Secretariat Reborn (33 page)

“You too,” Christian said, “although, I’m catching flak from my girlfriend. She’s not happy we’re still friends, but what the heck.” He pulled a check out of his pants pocket. “Here’s the money I owe you.”

Vince looked at the check. “With interest too, but I said you didn’t owe me.”

“I know, but a deal’s a deal. Are you ready to go?”

Vince grinned and stuffed the check in his shirt pocket. “Hey, I never argue when someone hands me money.” He shoved the boat away from the dock as Christian restarted the engine.

Vince got comfortable in the passenger seat. “So your horse must’ve finally come in?”

“Yeah, he sure did. Made enough that I can retire. Let me tell you about this horse.”

Besides Allie, Christian felt he could trust Vince with the whole truth about Mystery. Lord knows, the man had plenty of his own
skeletons and would never rat out Christian. And who better to discuss and understand a scam than a gangster?

They had shared their life-and-death experience on the water, and their relationship had changed to one of mutual respect, but even prior to the boat crash, Vince, for some reason, liked Christian. Oddly, Christian also enjoyed Vince’s company. Although crude and a little sinister, Vince was smart and full of useful advice, probably why he’d never seen a jail cell.

They motored to a grass flat, climbed out of the boat, and waded through the clear, knee-deep water. Casting out their lines, Christian told Vince the story, starting with Glade Hunter, his sick father, and how the crooked trainer switched the horses’ workout times, causing Christian to place Hunter in a claiming race where the colt was lost to the sheik. He also mentioned Price’s cruelty, numbing the gray filly’s injured leg so she’d break down and Price could collect on the insurance.

“That bastard,” Vince commented. “Ya know, I care more about my horses than people.”

Christian continued and told Vince about Mystery, the cloning, the races, and then defrauding the sheik and Price.

Vince knew about track rules, Jockey Club registration, and DNA tests. When Christian finished, Vince turned to him. “That’s brilliant, Christian, just brilliant. I’ve always said you have brains, but never realized you were so devious. That’s the perfect sting.”

“Not quite perfect.” Christian raised an eyebrow and reeled in his cast line. “After the DNA test that proved Mystery was worthless, I thought there’d be no problem buying the colt back. With the sales contract, the sheik has to give me first right of refusal. I called the sheik, offered him millions for the colt, but the guy is really pissed off, said he’d never sell Mystery back to me.”

“That’s a damn shame. I hate those Arab pricks,” Vince grumbled.

Christian saw a swirl of water and a three-inch fin gliding across the surface near Vince’s cork and pinfish bait. “Vince, get ready.”

Vince’s reel clicked a few times and then the bobber vanished from the surface with the fish taking the bait. Vince gripped his bent pole as his reel zinged with more line going out. The large silver fish leaped several feet above the surface, exposing the black line running along its side near the back. “Holy shit,” Vince yelled. “It’s huge. Looks like a tarpon.”

“Nope, it’s a snook,” said Christian. “Now, don’t force her, let her run, and tire. She’s got sharp gills that can slice your finger open and break line, so keep her on a straight run.”

“It’s a girl?” Vince muttered, struggling with his pole.

“Boys don’t grow that big.”

All talk of horses, Arabs, and scams had ended.

At Allie’s farm, several white pickups that belonged to the bricklayers and building contractor were parked along the back fence. Nearby, a large semiflatbed holding concrete blocks sat near the house pad, and a Bobcat unloaded the cargo. Christian watched for several minutes and nodded to the contractor in charge of building Juan and Rosa’s new, two-bedroom house. He turned and walked up the drive to the barn.

Juan was in a stall, brushing Glade Hunter. “Good morning, Mr. Christian,” he called.

“How’s my boy today?”

“Happy, very happy,” said Juan. “I am so glad you found him and bought him from the polo people. Do you wish me to saddle him so you can ride?”

Now a confident rider, Christian had retired old Chris as his pleasure horse and replaced him with the spirited younger gelding. He walked into the stall and scratched Hunter’s forehead. “Can’t today. I promised Jake the day off, so I have to work the marina.” He glanced out of the barn. “The contractor is moving right along on your house.”

Juan ran a rubber currycomb over Hunter’s back. “My mother and I cannot say enough to thank you.”

