by Travis Casey
"Wow." Governor Davenport was clearly impressed. He grabbed the bottle by the neck, removed his glasses, and gave the label a closer examination. "Sixty-one percent alcohol. That's one-hundred-twenty-two proof!"
Davenport handed the bottle back to Louie, who poured some into two glasses, then looked at Oscar and raised the bottle inquisitively. "Oscar?"
"Don't mind if I do."
"Oscar," Stacey stated as a complete sentence with no further explanation required.
She may have been the assistant to the DA, but she wasn't his wife. "Stacey," he rebutted. Their eyebrows communicated in a complete language. Hers saying Don't you dare, his replying with Get lost.
Oscar was familiar with the Rosebank 1981 vintage only by reputation. He had looked at it for his grandfather's birthday, but at $950 a bottle, he had to give it a miss—for now. But it was certainly on his list as a "one day." And if Stacey Davenport thought he was turning down the chance to drink a thousand-dollar whiskey because of her furrowing eyebrows, she was light years away from reality.
Oscar stepped up to the bar as Louie poured out the third whiskey, then he looked at Stacey. "Miss Davenport?"
She replied with a sharp shake of the head.
The men raised their glasses. "To the governor," Louie toasted.
Oscar touched glasses with the big man. "To Judd." His eye contact didn't stick around to see the governor's reaction.
The men sipped in unison, followed by simultaneous purrs of approval.
"Wonderful, Louie, just wonderful," the governor commented.
Louie nodded. "Thank you, Judd." He turned to Oscar. "Oscar, what do you think?"
In his ten-second assessment, it was probably the best whiskey he had ever tasted. But he wasn't going to let Louie know that. "Not bad. It's no Pappy Van Winkle, but not bad."
Oscar shifted to stand next to Stacey.
She looked at his glass of whiskey, then at him. "You just couldn't help yourself, could you?"
"Stacey, you don't understand." He moved so that their shoulders touched, then whispered from the side of his mouth. "This stuff is a thousand dollars a bottle. You should try some."
"Yeah," she said with authority. She took the glass from his hand. "I should." She placed her lips on the glass, rocked her head back, and sucked in down in one gulp.
"No!" Oscar yelled.
By the time he wrenched the glass from her hand, the whiskey was gone.
Stacey gagged and went into a fit of the dry heaves. "That was shit!" She spat between attempts to barf. Her body lurched as she hunched over.
Oscar guided her over Louie's logo and pointed down. "Let it rip."
"What?" Louie hustled over and led her to a trash can in the corner. "Don't puke on my carpet."
Stacey waved her hands, insisting everyone back away and leave her alone. Louie did exactly that, rejoining Judd at the bar.
Oscar stood next to her. "Happy now?"
"You wouldn't want Emmitt locking you up for DWI, now would you? 'Cause I sure as hell wouldn't be getting you off the hook this time." Her eyes displayed unrepentance for stealing his mouthful of pleasure.
He was touched that she would rather have puked than see him arrested and thrown in jail. It was a move of affection, not greed. His anger dissolved.
There was a knock on the door. The maid brought in Stacey's foie gras and set it on the bar.
Louie spoke to Stacey with an insincere level of respect. "I hope you're feeling better, Miss Davenport. Your foie gras is here."
"Didn't you hear me? I changed my order to potato chips. Never mind. I have a bit of bile in the back of my throat. I'll just suck on that, shall I?"
"My apologies, Miss Davenport. I'll have the potato chips, with ridges, sent up immediately." He moved over to the phone and placed the order.
Oscar didn't like the way things were shaping up. Judd was lapping up ridiculously expensive whiskey with his new friend. And Stacey, although in denial, had to be impressed with Louie's efforts to accommodate her whims.
Oscar had to do something to turn the tide back in his favor. He had an idea.
Chapter 28
"I need to go trackside," Oscar announced. "I'll be back in a bit."
"Sneaking off to get some more whiskey, are you?" Stacey commented.
"Just some business I need to take care of."
"Okay." She shooed him away with the back of her hand. "You go play with your horse dung or whatever it is you're going to do. I'll stay here eating potato chips with ridges and sipping obscenely expensive alcohol."
