Bullet Work

by Steve O'Brien

  “Jake, I’ve been thinking, and I don’t think we can wait any longer.”

  “They tried to kill the filly last night.”

  “What?” Dan shouted, jumping out of his chair. “I thought we had her under watch. Jake, this is bullshit. It has to stop. I’m going to—”

  “Already done. I’m going to pay. Son of a bitch, if I ever get my hands on him.”

  “Jake, I think it’s the right thing. I’ll cover the cost of my horses.”

  “Nope. I’ve got it.”

  “What happened?”

  “Guy threw a bunch of Japanese yew in the feed tub.”

  “What the hell is that?”

  “Beats the shit out of me. Dancett says it’s some kind of plant, but if eaten by a horse, it kills them. Killed Bob Crater’s mare, Breaking Dawn, and Tom Posten lost a horse last night, too. Same thing. Dirty motherfucker.”

  Bob Crater was one of Jake’s biggest owners. Jake had half a dozen of Crater’s horses at any one time. The call Jake had to make to Crater this morning made Dan shutter. He probably lost an owner because of his pride, certainly lost day money because he had an extra empty stall and probably more to follow when Crater yanked the rest.

  Jake continued, “Doc Dancett was here this morning. Said he’d read about this kind of thing in vet school but had never seen it in action. Apparently, it slows down the heart rate of the horse to the point that it just drops dead. Found traces of it in Posten’s feed tub and figured Crater’s mare was the same.”

  “Why do you think they were after the filly? I thought Beth and Jorge had twenty-four-hour watch on her.”

  “They do. Aly Dancer was in that stall yesterday. I had Beth move her. Trying to get her used to new surroundings and changes. Bastard had his sights on her, sure as hell.”

  “Jesus, Jake. What if you hadn’t moved her? Good lord.”

  Jake was silent. Dan knew it killed him to give in to the extortion. If it was just him, he wouldn’t give in. The idea that property in his possession was harmed made all the difference. Dan had visions of Jake standing bloody in front of those high school bullies, saying, “I’m not paying”—but pride can take you down alleys you can’t escape.

  “Jake, I know you hate it, but it’s the right thing.”

  “Whatever. Gotta go.”

    

  Jake hung up the phone and leaned back, his hands covering his face. The catch up for the safety fee to the start of the meet, plus the juice he owed Ginny ate up all his cash. Despite the purse from the maiden win and his cash on the bet, Jake was nearly underwater again. The funds for the purse money were released the day before. He had withdrawn his ten percent share and deposited the balance in his owner’s trust account. By agreement with his owners, he could tap that account to offset trainer, vet, transportation, and farrier bills.

  Farrier bills. He shook his head.

  Fifteen years in the business and he’d never tapped that account to meet his own needs. Keeping them separate was the price of integrity. With the load he’d owe for extortion come Monday, plus Ginny’s juice, he’d be stone-ass broke. He had three horses entered the next two days. He had to get purse money out of them, but even if they did get checks, the funds wouldn’t be released by the track until the following week. He hated making receivable calls on his owners. He was just plain bad at it. He could pull some funds from the trust account and replace them. No one would know. Then again, he would know.

  Crooks took money from trust accounts. Jake wasn’t a crook.

  He had Gentleman Tim, a six-year-old gelding that he owned outright. Jake had claimed him a year back, and he consistently hit the board between a dime and twelve-five claiming. He could drop him in for a nickel. He’d lose him sure as hell but get the five grand out, plus the purse. Thing was, even if he found a race for him in the next week, the funds wouldn’t clear in time to help. A private sale would be at bargain basement prices and a flashing sign of desperation to the world.

  Jake picked up the condition book and looked for an open $5,000 claiming race. Maybe Ginny would let him slide a week on the juice. He didn’t want to get crosswise with Ginny, but he needed time.

  Time and some wins.

  Chapter 33

  there was one sound that struck fear into the hearts of horsemen everywhere.

  It wasn’t a sound made by their animals, though they were always on the alert for signals from their stock that something was amiss. It wasn’t a sound emitted by stable hands, veterinarians, or backside help. It wasn’t a sound that someone unfamiliar with a racetrack would deem significant—noticeable but not terror-filled.

  That sound was the loud tone broadcast through the track speaker system that signified “loose horse.” Just after the break on Thursday, Jake and Dan were sitting in the makeshift office off the shedrow, reviewing vet bills, when the alarm sounded. The response was instantaneous.

  Jake shot out of his chair and shouted down the shedrow for Jorge and Beth. “Count ’em.” He ran down the line of stalls, checking inside each one. “Secure them.”

  The horses sensed the panic as they reacted to the alarm over the speaker system. They whinnied nervously, rocked, and stomped in their stalls.

  Jorge pushed a wheelbarrow out of the way and raced to the far side of the stable to check the horses. Beth moved toward Jake, stopping every five feet to poke her head into a stall to make sure the stock was where it belonged. They met halfway down the shedrow. Jorge came spinning around from the far side. “It’s okay, boss. It’s not us.”

