Bullet Work (13 page)

Although Kyle had shed his apprentice bug two
years before, he was still considered inexperienced by many. Some
barns would only ride guys with ten or more years’ experience.
There was one thing that changed the hierarchy—winning.

Kyle had to start winning races that he
shouldn’t win or else run big long shots well above the level of
their prior experience. He could get attention by either ramping up
his win and in the money percentages or by hitting the board with
long shots.

It made him angry to get up at the crack of
dawn to ride works on horses, only to see jocks ahead of him in the
standings get the mount in the afternoons. Jocks, who because of
their win percentage, could afford to sleep comfortably while Kyle
busted his ass. But being second on a trainer’s list was one of the
only ways to get those mounts, so he was up at four to be available
for training mounts and workouts.

Jockeys got hurt, spun to other horses, or
were called out of town for rides at other meets. In those cases
the guy second on the list got his shot. If he could win, he had a
chance to keep the mount. If he couldn’t win, he would have a
difficult time holding that ride.

Since top jockeys get the best mounts, they
many times will have first call to ride two horses in the same
race. Logic would dictate that the jock will “spin” or get off the
horse with the lesser chance to win that day. Handicappers had
poured plenty of cash down that rat hole of a theory.

The factors that went into who “spun”
involved myriad calculations. The equation included which other
horses were in each stable, which barn the jock agent had been
working, and, most critically, how the trainer would react to being
“spun.” Would he put the guy back up next race, or would he “spin”
him from all mounts? It was a touchy and political exercise but one
that occurred every racing day.

Jocks needed their agents to deliver the news
to a trainer and work to stay in a relationship with the barn. This
was where the jock agent really earned his money. “Spinning” in
this world wasn’t unlike agents for movie actors making decisions
about what scripts to read, what movies to perform in, and which
production houses to support.

Jockeys advanced their careers by making the
best decisions, just as actors and actresses who won the Academy
Award were guided by an agent who consistently made the right
choices.

Kyle’s stomach rumbled. It was a feeling to
which he had become all too accustomed. He needed to keep his
weight below 114 pounds; 112 was even better. If he went off his
daily regimen, he would balloon up to 125 in a matter of days. It
would take him a week in the hot box and near starvation to get
back down to racing weight.

In all thoroughbred races, horses were
assigned a given weight to carry. In most situations all horses
carried the same amount, known as level weights. In situations
where fillies ran against colts and geldings, the filly would get a
reduced weight assignment, usually two or three pounds.

Apprentice jockeys received allowances
between five and ten pounds off the assigned weight. It was known
as the bug because of the mark printed in the racing program to
designate the apprentice allowance. In reality, a trainer was
balancing the effect on his horse’s performance under reduced
weight against inexperience in riding. A capable apprentice jockey
was favored by nearly all trainers, and the “bug boy” had a full
racing card until the apprentice status expired either by time or
wins.

In handicap events, the racing secretary
assigned weights to each entrant, with the favorite carrying the
high weight. The concept operated on the belief that adjusted
weights would even the difference in perceived ability and
“handicap” the chances for each horse to win. It was a system
developed over decades and consistently applied by most
racetracks.

For Kyle—and other riders—it meant he had to
keep his weight under 114 pounds to ride most races. Being
“overweight” was a disadvantage to the mount since the horse had to
carry the extra weight. So if Kyle’s horse was assigned to carry
118 pounds, with tack, Kyle had to be below 115. If Kyle weighed in
that day at 117, then with tack the horse would be two pounds
over.

This change would be broadcast to all at the
track, essentially saying Kyle couldn’t make weight for 118. That
was damaging to his chances of getting other mounts, as trainers
wouldn’t risk riding a guy who couldn’t consistently make weight.
He could be the next Willie Shoemaker, but if consistently
overweight, he risked interfering with a horse’s performance.

If an overweight rider lost a close photo,
the trainer, along with the betting public, would blame the jockey.
Carrying the extra two pounds cost the horse the difference between
winning bets and losing bets, between a first place purse and a
second place purse, between having the mount next time and being
spun for another hustling jockey who could assure the trainer he’d
make weight.