Oscar's mind raced to the time she mentioned how she had a taste for the high life. No doubt she had moral principles, but he couldn't leave it to chance that Louie Gomez might be able to turn her head with pricey pleasures.
"Why don't you come with me?" Oscar suggested. He'd be dead if she found out what he was up to, but he didn't want her falling into the devil's grasp in the luxury of the VIP box. Besides, she wasn't allowed in where he was going, so she'd never know.
"What's in it for me?"
"There's a tent at the edge of the track that has freshly baked scones, served with jam and cream. It usually comes with a pot of tea, but I'll upgrade it to champagne for you." He jiggled his eyebrows. "Whaddya say?"
"Yum." She looked in Louie's direction. "Nice try, Gomez. If you'll excuse me, Oscar's treating me to some Dom Perignon."
Governor Davenport raised his hand in the air. "You kids have fun."
Louie slid his sleeve back and peeked at his watch. "Be back by twelve. We're having steak and lobster for lunch, then Robin's Raider runs at one."
Steak and lobster? Louie was taking showing off to the next level.
Oscar nodded to Donovan, who stood by the door like a mannequin as they walked past him.
Stacey took Oscar's arm on the way out.
"You're in a good mood, considering you're hanging out with a gangster," Oscar said. "Did that whiskey go to your head or something?"
"He should be more worried about hanging out with who works for the DA's office. And yes, the whiskey did put a little buzz on."
"If you keep drinking my booze so I don't, you're the one who's going to wind up blotto."
"I'll take my chances. Besides, I have a wild side when I have too much to drink." A naughty smile spread across her face.
Oscar pulled her to a stop and untangled her arm so they could face each other. "Sometimes I can't figure you out. One minute you're telling me you're going to bang me up with Gomez, but then you say you want to save me from your boyfriend, Emmitt, putting me behind bars. What kind of medication are you on?" He turned to walk on but stopped to reface her. "And if you're not, you should be."
"Let's not fight, Oscar. I came to have a good time. And hey," she tugged the sleeve of his beige sports jacket, bringing him to a halt. When he turned around, she stepped forward and slipped her hand behind his neck. "I think it's really special what you're doing for the kids down near Cub Run, and if you need Louie Gomez to help you make it work," she gave a submissive shrug, "then maybe I can give you some time until you get this thing up and running."
In one movement, he swooped her into his arms. Her sweet Rosebank Vintage breath caressed his cheek, arousing emotions that balanced somewhere between confusion and lust. Oscar kissed her. As soon as their lips touched, Stacey's return of passion was instant. She grabbed the back of his head and feverishly ran her hands through his hair. He would've loved to whisk her away to the nearest Sheraton for sordid, rampant sex, but it was more important to re-establish his relationship with the governor before Louie Gomez muscled in on his territory and made him obsolete. To make sure that didn't happen, he needed to act. At least he had Stacey back on his side again, but for how long was anybody's guess.
He pushed her away. "Sorry, but business before pleasure."
She put her finger under his chin and gave a little tickle. "But you're keeping pleasure on the agenda, aren't you?"
Oscar's mind wander
ed. I like you too, Stacey, but this schizophrenia has to stop. The girl had a faulty switch that alternated between love and hate without warning, but Oscar was warming to the unpredictability of it. It was part of her attraction. "Of course."
He took her hand, and they went to the marquee.
Oscar bought her the luxury cream tea, bubbly included. Perhaps not up to Louie's level of extravagance, but he needed something to keep Stacey happy and occupied for the next fifteen minutes.
They found a table on the edge of the marquee, and the cream tea was delivered within a few minutes. Oscar watched as Stacey dressed her scone with cream and jam, then sank her teeth into the treat.
"Are you going to be okay for a while? I need to tend to some business."
Stacey nodded. "Um-huh." She swallowed her mouthful. "This is delicious. Take your time." She took another bite.
Oscar hurried off to the jockeys' area.
