The Bookwoman's Last Fling (22 page)

By eight-thirty I had Rick's barn number, 15, and his full name. The name he went by, working for Cappy Wilson, was Richard Lawrence. He was easy to trace: The fedora was a dead giveaway, he was the only guy on the racetrack who wore one like that, and the night man on the stable gate told me where to look. I walked into Cappy's shedrow and found three ginneys sitting in a tack room watching TV. They looked up when I appeared suddenly in the door and one of them said, “You lookin' for work, we all filled up.”

“I'm lookin' for Richard Lawrence.”

“Lots a luck. He left here with money in his pocket. Be lucky if he makes it back tomorrow morning.”

“Tell ya one thing,” said an older man across the room. “He doesn't make it back, he can keep walking.”

“I take it Richard's got himself a drinking problem.”

“That's like saying the
Titanic
sprung a slight leak.”

The buddy to his left said, “He's burned his bridges. Cappy gave him a job when nobody else would, but there's a limit to how much bullshit even a good guy will put up with.”

I talked to them through the screen. “Anybody know what time he left?”

“It was after feeding. Maybe six o'clock.”

“Any idea where he went?”

“Try the bars out on the drag. I don't think he'd go far without stopping somewhere, and once he stops he's there for the night.”

“Thanks.”

I was halfway down the shedrow when I heard the door open and the voice of the helpful one behind me. “Try the Hideaway,” he said: “It's just like it says, hidden away off San Pablo about six blocks south. You better go now if he's a friend of yours. Water's full of sharks.”

I got my car; rode out to San Pablo; turned south.

It was a rough-looking gin mill on the side street with a flickering red neon sign. I pushed open the heavy wooden door and went into a smoky room full of shrill babble. When the bartender came over I fingered a fifty and said, “I'm looking for Richard Lawrence.”

“He left here about fifteen minutes ago.”

“Was he alone?”

His eyes shifted and I folded the fifty and put it in my shirt pocket. “I'd really like to give you this, pal, but it's important for me to find him ASAP.”

“I know what you mean. Rick talks too much when he gets a few drinks.”

“Tell me about it.”

“He had three guys who came in with him and they were with him when he left.”

“Did Rick say where they were going?”

“He made some noise about the Nineteenth Hole and buying drinks for his pals.”

“So where can I find this Nineteenth Hole?”

“Three blocks thataway and hidden like this one, half a block down.”

I gave him the fifty and walked along the street. At the third corner I stopped, looked into a dark narrow street, and saw a crummy little dive across the street in the middle of the block. The whole block was deserted as I started across: not a soul stirring, not a voice or a footstep anywhere. I blended into the shadows and felt my way along. I had gone maybe thirty yards when I heard the sounds of a man hurting. I heard him retch and he tumbled out of a doorway. Rick had never made it as far as the bar.

He was trying to walk—two steps, three, and down he went, crashing into a row of garbage cans and rolling over on his back. When he looked up I was standing over him.

“Got no mo' money.” He coughed and spat up something red. “Goway, I got none left.”

I crouched beside him, rocking back on my heels. His face was still in darkness but I could see he had lost his hat.

“You know who they were?”

“Hell difference that make now?”

“Tell me and maybe I'll go get the money back.”

“Sure you will. That goddam Everett will eat you for breakfast.”

I got up and kicked around in the darkness till I found his hat. “Here,” I said, tossing it in his direction. “See you around, loser.”

“Where's my other bill? You promised me another bill.”

“You really do have brass balls, Rick. Let's just call us even and I'll try to forget you said that. Maybe by morning I can forget you altogether.”

“I knew you'd welsh me out. You're a liar just like them.”

“Like who, Rick?”

“Them three as…” He belched. “…sholes.”

“Tell me who they are.”

“So you can do
what
?”

“Look, I'm not gonna stand out here all night arguing with you. Let 'em keep the money, and you can go back to wallowing in your own puke.”

“Wait a minute!” he yelled.

I walked away.

“God
dammit,
wait a minute!”

I wanted to keep going but I could almost feel his desperation across that black gulf. He said my name, just “Janeway,” and his voice ached like the rest of him. But I had known drunks in my life and this was no time for sympathy. “You got anything to say to me, say it now.”

“I'm trying to tell you if you'd just wait a minute. They live in Barn 18.”

Racetrackers.

I stood there for a moment: heard him struggling to get a leg up in the dark.

“Parker and Sidney always go together. Everett's a big mother; a professional badass.”

“You know where they are now?”

He tried to laugh, but his voice cracked and turned into a sob and he broke down. I let him cry for a minute or more. Then I touched his shoulder. “Where'd they go, Rick?”

“…sonsabitches took my money…went back to the racetrack.”

“How much they take from you?”

“Whatever I had left from them two bills.”

“Okay, let's go get it back. And, Rick…please try not to throw up in my car.”

