great legs, magic hands, and he?s all of twenty, soakin? wet.”
“Very impressive,” I said. “So why the nudge?”
“He was riding Disaway on Sunday,” Callahan said, and headed toward the little guy.
The jockey, Scoot Impastato, was a man in a child?s body, with a voice that sounded like it was still
trying to decide whether it was going to change or not. Right now it was kind of low choirboy. But the
boy had hands made of stainless steel.
“Hey, Mr. Callahan,” he said as we at down.
“How they runnin?, Scoot?” Callahan asked.
“So-so,” the youngster answered. “You know how it goes— some days it don?t pay to answer the
call.”
“Still upset about the race Sunday?” Callahan said. He was fishing. I don?t know much about horse
racing but I know fishing when I hear it.
The kid chuckled. “Which one?” he asked. “1 was up four times and I ran out of the money four
times.” He seemed to be taking it in stride.
“Well, maybe it was some little thing, y?know, maybe you handled them a little different than usual
and they got pissed. You know Thoroughbreds.”
He laughed aloud. “I oughta,” he said. He poured half his cup of coffee into an empty water glass and
filled the cup with cream until it looked like weak chocolate milk, the way New Orleanians like it.
He added some sugar and kept talking as he stirred it up. “Once at Belmont I was up on Fancy Dan,
fifty wins in two seasons, the horse couldn?t lose. He went off a three-to-two favourite. The bell rings,
the gate pops, he just stands there? I?m whackin? him with the bat, I?m bootin? hell outta him, I?m
cussin? him, I?m sweettalkin? him. He ain?t goin? nowhere, he just stands there lookin? at the crowd
and smellin? the grass. For all I know, he?s still standin? there.”
“So what happened with Disaway?”
Definitely fishing.
“Crapped out,” he said with an aimless shrug. “He came outta that three stall like Man o? War and led
the pack all the way around the backstretch; then we come into the clubhouse and all of a sudden he
starts fallin? asleep on me. Midnight Star comes by like we was stopped for gas, then half the field
passes us. I guess he just decided to walk home. I was yellin? at him just to keep him awake.”
“How?d he look in the morning workout?”
“Fine. Not too spooky. Ran good. Two-tenths ahead of his usual speed.”
“Well,” Callahan said, “at least he got out of the gate.”
“Sunday was like that. Seems every horse I rode wanted to be someplace else for the day. Well, it?s
