Bullet Work (19 page)

Several people moved toward the break, but
they were too late. The horse shot up the track and through the
break and was now loose on the backside.

“Whose is it?” someone shouted.

“Jenkins’ colt” was the breathless reply, and
the group ran to get position to corner the horse. “Threw
Biggers.”

The backside was a more dangerous place for a
loose horse. More places and obstacles it could hit or be hit by. A
scared horse could do just about anything from running through a
shedrow fence to ramming into a pickup truck or getting out the
main entrance into the traffic outside the racetrack.

The gated entrance had been secured by
several vehicles. Men were waving hats and making noise to keep the
colt away. The black horse raced between two shedrows and turned
right, moving away from the entrance. It slid on the gravel as it
slowed to change directions.

“Keep him moving that way,” Jake shouted,
waving toward the right. There was no way for the horse to get out
if they moved him to the right. This had become a community event.
All stable hands were out, and they formed a makeshift line to keep
the animal moving toward the back corner of the backside. “Get over
that way.” Jake gestured toward the right. “Don’t let him get by
you.”

The line moved forward, closing in on the
horse. Several stables separated the horse and the corner of the
backside. The black horse ran up into the yard of one stable,
crying out. The horses in the stable answered back. The loop of the
loose reins dangled precariously. If the reins got caught on
something, a fence post or railing, the horse could snap its
neck.

The black spun around and sprinted through
the shedrow, exiting on the other side. The line of stable hands on
that side continued the horse toward the corner. The horse turned
quickly and nearly fell when the gravel slid out from under him. He
regained his balance and ran to the right, jumping a
wheelbarrow.

The men on that side of the line moved
forward and redirected the horse back toward the corner. They waved
their arms with cowboy hat in hand, their broad, quick motions
causing the horse to shy away.

The jet black moved to the corner. It made a
quick move like it was going to jump through the wooden fencing,
then changed its mind at the last second. It turned and snorted,
digging the ground with its front feet. The line of stable hands
slowly closed ranks. “Don’t spook him,” someone shouted.

The horse was cornered, and it jumped back
and forth on his front legs, throwing its head side to side.

Dan caught a glimpse of AJ moving between two
men off to his left. He was so much smaller than the men around
him. His arms were extended to the side, and he was walking slowly
toward the horse. His head was tipped slightly backward, and it
looked like his eyes were closed.

“Get that damn kid out of there,” someone
shouted from behind Dan. “He’s gonna get killed.”

AJ was about ten feet from the animal and
walking closer. The horse snorted and reared on his back legs. His
front hooves slashed through the air. The kid was unfazed. He
didn’t even flinch, like he couldn’t see the danger.

“Look out,” Jake shouted. The men
instinctively backed away.

“AJ, move away,” Dan yelled.

The boy kept moving forward, his arms still
extended straight out to the side. He was mumbling something that
couldn’t be heard over the shouting of the men and the shrieking
from the horse.

The horse jumped left, looking down toward
the boy, then jumped back to the right, turning nearly sideways. AJ
leaned forward and stretched his arms toward the horse. The colt
shimmied and shied away.

“Stupid shit, get out of there,” someone
shouted from Dan’s right.

AJ stepped closer, reaching for the horse.
The horse reared up and slashed at AJ with its hooves. One hoof
caught the bill of AJ’s cap, knocking it askew. AJ didn’t back
away. He couldn’t sense the danger around him. AJ continued
reaching out and found the withers of the jet black with his right
hand, then quickly put his left hand on its neck.

The jet black instantly became silent and
stood stock still on all four legs, perfectly calm. AJ’s shoulders
started to shiver and quake, then his torso shook, and his legs
began to buckle. AJ was able to keep his balance leaning against
the horse. He was making guttural sound, like someone in a deep
sleep, struggling to escape a nightmare.

“Get a shank on him,” someone yelled.