It damaged a trainer’s winning percentage,
his income, and his ability to lure new owners. Being overweight
was simply a risk Kyle couldn’t take.

His ration of calories each day was strictly
monitored, and he took a battery of vitamins and supplements as the
exertion of riding headstrong animals demanded physical strength
and endurance, despite the restriction on carbs, proteins, and
fats.

Unlike other riders, Kyle avoided
pharmaceutical aids to keep weight off. Some jocks did Lasix. It
essentially drained all excess fluids from the body quickly. Kyle
also avoided what was known in the trade as “The CB” or
Clenbuterol.

Though a proven treatment for asthma in
humans, the equine version was a synthetic metabolism accelerator,
and, of course, designed for a 1,200-pound animal. In a 120-pound
human, the results were staggering. As a result of its miraculous
weight-loss properties, it had quickly become the illegal substance
of choice among the Hollywood set.

The saying was it burned fat from the inside
out, but it burned up everything else in the human body. The CB
allowed some to make weight, and that was all that mattered in the
end. A few vets on the backside had been known to “lose” a vial or
two of CB in exchange for a “found” C-note.

Kyle also wasn’t like many riders who
“flipped their meals.” He avoided that activity except when
necessary, like after a big dinner thrown by an exuberant owner at
a local steakhouse. With those rare exceptions, Kyle stuck to his
diet. It was a requirement for continued income. He took a big swig
of his iced tea. That 32-ounce jumbo cup should help fill his empty
stomach for a few hours. He tugged his ball cap down on his
forehead and kept driving west.

  

Kyle galloped Aly Dancer on the outside of
the track clockwise. Horses near the rail raced by, going the
“right way.” It was customary in morning exercise to warm up
against the grain and far away from the inside rail. Aly Dancer had
her head forward and tugged on the bit. Kyle kept a tight grip on
the short reins and steadied her pace to a light canter. They
approached the starting gate.

Jake and Dan climbed the steps to the
clocker’s perch on the backside of the track. Mickey Gains, the
clocker, held court with several trainers as they entered the small
room overlooking the track. Some nods were exchanged before Mickey
picked up his binoculars and focused on the starting gate.

“Evaline working,” squawked over the walkie
talkie on the counter. The gate crew called out the horse for
Mickey to record the official work from the gate. Aly Dancer was
behind the gate and moving away to avoid being too close to the
gate when the other horse worked.

Evaline stood in the gate for nearly a minute
when she was finally sent off. Ben Webber, her trainer, moved
closer to Gains and clicked his stop watch. The horse spun through
the turn and raced down the homestretch toward the finish line. The
jockey urged the horse on, and the horse responded. She hit the
finish line, and the jockey eased her up.

Mickey’s binoculars had a built-in stopwatch,
which he controlled with buttons on the top of the device.
“Forty-eight and four,” he called out.

Webber looked at his watch. “Yup.” He didn’t
seem too happy about the result. He stepped away and moved toward
the door. Jake slid closer to Mickey.

“Hey, Jake,” Mickey remarked. “One of your
babies this morning?”

“Yeah. Filly. Aly Dancer. She’s a little
green in the gate. We been working with her on her manners lately.
Want to qualify her today.”

Young horses had to learn to be comfortable
in a starting gate. Trainers would start by walking them through an
open gate and eventually stop them and close the gate in front of
them. As they became more comfortable with the process, they would
willingly enter the gate and break when the gate flew open.

If the training was successful, the horse
would be “gate qualified,” which meant it could be eligible to
start a race. No matter how fast or well-bred a horse was, if it
wasn’t gate qualified, it couldn’t race.

“Aly Dancer, next,” the starter sent over the
walkie talkie.

Kyle eased Aly Dancer toward the gate. One of
the gate hands came forward and grabbed the bridle. Aly Dancer
bristled. Kyle patted the filly on the neck, and she calmed
somewhat. The hand led her toward the gate. Aly Dancer moved slowly
toward the gate and reluctantly entered. She stood calmly as the
hand jumped onto the ledge inside the stall. Kyle got ready for the
break.