 

By the time we got to the racetrack he was on his last legs. I left him on his bunk and walked over to 18 alone. I could see the narrow line of light under the door as I came into their shedrow. I could hear them yukking it up through the closed door. Stupid, stupid guys. A complaint would have them all in Dutch tomorrow, maybe deep-sixed out of here. They probably knew Rick wouldn't complain, but right now I didn't know or care.

The night was still as I approached the tack room door. Far away I heard laughter and someone yelling in Spanish. I heard the nicker of horses as I walked past their stalls. I was almost happily calm as I pushed open the door and went in without knocking. They were sitting around a folding table with the money there between them, and I could see the shock on their faces. I said, “Hi, boys,” and my eyes took in the money and let it register in my brain. I could see the big bill and some chicken feed, about $135 total.

“I'm looking for Everett,” I said, but I had already singled him out. I knew he'd be the big lumbering guy with muscles up his ass. “That's my money you got on the table, Everett. I do appreciate you boys hanging on to it for me, but now I came over to pick it up before something else happens to it.”

Everett got up from his chair. “Now that is total bullshit, whoever the hell you are.”

“My name's Janeway, Everett. I work over in 26.”

“He walks hots for Sandy Standish,” one of the others said.

“I don't give a fiddler's fuck who he walks for, he can't just come busting in here and jack us around.” He looked at me and said, “You must be fuckin' crazy.”

“Correction, Everett, I
am
in here, and right now I'm getting annoyed at what you three did to my pal. That was my money he had on him tonight.” I looked incredulously from one to another to another. “You guys really want to push this?”

“What do you think, we're gonna let you take our money on the word of some drunk?”

“You still don't get it, Everett. All that's stopping me are two ladyfingers and a bucket of dog turds, which would be you.”

He snorted, maybe a laugh, a bluff, or a plugged nose. But I could see that Parker and Sidney were already nervous. One said, “Let him have the fuckin' money.” Everett said, “In a pig's eye,” and for a moment nobody moved. I turned my face slightly toward Everett and watched his eyes. “Tell you what, Everett,” I said, “I'm gonna ask your two clowns which one wants to pick up my money and hand it here. Then we can let this all blow over and be friends again.” But Everett said, “Bullshit,” and I added, “Otherwise, we can let the fellas in the racing office figure it out.”

“Goddammit, give him the money, Everett.”

“Shut up, Sid, he can't prove a goddam thing.”

“Or,” I said, “you boys can fill out a change of address for him at the post office and have his mail sent to the city hospital.”

“Big talk for a goddam fool,” Everett said.

Suddenly he made a move toward the table and in that tiny flash of time when his eyes were on the money, I took a step his way and kicked him hard in the balls. He gave a cry of pure agony and slipped to the floor. Parker and Sidney had backtracked all the way to the wall and we watched together as Everett tried to roll over and get up. “I will
kill
your sorry ass,” he whispered, but the moment trickled away and Everett was still down and my sorry ass was still standing. “You,” I said to Sidney. “Pick up the money and hand it to me.” He stood frozen to the spot for about five seconds. “
Now,
” I said, and he leaped to the table and started scooping up the bills.

“Some of that was ours,” Parker said.

“How much?”

Parker said, “The C-note” and Sidney said, “Fifty bucks.”

I shook my head sadly. “You boys can't get anything right. You were lousy thieves and you're lousy fighters, and on top of that you're lousy liars.” I wadded up thirty and threw it on the floor. Damned generous under the circumstances.

At the door I said, “I'll be back if you boys ever hassle my pal again.”

I was in no hurry to get back to Rick; I knew he'd figure things out and come to me if he ever sobered up, so I went to bed and slept all night. In the morning I walked my horses and at some point Sandy blended in beside me. He was in no better mood than the last time I'd seen him. He said, “I want this cleared up, Janeway, I don't know what Sharon expects from me, but I need you out of here by early next week.” I said nothing; just kept turning left. Later I saw him take Ms. Patterson's filly to the track and I heard him tell the jockey to gallop her six furlongs. Ms. P. arrived as Sandy had, out of nowhere. I heard her rich belly laugh and then I saw her, walking around the tow ring and following him up to the backstretch rail. They returned together and I held the filly while Bob gave her a hot soapy bath, rinsed her, and scraped her off. Sandy and Obie took Pompeii Ruler to the track and they huddled there in serious conversation. I started the filly around and Ms. P. sat on a folding chair to observe her baby's cooling out. Twenty minutes later Bob took off the cooler, covered her with a light sheet, and said to me, “Give her another fifteen minutes.”

Sandy and Obie were still up at the rail, talking. At some point Bob took the sheet off and I walked the filly in the warm sunlight. She was truly a beautiful animal, gleaming brightly in the new day. Most of the time even I could tell a really classy horse. So I thought, but what did I know? I thought of Seabiscuit, an ordinary-looking champion of the thirties, whose trainer finally figured him out and soundly defeated War Admiral in their celebrated match race. You never knew, with horses or women. Ms. P. got up off her chair and followed me on another few rounds like a doting mother. I put her baby in the stall, Bob picked out her feet, rubbed her down, and Ms. Patterson watched over the webbing. I had nothing to lose so I ventured a comment.