“Hey, thanks for accepting my offer. It frees up Allie so we can go away without worrying about the horses.” He left Hunter and Juan. Standing in the aisle, he glanced at an empty stall, two doors down, Mystery’s old stall. His shoulders drooped, and he took a sad, deep breath.

Every time he reflected on Mystery, he felt the chest ache from his heart sinking, the sickening remorse that he had betrayed the horse, a horse that had given his all and made Christian wealthy.

He walked up to the house and his vehicle and drove to the marina.

Because it was a fall weekday, the place was quiet. Several young guys rented out his WaveRunners and a newly married couple took out a Hobie Cat. Other than that, business was slow, allowing Christian to kick back in a chair and thumb through a boat magazine, circling ads, looking for his dream boat. Although he had the money to buy whatever he wanted, old habits die hard, and he was searching for a steal.

The sun began to set, and Christian called it quits. He wrapped up the sails and locked up the loose gear. In the parking lot, he noticed his SUV was the only vehicle. Everyone else had gone home. He started to climb in when he saw the flat front tire.

“Shit.” He flipped out his cell phone and called Allie. “Hey, I’m going to be a little late. I got a flat. Must’ve picked up a nail.”

“That’s a bummer,” she said. “Are you going to call road service to fix it?”

“I could change ten flats by the time they got here. I should be home in an hour or so.”

He closed the phone and got out the jack, tire iron, and spare. Squatting in front of the flat tire, he loosened the lugs before jacking the SUV up. He heard another vehicle pull in and park on the other side of his but ignored it, figuring it was another boater, going out for an evening cruise. He perceived the sound of footsteps behind him, but stayed focused on the last lug that would not yield.

“Trouble?” asked a man’s voice.

“Yeah, flat tire, and this sucker won’t budge,” said Christian, putting all his strength into turning the iron. Suddenly, he was jerked up from the squatting position, and a sting hit the side of his neck. He caught a glimpse of three men before his body went limp and he collapsed into unconsciousness.

Christian woke in darkness and felt lightheaded and nauseated. As his mind cleared, he realized he was lying on his side with his wrists bound together behind his back. The vibrating floor told him he was in the back of a moving van. Since it was night, several hours had passed since he had been taken from the marina.

“Mr. Price, he wakes,” said a man’s voice with a Middle Eastern accent.

Christian looked up. Sitting nearby was a large, dark complexioned man, perhaps an Arab. Price sat in the front passenger seat, and a third person drove the van.

Price turned around in his seat and stared down at Christian. “Hello, Christian.” He snickered. “I see the horse tranquilizer is finally wearing off.”

Christian’s head swayed with dizziness, and he tried to sit up, but couldn’t. His ankles were also bound. “Price, what the fuck is going on?”

Price chortled. “Did you really think you could rip off the sheik, and there’d be no consequences?”

“Where are you taking me?”

“On a long, one-way trip,” Price said.

Christian struggled against the tight, painful ropes while his mind raced, wondering how he could escape.

“You be still or I kill you now,” said the man, nearby. He lifted his hand. The dim dash lights revealed a revolver pointed at Christian.

“Try to avoid that, Abbas,” Price said to the big guy. “I don’t want blood left in this van.”

The van that had been traveling at top speed began to slow and
then made a left turn. It bumped and rocked. They were obviously on an unpaved road.

“Almost there, Christian,” said Price. “Time to say your final good-byes.”

“Price, you and the sheik won’t get away with this. Everyone knows you’re pissed over our horse deal.”

“Generally, a murder investigation requires a corpse. That’s why we didn’t knock you off at the marina. Where you’re going, no one will find your body, so it’s feasible you just skipped town with those millions. Secondly, a certain pin hooker named Sam mentioned you’d borrowed a sizable amount of money from loan sharks to get a horse. If you disappear, the authorities will be questioning your gangster friends.”

“I paid off the loan. The cops won’t be looking at them.”

“Well, even if the cops suspected the sheik,” said Price, “they can’t even give him a parking ticket. He’s an ambassador in this country and has diplomatic immunity. And the sheik is giving me an alibi for doing you in.”