  This dance took about ten seconds and had been replayed in every stable on the backside. Once it was determined that their stock was safe, it was time to look outward to find the loose horse.

  Jake turned and rumbled back toward the office. Over his shoulder he yelled, “Beth, stay here and keep them calm. Jorge, let’s go.” When he reached the end of the shedrow, he turned out toward the main road, looking left and right for the loose horse.

  What little motor traffic there was had stopped. A loose horse was a frightened horse and could do anything and come out of anywhere into the path of any moving vehicle. Several other trainers and stable hands were out looking for the horse as well. Lynn Johnston pointed toward the break in the track, and all eyes moved that direction.

  A jet black, rider-less horse sprinted past the break, just inside the track surface. Two men on horseback were trying to corral and contain the animal, but the jet black would have none of it. It dodged left, then right, haltingly in one direction, then sprinting for a hundred yards up the track.

  The two men were trying to steer the horse away from the break in the track. Keeping the horse on the racetrack was safer than allowing the horse onto the stable grounds.

  Two more riders on horseback were moving from the far end of the track to lend support. The jockey’s racing saddle was on the black horse, and the reins dangled loosely around its neck. It reared on its hind legs and kicked out toward its pursuers. The loose horse let out a whinny that shrieked through the air and caused many other horses on the backside to join the equine conversation. The men on horseback moved toward the black horse slowly, trying to limit its ability to escape.

  The two horses from the far side of the track were approaching rapidly, and, between the four of them, they were quickly containing the loose horse. Jim Dagens raced down from the clocker’s station and jumped the railing onto the track. He ran stiffly through the loam and sand in his cowboy boots—hardly the equipment for running on a racetrack. When he was about fifty feet from the horse, he slowed considerably to avoid spooking the colt.

  The alarm continued sounding, causing the men to shout and gesture in exaggerated motions to communicate with one another. The horse was jumping with his front legs back and forth. It spun around and would run twenty feet, then turn and run twenty feet the other direction, then bounce side to side.

  Dagens stepped closer and closer. He extended his hand to the side and slowly moved towar
d the horse. The riders were closing ranks, reducing the area by penning the horse against the inside rail and limiting any avenues of escape.

  Dagens reached out to grab the loose rein. The jet black horse bolted, rearing on its hind legs like a desperate boxer striking at an opponent. Dagens fell backward, and the horse shot past him, between the men on horseback, and sprinted toward the break.

  Several people moved toward the break, but they were too late. The horse shot up the track and through the break and was now loose on the backside.

  “Whose is it?” someone shouted.

  “Jenkins’ colt” was the breathless reply, and the group ran to get position to corner the horse. “Threw Biggers.”

  The backside was a more dangerous place for a loose horse. More places and obstacles it could hit or be hit by. A scared horse could do just about anything from running through a shedrow fence to ramming into a pickup truck or getting out the main entrance into the traffic outside the racetrack.

  The gated entrance had been secured by several vehicles. Men were waving hats and making noise to keep the colt away. The black horse raced between two shedrows and turned right, moving away from the entrance. It slid on the gravel as it slowed to change directions.

  “Keep him moving that way,” Jake shouted, waving toward the right. There was no way for the horse to get out if they moved him to the right. This had become a community event. All stable hands were out, and they formed a makeshift line to keep the animal moving toward the back corner of the backside. “Get over that way.” Jake gestured toward the right. “Don’t let him get by you.”

  The line moved forward, closing in on the horse. Several stables separated the horse and the corner of the backside. The black horse ran up into the yard of one stable, crying out. The horses in the stable answered back. The loop of the loose reins dangled precariously. If the reins got caught on something, a fence post or railing, the horse could snap its neck.

  The black spun around and sprinted through the shedrow, exiting on the other side. The line of stable hands on that side continued the horse toward the corner. The horse turned quickly and nearly fell when the gravel slid out from under him. He regained his balance and ran to the right, jumping a wheelbarrow.

  The men on that side of the line moved forward and redirected the horse back toward the corner. They waved their arms with cowboy hat in hand, their broad, quick motions causing the horse to shy away.

  The jet black moved to the corner. It made a quick move like it was going to jump through the wooden fencing, then changed its mind at the last second. It turned and snorted, digging the ground with its front feet. The line of stable hands slowly closed ranks. “Don’t spook him,” someone shouted.

  The horse was cornered, and it jumped back and forth on his front legs, throwing its head side to side.

  Dan caught a glimpse of AJ moving between two men off to his left. He was so much smaller than the men around him. His arms were extended to the side, and he was walking slowly toward the horse. His head was tipped slightly backward, and it looked like his eyes were closed.

  “Get that damn kid out of there,” someone shouted from behind Dan. “He’s gonna get killed.”

  AJ was about ten feet from the animal and walking closer. The horse snorted and reared on his back legs. His front hooves slashed through the air. The kid was unfazed. He didn’t even flinch, like he couldn’t see the danger.

