by Travis Casey
The governor congratulated Louie on picking him a winner with a big smile and a hardy slap on the back.
Stacey put a comforting arm around Oscar's shoulder. "Let's not fight," she whispered. "At least Daddy won. Maybe you'll get the next one."
"Yeah. Of course. It's all about him, isn't it?" No doubt that win would cement Louie a place in Judd's house of gratitude.
Stacey stayed with Oscar as the other two men moved over to the bar for another blast of celebratory whiskey.
The loudspeaker confirmed Robin's Raider as the winner and Midnight Oil second. The announcement named the winning jockey, but the only rider Oscar was concerned about was Vinnie DeLucia.
Stacey aimed her finger at the loudspeaker outside. "Did he just say Tommy Joslin?"
"The winner? Yes. A damn-fine jockey, that Tommy," Louie said. "One of the best in the business, as you've just witnessed."
Stacey reached into her purse and pulled out her smartphone. "Tommy Joslin …" she mumbled. Her nimble fingers went to work. "Aha, I knew it." Without explanation, she headed for the door.
Oscar followed her.
Stacey's heels clip-clopped off the red tiled floor in the corridor as she walked.
"What's up?" Oscar called out, running to catch up with her.
She stopped and faced him, poking him with her smartphone. "Tommy Joslin isn't really Tommy Joslin. His name's Jose Marino. Jockeys fly around the world drawing little suspicion from customs officers or airport security, especially when moving between horse-racing cities. Marino is a respected Columbian jockey held in high regard, but several authorities are looking for him on drug-smuggling charges. He sews drug sachets into his silks, wrapped in polyethylene to conceal the smell and shape. It looks like part of the material. We were given possible aliases for him last week. I'm gonna bust the little scumbag and get a feather in my cap." She turned to walk away with Oscar following her.
"Come on, Stacey. You can't be serious. A drug lord racing horses in Kentucky?"
"Why not? He wins a trophy, lines it with lead, and fills it with dope. Marino's wealthy in his own right from his winnings, so who's going to question a little, five-foot-nothing guy about winning cups and trophies. It's the perfect cover." She punched numbers into her phone and pressed it against her ear. "Yes, this is Assistant District Attorney Davenport. I need a team of officers in the winner's circle at Elton Park to arrest Jose Marino. I'll meet them there."
"I gotta see this."
She stopped and turned. "No, you don't. I don't watch you do that thing with your horses—and I don't want to, either—but this is my work. I'll meet you back at the box."
Oscar would have liked to watch Stacey in action as a power figure but respected her wishes—or demands, as it were. "Sure. I'll see you back there." He patted her shoulder and walked away.
Oscar took his time returning to the box, mentally rehearsing how he would pry the governor from Louie's control and return him as a supporter of Camp Novak-Chambers. Damn that Louie with his expensive whiskey and lobster fit for a king, not to mention a winning horse.
The bodyguard eyed Oscar as he reentered Louie's private box. If Agent Donovan was really on top of his game, he would have noticed Judd had developed a slur as he gushed praise on Louie for his insight into the world of horse racing.
Oscar stepped between them to ensure his presence was known, then smacked Judd on the back just in case he missed it. "So, Governor, when do you think I might get you down to Cub Run so I can show you 'round the operation?"
"Oscar, my boy, Louie here has an idea—"
"Ladies and gentlemen," the public address system cut in. "Robin's Raider and his jockey have been disqualified under the licensing laws set forth by the National Racing Commission. Therefore the winner of the last race is Midnight Oil."
"What?" Louie's mouth dropped. He marched over to the phone and banged on the keypad, followed by screaming and shouting.
Oscar grinned. He wasn't sure how Tommy Joslin, or whoever he was, got disqualified so quick, just grateful he did. It was the break he needed. And it was all down to Stacey—his new hero.
Chapter 30
Stacey returned to the VIP box grinning like the Cheshire cat.
Louie had put the phone down some while ago but hadn't moved away from the spot until Stacey walked in. He walked over to her. "What have you done, Miss Davenport?"