The van rolled to a stop, and Christian swallowed hard, forcing down the growing lump in his throat. Not only would he die, but his killers also might get away with the crime. Price and the driver opened their vehicle doors, and the inside cab lights came on. Christian saw two shovels and a flashlight resting nearby.

The back van doors opened, and Price and the driver stared in. Christian got a good look at all three of his captors and recognized Abbas, the large man beside him. Although he now wore pants and a shirt, he was the Arab who shoved Allie at the riders-up area and had later yielded his chair to Christian when he had a sit-down with the sheik in the clubhouse restaurant. The driver looked Arab as well.

“You two grab him,” Price said to the men. “I’ll get the shovels and light.”

The men took hold of Christian’s arms and pulled him out of
the van. He heard a deafening sound, the boisterous chorus of croaking and chirping created by millions of frogs and insects. He looked around, and the sky was a pitch-black of nothingness. Except for the countless stars overhead, the sky lacked the distant glow of a city. He was deep in the country and a long way from help. Following Price and his flashlight, the men held and dragged Christian through heavily wooded pines, cabbage palms, and scrub oaks.

“Where are we?” Christian asked with a low voice, trying to act calm, although terrified. His heart raced, his breathing was heavy, and a nervous sweat dampened his shirt.

“The Everglades,” Price answered and trudged ahead. “The best spot to dump a body and it’s on our way back to Miami.”

Ironic, Christian thought, a place he had cherished was to be his gravesite. His mind drifted to Allie and the life they might have had. He breathed deeply through his nose to stop the moisture from forming in his eyes. Among his enemies, he was determined to go out strong rather than a crying, pathetic slob.

The men had walked nearly fifty yards from the van when Price stopped. “This is far enough. No one will find him here.” The men released Christian, and he fell on his side into the dirt and leaves.

“We untie him,” said Abbas. “He digs.”

Christian looked up, praying Price would go along. Untied and holding a shovel, he might get the chance to bash in their skulls and get away.

Price looked down, shining the light on Christian’s face. “No, you two will dig the hole,” he said to the men. “This slinky bastard is a fighter. Turned loose, we’re asking for trouble.”

Christian closed his eyes, his glimmer of hope gone. He relayed silently,
Dad, if you’re up there, if you’re watching over me, please help. My promise to you has brought me to this
.

The two Arabs picked up the shovels and began digging a three-by-six foot pit while Price stood over Christian with a handgun aimed at his head.

“Got nothing to say?” Price asked.

“No.” Christian lifted his head as high as he could and glared at Price. “Just go ahead and shoot. Let’s get it over with.”

“I don’t plan to shoot you.” Price smirked. “Makes too much noise, even out here, and leaves a bullet as evidence. These Arabs love their jambiyas. Abbas brought along a special one so he could gut you like a fish.”

Christian laid his head back on the ground. “Price, I figured you didn’t have the balls to kill me yourself.”

The two men returned to digging, and the smaller man mumbled something in Arabic to Abbas.

“What’d he say?” Price asked.

Abbas leaned on the shovel handle. “My friend says this one is no dog. He does not cower and whine when facing his death.”

“He will when you stick him,” said Price.

After a half hour, the two men had excavated a pit several feet deep. “That’s good enough,” said Price, and the men climbed out of the hole. Abbas pulled out his Arab jambiya from a sheath that hung from his belt. Under Price’s flashlight, he displayed the curved dagger with a jewel-crested handle. He grabbed Christian’s hair and yanked his head back to expose his throat.

“Not here,” said Price. “His blood will attract scavengers that might dig him up. Kill him in the hole.”

Abbas, using his foot, shoved Christian into the pit. His body hit the moist ground with a thud and dirt fell on him. He managed to look up. “Fuck you, Price. I hope you burn in hell.”

Abbas stepped down behind Christian and bent over. He clutched Christian’s hair again and pulled his neck back. Christian breathed hard, closed his moist eyes, and waited for the blade to slash his jugular.

Gunshots rang out. Abbas collapsed like a rhino on top of Christian.

“Let’s get out of here!” Price screamed and returned fire.

More gunfire echoed through the trees, along with the excited
yells from several male voices. Christian detected the thumping of running feet and the crash of saw palmettos as people raced through the underbrush. Abbas did not budge or breathe, confirming he had been shot to death.