Venom (8 page)

I shake my head, trying to clear the confusion.

“Unless you're not feeling up to it...,” she says, misunderstanding.

“No, that's fine. I'm fine. I'll come early.” I shake my head again and say, “Water in my ear!”

“I hate it when that happens!” Em says as she finishes coiling the hose. “There's more iced tea in the fridge. I need a drink before we do hay and water.”

Several hours into the party at the pit, Wee Jimmy is singing a rude song at the top of his lungs.

“Get down off that table,” Scampy says, gesturing with a beer bottle in his hand. “I don't need any broken bones. I need you to work tomorrow!”

Wee Jimmy pays no attention. “Have a piece of pie, Jacob,” Grandma says, holding out a wedge of cherry pie to Scampy.
Scampy seems to consider whether he should keep on at Jimmy or take the pie. The pie wins. I know how he feels. My mouth waters. I've already had two hot dogs and a piece of pie, but there's always room for more pie. I reach across the picnic table and cut myself another piece.

Grandma swats at my hand, and the precious cargo nearly slides off the spatula before I can get it safely to my plate. “You've already had a piece!” she says.

“Stretch is a growing boy,” Scampy says. “Let him eat.”

There are two groups of people at the barbecue. Those of us who have no hope of being small enough to be jockeys, and the fine-boned men who look longingly at all the food spread out on the tables. The smells drifting up from the barbecues—roast pork and sizzling steaks and barbecued salmon drizzled in butter and herbs—must drive them nuts. Some of the jocks eat more than others, but it's no secret that those with the biggest appetites pay the price later. They either
starve themselves after a big party or find ways to get rid of the food they've eaten.

“I only brought two pies. Spencer can eat pie at home any time he wants.”

“I'll share with someone,” I offer, though I don't really want to give up a single bite.

Em slides onto the bench beside me. “Like me?” she says, grinning.

Sharing suddenly seems like a great idea. “Here,” I say, pushing the plate into the space between us.

We attack the piece of pie from both sides, and moments later only a few crumbs are left. Em takes care of these by licking her finger and sliding it over the plate. She holds out her moist finger, covered with crumbs. “Want the rest?”

“Thanks, I'll pass.”

Up on the table, Wee Jimmy is swaying slightly. “Jimmy! Get off that table right now!” Scampy bellows.

“Yes, sir!” Jimmy salutes and sits down in the middle of the table. Two half-empty glasses tip over, and sticky liquids slosh
across the table. Two other exercise riders appear on either side of Jimmy and link their arms through his.

“Come on, Jimmy boy, time to go home,” one of them says. “I'll call us a cab.”

“A fine idea,” Scampy agrees. “See you in the morning!”

As the three riders make their way unsteadily toward the parking lot, Scampy says, “He'll be hurting tomorrow.”

I'm chuckling when I feel a sharp jab in my ribs. Em's bony elbow pokes me again. She tips her head sideways. “Coming?”

I have no idea where she wants to go. Not that I'm going to argue. “We have some stuff to finish off,” she says to nobody in particular. Nobody seems to care.

We head back toward the barns. As soon as we're out of sight, Em grabs my arm. She changes direction and breaks into a jog.

“What are you—”

“Shh. Come on.”

Em leads me to a bench overlooking the river. Cool. It's late and I'm alone in the
dark with Em. I wonder if she expects me to put my arm around her or something. My mouth goes dry.

“I've been waiting all day to get you alone.”

This sounds like a classic “Let's make out” line.

Em, though, seems to have other ideas.

“While you were recovering, I've been watching Tony.”

My stomach twists. So
that's
why she wants me alone.

“You are right about him. He's sneaky.”

“What did he do?”

“For one thing, when he leaves work at Scampy's, he doesn't always go home.”

“You've been following him?”

“How else was I supposed to find out what he's up to?”

I think of Tony's grip on my shoulder and the time he hit me.

“You shouldn't have done that alone. He could be dangerous.”

