“Yes sir.”
“Otherwise I would have been there and all this never would have come up. I don’t want it to go any further. I don’t want May to be making depositions or whatever out there in Virginia when she’s supposed to be rehearsing for a play. A Shakespeare play, for crying out loud. Tough stuff.”
“Have you talked to her?”
“Will you just listen to me, Mr. Showers? I want to get this horse thing behind us, in a way that will make everybody happy.” He drank more of his coffee. Showers left his untouched. “Now I don’t have any business dealings with Mr. Bloch. Haven’t for years. I don’t have business dealings with anyone. But he’s still my friend and I’ve talked to him about this. He’s still interested in owning that horse. He’s a man of some means, Mr. Showers, and he’s willing to be very generous. He mentioned a figure of fifty, no, a hundred thousand dollars.”
“A hundred thousand?”
“That’s not unusual, is it? I’m told show horses out your way go for a lot more than that, horses that little ten-year-old kids ride. Hell, I paid more than forty thousand for the last one May had.”
“It’s nothing to do with money …”
“Just listen. He’ll pay you a hundred thousand for the horse. You drop this inquiry you started, and May won’t have to trouble her pretty head about anything. And you can go on serving your country—as ambassador. A hundred thousand ought to be enough for you to keep that farm of yours going while you’re overseas, don’t you think?”
Showers took a deep breath, working to keep complete control of himself. He felt terribly trapped, as much as if he were locked up in a cell in the basement of the FBI Building. But there was a way to escape. His only way. The truth.
“Mr. Moody. My interest in that animal has to do with its pedigree. According to its papers, it’s descended from a line my family used to breed, out of a mare named Queen Tashamore. I bought it to restore the line to our stable. But if the pedigree’s not right, and I have reason to believe that it’s probably fraudulent, then—”
“What difference does that make if you sell the horse?”
“It makes a difference no matter what. My name is now involved with the legal history of that horse. I can’t erase that. What I can do is everything in my power to have the matter cleared up.”
“That Queen Tashamore of yours must have had a lot of descendants. We’ll find another one for you.”
“There’s something else, sir. The woman I bought the horse from had her barn burned down under some very questionable circumstances. A groom was killed and she lost a horse. I have reason to believe that there’s a connection with Mr. Bloch’s interest in my horse.”
“That’s bullshit, Showers! Bernie Bloch is one of this country’s leading financiers. He’s a big contributor to a lot of important charities and to my political party. He’s a civic leader. How the hell can you say this?”
“He has an employee, Billy Bonning. He used to work for me. He’s caused us a lot of trouble and there’s reason to believe he was at the scene the night of the fire.”
“I know about that kid. You’re right, he’s a lot of trouble. So was that sister of his. Bernie should never have hired him. If it’s true what you say about his giving you a hard time, I’m sure Bernie will fire him instanter. But you can’t hold Bernie Bloch responsible for something this bad-ass kid may or may not have done. You can’t fuck around with the reputation of a man of his stature this way. And that goes for my daughter’s as well. You’re supposed to be an honorable man. Isn’t that what you people live by out there, honor? What right have you to screw around with these people this way?”
Showers said nothing. The two men stared at each other.
“I’ve said what I have to say—officially and unofficially,” Moody said, looking at his watch. “In a few minutes, I have to see the president. I want you to think about this, very seriously. Take some time off. I’ll arrange it with the department.”
“I’ve already been given a few days off.”
“Take a week. But no more than that. I’m not sure when May’s coming to town but I don’t want any of this waiting for her when she does. Take some time, but give me a decision, on all the particulars. All right? Do we have an understanding here?”
“I understand you, Mr. Moody.”
The chief of staff did not get up. Showers hesitated, then did so himself.
“It doesn’t have to be Iceland, Showers. It can be anyplace you like.”
“Thank you, sir,” Showers said, then went out the door.
Nervous, his hands trembling on the wheel, Showers drove up 17th Street to where it joined Connecticut Avenue. On impulse, he pulled suddenly to the curb into a bus loading zone, next to a sidewalk pay phone.