The starter made her stand, and after a
prolonged delay, hit the button.

Aly Dancer bolted away from the gate. Dan was
unable to draw a breath until she was out of the turn and moving
down the homestretch. Dan had so much money and time in this young
filly. He should have been nervous seeing her break from the gate
for the first time. But in this moment, Dan was totally in awe of
her strength and power. “God.”

Jake looked at Dan and nodded
confidently.

  

Kyle held Aly Dancer with a firm grip. The
reins slapped the filly’s neck as she tugged forward against him.
Kyle didn’t release her head. She skimmed like a feather over
glass, not like those old claimers he rode that rocked and shimmied
like ancient washing machines. All her effort went in one
direction, all generating speed.

She chugged in forceful breaths, all in sync
with her motion. Damn, thought Kyle, she’s moving.

The wind whipped her mane, and they entered
the turn. Kyle shifted his weight, and Aly Dancer perfectly changed
leads, to power through the turn. Her ears were perked and flashed
forward and back. She was enjoying this; she hadn’t pinned her ears
in stress or anger as many horses did. She was having fun as they
ate up ground.

The pair hit the finish line, and Kyle stood
in the stirrups to slow her. She wanted to keep going. Kyle knew
they went fast. He didn’t know her time, but he knew one thing.
Nothing was going to get him off this ride. She was the one he’d
dreamed of. This was the one that could vault his career. Whatever
it took, no way was he giving up the chance to ride this filly.

  

Dan’s heart was pounding like a jackhammer as
she hit the finish line, and Kyle eased her. She went fast—Dan knew
that much. Jake clicked his stopwatch and looked at it.

Mickey glanced over at Jake in astonishment.
“Forty-six and one?” The question said it all. A two-year-old being
gate checked wasn’t supposed to go that fast. “Solid work, Jake,”
Mickey said.

Another trainer who had entered the clocker’s
shack asked who the horse was. “Just a baby,” Jake said. Then he
motioned for Dan to leave.

At the bottom of the stairs Dan turned to
him. “Forty-six and one? Good lord, that’s fast. For a
two-year-old? Are you kiddin’ me?”

Jake motioned him closer. “More like
forty-five and four,” he whispered. “That’s what I got her in.”

“But, Mickey said—”

“Forget Mickey.”

“What? Did he miss it?”

“Nope,” Jake said, walking away. “Mickey got
it. Saw it same as you. That filly can flat fly.”

Chapter 23

“look at that tote,” Milton said.
“Likatious is 8 to 5. Damn thing would run second in a one-horse
race.”

Lennie studied his pace and speed printouts
like a scientist pouring ingredients into a test tube. “Don’t be so
sure. He’s been off for three months and worked well coming back.
Throw him out at your peril.”

“Dan, you got any winners like Hollerin Hal?
Y’know, just a flier that you can’t tell us about? You know, ’til
it’s too late to get a bet down?” Milton dipped his finger in the
cup of nacho cheese sauce, then stuck it in his mouth.

“Hey, I remember you cashing a bet on that
last horse I gave you. Don’t be greedy. If I’ve got something, I
always share. Just don’t blame me if the horse runs up the
track.”

Lennie made some pencil marks around the
numbers on his sheets. “Hey, you work your two-year-old?”

Dan beamed. “She was beautiful this morning.
Just a thing of beauty.”

Lennie turned from his sheets and gave him a
big smile. “I hope you got a real runner in that one. How’d she
do?”

“Mickey got her in forty-six and one.”

“What? That’s quick,” said Lennie. “And for a
two-year-old? Wow.”

“And she did it so easy,” Dan said. “Kyle
Jonas didn’t move a muscle the whole way ’round. Strange thing,
though. Jake said Gains clocked her in forty-five and four.”
Lennie’s eyes nearly popped out of his head.

“Geez, Dan,” Milton piped up. “You going to
let us get in the winner’s circle picture?”

“For you, Maj. Anything.”

Lennie had a big smile he was trying to keep
to himself.