Bill looked at me funny, like he was confused about something.
“You’re only paying thirty thousand-plus dollars for this horse,” he said. “A champion race horse costs a lot more than that.”
“John Henry only cost about twenty thousand dollars and how many millions of dollars did he win?”
“John Henry was a rare exception. For every John Henry there’re a thousand horses who don’t win anything.”
“Maybe this horse will be another John Henry.”
“Unfortunately,” he said, “I don’t think that’s going to happen.”
“It will,” I said. “You’ll see.”
Pete came back from betting and started talking to Bill. Bill’s negative attitude pissed me off. Now I realized why he was always at the bottom of the trainer standings.
The horses were coming onto the track for the second race. I stood up and stared at Sunshine Brandy, the number three horse. Bill was right about one thing—she was in great shape, all right. She had big muscular legs, a nice shiny coat, and she was walking on her toes and her ears were perked up. I wished I had binoculars with me so I could get a better look. Pete must’ve been reading my mind because he said, “Want a better look, Tommy?” and he was holding out his binoculars for me.
“That’s all right,” I said.
Pete was a loser and I was afraid if I touched anything he owned part of him might rub off on me.
Alan, Steve and Rob came back from betting and sat in their seats. I was still standing up, watching the horses pass the grandstand in a line, each one next to a pony. Sunshine Brandy looked so much classier than the other horses, like she didn’t belong on the same racetrack. She had a good jockey on her too—John Velazquez.
I glanced at the tote board—there were only six minutes to post time.
I sat down, but I couldn’t stop looking at Sunshine Brandy. The race was six furlongs so the starting gate was on the backstretch, on the other side of the track. Velazquez was jogging her toward the gate now, taking it nice and easy, airing her out. Even from far away she stood out from the field like a champion.
The horses were going into the starting gate. I looked at the tote board—there was less than a minute to post. I stood up on my seat to get a better view. Then the track announcer said “They’re off!” and Sunshine Brandy, with the pink and red silks, shot out of the gate like a bullet. It was like she was pulling Velazquez along, doing all the work. She had a three-length lead, but it was an easy three-length lead. If Velazquez wanted to, it was obvious he could’ve opened up five or ten lengths on the field and the horse wouldn’t’ve even broken a sweat.
Alan, Pete and the other guys were screaming their heads off, but I was just standing there, watching. Rounding the far turn, Velazquez let it out a notch and, suddenly, Sunshine Brandy opened up five lengths on the field. She looked like she was running even easier than before. It was like this was a workout for her while the jockeys on the other horses were whipping and driving, trying to keep up. In the stretch, Sunshine Brandy still had that big lead and Velazquez still hadn’t used the whip. He was sitting straight up on her with a stranglehold. She still had about a five-length lead, but to me she looked like Secretariat in the ’73 Belmont—all alone on the track, a champ. Then, about fifty yards from the wire, she went down. It happened in a split second. Maybe she took a bad step, or maybe one of her legs just snapped, because she stopped short and Velazquez went flying over her head, landing on his ass, and then the hind legs of the horse went off the ground and the horse tipped over, just missing Velazquez.
Suddenly, the whole crowd went quiet. The other horses ran by, but nobody was paying attention to the race anymore. Everybody was looking at Sunshine Brandy, trying to stand up on three legs. It was obvious she’d snapped one of her front legs now—the bone was sticking out through the skin, all covered with blood.
For the first time since before the race started I looked at the other guys. They were staring down at the racetrack in shock.
“I’m really sorry, fellas,” Bill Tucker said. “I don’t know what else to say.”
“Don’t apologize,” Alan said. “It’s not your fault.”
“I still
“What the hell are
“I know, I know, but I still feel responsible.”
I slapped Bill on the back.
“Forget about it,” I said. “Let’s just thank our lucky stars the horse didn’t finish the race. At least now we can take our money and go claim another horse.”
Bill looked at me and the other guys were staring at me too. I wondered what the hell was going on.
“I’m afraid that’s not the way it works,” Alan said.
“What do you mean?” I said. “It’s our money. We can do whatever we want with it.”
“It’s not our money anymore,” Pete said. “According to rules, once somebody puts a slip in the claiming box to claim a horse and the race goes off, the horse belongs to the new owner.”
I stared at Pete for a few seconds, then I started to laugh.
“That’s a good one,” I said. “You guys almost had me going there a second.”
“It’s true,” Pete said.
“Come on, you gotta be kidding me,” I said. Nobody was laughing. “What about all the insurance we bought? The insurance must cover this.”
“The policy kicks in
I looked over at Bill Tucker and I could tell by his face that they weren’t bullshitting. Then I looked back toward the track. An ambulance had pulled up next to the horse and the workers were setting up the screen so the fans didn’t have to see them give the horse a lethal injection. In a couple of minutes we were going to own a thirty-thousand-dollar piece of horsemeat.
Suddenly, I lost it. I remember screaming and cursing like a wild man, running through the grandstand, pushing people out of my way. Somehow I made it back into my car. Next thing I knew, I was driving out of the racetrack, going as fast as my car would go, running red lights and swerving. I pulled over on a side street and took deep breaths, trying to get a hold of myself.
The horse was dead. It was still impossible to believe. One second she looked like the best horse in the world, the next she was on the ground and they were getting ready to give her the needle.
I needed to unwind. I spotted a bowling alley on Rockaway Boulevard and I pulled into the parking lot. I bowled for about an hour. I was just letting off steam, tossing the ball down the lane on two or three bounces to the pins. Afterwards, I felt better, more like my old self. Bowling had cost eleven dollars and now I had only three dollars and some change left to my name. I’d have to figure out a way to get some more money soon, that’s all. I knew I could talk Frank into giving me another advance on my salary, and then I’d have to figure out a way to get twenty grand, or however much I would need to buy another race horse.
It was a little after four o’clock. Driving over the Queensboro Bridge, I was looking forward to going to work tonight, getting my life back on track.
I exited the bridge onto First Avenue and headed uptown. I found a good spot near East Sixty-second Street and walked uptown, toward my apartment. Turning the corner onto Sixty-fourth Street, I noticed two cop cars in front of my building. I turned around and walked back toward my car, as fast as I could.
I had no idea how the cops had caught on to me and I didn’t have time to think about it. I had to get away, maybe leave the city, then I remembered I only had three dollars and some change.
Avoiding First Avenue, I walked up Sixty-second Street to Second Avenue and headed uptown. On Seventy- first, I cut over two long blocks to York. The sun had set and it was almost totally dark outside. I went into the vestibule of Janene’s building and rang the buzzer. She didn’t answer. Afraid she wasn’t home, I rang again, pressing down hard with my finger. Then I heard Janene say, “Who is it?”
“Tommy,” I said, relieved.
“Who?”
“Tommy. You remember me, don’t you?”
She didn’t answer for a few seconds. I was about to ring again when she said, “What do you want?”
“I have a surprise for you.”
“What?” she said, like she didn’t hear me.