He liked going into the locker room before the races whenever he got the chance. Many of the jockeys wore their favorite cologne for good luck, giving the locker room a Brut 33 smell—by the end of the day it would be transformed into a collective smell of sweaty socks. The bright colors of their silks added visual zest to the pleasant aroma, and the male banter created a euphoric energy between the jockeys before a day of racing.
Oscar watched as one of the rookies went through the ritual of riding in his first race—throwing his silks on the ground. Wearing nothing but his underwear and riding boots, the freshman jockey stepped on the brand-new silks while the other riders surrounded him.
"Now they have hit the ground," he proclaimed. "So I don't have to."
The other jockeys cheered. Every jockey hits the ground at some point in their career, but new jockeys hope this ritual will serve as a suitable substitute: the silks have already touched the ground, so now they don't have to do it again with the jockey still in them. The riders returned to their own routines and good-luck rituals.
Looking around the room, he laid eyes on his friend Vinnie DeLucia. He was one of the best jockeys in the business, but he had bad luck due to riding a lot of sucker horses. A few years earlier, he had an outstanding stallion and looked set to win the Triple Crown. One man stood to lose a lot of money if Vinnie pulled off the win at the Belmont Stakes. The night before the third and final race, a couple of thugs broke Vinnie's legs so he couldn't compete, ending his dream and depriving him of a massive payday.
But Vinnie did well when he rode horses from the Novak-Chambers stable, and they had made each other some good money over the years. Oscar put his in bad investments mostly, while Vinnie built a beautiful ranch for his wife and two girls outside of Lexington. But not all of his remunerations were aboveboard. He had to offset riding the duds somehow, and although Oscar had never used his services in any other capacity than as a winning jockey, Vinnie had offered to help him if he ever needed it.
And now he needed it.
Vinnie hiked up his black knee-high boots. "Vinnie." Oscar plonked next to him and gave him a friendly slap on the back. "How's tricks, buddy?"
"Oscar. How are you, my friend?"
"I'm good, Vinnie. You riding any winners today?"
He nodded. "I like my rides in the two-ten and three o'clock."
Oscar lowered his voice. "What about the one o'clock?"
"Let It Bee?" He shook his head. "No way." His head darted from side to side. "You're not putting money on him, are you?" he whispered.
"Naw. What do you think about Robin's Raider in that race?"
"Good horse, but he's got stamina issues. I know the rider plans on taking it easy with the whip, at least at the start. They think that has been his problem in the past. They're keeping him a little slow out of the gate, but yes, I'd say he would be a good bet."
"You think you could take him out for me?"
A smile spread across his tanned face. "Give me one good reason."
"I'll give you two. Five grand and Louie Gomez."
He extended his hand. "He'll never see the finish line."
Chapter 29
Oscar and Stacey returned to Louie's VIP box in time for Stacey to have another glass of champagne before the surf and turf arrived.
The four of them sat down at the table, which was set with fine china and cut-crystal glasses. The maid was on hand to serve the steak and lobster and pour champagne for everybody except Oscar, who asked for a glass of mineral water, denying Stacey the opportunity to give him a death stare.
"Louie's been telling me about the plans you two have down near Cub Run," Davenport stated. "He said—"
Oscar held his hand up. "Just to be clear, Governor, it's my plan. Mr. Gomez is simply a financial backer hoping to make a profit from my ideas, and that's as far as his involvement in the project extends. If you have any questions about the strategy, you need to direct them toward me." His instinct was right—deferring pleasures of the flesh to keep the governor out of Louie's wretched, self-serving clutches. If anybody was going to benefit from the governor's willingness to bend the rules, it was going to be Oscar.
Oscar shot Gomez a look. "Louie's a silent partner. A mute. It's a non-talking part."
Louie wiped his mouth with the linen napkin. "But I'm the mute with the loot." He quipped.
The governor readjusted his glasses. "Let's just all work together to make this a success."
"My sentiments exactly, Judd," Louie remarked. "We're here to celebrate a new destiny for the children of Kentucky, and winning horses."
Davenport raised his glass of champagne. "Hear, hear."
Louie looked at his watch. "Robin's Raider will be running in twenty minutes, then we'll both be buying barrels of that absurdly priced whiskey, eh, Judd?"