“This is one special lady you've got here.”

“She sure is. She's a dreamboat.”

“She's got the look of eagles.” I had read that line somewhere long ago, it seemed like something to say, and my risk saying it now was small.

“Yes, she does. What's your name?”

“Cliff.”

“Well, Cliff, it's good to meet somebody who knows a good one when he sees her.”

“I've got a hunch about her,” I said to keep things going, hopefully my way. “I think she'll be a great one.”

“You're a man after my own heart. Are you going with us to Santa Anita?”

“Don't know. Haven't asked Sandy yet.”

“If you want to go, go, Sandy won't mind. I like it when people who handle my horses appreciate them. Then it's not just a job and the horses know that and they do better.”

“Yes, ma'am, I believe that as well.”

“You rub them too or just walk?”

“Just walk, but that's fine. Gives me time to get to know them, they're not just another leg to be wrapped. I talk to them in the tow ring.”

She looked amused. “What do you say to them?”

“How pretty they are, how they stand out. Stuff like that.”

“Do they answer you?”

“Oh sure, all the time.”

“How do they do that?”

“Sometimes with a friendly nuzzle.” I remembered the horse on Sharon's farm and I stretched a point. “Once I had one who used to lay his head on my shoulder.”

She watched as Bob put a shine on her filly. “I think with your attitude you could bring us luck. I'll talk to Sandy.”

“When are you leaving?”

“Sometime soon. I imagine you could come with us if you wanted to.”

“That's very generous, Ms. Patterson…”

“Call me Barbara.”

Before I could call her anything, Sandy and Obie arrived from the track. Barbara said, “Cliff's going south with us, Sandy; isn't that great? He loves my baby and I've got a hunch about him; I think he'll bring us luck.” Sandy turned to the wall and said nothing. He felt the filly's legs and frosted me with a look as he crawled under the webbing and walked away with Barbara. They were barely out of earshot when Bob began razzing me.

“Oh, I just LOOOVE talking to them. I whisper sweet nothings in their pointy little ears, I kiss them here and there, just every-little-old-where.”

I laughed with him.

He brushed off his horse's legs. “You
dog.
”

Noonday came and went.

Sandy and Barbara seemed to have left the premises. I called Sharon from the pay phone in the kitchen and told her what was happening. On her end, the executor had finally approved the move to Santa Anita. “I think they're leaving in a couple of days,” she said. “They want to get the horses accustomed to the track as soon as possible.”

In the afternoon I pressed my hunt for people who remembered Candice. I walked through the barns and asked my questions; I shot the breeze and congregated with old-timers wherever I found them. So far my hunt had been sporadic, but I'd had such good luck on the first day I thought there had to be others here who had memories of the woman in white. If so I didn't find them. At four o'clock I arrived back in my tack room, tired from the long day. I kicked off my shoes and lay on my bunk, thinking I'd rest a few minutes. When I opened my eyes the clock said five-thirty and someone was tapping on my screened door.

Rick.

“It's not locked, come on in.”

He sat on the chair facing my bed, a ruddy-faced man, jowly and aging badly with dull washed-out eyes. This was my first good look at him in the daylight, and he looked like he'd lived a hundred hard years. A shiner was growing under one eye and both lips were split. His nose was fat and red. In a year he'd be lucky to be alive. His first words were raspy and predictable.

“You got my money?”

“It's right there on the table.”

He looked at it. “What's the catch?”

“Hey,
I
keep my word. Now take it and get out of here before I change my mind.”

He picked it up with trembling fingers. But he didn't move from the chair.

“I hear you put Everett on the ground.”

“So what? Everett struts around but he's got a paper ass.” I closed my eyes. “I've seen a hundred guys like him. All of 'em put together don't amount to a sudden fart in a hurricane.”

A long minute passed. I knew he was still there because I could hear him breathing. And I knew sure as hell what would come next.

He worked himself up to it. “What about my other hundred?”

“Don't press your luck, Rick. Take your money and scram.”

“I could still tell you some things, Janeway.” His voice trembled now and I knew he had something, the same way I'd known it when I first met him; my gut told me so. I knew this but I wasn't going to play his patsy again. “Well, this time I won't lose any sleep thinking about it,” I said. “Go drink yourself silly.”

“I'm through with all that. Gonna get my act together.”

“Famous last words of every drunk everywhere. But why tell me? What do I care?”

I heard him get up. I opened my eyes. He was standing at the doorway looking back at me. “You're a hard son of a bitch, Janeway.”

“Yep. Screw me once, I remember it forever. I don't turn the other cheek, Rick.”

“What if I told you…?”

I sat up on the bed. “Tell me what?”

“Everything you want to know.”

“That would be great, but how do you know what I want and how could I believe you?”

“I'm counting on you to know the truth when you hear it. Or I give you this money back and you owe me nothing.”