Em laughs. “Tony? He might be a cheater, but I don't think he's dangerous.”

I'm not so sure. “So where does he go?” I imagine Em sneaking down dark alleys and waiting outside sleazy bars.

“Not far. He spends a lot of time in Big Joe's barn.”

“You're kidding.” Not many people voluntarily spend time with the trainer lots of us refer to as Big Jerk. “Why?”

“I don't know. Tony kind of snuck in there when he thought nobody was watching.”

“How long did he stay?”

I feel her shrug in the dark. She's sitting very close to me. My arm acts on its own. It stretches out along the back of the bench. My hand settles gently on her shoulder. My chest squeezes. I think I'm going to have a heart attack.

Em shifts ever so slightly closer. She definitely does not pull away. Wow. I nearly forget what we're talking about. When Em speaks again, her voice is softer. Warmer.

“I had work to do. I couldn't hang around. But one day he went to Joe's at least three different times.”

“What did he say when he came back?”

“Either nothing, or he'd lie and say he'd been to the café or something.”

“Big Joe. I think we need to go to Big Joe's office.”

Beside me, Em shivers. “That's what I was thinking.”

“When?”

We can hear laughter and music in the distance. The party is still going on over at the pit.

“What about right now?” Em asks.

“Now? Like this minute?” I'm finding it very cozy here on the bench beside Em.

“When else are we going to be here together in the middle of the night?”

She has a point.

“Okay, then. Let's go.”

I don't feel nearly as confident as I sound.

Big Joe's shedrow is just like everyone else's. One row of box stalls faces another. A wide aisle runs down the middle. At one end, Joe has converted a box stall into an
office by replacing the stall door with a real one.

Em and I are outside the door when she grabs my arm and points. Light shines through the crack under the door.

We both freeze and stop breathing. Low voices come from behind the door. I want to bolt, but Em has a death grip on my arm. She moves—but not in the direction I want to run. Em ducks under the stall guard and into the stall right next to Big Joe's office.

I have no choice. I follow. Inside the stall, a horse pulls its head away from the hay net long enough to give us each a sniff. More interested in food, he turns his attention back to his hay.

The steady munching resumes and, as always, it calms my nerves. Em leans against the stall wall dividing us from Big Joe's office. The walls go up about ten feet. The bottom five feet are built with thick planks, strong enough to withstand a horse's kick. Above that, plywood takes over.

Big Joe hasn't bothered to build a ceiling over his office. Even though the two men on the other side of the wall are speaking quietly, it isn't hard to make out what they are saying. Big Joe's deep voice and slight accent are unmistakable.

“What do you mean we can't do it next week?”

“The damned kid is back.” It's Tony. So it's true. He has been hanging out with Big Joe. “And he's patched things up with Scampy.”

“Crap. It was good news when the boy got fired. Better news when he got hurt.”

“Pansy ass. He'll screw up again and tick the old man off. It's just a matter of time.”

“Tall boy. Big nose.” The men laugh at this as if it's really funny. I touch my nose. Em smiles. She reaches over, takes my hand and gives it a squeeze.

“What if the horse runs on the weekend?”

“Without a little help? Dead last, would be my bet,” Tony says.

“So that could be good. If we do that mare of Roger's this weekend and leave Lordy alone, we can come back to him next time. Long odds are good.”

Tony coughs. He really should quit smoking.

“Thing is,” Tony says after he hacks up something disgusting, “Scampy is worried about the horse. I don't know how long he'll keep him around if he runs real bad. He's too damned soft on his horses. And that kid keeps going on about how there's a problem. I've heard him talking to Em.”

“Hey—we've made our money back and then some. How about we do Lordy once more. Then we move on. Who cares what Scampy does with him after that? That new filly you found has potential.”

Tony makes a noise that sounds half grunt and half snort. This triggers another coughing fit.

“It's late,” he says when he recovers. “I've gotta go say my good-byes at the party. I've got work in the morning.”

