Bullet Work (11 page)

A vet van was a virtual cornucopia of
pharmaceuticals, all identified and stocked in plastic trays
similar to a carpenter’s workbench. In this case there were several
workbenches fastened to the interior of the van, along with rubs,
wraps, and other therapeutic devices.

Although vet vans were required to be locked
when not occupied, most vets would park near a barn and leave the
side or back doors open. They administered the required therapy,
returned to the van, and moved to the next barn.

A vet on his rounds was like a milkman. He
made deliveries, provided services, and moved onto the next
location. If someone knew the relationships of a specific
veterinarian and could match up horses scheduled to receive Lasix
injections, the person could fairly accurately predict the path of
the vet as he distributed services. Most people didn’t care and
never knew the difference.

  

Falcon knew the difference.

The card had set up perfectly for Falcon. Two
unprotected trainers, Dave Simpkins and Kenneth Oliver, had
race-day Lasix performers in the same race, the eighth. So while
Dancett was giving an injection to a horse scheduled to race in the
seventh, Falcon was able to get to the open vet van door. He pulled
open the drawer holding the Lasix, withdrew all four boxes, and
replaced them with two identical boxes.

Then he disappeared.

  

Dancett drove to Simpkins’ barn and pulled a
Lasix box containing the med and pre-packaged hypodermic needle
from the drawer. He frowned because he thought he had more than
just the two boxes left. At least he had enough to finish today’s
entrants. He made a mental note to stock up in the morning as he
never wanted to be short of such a valuable product. Lasix was a
medication that moved through the vet vans quickly, so he shrugged
and injected Simpkins’ gelding with the substance. Then he drove to
Oliver’s barn and repeated the process.

  

Neither Simpkins’ nor Oliver’s horse won that
day. In fact, neither got a check.

Both dropped dead before being led over for
the eighth race.

On another part of the track, Raven smiled as
Dean Horn struggled to explain to the racing audience why two
entrants in the eighth had to be late scratches.

Fear on the backside was palpable. Raven
witnessed it firsthand every day. Confusion and uncertainty filled
the air. It was a stench that intensified with time.

The backside smelled of fear. Raven only
smelled the money.

They had no idea what was coming.

People attacked what
they feared.

It was simple. It was
predictable.

They feared what they
chose not to understand. The possibility that an event was beyond
the realm of the cogent or the logical was not to be tolerated.
Reality existed only in what man chose to believe. If it did not
match beliefs, it could not be true. It had to be evil. It had to
be destroyed.

That’s why some were
labeled witches
and burned at the stake.

That’s why gifts from
the obscure
were callously rejected and distrusted.

That’s why bloodletting
was deemed
the highest evolution of the medical arts
for two thousand years.

That’s why eugenics was
roundly
accepted as morally beneficent science.
Mankind had faith only in what it chose to believe, in what it
chose to see.

It was logical. It
matched belief systems.
It didn’t challenge their fears. It was understandable. It didn’t
cause them to question.

Yet the human spirit
wearily
cried out for a miracle.

The miraculous was
scoffed at, ridiculed,
and rationalized as a quirk, a coincidence, a random act. The
miraculous was written off as a parlor game, hucksterism, or
infested vermin that had to be eliminated so that the ledger of
logic was again balanced and true.

When the alchemist
practiced on metals,
people waited breathlessly. They wanted to believe. The alchemist
who toiled with the human soul was shunned, marginalized,
and justified out of existence.

This was the lesson
taught generation
after generation. Who would dare to change it? Through this worldly
existence each would
bear a gift, even the boy.

Chapter 20

There was a rhythm to mornings on
the backside. Before heading to the office, Dan grabbed a cup of
coffee at Crok’s and walked the four barns to Gilmore’s stable. He
didn’t have any particular business most days—just liked the
sounds, smells, activity, rumors, and, above all, the horses.

They were beautiful and the center of this
universe. They were treated like princes and princesses and cared
for like a mother cares for her infant. It was a hard life for the
grooms, hotwalkers, and stable hands. Most made little to no money,
but the horses needed them, and, in the same way, they needed the
horses.

