Lean on Pete (4 page)

“These are vitamins,” Del said. “And remember, never talk about anything concerning me or my horses or I’ll fire you.”

“Okay,” I said.

“Walk him to that tree and back, and then we’ll get back on the road.”

I nodded and started walking him. When I was done he loaded Pete in and we drove back to the main road and went another ten minutes until we came to a big ranch house where about twenty trucks were parked.

Del drove past them and up to a big red barn and shut off the engine. We got out and unloaded the horses and I followed him inside the barn and we put them in stalls.

“Do you know how to drive?”

“Sort of,” I said.

“You know how to work a clutch?”

“My dad’s truck has a clutch. He lets me drive him around sometimes.”

“This one’s tricky.”

“I’ll be okay,” I said.

“Alright,” he said and handed me the keys.

“Take the truck and trailer down the road away from the house, park it, then clean the shit out the trailer. There’s a shovel and a broom in the bed of my truck. Then come find me.”

I nodded and he walked up towards the house and I got back in the truck and started it. The clutch was going out. I stalled it six or seven times before I finally drove down to where he said and parked it. I shoveled all the shit out of the trailer and threw it into the sagebrush alongside the road. Then I locked the truck, put the keys in my pocket, and walked towards a large group of men who were all wearing cowboy hats and talking Mexican and drinking beer.

Del was standing with them. He had a beer in his hand and was talking to a man who had a patch over his eye. Not long after that another truck and trailer pulled up and three men got out and unloaded four horses.

Del looked around and when he saw me he waved me over.

“That’s who we’re racing,” he said when I got to him.

“Who are they?”

“The old guy is Estrada. He thinks he knows how to train but he don’t. He’s just got money. He owns a ranch twenty miles from here. Talking to him is like hammering a nail into your leg. The guy that owns this place has a few that aren’t too bad. He’s a different story. We’ll see.”

Del took a can of chew from his shirt pocket, knocked it against his leg, and took a dip from it. “Alright,” he said, “let’s get Tumbling Through.”

We walked to the stalls. He put a bridle on him and tied his tongue down with a strap that went over the horse’s tongue and around its lower jaw. Tumbling Through could barely stand still. Del yelled at him, then pulled hard on the bridle to get him to calm down, but even so he wouldn’t. We led him out and walked him down the road.

“Who’s going to ride him?”

“A semi-friend of mine,” Del said.

We stopped in front of the garage and two jockeys stood with helmets on, waiting. They were both dressed in jeans and T-shirts and had protective vests on. Del shook hands with one of them and then that man put a saddle on Tumbling Through. The other jockey did the same to one of the other horses. They both got on and then two men grabbed their lead ropes and led them away.

“Where are they racing?” I asked him.

“A dirt road behind the house. He told me he just graded it and added sand. It used to be a real piece of shit and I told him I wouldn’t come out anymore unless he did something about it.”

“Will he win?”

“Who, Tumbling?”

“Yeah.”

“Shit if I know. Estrada spends some money on his horses. He can’t train worth a fuck but money is money.”

We walked back to where the men stood. There were big coolers of beer and Del bought a can from an old man who was selling them. We went to the fence, leaned against it, and waited for the start of the race. The track was just a straight dirt road that went for maybe six hundred yards. There was an old metal four-horse starting gate and in the middle, near us, was the finish line and there was some sort of camera on one side of it.

I asked Del what it was and he told me it was a photo-finish camera. He said someone almost got killed there a year ago because of an argument over a race that was too close to call. One of the Mexicans said his horse won the race, the other said his did. They gave it to one of them and the loser got so pissed he rammed his truck into the other guy’s truck and totaled it.

“What happened after that?” I asked him.

“The guy who owns this place, the guy with the eye patch, Hector, bought a camera.”

“What about the two guys who were arguing?”

“Who knows? I don’t give a shit.”

In the distance you could see the horses enter the gate and then suddenly the race started. The men around us began yelling. The horses passed me in a flash. Each jockey was hitting his horse with a whip, and one of the jockeys was yelling. It looked pretty close until the end, when the other horse pulled away and beat Tumbling Through.