He wanted to talk to his cousin, but realized he had no idea where to find him. He had only one quarter. He called his secretary, and had her connect him, after a brief search, with a friend of his on the State Department’s Northern European desk.
“A quick question, Bill. Has our ambassador to Iceland resigned, or been recalled?”
“He’s being transferred. No one knows where to yet, or why, but he’s been told to pack his bags. It just came through an hour or so ago. How did you find out about it? The Icelanders don’t even know.”
“I heard about it when I was at the White House.”
“Does this have something to do with the Earth Treaty?”
“I hope not. Thanks, Bill.”
A traffic citation officer, a young black woman a little too large for her uniform, was giving him a ticket. There were trucks double-parked all over the avenue, but she was writing him up for stopping two minutes in a bus zone. He didn’t argue with her. He was reflexively courteous with black people. No one in his family belonged to the Sons or the Daughters of the Confederacy.
“Sorry, sir,” said the woman. “But the law’s the law.”
She smiled as she tucked the ticket in his windshield wiper.
“I understand,” he said.
The ticket was for fifty dollars.
Thus admonished, he kept his speed well within the limit as he drove out of town, though he felt a great urgency. Once on the Capital Beltway, heading toward the interstate that led upriver to western Maryland, he let the Cherokee creep up to sixty-five, keeping pace with traffic. He didn’t want to do anything to attract attention to himself. Moody had not only infuriated him, he scared the hell out of him. As the struggle over the treaty demonstrated, the United States government wasn’t very efficient at carrying out great enterprises, or even carrying out its normal duties. But it could reach anywhere, interfering with the lives of ordinary people whenever or wherever it wished. A White House telephone could be a terrible weapon. Showers thought of the ambassador in Iceland. The man’s life was being dramatically changed, for reasons he knew nothing about, for no good reason at all, just because of an obscure horse auction in Virginia.
Showers followed Interstate 70 to its junction with 81 at Hagerstown, then turned south and crossed the Potomac into West Virginia. Reaching Highway 9 just south of Martinsburg, Showers exited and headed east to Charles Town. He was to meet Alixe in a rundown bar near the racetrack. He was very late, but she didn’t seem to mind. He found her at the bar, joking with some other customers.
“You care for a stirrup cup, m’dear?” she said, treating his arrival casually.
He shook his head. “I’m sorry to be late. Moody called me over to the White House.”
Her eyebrows went up. So did her glass. Emptying it, she slid a twenty-dollar bill across the bar, watching carefully as the bartender counted out her change. She was worth several million dollars, but kept a mind to where every penny went.
“I brought my pickup,” she said, as they went out into the parking lot. “We’ll take it. Aren’t many Jeeps up here with State Department stickers on them.”
As they drove over to the Charles Town racecourse, he told her about Moody’s offer of a hundred thous
and dollars. He left out the matter of the ambassadorial appointment. That still preyed on his mind.
“A hundred thousand,” she said. “Now we know something’s wrong.”
“How is he?”
“The bay stallion? Selma says he’s doing just fine.”
“Selma?”
“That’s her name—the girl jockey I told you about. She says the bay is the finest bloodstock she’s ever been aboard.”
“She’s been riding him?”
“Exercising him. On her place. Don’t worry. No one will notice anything out of the ordinary. I’ve boarded some flat-track mounts with her before. Never any trouble. Fine girl, Selma. Common origins, don’t you know. A woodsy. But a fine girl.”
“Why are we meeting her at the track?”
“It’s where she works.”
With the bay hidden safely away, they’d have time to pursue their investigation with the Thoroughbred Association—and prepare a lawsuit, if they could persuade May Moody to take their side. That was the part that worried Showers the most. He didn’t know what the actress’s relationship was with her father. He had no idea what he was going to say to her. He’d left a message for her at the Shakespeare Theatre in case she called in, but she hadn’t responded.
He told Alixe about that.
