Bullet Work (12 page)

“Put him in number nine, Philippe.”

AJ shouted again, “Get the goat out of there,
too.”

Champ walked into the stall and brought out a
small white goat. Some animals were so high strung that they needed
company in their stalls. Occasionally, trainers would put a goat or
dog in a stall to calm a horse. Champ walked toward Phillipe, who
had set the webbing for number nine, and passed him the bridle on
the goat.

A few minutes later all was quiet. AJ slipped
under the webbing back out into the shedrow.

Champ grabbed AJ’s arm and pushed him into
the wall of the shedrow.

“Hey, just a damned minute,” Dan said. He
stepped toward Champ. Jake grabbed Dan’s shoulder.

“Kid’s got no damn business messing around my
barn. Don’t work for me.”

“Seems like you need someone like him,” Dan
said. “He did you a favor. You should just say ‘thank you’ and let
him go.” The
thank you
came out a little
more sarcastically than he’d planned.

“Got no business bein’ here.” Then he turned
to AJ. “Go on, get the hell out of here.”

They stepped back and moved away. Jake leaned
toward Dan. “Champ’s right. Kid has no business being over here.
And with all that’s going on, everybody’s on edge about strangers
near their barn. Kid should’ve known better.”

“He helped him.” Dan gestured back toward
Champ. “He fixed his problem. Would it kill him to say thank
you?”

AJ came by, heading out of the shedrow.

Dan reached down and touched him on the
shoulder. “You okay?”

He kept walking, looking down. “M’all
right.”

“What was going on? That horse gone
crazy?”

“Horse is fine.” AJ looked over his shoulder
back down the shedrow toward the stall. “Just was mad about that
colt and the goat being next to him. Really upset him.”

“How’d you know that?”

AJ stopped and looked at Dan. Then looked
back down and kept walking. “He told me.”

Chapter 21

Jake and Dan drove in silence from
the backside around the track to the parking lot next to the racing
secretary’s office.

How can someone get access to these horses
and not be noticed? Who would do this to an innocent animal?

Dan needed more clues. “What’s the name of
Skelton’s mare that was kidnapped?”

“Exigent Lady. Five-year-old.”

“Never heard of her.”

“She’s a quarter claimer on her best days.
She probably don’t have much run left in her anyway. Had seven outs
between Keeneland and Churchill this spring.”

“How do you think he pulled it off?”

Jake put his pickup in park and turned off
the ignition. “Don’t know.” That seemed to be the common answer to
any question about the extortion scam.

“Which trainer’s lost horses yesterday?”

“Simpkins and Oliver.”

“Were they poisoned?”

“Beats me. The track management and medical
board rode ol’ Doc Dancett like a rented mule over the incident.
Looks like someone put some other substance in a counterfeit Lasix
box. Poor bastard just did what he does a thousand times a year.
Only thing is, this time two horses dropped dead.”

“Dancett wouldn’t behind this, would he?”

“Hell, no. Man’s been around racing since he
was a kid. Can’t imagine him hurting a horse on purpose. He was set
up, sure as hell.”

“How do we know it won’t happen again?” Dan
said as they got out of the pickup and walked toward the
building.

“Dancett had to tap dance like a motherfucker
just to keep his license. He won’t be leaving his van unlocked
anytime soon. All the other vets are just damn happy it wasn’t
them. They won’t be leaving any doors unlocked either.”

Just inside the doorway, Dan noticed a brick
outhouse of a man with arms folded.

“Jake,” the man said as they entered.

“Ginny.”

The three stood there for an awkward second.
When Dan realized that Jake wasn’t going to introduce them, he
stuck out his hand.

“Dan Morgan.” He would have exchanged some
pleasantries but locked his mouth to avoid squealing like a
schoolgirl from Ginny’s crushing handshake.

“Ginny Perino.”

A few more seconds and Jake spoke. “Ginny’s a
farrier.”

“Oh, okay,” said Dan. “I’ve seen you
around.”

Ginny nodded.

“Dan owns Aly Dancer and Hero’s Echo.”

“Nice filly,” said Ginny.

“Thanks, hope so.”

Ginny stared directly at Jake. “Everything
okay, Jake?”