It took them a while to slow the horses down and they were two hundred yards past us when you could see Tumbling Through having trouble and then finally, in the distance, he stopped and the jockey jumped off. Del finished his beer in a swallow, dropped the can on the ground, and we went out to where the jockey stood trying to calm the horse. Del kneeled down to look at his front right leg.

“I’m cursed,” was all he said and stood up. He took the can of Copenhagen from his pocket. The jockey took the saddle off and said something in Mexican and Del nodded and the jockey left. We walked Tumbling Through back to the barn and put him in the stall next to Pete. He was wet with sweat and was upset and nervous.

Del told me to stay put and left the barn. After a while he came back with two Mexicans I’d never seen.

“He still won’t stand on his leg, Del,” I said.

Del nodded.

“Will he be alright?”

“I don’t know, we’ll see.” He began talking to the other men. After a while he looked over at me. “You can take a break if you want.”

“I don’t need to take a break,” I told him.

“There’s nothing to do right now so go check out the next race, alright?”

“Alright,” I said and then I left the barn.

There were two other races before Lean on Pete’s and both were really exciting. When the last one ended I went back to the barn to find Tumbling Through gone and Del in the other stall with Lean on Pete. He was holding Pete by his upper lip and twisting it. He put a handful of tablets underneath Pete’s tongue and tied the tongue down. Pete started pacing around after that. He couldn’t stand still.

I followed them out and the same jockey who rode Tumbling Through put a saddle on Pete. The whole time Pete got worse with the jitters. Del helped the jockey up and the same two men came and led the two horses down towards the start.

Del walked over to where Estrada was and spoke to him, then took money out of his wallet, counted it, and gave it to a bald-headed man who was standing with them. Estrada did the same and they shook hands, then Del went to the fence, leaned against it, and waited.

When the race went off I could see Lean on Pete pulling away. His head pushed forward and his ears pinned back, and the jockey was yelling at him and hitting him over and over with the whip. There was a great sound to it, the hooves on the dirt, the whips hitting the horses, and the group of men leaning against the fence yelling. I couldn’t believe the jockeys could stay on when the horses were going as fast as they were. Pete led the other horse by twenty feet and pulled farther and farther ahead. It was like he had wheels, like his feet were barely touching the ground. It was the greatest thing I’d ever seen, and when it was over Pete had won. I looked over and I could see Del smiling as Pete coasted down.

The jockey brought Pete back and Del put a lead rope on him and we led him off the track and to the parking lot. Pete was breathing heavy and he was dark with sweat. The jockey jumped down, took off his saddle, and Del and I walked Pete towards the barn.

“Pete’s really fast,” I said excitedly.

“If he didn’t beat that piece of shit I would have slit his throat,” Del said. “He ain’t fast. The other horse is just a pig. We’ll hose him down, then we’ll get the hell out of here before the spics get drunk and want their money back.”

But Del’s voice was lighter and easier. You could tell he was happy. We took Lean on Pete to a concrete pad where there was a garden hose. Del turned it on and sprayed Pete down, then he told me to walk him up the road a half-mile or so to cool him off.

“If he tries to get away just give him a snap on the rope. Pete ain’t much of a fighter.”

I nodded.

“After that, feed him,” he said.

“What does he eat?”

“Two flakes.”

“Of what?”

“You don’t know shit, do you?”

“No,” I said.

“There’s hay in the barn. You’ve seen a bale of hay, haven’t you?”

“I guess.”

“A flake is maybe five inches off one of them. You’ll see it. It comes off like a slice of cheese. Ask one of the spics down there if you get confused. And look, don’t run off anywhere. The second the last race is done we’re loading Pete and getting the fuck out of here.”

“What about Tumbling Through?”

“He bowed a tendon on that race,” Del said and coughed. “I sold him. I got too many fucked-up horses as it is.”

“Is he in a lot of pain?”

“That’s not my problem anymore,” Del said and walked off. I just stood there. I didn’t know what to think so I just took Pete and began walking him along the dirt road away from the barn.

