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

in Maryland running fifteen-year-old nags at county fair races.”

Just what I needed. Another mysterious name I couldn’t pin on anyone.

“Anyone else?”

“Not that he mentioned.”

“And what happened to Johnny Dornan?”

“Johnny Sprague, you mean. His name was mud, so he changed it. He was banned from Maryland racing, and he disappeared.”

“Until last year when Lou found him at Aqueduct?”

“Not exactly,” said Carl with a wicked grin. He took one last puff of his cigarette. I was sure he wasn’t supposed to be smoking near the horse barns. He stubbed it out thoroughly against the stable wall. “Our Johnny boy had to find other work after he got the heave-ho. He tramped up and down the Eastern Seaboard searching for riding work, but none of the big tracks would let him through the gate. The county fair circuit is a short season and doesn’t pay much. He landed with a breeder in Florida for a while, exercising horses, mucking out stalls. That kind of thing.”

“Sounds like good honest toil. Not very lucrative, though.”

“And then the breeder got wind of Hagerstown, and Johnny was out on his duff again. That was seven years ago.”

“So what happened next? What did Johnny Dornan do for six years before sneaking his way into Aqueduct last year?”

Carl glanced to his left and his right as if to make sure no one was listening. He leaned in and said in a gleeful half whisper, “He changed his name to Dornan. Couldn’t find any work as Johnny Sprague. And he finally landed a job as a rodeo clown for six years.” A snorting laugh escaped his nose. Then a second and a third. He stood up straight and laughed properly. “The arrogant little bastard was a rodeo clown,” he repeated, as if I hadn’t heard or understood the first time.

“Why would Bruce tell you all this?”

“Information has value only so long as someone wants to keep it under wraps. Johnny’s dead, so what good is it to Bruce now?”

I reached Fadge’s box in the clubhouse as the horses were being loaded into the starting gate for the Travers Stakes.

“You’re all out of breath,” he said. “Was that you I saw running last in the fifth race?”

“If I lost, you must have bet on me.”

He grinned. It was one of those cat-that-ate-the-canary smiles.

“What aren’t you telling me?” I asked. “How did you do in the last race?”

Now the smile disappeared, replaced by what I could only describe as a guilty expression.

“You lost, didn’t you? A lot.”

“Actually, I won.” He paused. “A lot. BF’s Favorite. He was a long shot. Paid thirty-one bucks to win. I had him five times.”

“Then why were you looking like you’d sold the family cow for a handful of beans?”

He squirmed in his seat, and I pressed him some more. Finally he came clean.

“It’s just that I never seem to win when you’re with me.”

I laughed. “So I’m a jinx?”

“I wouldn’t say that.”

“Do you want me to leave?” I asked. “You know, to change your luck?”

“Come on, El. I’m sure you’re not a jinx. It’s a coincidence.”

I pouted for a minute or two, and then Fadge said he’d treat me to that dinner he’d been promising.

“I can’t tonight,” I reminded him. “I’m covering the fundraiser at the casino.”

“Then tomorrow.”

“Am I going to have the pleasure of Bill and Zeke’s company this time?”

He promised it would just be the two of us. And a nice place, too. I gave in.

“You can’t stay mad at me,” he said.

“Don’t bet on it. You’ll lose.”

“Where were you anyway?”

“Visiting a friend in the stables.”

“That horse across the street again?”

I nodded, then asked if he’d ever heard of an owner named Mack Hodges. He hadn’t.

“So who do you like in this race?”

His eyes narrowed, a sure sign that he was focused and serious. The only other times I’d seen that look in his eyes were when he was discussing what he wanted to eat. “I’ve been doing my homework on this race since the meet began. It’s going to be Ridan or Jaipur, I’m sure. Everyone knows that, of course. Those two are the class of the race. Even with the extra weight they’re carrying.”

“More weight than the others?” I asked. “That hardly seems fair.”

He showed me the program and explained that it was intended to make the race more competitive. “See, Jaipur and Ridan are carrying a hundred and twenty-six pounds each.”

“Plus the jockey,” I added, feeling smart.

He gaped at me with his hyper-thyroid eyes. “No. That includes the jockey.”

I wanted to ask how much the jockeys weighed, but decided to keep my mouth shut and listen instead.

“The other horses here are all carrying less. One fourteen, one fourteen, one twenty, and so on.”

“So which one did you bet on?”

“I’m sitting this one out,” he said.

“Wait a minute. Is this because I’m a jinx and you don’t want to lose?”

“Come on, El.”

“But you’ve been handicapping this race for three weeks.”

“I can’t come up with an approach that would win me anything. Look at the odds,” he said, indicating the tote board in the infield below. “Jaipur is three to two, and Ridan is five to two. Even if I bet a hundred on one of them, the payoff isn’t worth the risk. And place and show would only pay pennies.”

“You’re sure no other horse will win?”

He shook his head. “I don’t see it. So I’m going to sit back and enjoy it.”

“I feel like betting on this one,” I said. “It’s the biggest race of the season, after all. I want to participate.”

“There’s no time to go place a bet now. They’re loading the last two horses into the starting gate.”

“Then bet with me. I’ll take that Jaipur horse. You take the other one.”

“All right. Two dollars to win?”

“Deal.”

We shook hands and turned our attention to the track. The bell rang.

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

Seven horses bolted out of the gate as one, but after a few strides, two broke clear of the pack.

“What number