"I caught a criminal, Mr. Gomez. That's what I do."
A sneer creased his lips. "Of course, you're a credit to your profession. It's a shame he was on your father's horse. They say that crime doesn't pay, but I might suggest that fighting crime pays even less."
"You know what, Gomez? I lock up a drug baron, and you're incensed because you lost out on a few lousy nickels. This shows what kind of person you are."
"And I'm saying, I believe in the cornerstone of our judicial system. A man is innocent until proven guilty. Tommy Joslin has been disqualified on an accusation. That is not justice, Miss Davenport."
"Just so you know, Gomez, Tommy Joslin's real name is Jose Marino, who is under investigation by the Justice Department. And while he's being investigated, his racing license has been suspended. It doesn't matter what name he's riding under, the guy doesn't have a valid license. That's what got him disqualified from the race."
Louie snarled, then lightened up and patted Judd on the back. "Don't worry, Governor, I'll make sure we win it back."
"At least you know how to pick a winner, Louie." The governor remained seated. "It's not your fault if the jockey is unethical. You've shown great insight. I like that." The governor gave his empty glass a noticeable wiggle, one that Louie picked up on and addressed with another healthy pour.
Stacey moved over by Oscar. "Why don't we get out of here?" she whispered.
"Because we'd have to take Louie with us, remember? I'm his guardian, thanks to you."
Her bottom lip kicked out in a pout.
Louie continued talking to the governor. "Don't worry, Judd. I got the inside skinny on a couple of races this afternoon. The two-ten and three o'clock. Good horses. I know the jockey, he's a stand-up guy. He's not going to get disqualified."
"You tell me where to put the money, and I'm in."
Louie grinned. "We make a good team, Governor."
"We certainly do."
The two men raised their glasses and touched rims.
"To us," Louie declared.
"Shit," Oscar mumbled. He could see the governor slipping from his grasp and into Louie's. Gomez was striking a deal on his own, cutting Oscar out of the picture and minimizing his capacity to influence the governor on other deals.
Oscar stepped forward. "You know what, Governor, besides helping out the kids at the polo ground, I have some ideas that will help raise the profile of Kentucky and bring more tourism into the state. And we all know more tourists means more revenue for everyone, including the state. We could go over some ideas."
Louie slung his arm around Oscar's shoulder, ushering him away from the governor. "Judd is here as my guest, enjoying the races. He's not here as Governor Davenport to discuss business. Egads, give the man a break." Louie clicked his fingers. "I have an idea. Why don't you take Miss Davenport down to the jockey's room and introduce her to a good friend of mine, Vinnie DeLucia? He's a great guy, and hey, you never know … he might even give you a tip on a winner in one of the upcoming races. He always keeps me in the loop." Louie's lips spread into a smile.
Oscar's heart jumped. How far did this man's reach stretch?
Not only that, but Louie wanted to get rid of him and Stacey, undoubtedly to give him free reign to finesse the governor in private. The budding relationship between Louie and the governor was a concern, of course, but Oscar was more worried about the possibility that Davenport may brush him and the whole Novak-Chambers family to one side in favor of Louie. That would undo decades of work. Tyler and Roscoe would be outraged.
He needed to go back to plan B. He turned his attention to
Stacey. She was the key to keeping that bridge to the governor's office open. "Good idea. Let's blow this joint." He threw a glance toward Louie. "You and Judd enjoy the races. And remember—no business."
Louie's smile broadened. "Of course not."
Oscar put his hand on the door handle and looked at Donovan. "Would you be so kind to look after Mr. Gomez for me? If he moves or does anything, anything at all, shoot 'im."
"Hey, that was my line," Stacey chirped in.
"And a damn-good one it was, too."
Oscar opened the door and walked out.
Stacey followed him. "Where we going?"
"Let's go place a bet."
"What? I don't know anything about horses."
Oscar shrugged. "As far as your father's concerned, neither do I. Come on."
***
Louie puffed on his cigar, letting the smoke swirl around his head. "You see, Governor, Oscar's thinking small potatoes. We need a polo ground that will seat twenty thousand if we want people to take it seriously. We want a facility that will accommodate a hundred, two hundred kids and keep them off the streets and on the path to being upstanding citizens. The whole complex needs to be extended."