Dan couldn’t pull his eyes off the boy. He
was quivering and muttering like someone possessed. A stable hand
stepped forward and clipped a shank on the horse’s bridle. He
yanked down hard on the shank and began walking the horse through
the crowd. AJ followed with his hands on the horse and eyes closed.
Matt Jenkins stepped forward and shoved AJ to the ground.

Dan shouted, “Hey, leave the kid alone.”
Jenkins looked over and scowled.

The jet black jumped sideways and reared. The
groom holding the shank grabbed on with the other hand and yanked
downward. The horse reared and pulled the opposite way. The cowboy
was nearly lifted off the ground, and he slid forward on his boot
heels.

Another hand raced forward and slapped a
shank on the other side of the bridle. Between the two of them they
were able to get the horse under control and led him away. The
crowd began to disperse, most shaking their heads, feeling glad it
wasn’t their horse that got loose.

Dan stepped over to AJ and helped him up. He
dusted off his jeans, picked up his ball cap, and began walking
away.

“Hey, wait a minute.” The boy kept walking.
Dan took two quick steps and grabbed his shoulder. “AJ, what was
that?” He pointed back over his shoulder to where he had calmed the
horse. The kid shrugged and looked back toward his barn. “How did
you do that?” Dan asked.

The boy looked at the ground. Apparently
believing that Dan wasn’t going to let him walk off without an
answer, AJ inhaled deeply and said, “Dunno, just helping.”

“No, AJ, that was…that was.… What was that?”
He stammered. “This, and the deal at Hudgins’ barn last week.”

The boy rolled his head side to side like he
was annoyed. “I just touch ’em. They talk to me, tell me what they
feel.” He was still looking down at his feet.

“What do you mean? They talk to you?”

He looked over at his barn like he needed to
get over there. “They tell me. I touch them and feel what they
feel. I help calm ’em down.”

“You were shaking and talking, making noises,
whatever. What was that?”

“I dunno. Just helping.” He turned and walked
away.

Dan watched the boy limp along the gravel
road back toward his barn.

Alone.

Chapter 34

the man standing in the shadow of
the shedrow waved at AJ. The gesture wasn’t acknowledged; AJ just
continued walking. He was making his way back with a cold soda he
had gotten from the vending machine outside Crok’s. It was after
four in the morning, but the heat sent AJ in search of a cool
drink.

Since the attacks had started, most stables
had posted a groom or hotwalker to stand guard over the barns all
night. AJ knew them all by sight, even if he’d never spoken to
them. His limp created a distinctive rhythm to his gait, and most
on the backside recognized the sound of his approach on a quiet
night such as this. With tensions running at code red on the
backside, the limp’s distinctive sound was an advantage.

AJ walked through Latimer’s shedrow and poked
his head in on the inhabitants in each stall. All was well. Most
were sleeping. He would get an occasional weary glance from a
sleepy horse, but everything was in order.

Having circled the entire shedrow, AJ found a
spot on the side of the barn where the slightest breeze was
detectible. Any advantage to break the heat was taken. He sat on
the ground and leaned against the wooden structure. From here he
could see through the rows of identical barns. On the far end to
his left was the racetrack; to his right stood the overgrowth of
trees and brush of Manassas State Park.

There wasn’t enough breeze to disturb the
haze of humidity hanging in the air. AJ twisted open his soda
bottle, wiped his forehead, and took a long drink. As he was
bringing the bottle down from his mouth, the gunshot rang out,
breaking the quiet of the hour.

AJ had been looking in the direction of the
park and saw the blast of light coming from the weapon. Despite the
visual clue, the sound startled AJ, and he spilled part of his soda
down the front of his shirt.

He locked in on the location of the flash of
light. It seemed to be well beyond the fence dividing the racetrack
from the park. In the daylight, AJ knew there was a steep hill
beyond the fence. Whoever had fired the gun was shooting down from
that hill toward the backside. A flash and another gunshot rang
out.

Several horses cried out in terror, and the
backside was abuzz with horses stirring in their stalls,
contributing to the sounds of fear around them. AJ scrambled to his
feet and ran in his skip-hop fashion toward the park.