The governor smiled. "Damn right."
They finished lunch before Robin's Raider's race and moved to the chairs overlooking the track. Oscar looked forward to watching Louie's horse go down, along with his hopes of impressing Governor Davenport. Knowing Robin's Raider wouldn't be finishing the race, Oscar put a packet on Midnight Oil, the second favorite. Oscar decided to let the governor lose money on Louie's tip, then later on in the afternoon—once Louie's credibility was ruined—he'd set the governor up with horses to win his confidence. The first priority was to destroy his chumminess with Gomez.
Stacey looked at Oscar. "Do you have money on that Raider horse?"
Louie and Judd waited for his answer.
"No. I like Midnight Oil."
"That's interesting that you two don't agree," Stacey observed.
"Miss Davenport." Louie tugged at his tie, waiting for her undivided attention. "As you will soon see, I am the expert on the horses. Oscar, while he tries, doesn't have the knack."
"Five grand says Raider doesn't win." Oscar held out his hand to shake on it.
Louie's mouth curled up and accepted his hand. "You're on. I'll add that to your tab."
Oscar shook his head. "No tabs. Cash only."
Louie's smile broadened. "Have it your way."
That was the money for Vinnie. And if Midnight Oil did win, Oscar would have a good chunk of the money to pay back Roscoe's loan and keep a few thousand for himself to spend on wining and dining Racy Stacey.
A fuzzy feeling warmed his insides as the horses entered the starting stalls. Scooting to the edge of the chair, Oscar rested his arms on the window ledge with his nose nearly pressing against the glass. Sweat gathered on his palms. His heart sped, its thuds echoing around his ribcage. The act of sinning right under the governor's nose would give an ordinary guy a coronary on the spot, but the thrill of screwing Louie Gomez on a fixed race was enough to keep him alive out of pure joy. As for having the consultant to the district attorney as a witness? Well, if she found out, he was going to jail. If she didn't, he was going to hell.
The bell rang, and the electronic gates fanned open. Within seconds, the sound of hooves thundering down the track boomed around the stands. Louie jumped to his feet as soon as the horses hit full stride, pu
nching the air while urging his horse. "Come on, Raider!" he shouted.
Raider galloped into the lead. Oscar looked on in horror. Vinnie was supposed to crash the horses out of the gate. He'll be slow to start, Vinnie had said. With Raider out in front, Vinnie would have to play catch-up, which wasn't part of the plan. He wouldn't be able to do it. Oscar couldn't watch. It was all over as soon as it started. He got up and walked over to the bar.
"What's wrong, Oscar?" Louie shouted. "Don't you want to see where your money's going?" His bellowing laugh rocked the room.
Louie turned his attention back to the race while Oscar poured himself a glass of expensive whiskey. A sideways glance confirmed Stacey's back was to him, so he took a slug of the devil's brew that tasted like heaven. He wandered back to the window, standing behind everyone else, and peered at the horses as they kicked up dirt, racing for glory. Robin's Raider opened a good-sized lead with Midnight Oil running a distant second. Vinnie ran in the middle of the pack and had no chance of catching the leaders. Oscar would never wish ill fate on a horse, so he hoped Robin's Raider's jockey would suffer a massive heart attack and fall off the horse. That would do it.
Stacey pointed at the track. "Your horse isn't doing so well, Oscar."
"You don't say. Thanks for pointing that out, Miss Enlightenment of the Obvious."
"Gee whiz, Oscar, don't be such a sore loser."
"Me, a sore loser? Who was it that blew a gasket on the eighteenth green at Silver Hills?"
Stacey bolted out of her chair and turned to face him with her angry face on. "Thanks to me sinking a massive putt, you didn't have to find out what it was like to lose that day—even though you wanted me to miss it."
"Are you still going on about that?" Oscar shouted.
"Goddamn right I am."
"Yes!" Louie screamed, punching his fist into the air.
The pit of Oscar's stomach deepened without looking up. Louie's whoops of joy confirmed the outcome.
Oscar switched off from reality and fought a battle not to throw up Maine lobster on Louie's royal-blue carpet. Then depression replaced the nausea.