The light in the office goes out, plunging the stall into shadow. The only light on now is a single bulb down at the other end of the barn. We press ourselves against the back wall of the stall and listen. The office door bangs shut and Tony and Big Joe head off down the barn aisle.

“Let's go,” Em whispers from the shadows beside me.

I duck out under the stall guard. Em is right behind me. I reach for the doorknob. Locked. Em grabs the back of my shirt and pulls me back into the stall.

“What are we going to do?” I whisper.

“Up there,” Em answers.

I look up to where she's pointing. She wants us to climb over the wall and drop down into Big Joe's office.

“Give me a boost,” she says, turning her back to me and bending a leg.

“Are you serious?”

“Of course I'm serious. Hurry up.”

I grab her lower leg and knee and whisper, “One, two, three.” I lift and she jumps. She gets a good grip on the top of the wall and pulls herself up and over. I hear her drop down into the office on the other side.

I scramble up by climbing on the hay rack and then reaching over to grab the top of the wall. A moment later, I drop down into the dark office beside Em.

“I could have opened the door for you,” she whispers.

I'm glad it's dark so she can't see me blush. “That wouldn't have been nearly as much fun,” I whisper back. The truth is, I didn't want her to think I was a wimp. Em had climbed over the wall like it was something she did every day.

“Fun? I'm glad you're having fun,” she says. “Now what? Should we put the light on?” she asks.

“Too dangerous. Someone might see.”

On the other side of the wall, the horse in the box stall snorts. We both jump.

“Did you bring a flashlight?” I ask.

“There's a good idea. Why didn't you think of that before?”

“Me? I didn't know we were going to—”

“Shh. They might have a little fridge in here.”

“Why would we care if they have—”

“Shh.” Em touches her finger to my lips. “Listen.”

Sure enough, we can hear a low hum.

The room is small, and it doesn't take long to find the squat bar fridge. It's against the wall we just climbed over. We're lucky we didn't land on it when we jumped.

Em opens the fridge door and a wedge of light cuts across the floor. It's not much, but it makes it easier to see the desk, a small bookshelf, a
TV
and a filing cabinet. There's also the usual jumble of buckets and spare bits of tack, a couple of brushes and stacks of papers everywhere. One wall of the office
is plastered with photos of naked women Big Joe has cut out of magazines.

“Quit staring. We have work to do,” Em says. She starts looking through the papers on the desk.

I look down, into the fridge. Beer. Half a sub sandwich. Something slimy in a plastic container. “I wonder what this—” I reach in for the sandwich container, ready to make a joke about Big Joe's eating habits when I see something behind it. A container with a strange label. I pull it out and read it again to make sure I haven't made a mistake.

“Venom,” I say.

“What? I don't even know what we're looking for,” Em says.

“I do.” I hold the container out to her. “Venom?” she says.

I open the lid; inside is an unlabeled vial.

“Venom? Does Big Joe have a horse called Venom?” Em asks.

“Not that I know of,” I answer. “But I don't think the label has anything to do
with a horse's name. I think that's what's in the vial.”

“Like poison? He's poisoning horses? But that wouldn't make a horse run faster.”

“Don't you remember that trainer in the southern US somewhere? The guy who injected cobra venom into a horse's knee?”

“Oh my god! Do you think that's what they're up to?”

My head spins. I have no idea what they're up to. I have to check on the Internet to see exactly what that other trainer did. If I remember right, the nerve block allowed injured horses to run because they couldn't feel any pain.

I'm not exactly sure why Tony would want to do that to someone else's horse. Messing with a horse like that would also mess with the odds, though. If an unlikely horse ran better, it could pay off if someone knew to bet on the horse. But if this is the game they are playing, and we have found the evidence we are looking for, what do we do next? If we take the vial away, they'll know someone has discovered their secret.

Em has obviously had a similar thought, because she's pulled a syringe out of a box on the shelf behind Big Joe's desk. She pierces the rubbery top of the vial with the needle and draws up a little of the liquid into the syringe. Then she puts the vial back into the sandwich box and the box back into the fridge.