“I had to break up a fight at the bar last night,” I said.
“That’s a pretty nice shiner you got there,” Pete said.
“You should see what the other guy looks like,” I said.
I wasn’t trying to be funny, but everybody laughed.
I put my sunglasses back on. Alan, Pete and Steve started talking, and Rob said to me, “I was meaning to ask you—what’s the name of the bar you work at on the Upper East Side?”
“Blake’s Tavern,” I lied. Blake’s Tavern was a bar on First Avenue in the East Eighties, about twenty blocks away from O’Reilley’s.
“Oh,” Rob said. “The only reason I asked is because I heard that story on the news—you know, how that guy’s wife was killed. He owns some bar called O’Reilley’s.”
“I heard about that too,” I said.
“It was pretty fucked up,” Rob said. “They said the Super Bowl pool at the bar was robbed a few days before. Guy got away with fourteen grand.”
“I guess it’s a good thing I didn’t buy one of those boxes.”
“You can say that again.”
I interrupted whatever Alan was saying to Pete and said, “Don’t we gotta go up to the Steward’s office and put the slip in the claiming box?”
“Bill Tucker’s taking care of that,” he said.
“But shouldn’t we go up there anyway,” I said. “I mean what if he forgets to put it in?”
“He won’t,” Alan said, and he started talking to the other guys again.
I went to the bathroom. When I came out I saw a tall thin guy with curly gray hair standing with the other guys. I figured this was Bill Tucker.
When I came over Alan said, “And this is the fifth member of our little syndicate—Tommy Russo.”
“Pleasure to meet you,” I said, shaking his hand.
“Same here,” he said. He had a strong Southern accent and, I was happy to see, he was wearing a gray suit.
“I think you’re one of the best trainers in the business,” I said. “I know a lot of people probably tell you that, but I really mean it.”
I realized I was still shaking his hand, maybe harder than I should have. I let go.
“It’s great to meet you,” Tucker said, flexing his fingers. “Nice to have some fresh blood injected into the racing industry.”
It was five minutes to post time for the first race. Rob, Steve and Pete went to bet, so it was just me, Alan, and Bill Tucker. I didn’t like the way Alan was trying to hog the conversation, talking to Tucker about shit I knew Tucker didn’t care about. So I cut him off and said, “So tell me, Bill—you don’t mind if I call you Bill, do you?”
“Bill’s fine.”
“So tell me, Bill. You ever had horses run at Hollywood Park?”
“Sure. Once in a while I ship to the California tracks.”
“What’s it like there? I mean behind the scenes. You go to parties a lot, I bet.”
“Sometimes,” Bill said. “But I spend most of my time up to my ankles in mud.”
“Yeah, but I’m sure you go to a lot of Hollywood-type parties.”
“Once in a while...I guess.”
“Yeah? You think I can go with you sometime?” I said.
“I don’t know,” he said. “I don’t see why not.”
The other guys came back from the betting window and Bill started talking to them. I wished Bill and I were alone, so I could get to know the guy.
Then Bill said, “Come on, I’ll take you folks out to my box to watch the race.”
We went in past the same usher who’d given me a hard time before. I gave him a big smile as I walked by and I could tell he felt stupid.
It was a nice day—sunny and warmer than it had been lately, probably about forty degrees. I probably needed a coat, but I didn’t wear one to the track. It didn’t matter—I was so excited there could’ve been a blizzard and I wouldn’t’ve noticed.
I sat in the seat next to Bill and the other guys sat on the other side of him.
Pete was in the aisle, passing by.
“Not gonna bet on the race?” he said.
“Nope,” I said.
“Why not? She’s five to one—that’s not too bad.”
“I don’t bet anymore,” I said.
Pete looked at me like I’d suddenly turned Chinese.
“Yeah, right,” he said. “That’s a good one.”
“I’m serious,” I said. “I gave it up—went cold turkey.”
“Smart man,” Bill said. “Nobody makes a living betting on this game.”
“Yeah, well I guess I’m not gonna make a living at it then,” Pete said, “because I’m gonna take this horse down.”
Steve and Rob stood up and followed Pete.
“I’m not gonna watch this horse win and not have any money on it,” Steve said.
“I’m game,” Rob said.
“I have to use the john,” Alan said. “On my way back maybe I’ll just make a small wager.”
He winked at Bill as he passed by.
“So lemme ask you something,” I said to Bill when we were alone. “When we get this horse, when are we gonna run her again? I mean you’re gonna put her in a race by next week, right?”
“I don’t know about
“What do you mean?” I said.
“Well, next week might be a little too soon,” he said. “We’ll have to see how she comes out of this race, then we might want to get her on the track a few times, get some works into her—”
“So why can’t you do that by next week? I mean I’ve seen trainers run horses back two days after the claim.”
“Yeah, and then they have to lay the horse up for six months because they ran him into the ground. No, we’re gonna take it a little easier than that with Sunshine Brandy—especially because she’s a filly. With the girls you gotta be a little more gentle than with the boys. On the other hand, I like what I’ve seen of this horse so far—I really like it. She has a nice easy stride, a good pedigree, a good age too. Filly, lightly raced. She didn’t run as a two-year-old and when she turns four next year I think she’ll really have an edge. Yep, I think this horse has a chance to do something in state-bred allowance company.”
“And then we’re gonna enter her in some big stakes races, right?”
“Well, we don’t want to get ahead of ourselves now, do we?” he said. “I think we’d be happy if we got into allowance company and ran a couple of good races.”
“Why would we be happy then?”
“Because that would mean the horse was running good. That’s the most we could hope for, right?”
“No. The most we could hope for is for her to win a Breeder’s Cup race.”
“Well, that sure is ambitious.”
“Why?”