He walked down the gravel road, stepping
quickly to the side to get out of the way of a veterinarian’s van
heading toward him. As Dan moved toward Gilmore’s barn, he stepped
into the grassy area just off the shedrow path. He pulled up a
crate and sat down, watching the grooms and hands care for their
charges.

Beth was washing down a young horse. It
looked like Welling Green, a promising three-year-old in Gilmore’s
barn. Nino was walking a hot along the shedrow. Jorge was mucking
out a stall, which involved scooping out all the straw, including
parts left behind by the inhabitant.

The straw was raked into a pile, hoisted onto
a hand cart, transferred to a larger cart, and eventually taken to
a larger pile, hopefully downwind from the backside. Once that was
completed, new, clean straw was laid down in the stall. Then the
process was repeated twenty or so times until every stall was
mucked.

Everyone on the backside had mucked a stall.
Everyone on the backside hated mucking out stalls. If it was a
better job, it would have a better name. But mucking out stalls
happened every day, and the “new guy” at a stable, routinely became
the “chief mucker outer.”

Jake occupied the trainer’s office, but Dan
was content to sit and take in the morning. He took the lid off his
cup, blew some steam off the coffee, and sipped. All around was
activity, all centered on a horse and making that horse confident
and strong.

It was a place for dreamers. Could this young
horse be a champion? Will he fight down the stretch? Does she have
the will to win in a nose-to-nose duel? And there were smaller
dreams. Could this older claimer keep winning? Will this gelding
stay with us another year? The hands poured their hearts into these
horses, and the vast majority of the time their hearts were broken.
But they came back the next day, and the day after that, and the
day after that. They still believed. They were dreamers. They were
God’s gift to the racehorse.

Jake stepped out of his office, stretched,
and yawned. Then he glanced Dan’s way and quickly snapped into
character. “Dan, how are you? Didn’t know you were coming by.”

“Just killing time before I head to the
office. Only have the carnival in town for three months. I need to
make sure I get value for the e-ticket I bought.”

Jake walked over and started talking quietly.
There was enough background noise at the time. He didn’t need to be
secretive. “I been meaning to call you. That filly is turning into
something. We’re gonna work her from the gate tomorrow morning
right after the break. You’re gonna wanna be here.”

“That’s great. I need a runner with Hero’s
Echo on the shelf for a few more weeks.”

Jake shrugged like he’d been insulted. Dan
was just being honest.

“We’ll have Hero running before the month’s
out,” Jake said. “But this little filly’s got fight and a good turn
of foot. She’s passing all her lessons.”

“Who you going to ride?”

“Got Kyle Jonas up on her tomorrow. Kid’s a
little green, but he sits well on a horse, and she really moves for
him. If she does what I think she can do,” Jake said, under his
breath.

Dan nodded and sat silently. This is what
owners hoped for. The reason they got in the game, to get a good
one. He did his best to keep emotions in check. As was often quoted
at the racetrack, being too close to the game would break your
heart. Dan had experienced the broken heart part and planned to be
close to the sport as long as he could, but he’d learned to temper
his feelings. It was okay to dream; it was deadly to expect.

“Kid’s got soft hands?” Dan asked.

Jake looked puzzled, then smiled. “Yep, soft
hands.”

Dan decided it was time to turn serious.
“Jake, I think you’ve got to pay the money. There’s too much to
lose and not enough to gain.”

Jake spit on the ground in front of him. “I
don’t give in to punks. Never started, never will.”

“Jake, it’s about keeping the horses safe.
It’s about keeping your business. They’ll catch whoever is doing
this, and it’ll probably be real soon. It just doesn’t make sense
to take the risk.”

Jake glanced off into the distance, like he’d
ended the conversation, then continued.“When I was a kid in middle
school, we had some bullies from the nearby high school who would
shake down my friends on the way home. They demanded money, tennis
shoes, anything of value. Had some kids so scared they were
stealing money and stuff from their parents to pay them off.” He
spit again. “Anyway, they came after me one time, and I said I
wasn’t going to pay.”