“I think she’ll go along,” Alixe said. “Didn’t get to talk with her that much, but I like that girl. I think she’ll do whatever makes you the happiest.”
“Why do you say that?”
“She meant for you to have that horse, from the very beginning. That’s why she bought it.”
“You mean it’s a gift?”
“Something like that, because of what you did for Jimmy Kipp. Only I daresay I’ve fucked everything up.”
“For God’s sake, Alixe. Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Wasn’t supposed to, m’dear. Now I’ve fucked that up, too.”
“We shouldn’t be doing this.”
“Of course we should. She meant the bay for you, not Bernie Bloch.”
They entered the track through the horsemen’s gate, parking alongside a big barn. There were a number of horses in the yard, some being tacked up for exercise, others returning from their workouts. A short-legged, ungainly-looking chestnut ambled by them as they got out of the truck, the girl rider in the saddle one of the most striking creatures Showers had ever seen. She was very small, with an English upturned nose, but her skin was quite dusky, almost the brown of the horse. Her sleek black hair was pulled back in a tight ponytail beneath her riding helmet. She wore a closefitting T-shirt and faded jeans, and boots whose original color had long before disappeared beneath layers of mud and dust. Though tiny, she seemed entirely made of muscle, her body moving in unison with the horse’s, as though part of it. There was something almost Asian about her, making Showers think of the ancient Mongols who had virtually lived on their ponies, sweeping inexorably westward across the steppes.
She caught Showers’ stare and returned it with a flicker of a glance. She noticed Alixe, and turned her head full face to nod hello, her eyes briefly on Showers again, then darting away. She let the horse keep moving, turning forward again as though to resume some deep contemplation. She sat the animal with extraordinary, effortless poise, completely relaxed, utterly calm. He guessed she was one of those riders who’d taken to horses from the time they were able to walk. He wondered if she might be a better rider than any of the moneyed folk in Dandytown, condemned to perform her skill at this back-country track simply by accident of birth.
“Selma?” Showers said.
“Yes indeed.”
“You trust her?”
“Yes sir. She’s probably got more things going than Vicky Clay ever dreamed of, but she keeps them to herself. Keeps everything to herself. Most closemouthed girl I ever knew. Don’t worry. I’m paying her well. So well, she’s probably wondering if she has to sleep with you.”
“I hope you mean I’m paying her.”
“Fear not, Captain. It’s all going on the bill.”
The girl finished with the horse she was on, dismounted in a graceful, catlike leap, then handed the bridle to a groom. She glanced around her, then started for the truck. Showers opened the door and stepped out. Without a word, she climbed into the seat, making room for Showers to get back in again. Their arms touched briefly as he closed the door. The muscles of her forearm were like a piece of hardwood.
“Hot day, Miss Percy,” she said.
“Is it safe to go up to your place?” Alixe said, turning the pickup out of the yard.
“Yes ma’am. I don’t get many callers, ’cept my ex-boyfriend lookin’ for drinking money. And he ain’t been around much since I fired a twelve-gauge in his direction one night a couple weeks ago.”
“Has he seen the horse?” Showers asked.
“No sir. Last I heard he was working over at Laurel. He’s a jockey, like me. Not much damn good, though.”
Alixe knew the way. She drove north up Highway 9 toward Kearneysville, then turned left onto a gravel road, following it for a mile or two, pulling up finally into the scrubby yard of a farm gone to weed. The small house was wooden frame, in need of paint. The barn behind it looked as though it had never been painted.
“You live here?” Showers asked politely.
“When I’m not livin’ somewhere else. Was my granny’s place, but then she died.”
The barn’s shadowy interior looked cool, but was nearly as hot as the muggy outdoors. There were only three stalls. The bay’s was in a dark corner, out of view from the open door.
“This is a bit close to the road,” Showers said.
“Stop worrying, David,” said Alixe. “They’ll be tearing through every steeplechase barn from South Carolina to the Philadelphia Main Line before they think of looking in this place. We’re aristocrats, mind. Mr. Bloch thinks he knows our ways.”