There were fields of alfalfa on both sides of us, and hills of sagebrush behind them. I talked to Pete and told him how fast he was. He was wet, which made his coat shine, and he was still nervous and jittery. But the farther we got away from the house and the people the more settled he became.

I told him who I was and how I wished I was as fast as he was. I told him about Tumbling Through and to be careful of his legs. We stopped a half-mile from the ranch house and I pet him and told him not to worry and he got calmer and calmer and by the time I brought him back to the barn he seemed easy. I put him in a stall and gave him two flakes of hay and made sure he had water. After that I went looking for Del, and I found him near a crowd of men. He was drinking from a half-pint bottle of whiskey, leaning against the fence, looking out at the hills in the distance.

“I think I got it right,” I said when I got to him.

“I won on that last race. Did you see it?”

“I heard it but I didn’t see it.”

“It was close,” he said, still gazing out. I could tell then he was drunk. “You got my keys?”

“Yeah,” I said and handed them to him. “Del, I was wondering if I could get a few bucks to buy some tamales? There’s an old lady walking around selling them.”

He looked at me.

“There’s a lady selling tamales?”

“Yeah.”

“You’ll end up shitting your pants for a week.”

“I’ll be alright,” I said.

“You want your pay, hunh?”

I told him I did.

He went into his billfold and took out five twenty-dollar bills and handed them to me. “There’s two more races. By the end of the second I want you down at the stalls. Don’t fuck around.”

“Okay,” I said and stared at him. I didn’t know what he was doing giving me all that money. It made no sense but I took the bills from him, thanked him, and ran back to the barn. I took the plastic bag I had in my pocket and set in four of the twenties and put the bag in my shoe. I kept the last one in my pocket and found the lady selling tamales and bought five and two Cokes. Then I walked down to the fence line near the starting gate and ate.

I finished eating just before the last race started. The two horses weren’t much past me when something went wrong and the horse closest to me threw the jockey and the jockey went flying into the fence. After the dust settled I could see the jockey laid out on the ground and he wasn’t moving. His clothes and face were covered in dirt and you could see his nose begin to bleed. A few men came and spoke Mexican to him and after a while he answered. They let him lie there for a while, then helped him up. I could see tears welling in his eyes and you could tell it was hard for him to breathe. He was hurt pretty bad, and when he tried to walk he stumbled. He leaned on a guy who was standing next to him and was helped away.

Chapter 6

They took the jockey into the main house and when they did I went to the barn and waited for Del. I was there for a long time with Lean on Pete, just waiting next to him, but Del never showed up. I walked down to the truck to make sure he wasn’t waiting for me there, and that’s when I saw him in the distance, talking to some men. I went over and stood next to him.

“Where the hell you been?”

“I’ve been at the barn like you told me.”

He shook his head and took a drink off a can of beer, then started talking with the men again. After a while he said goodbye and we started towards the barn. We led Lean on Pete out and loaded him into the trailer and I got in the passenger side of the truck and Del started it up and we left.

“Well,” he said and coughed. “We got out of there just in time.”

“Why’s that?” I asked him.

“I won three grand, that’s why. If you stay too long someone gets drunk and they start blaming you. I’m the only white guy there. It starts with that, then they start accusing you of cheating.”

“Of cheating?”

“Yeah.”

“How do you cheat?”

“How do you cheat?”

“Yeah.”

“Everyone cheats,” he said and turned on the radio. We drove for over an hour without saying anything, then we pulled off the highway and drove on a two-lane road. We stayed on that and then turned onto a dirt driveway that led us to a house. It was pretty dark by then, there was only a single light coming off the porch. Del took a flashlight from the glove box and we unloaded Pete and put him in a pasture. There were other horses there and Pete let out a yell when Del let go of him. He went running off into the dark towards them.

“Where are we?” I asked him.

“It’s my brother’s house,” Del said.

“Are we going inside?”

“I’m sleeping in the cab of the truck. You can sleep in the bed or anywhere else you can find.”