“What happened?”

“They beat the crap out of me.”

“Inspirational story, Jake.”

“Well, the next day, I came by. I looked like
I’d been in a cage match with a grizzly. They ask me if I’m gonna
pay up. I said ‘nope.’”

“Don’t tell me.”

“Yep, they beat the living crap out of me
again. But you know what? They never bothered me after that, ’cause
I beat them at their own game.”

“How do you figure?” Dan asked.

“It was a shakedown, and I wouldn’t give in.
So their only recourse was to beat the shit out of me. When they
saw that it didn’t work, it just wasn’t worth it to them. They went
after the easy targets and just left me alone.”

“This is different,” said Dan.

“No, it’s not. If I give in, it’s like giving
in to those bastards from the high school. Not then. Not now.”

“But this time it involves other people’s
property. Mine, for example. Don’t let your pride cost you your
business. It’s only twenty bucks a head. That’s nothing compared to
what you’ve got invested in your business—and to make yourself a
target as everyone else opts out?”

“Everyone else hasn’t opted out.”

“Enough of them have and more will. If you
don’t, the odds go up dramatically. I’ve finally got a few good
runners; I don’t mind the payment as long as I know my horses are
safe. They’re tracking this guy down and will probably catch him.
Can’t believe they aren’t onto him already. Jake, it’s not forever,
and right now I need the security. Horses like Aly Dancer don’t
come along every day. I need to know what’s going on, and I need to
know my property’s safe. I could step in and pay on your behalf,
but I’d rather we agreed on it rather than just jumping in. It’s
not about the money.”

“You’re right; it’s not about the money.
Nothing’s ever about the money.” Jake watched Nino go by, looking
at the hind legs of the colt. “Well, there’s a trainers’ meeting
tonight over in the secretary’s office. I wasn’t planning to go,
but if you want, I’ll take you.”

“Why wouldn’t you go?” Dan asked.

“’Cause I’m not paying, and I don’t give a
da—”

The calm of the backside was shattered. A
horse cried out, and hooves cracking the wood of a stall brought
everyone to attention. Dan spotted AJ charging toward the
neighboring barn. He ran on one leg and hopped on the other, but he
was motoring as fast as he could toward the sound. Dan threw out
his coffee and jogged with Jake over to the edge of the adjoining
barn.

Three men were gathered outside a stall
halfway down the shedrow. “He loco, boss. Loco.” One of the grooms
was trying to reach into the stall but jumped back as the horse
neighed loudly and snapped at the man. The trainer, Champ Hudgins,
reached in to get a hand on the halter.

“Shit,” he screamed out and jerked his arm
back. There was blood coming off his arm, and half his shirt sleeve
was missing. The horse cried out and kicked the stall.

AJ moved toward the group of people assembled
in front of the stall. He dropped to the ground and skittered
between the legs of the groom and trainer, crawling beneath the
webbing into the stall.

“What the hell are you doing?” Champ yelled,
clutching his forearm to staunch the bleeding. “Stupid kid, that
horse is gonna kill you. Jesus H. Christ. Who is that kid?”

The groom was yelling, but all that could be
heard was “
Mal, muy mal
.”

Suddenly the horse went quiet. Champ and the
groom leaned in closer to the stall door. Jake and Dan moved a few
stalls closer.

“Move the colt next door.” The voice was
AJ’s, stern and confident.

Champ shouted, “What the hell do you think
you’re doing?”

AJ yelled with urgency and command, “Move the
colt next door!”

“We just offloaded that colt from the
trailer,” said Champ. “Hasn’t been there ten minutes.”

“Now!” AJ shouted.

Champ looked at the groom, and the groom shot
over to the stall on the far side of the one that AJ had entered.
The colt was whinnying and snorting from all the disruption. The
groom put a cinch on the horse’s bridle, unhooked the webbing, and
walked the colt out into the shedrow path.