"But you know what, it's awfully close to Harris State Park. People may see it as a blight on the landscape if it gets too enormous. You know, view it as an eyesore in an area of outstanding natural beauty."
"Good point, Judd. How about this? What if we conceal what we can to preserve the landscape? We could build underground parking, for one thing. I'm all about protecting the environment."
Davenport stroked his jaw, settling into a deep think. "That just might work. No cars to be seen, just a simple stadium surrounded by uncommercialized landscape. And a kids' facility."
Louie dipped his head in confirmation. "Yes. I'm willing to make financial contributions to the project, for the children, but if the state wanted to cover the costs of providing the underground parking, perhaps my contributions would be better directed to the governor's re-election campaign."
The men exchanged smiles.
"Since it's for a good cause and of interest to the state in helping underprivileged children, perhaps we can allocate government funds to help see this project through. I'll have to put out a tender and get some bids from construction companies to see what something like this would cost."
"I could save you a lot of trouble, Judd. I have all the contacts to get this job done. You give me the go-ahead, and I'll get the bids you need by the end of the week, and we can get this project rolling."
Davenport grinned. "Resourceful as well as intuitive."
"I think we could say we're both good people to know."
Davenport shifted in his seat. "You know what, Louie … I could use a man like you in my cabinet. Would you have any interest in serving your governor?"
"Governor Davenport, I'd be honored. But what about your daughter? She might have something to say about that, seeing as she's trying to put me in jail."
The governor pulled a silver and gold ink pen out of his pocket. He held it up, the gold band sparkling in the light. "Do you see this pen? I can stop a man from—"
The door burst open, and Stacey rushed in holding a fifty-dollar bill over her head. "Look, I won. I picked a winner! Well, a placer, actually. The horse I picked came second, but I won."
"That's grand, sweetheart," the governor enthused. "You picked it all on your own?"
"Yep, it was all me. I liked the jockey's silks."
"What a wonderful system you have, Miss Davenport," Louie conceded. "I must try that myself one day."
"Yes, you must bear it in mind, Gomez. Tell me, what's your color? Something in an orange jumpsuit perhaps?"
"We'll see," he whispered.
"She won it on Razor's Edge in the two-ten," Oscar said. "Did you and the governor have a bet?"
"Of course we did. Judd and I put our money on Vinnie DeLucia and his horse. The winner, you may have noticed. Didn't you back our friend Vinnie?"
"He's no friend of mine," Oscar hissed.
Louie's lip curled up. "Obviously."
"Oh my God, that's right. Louie and I were so engrossed in business discussions, I almost forgot we won." He smacked Louie on the shoulder. "Good call, Louie. I owe you one."
Louie's familiar smirk appeared. "You don't owe me, Judd, we're friends. That's what friends do."
"Nevertheless, your favor fund is growing." Judd had a twinkle in his eye.
Oscar whispered in Stacey's ear. "Can we get out of here? I think I'm going to be ill."
"What about the three o'clock? That Rabid Run's jockey has some awesome silks. I think I might put twenty dollars on him."
Oscar tugged her hand. "Come on, we're going." He pulled her toward the door and gave instruction to Donovan, jerking his head toward Louie. "I don't care if he moves or not, just shoot him." He opened the door and dragged Stacey out with him.
"See you in court, Miss Davenport," Louie called out after them. "Or not."
Chapter 31
Oscar felt a spark with Stacey earlier, but the unspoken signals suggested her fire had been extinguished. He didn't push it. He wanted their first time to be a spontaneous eruption of passion, not some mechanical invention.
Instead, he took her go-karting, followed by an evening meal in a modest restaurant. They returned to the mansion, and he gave her a simple peck on the cheek, then left. There. That would build her desire for next time.
Stacey let herself in through the back door. On the way to her room, she spotted her father sitting in the parlor, sipping chamomile tea. She walked in and sat in the wingback chair next to his.
"Much luck at the track today?" she asked.