He had to veer left and run the length of two
barns to get to the spot where the separation in the fence would
allow him to squeeze through. He slid through the opening and was
on the park property.

He moved back to his right to get near the
spot where he’d seen the flash. His pace was slowed by the uneven
terrain, the brush, and the low hanging limbs of the trees. In
perfect daylight this would be a treacherous walk; in total
darkness, it was virtually impossible. He tripped over a root
growing above ground and fell, banging his knee against the base of
another tree.

He looked to the right and tried to gauge his
distance by the familiar sight of the shedrows. He was still about
one and a half barns from where the shot was fired. He got back on
his feet and trudged forward. His arms were braced in front of his
face to block the tree limbs. AJ entered what seemed to be a
clearing and covered ground quickly, entering more heavy brush
after about fifty feet.

After scraping himself through more of the
forest, he broke out into another clearing. Looking to the left, he
could tell he was near the point where the gun was fired. There was
a burst of activity to his right where several people congregated
around the stall, the targets of the shooting. AJ crouched down and
looked for any sign of movement up the hill.

He scurried up the hill, sometimes on his
hands and knees, but he continued to climb. After about thirty feet
he reached a plateau. He turned and looked down on the backside.
This had to be where the shot came from. AJ looked down on the barn
below him.

Below him, lights were on, and a pickup had
been pulled near to illuminate the barn area with its headlights.
AJ stood silently and listened. No sound around him. He started to
move to the right when he kicked something solid.

He bent down, and his hand found a rifle. The
barrel was warm. He picked it up. He’d never held a gun before,
much less a high-powered rifle. As he was examining the gun a
flashlight came on and blinded AJ. He put his hand up to shade his
eyes and peered into the light.

“Hold it right there,” a voice shouted.

Humans were wired for
justice.

At least it was
comforting to think that.

The misconception
persisted that
right and wrong were easily discerned.
Justice was not static. Justice was simply a perspective, a matter
of degrees, a sliding scale. Too often justice, like beauty,
resided solely in
the eye of the beholder.

All lawyers knew
that.
Facts were a tapestry woven to meet the
buyer’s eye. Good lawyers exploited that.

In the abstract, doing
the right thing
was simple, an objectively determined fait accompli. Justice, as
theory, was casually applied in the absence of issues that confront
real life.

Who was entitled? Who
decided?

One man’s justice was
another’s tyranny. Authority cloaked the few as defenders of
justice. But authority was manmade; hence, justice was shaped in
authority’s image.

The distance between
self-defense and
murder was one second—a wink, an untimely tic, a frightened
gesture. And, of course, it involved delving into the murky minds
of the killer
and the killed.

Justice became the
bedrock of survivors
and victors. Their personal histories were translated as justice.
Just as dead men told no tales, the vanquished were defined by
justice—never ones to define it.

The only test of
justice was whether it
protected those who refused to fight back.

Justice was never the
battle of one man.

It remained the
struggle of all men.

Chapter 35

dan’s cell phone chirped as he was
driving to work. It was just before seven, and he wanted to get a
head start on an appellate brief he was under deadline to file. Dan
pressed the button on his wireless earpiece. “Hello?”

“It’s Jake.”

He never called this early. “Jake, what’s up?
Oh no, don’t tell me. We get hit last night?”

“No, we’re fine. But two horses from
Creighton’s barn got shot last night.”

“Got shot? Jesus.”

“Yeah, well, the reason I called is they
arrested someone.”

“About time. Who’d they arrest?” Dan asked as
he glanced in his rearview mirror and changed lanes.

“The kid,” Jake said.

“The kid? What kid?”

“Kid from Latimer’s barn.”

“What?”

“Thought you’d want to know.”

“Come on, Jake, that’s insane. That kid
wouldn’t hurt a horse in a million years.”

“Yeah, well, they found him with a rifle.
They went through his stuff in the barn and found a syringe, a
three-foot length of pipe, and a shit load of cash.”