“Fine. Fine, Ginny—and you?” Jake said,
returning the stare.

“All good.”

Jake turned sideways, gesturing for Dan to
continue farther into the room. Dan took his cue.

“Nice meeting you,” said Dan.

“You, too,” said Ginny, with his eyes never
leaving Jake. “Take care, Jake.”

Jake half waved without turning back and kept
moving.

“Jesus, Jake,” Dan whispered. “Think the guy
broke three bones in my hand,” he said, shaking and flexing his
fingers.

Jake didn’t say anything.

“Man of few words. Been around long?” Dan
said.

“Few years,” Jake said, looking around the
room.

There were about two dozen folks in the room
outside the racing secretary’s office, mostly grouped in threes and
fours. Hank Skelton was on the opposite side of the room, talking
with Champ Hudgins and Del Dellingham.

“Thought there’d be more trainers here,” Dan
said to Jake.

“Those who are paying probably don’t give a
damn about any update and those who won’t, well, if it weren’t for
you, I wouldn’t be here either.”

Allan Biggs and Chase Evert walked out of
Evert’s office, and the attention of the group was focused on them.
Chase raised his hand and waved people over. “Tim will be joining
us in a few minutes. But let’s get started.” He gave the group a
few moments to step closer. “I wish we had more information for
you, but here’s what we know so far. Whoever is doing this has
kidnapped a mare and killed four other race horses. At some time
the last two Tuesdays he left a list in the overnights box near
Crok’s.” Biggs held up a piece of paper. “The list identifies each
of the trainers with horses on the backside and those who are
paying the fee.”

Hudgins shouted from the back, “Call it what
it is, Chase. Extortion.”

“Champ, it is what it is,” said Evert. “But
those who are paying have their names crossed off. What we figure
is the uncrossed names are those he’s targeting. At least that’s
what we believe.”

“What the hell is the track doing about it?”
Dellingham yelled. “Seems like not a damn thing, far as I can
tell.”

“Del, we’re on it. Tim will be here in a
minute to update everyone.” Biggs gestured with his arms to quiet
the mob. “One other thing I want to talk about before Tim takes
over.” He swiveled his head around like he was going to have a
private conversation with the group.“There are probably some
reporters going to be asking around. I can’t tell you who to talk
to, but I can tell you that it’s in all of our interests to keep
this contained as much as possible.”

“Just trying to cover your own ass,” Hudgins
shouted. “Might help to have a little public exposure to crack
this.”

“You’re wrong, Champ,” Biggs said. “The
industry’s in a tough enough spot as it is. You know that. Bad
publicity is good for no one. Not your owners, not the betting
public, and certainly not us,” he said, extending his arms to the
group. “Be careful who you talk to and what you say. I don’t want a
bunch of rumors and theories floating around in the press, and I
sure as hell don’t want PETA reps protesting out front. I’m having
conversations with media folks right now. Feel free to send them my
way if you want. Let’s make sure we don’t make this worse than it
is.”

“It’s damn bad right now, Allan. Jesus, how
could it get any worse?” Dellingham asked.

Tim Belker walked into the area from his
office down the hallway. Biggs and Evert turned as if to say
you take it.

Jake stepped forward and grabbed Belker’s
forearm as he walked toward the front of the room. “Tim, you talk
to Dagens yet?”

“He don’t mean nothing,” Belker replied.
“He’s just trying to round up some rides.”

“He don’t ride for me,” said Jake. “Got no
business being at my barn. If he comes around again, he’s going to
get hurt, and I won’t be responsible. Got me?”

Belker eyed Jake, nodded, and continued
toward where Biggs and Evert were standing.

He turned to address the group. “Del,” Belker
said, “I was just on the phone with the FBI. They’re helping run a
trace on all the licenses for everyone on the backside. Should have
some feedback from them soon.”

“Shouldn’t that be done by now?” said
Skelton. “What takes so damn long?”

Belker motioned for calm, then continued,
“Please be patient. With law enforcement assistance, we’re getting
the best of the best. They’ve dealt with this kind of thing before
and know what they’re doing. We’ve got the extra cameras up, and
the additional staff has been put on. We’re gonna catch this
guy.”

