking records everywhere it goes, cant be the management here pushing this, the horse broke the attendance record for the Turnbull Stakes. The place had a bumper day."
"Things are not always as they seem, a bumper day it was. But not for my clients."
"That horse will win the Melbourne Cup."
"Yes, and we want it stopped. A wider opinion of protest could be in your interest."
Jarrod stood up. "Your mates want the Melbourne Cup, tell em to find a horse that can run Flaxmead down. Horse races are won by fast horses with courage and power. Not bullshit. Now if you'll excuse me." Jarrod walked to the door.
"You're making a grave mistake Mr Carpenter."
Jarrod shook his head as he opened the door. "No. Never been surer about something in my life. Decisions made by the steward's body are available for anyone to study. Decision they make in the future will be the same. I'll make a note of this meeting. I'll be watching the steward that filed the protest on Flaxmead. A pattern of behaviour would warrant an investigation under the circumstances."
"This meeting didn't happen it's just your word against mine. You are making a grave error, everyone knows how to proceed now."
"Yep, especially me, now bugger off." Jarrod slammed the door and left.