"Lots. That Louie Gomez certainly knows his horses."
"Doesn't know much about jockeys though, does he?"
The governor sighed. "I think you're being a bit harsh, sweetheart." He slipped off his glasses, pressing the end of the earpiece against his lips. "You know, I think he could serve well as an advisor to my administration."
Stacey smiled. "Sure, Dad, I get the picture. You like Louie's racing tips better than Oscar's. Okay"—she exaggerated false approval—"he can be your advisor, but I'm telling you, don't get too used to him being around."
"Actually, darling, I'd like to have him around a lot more. His wisdom extends much further than just fast horses. He offered some good advice on the underprivileged kids' program. And he's a man who can get things done—and save the state a lot of time and money doing it. I'm thinking of offering him an appointment in my cabinet."
"Dad!" Stacey bolted out of her chair. "He's a crook, bastard, piece of— No. You cannot put him in your cabinet. I forbid it."
"You forbid it? Darling, I appreciate everything you've done for me, but I'm the governor, and I think Louie would be an asset."
"Asshole more like."
"I'm glad your mother's not here to hear you using language like that."
"Well, I'm about to use more, and it gets worse. Dad, no. You cannot appoint Louie Gomez to your cabinet. I'm going to put that son of a bitch away. And unless you introduce a program where the governor starts taking advice from convicts while they're serving time—which I wouldn't recommend—then your advisor will be out of the picture."
Davenport picked up a pen off the coffee table, holding it up. "Sweetheart, do you see this pen? I can stop executions and pardon felons with this instrument. Let's not put it to the test."
Stacey stepped in, looking down at her father. "If you feel you must exercise that executive power for one Louis Charles Gomez, then I hope you're a Dodger's fan—because the only place you'll ever see me again is if you happen to catch a glimpse of me on TV, sitting in the bleachers at a baseball game in Los Angeles."
She spun on her heel and stormed off.
***
Oscar stood in the Premier Lounge of the new polo stadium, looking out the window at a full view of the field below. It was the private area, where the important peo
ple of the sport could gather and exchange firm handshakes and air kisses.
Although the décor wasn't as luxurious as a private box at Elton or Donnington Park, Oscar was satisfied. He wished he had had more time to acquire more money, which would have allowed for more enriched furnishings, but time was running out. He'd have to reinvest the profits once the venue was up and running.
"Hello?" a voice called out.
"Oscar?" another voice echoed, then the door flung open with force.
"Surprise!" the two men sang in unison.
"Dad. Granddad." Oscar opened his arms and hugged his father, then embraced his grandfather. "What are you guys doing here?"
"We came to see how you're getting on. Time's a tickin'," Roscoe said, his eyes darting to every corner of the room with lightning speed.
"How's it going?" Tyler asked.
"Great." He swept his arm around the room. "Pretty good, huh?"
Roscoe walked over to the four rows of velour seats set up to look out the window and over the field. He tilted his head, examining the tiered base. He shook the back of the seats, which had a wobble. A quiet "Humph" escaped his lips.
He turned his attention to a popcorn machine in the corner, then his eyes continued to roam the room. "What'd you do? Raid a movie theater? This looks like the place I used to take your grandmother to for smooching in the back row. All you need is Clark Gable on the screen and no one's gonna give two hoots about horses."
"What? You don't like the retro look?"
"Retro? This is more Salvation Army, sunshine."
Oscar lowered his head.
Tyler cast glances around the space before setting focus on the bar on the other side of the room. It was sufficiently stocked, but many bottles were half-empty. "What's with the bar? You been having guests already or have you developed a drinking problem?"
"No." Oscar rushed over to his father. "You want it to look used, don't you? We want this to be a place where people come. The place to be seen. Untouched bottles suggest no one ever comes here."
Tyler scratched the side of his head. "No, not really. If you're a VIP, you want to feel special. Exclusive. You want to feel like you're the only one who has ever been here because they don't let the riff-raff in. You want to be the first one to sample the twenty-one-year-old Chivas Regal, not find yourself sharing dregs with the hobos."