The bay seemed glad to see Showers and came forward to have his neck rubbed. He seemed as comfortable in his new surroundings as he had been in Showers’ stable. He was probably getting used to being moved around.
Showers stroked his nose gently, then carefully curled back the horse’s lip. The tattooed number, of course, was still the same. He looked down at the horse’s white stockings. He’d imagined nothing. Trying to get to sleep, in the middle of the night, he’d worried that he’d made an awful mistake.
“Alixe, there’s something we should have thought of. We should have contacted the owners of the sire and dam, the ones that were listed in the catalogue.”
“All right. Let’s do that. When we get back.”
They returned to Dandytown via a long, circuitous route, going up to Harper’s Ferry, crossing into Virginia over the Shenandoah, then following country roads that led down along the eastern slopes of the Blue Ridge, so they’d approach Dandytown from the east.
Alixe drove the pickup truck very fast. Showers, trailing her in the Jeep, had to make an effort to keep up.
This rolling, luxuriantly verdant countryside was usually a solace to him, a solitary drive through it providing more comfort and serenity than Alixe could ever hope to enjoy from her whiskey.
But now the hills and sprawling pastures only served to make him feel desolate, a man alone. All he’d asked was to own a part of this beauty, this simple but soul-enriching life. His friends and family had long ago warned him that he couldn’t have both, that his government career could cost him this. But his life and work in Washington had nothing to do with his troubles. His problems had been brought upon him here in Dandytown by intruders—by invaders.
One choice before him was simple. He could not now in good conscience accept the ambassadorship—not knowing how and why it was offered. The lifelong guilt he’d feel taking a promotion dishonestly would be far worse a fate than never receiving one at all, even if it meant remaining in his dusty bin the rest of his working days.
But what penalty would he incur if he let Bloch have his horse? Certainly not for an
y hundred thousand dollars, though he could hear his cousin Jack render an opinion on that point: “Anybody who can screw Bernie Bloch out of a hundred thousand in a horse deal deserves the thanks of a grateful nation.”
What, though, if he took merely ten thousand—the price May Moody paid for it? He could return the sum to her, and she could repay whatever small amount Alixe had paid her—what was it, a thousand? Every account would be balanced, and he’d be back where he’d been when all this had started. Ahead, actually, because now he had Moonsugar.
If it hadn’t been for the sheriff’s clumsy attempt at a homicide investigation, Bloch would now be in possession of the stallion free and clear, in a perfectly legal transaction. Meade Clay had done the bad Coggins before the bay had come to Dandytown Bloodstock for auction. If it was fraudulent, that would be Bloch’s concern. There was no compelling reason for the horse to be in Showers’ stable. He’d convinced himself there wasn’t a drop of Tashamore blood in those equine veins. He’d be guilty of fraud himself if he kept the horse on the terms of its pedigree, especially if he brought it to stud.
By selling the horse to Bloch for a fair price, he’d have both the billionaire and his friend Moody obligated to him. Not that he wanted anything from them, except of course to be left alone.
He’d seen how quickly Moody could arrange the transfer of an ambassador. What might the man be able to do to a minor staff deputy like himself? He could find himself posted in a trice to vice consul in Tirana, Albania. At the very least, he could be taken off the treaty. Moody could do it with a single phone call, a single nod to a subordinate. Showers had worked for the treaty like a priest serving God. Moody could deny him the sacrament, excommunicate him.
The overcast sky had become dark and lowering to the southwest. Showers’ eye caught the flash of lightning. Alixe’s pickup was drawing ahead, disappearing behind a rise of ground.
He pressed harder against the accelerator. He’d been deceiving himself with this mental soliloquy, tempting himself with the worst sort of evil. He couldn’t give up the horse to them now. He owed it to Moody’s daughter, to Alixe, to the dead groom. He owed it to himself. To give Bloch and Moody what they wanted would be a pitiful surrender.
The Last Virginia Gentleman Page 21