A Stone's Throw by James Ziskin (best story books to read .txt) 📗

“Beautiful animal, too. Maybe I’ll bet on him next time he runs.”

He mugged an indifferent pout. “So long as you don’t mind losing your money.”

“How’s that?”

“Purgatorio’s handsome, all right. But he runs like he could take it or leave it.”

I stared at him some more, inviting him to explain.

“Doesn’t respond well to competition,” he said, as if quoting someone. “Lou must’ve changed his mind about running him today.”

“But he seemed all set to go. Why scratch him at the last second? Let him get some exercise, if nothing else.”

Carl probably thought I was an idiot, at least as far as horseflesh was concerned. “For one thing, you don’t want a horse to hurt himself. Do you know how many horses break down every year and have to be destroyed?”

“No. How many?”

Carl didn’t have the exact number and, in fact, seemed irritated by my question.

“Lou said I should get you something to drink. What’ll you have, miss?”

I moistened my lips with the tip of my tongue. Yes, I wanted a drink.

“Ellie,” I prompted. “Gin and tonic, please.”

He made his way over to the bar, uninhabited save for one bartender examining his manicure with little interest in anything or anyone else in the place. I watched Carl from my seat and scolded myself for pretending I knew the first thing about horses. In my experience, I had better success interviewing subjects when they didn’t take me for a lightweight. Or a scatterbrained woman. I reminded myself that the idea was to keep Carl, not me, on his heels.

“So tell me about Johnny Dornan,” I said once he’d returned and shoved a glass in front of me. He’d brought nothing for himself.

“Johnny’s a good jockey.” Carl rubbed his ear and didn’t exactly look me in the eye. I sensed he was one of those men who disliked having to converse with women. Or maybe he was shy. He seemed eager to push off. “Lou even lets him ride for other owners now, provided there’s no conflict with Harlequin. Since Johnny’s under contract, Lou takes a small portion of his fees, of course.”

“How long has Johnny been with Harlequin?”

“Since a year ago last spring. Had a good meet last year. Even better this year.”

“Only two years riding? Where was he before that?”

“Must’ve been riding the leaky-roof circuit. We don’t talk much.”

“But how did he come to ride for Mr. Fleischman?”

“Lou discovered him down at Aqueduct a year ago last March. Gave him a golden opportunity he probably didn’t deserve.”

“Was Johnny not grateful?”

“I suppose he was. But he always brags that his wins are his thanks to Lou.” He paused to reflect on something. “I’ll tell you one thing. Lou was cheesed off this morning when Johnny didn’t show. Like he didn’t appreciate Johnny disappearing after all he done for him.”

“I thought Lou said he was sick.”

“Might be. No idea, miss.”

“Ellie,” I repeated.

I bought fifteen or so seconds extracting a cigarette and lighting it. Then I took a slow sip of my drink.

“How was Johnny last night after his big win?” I asked.

“Having a good time. Lou took us to dinner, and Johnny had a girl. Maybe he’s with her now. Or maybe he’s sick.”

“Do you remember her name?”

“Micheline.”

“Micheline?”

“From Montreal. Speaks French.”

“Pretty girl?”

“A real looker. And tall. A couple of hands taller than Johnny.” He chuckled to himself. “Little prick.” Carl mumbled an apology. “But he always manages to find pretty girls, no matter how tall.”

“Do you know where he’s been staying here in Saratoga?”

“Same place as me. Mrs. Russell’s Boarding House in Ballston Spa. Lou gives us an allowance of ten bucks a night for room and board. We can stay wherever we want. And we can pocket whatever’s left over. Russell’s ain’t bad for the price.”

“But you didn’t see Johnny this morning?”

Carl shook his head deliberately.

“So you two are friendly?” I asked, well aware that he seemed to dislike the jockey. “Staying in the same place and all?”

“I wouldn’t say that. Lou says I got to drive Johnny around. Keep an eye on him. Make sure he shows up on time.”

Carl had failed in his mission that day.

“And did Johnny go back to the boarding house with you last night after dinner?”

“He did. Snuck Micheline inside. The girl wasn’t too happy about creeping in like she wasn’t good enough to walk through the front door. But she went along for the ride anyway.”

“The ride?”

He stared at me for a long moment, exhaled a pained sigh through his nose, then offered another limp “Sorry, miss” for his off-color language.

“Ellie.”

“Mrs. Russell doesn’t like that kind of stuff at her place,” he continued. “She’s strict about fraternizing, as she calls it. She’d throw Johnny out if she knew he was entertaining girls in his room.”

“So Johnny went to his room with this Micheline, and that’s the last you saw of him?”

“That’s right. I heard him plenty, though. Both of them.” Again he apologized, but his grin told me he wasn’t all that sorry.

“Doesn’t sound as though he was sick. What time was that?”

“About ten. I took a pill and went to sleep. We had to be up early today. Like any day in August except Sunday.”

“What’s Johnny Dornan like?”

“He’s arrogant. He’s unpleasant. And a little mean. Likes to make other people feel small. Maybe because he’s such a midget.”

“He’s not popular with the other riders?”

“Least of all with the other jockeys. Johnny’s got a reputation for jostling and crowding other horses. Grabbing other riders’ crops, saddlecloths, and reins. Pushing off, that kind of thing. Whatever might give him an advantage. He’s sly, though. Rarely gets caught by the stewards. But the other riders know what he’s up to, and they don’t like him.”

“Anyone else who might hate him? Maybe want to do him some harm?”

“Wait a minute,” said Carl. “Are you suggesting this fire was no accident?”

“Not sure yet. But I like to consider all angles.”

Carl seemed to be debating his answer. At length, he said that he’d never seen anything to support