Angry grumbling rang out from the back of the
room. “And we’re just supposed to pay or what?” someone shouted.
“What’s the track gonna do?” another yelled.

Biggs stepped forward. “We’re doing all we
can to track this guy down. Tim and his staff have been working
round the clock on clues and working with other agencies on
information. We learned there was a similar threat at Louisiana
Downs a few years back, but it never got off the ground. This might
be the same guy.”

“We’ve also tried to track the drops, but
it’s been kind of difficult,” said Belker.

“What’s so damn hard about it?” Jake
said.

“Well, Hank, why don’t you tell them about
the drops?” said Belker.

“Yeah, what the hell—I’m the guy getting
screwed the most here. Guy kidnaps my horse right under your nose
and makes me his friggin’ chamber maid. I’m going to sue you
bastards for everything you got.”

Belker interrupted, “Hank, that’s not
helpful. Just tell them about the drops.”

Hank settled himself. “As you know, the
letter says to put the cash and names in a newspaper with a rubber
band around it. Then I’m to leave the park after eight p.m. on
Mondays.”

“Why Mondays?” Dan asked. Some of the
trainers looked at him as if to say
why the heck
are you here?

“Guess because it’s a dark day at the track,”
said Evert.

“Anyway, I drive away and get a call on my
cell phone,” Skelton continued. “Some guy directs me to the drop
point. Both drops have been different. I get two or three separate
phone calls on each trip. The same guy each time. Says he’ll kill
Exigent Lady if I don’t follow the instructions exactly. He tells
me that they’re watching to see if I’m being followed.”

“Where have the drops been?” Del asked.

“Both have been in D.C. I was told to drive
toward Alexandria, then as I approached I was told to get on 395
into D.C. Then, after a few minutes, a call came in and told me to
take Connecticut Avenue through downtown D.C. As I approach the
bridge where Connecticut crosses Rock Creek Park, I get another
call, and I’m told to throw the newspaper off the bridge down into
the park.”

“That would sure make it hard to track,” Dan
whispered to Jake. “Can’t get down there on foot, and by the time
you drove your car around to anywhere near that spot, whoever it is
would be long gone.”

“The second drop was similar. I was directed
toward the city and instructed to cross Key Bridge into Georgetown.
I get another call. This guy is watching because he knows exactly
where I am all the time. Anyway, I get another call and was told to
veer right onto Whitehurst Freeway and throw the newspaper off the
right side into the park below. Says if I don’t make a good throw,
he’ll put my mare’s head on my desk.”

“Yeah, same thing,” Dan said. “Again, the
person will be long gone before you could get your car back down K
Street, which runs below Whitehurst. Also, anyone following Hank is
in the same position. Can’t jump off the bridge.”

“As long as Hank gets these messages while
driving, there isn’t much anyone can do in terms of tracking,” said
Belker. “Even if you are tracking, it wouldn’t do any good. It’s
all under the cover of darkness, and the drop points are places
where you can’t pull over and stop your car. You have to keep
moving.”

“Guy’s pretty smart,” Jake whispered to
Dan.

“That’s what bothers me.”

Chapter 22

Kyle Jonas drove west on Interstate
66. At 4:30 in the morning the traffic was light. He would be at
the track in twenty minutes. Three years on the circuit and he was
still hustling rides in the morning. This meant riding training
mounts for free in the hope that he could get on some horses in the
afternoon. Jocks were supposed to be paid for working horses in the
morning. Sometimes they got paid; sometimes the trainer “forgot,”
and it was considered bad form to remind a person that he owed
money, when you were looking for a favor.

TP Boudreaux had handled his book for the
past year. Being a former jockey, TP knew the life, and he knew how
income drops to zero without the right mounts and a deep
relationship with a big barn. TP worked Kyle’s butt off.

Kyle’s former agent, Skip Dawson, was a
full-time gambler with a part-time interest in being a jock agent.
The jock agent status allowed him access to the backside to find
information that he could convert into some kind of wager. He found
Kyle at Meadowfields racetrack and brought him to the big time—or
at least at the time it seemed like it. Skip helped Kyle’s career,
but he was more interested in cashing a big bet than in helping
Kyle move to the next level. Kyle moved to TP’s book at the close
of the Fairmont season last year.