  “Look out,” Jake shouted. The men instinctively backed away.

  “AJ, move away,” Dan yelled.

  The boy kept moving forward, his arms still extended straight out to the side. He was mumbling something that couldn’t be heard over the shouting of the men and the shrieking from the horse.

  The horse jumped left, looking down toward the boy, then jumped back to the right, turning nearly sideways. AJ leaned forward and stretched his arms toward the horse. The colt shimmied and shied away.

  “Stupid shit, get out of there,” someone shouted from Dan’s right.

  AJ stepped closer, reaching for the horse. The horse reared up and slashed at AJ with its hooves. One hoof caught the bill of AJ’s cap, knocking it askew. AJ didn’t back away. He couldn’t sense the danger around him. AJ continued reaching out and found the withers of the jet black with his right hand, then quickly put his left hand on its neck.

  The jet black instantly became silent and stood stock still on all four legs, perfectly calm. AJ’s shoulders started to shiver and quake, then his torso shook, and his legs began to buckle. AJ was able to keep his balance leaning against the horse. He was making guttural sound, like someone in a deep sleep, struggling to escape a nightmare.

  “Get a shank on him,” someone yelled.

  Dan couldn’t pull his eyes off the boy. He was quivering and muttering like someone possessed. A stable hand stepped forward and clipped a shank on the horse’s bridle. He yanked down hard on the shank and began walking the horse through the crowd. AJ followed with his hands on the horse and eyes closed. Matt Jenkins stepped forward and shoved AJ to the ground.

  Dan shouted, “Hey, leave the kid alone.” Jenkins looked over and scowled.

  The jet black jumped sideways and reared. The groom holding the shank grabbed on with the other hand and yanked downward. The horse reared and pulled the opposite way. The cowboy was nearly lifted off the ground, and he slid forward on his boot heels.

  Another hand raced forward and slapped a shank on the other side of the bridle. Between the two of them they were able to get the horse under control and led him away. The crowd began to disperse, most shaking their heads, feeling glad it wasn’t their horse that got loose.

  Dan stepped over to AJ and helped him up. He dusted off his jeans, picked up his ball cap, and began walking away.

  “Hey, wait a minute.” The boy kept walking. Dan took two quick steps and grabbed his shoulder. “AJ, what was that?” He pointed back over his shoulder to where he had calmed the horse. The kid shrugged and looked back toward his barn. “How did you do that?” Dan asked.

  The boy looked at the ground. Apparently believing that Dan wasn’t going to let him walk off without an answer, AJ inhaled deeply and said, “Dunno, just helping.”

  “No, AJ, that was…that was.… What was that?” He stammered. “This, and the deal at Hudgins’ barn last week.”

  The boy rolled his head side to side like he was annoyed. “I just touch ’em. They talk to me, tell me what they feel.” He was still looking down at his feet.

  “What do you mean? They talk to you?”

  He looked over at his barn like he needed to get over there. “They tell me. I touch them and feel what they feel. I help calm ’em down.”

  “You were shaking and talking, making noises, whatever. What was that?”

  “I dunno. Just helping.” He turned and walked away.

  Dan watched the boy limp along the gravel road back toward his barn.

  Alone.

  Chapter 34

  the man standing in the shadow of the shedrow waved at AJ. The gesture wasn’t acknowledged; AJ just continued walking. He was making his way back with a cold soda he had gotten from the vending machine outside Crok’s. It was after four in the morning, but the heat sent AJ in search of a cool drink.

  Since the attacks had started, most stables had posted a groom or hotwalker to stand guard over the barns all night. AJ knew them all by sight, even if he’d never spoken to them. His limp created a distinctive rhythm to his gait, and most on the backside recognized the sound of his approach on a quiet night such as this. With tensions running at code red on the backside, the limp’s distinctive sound was an advantage.

  AJ walked through Latimer’s shedrow and poked his head in on the inhabitants in each stall. All was well. Most were sleeping. He would get an occasional weary glance from a sleepy horse, but everything was in order.

  Having circled the entire shedrow, AJ found a spot on the side of the barn where the slightest breeze was detectible. Any advantage to break the he
at was taken. He sat on the ground and leaned against the wooden structure. From here he could see through the rows of identical barns. On the far end to his left was the racetrack; to his right stood the overgrowth of trees and brush of Manassas State Park.

  There wasn’t enough breeze to disturb the haze of humidity hanging in the air. AJ twisted open his soda bottle, wiped his forehead, and took a long drink. As he was bringing the bottle down from his mouth, the gunshot rang out, breaking the quiet of the hour.

  AJ had been looking in the direction of the park and saw the blast of light coming from the weapon. Despite the visual clue, the sound startled AJ, and he spilled part of his soda down the front of his shirt.

  He locked in on the location of the flash of light. It seemed to be well beyond the fence dividing the racetrack from the park. In the daylight, AJ knew there was a steep hill beyond the fence. Whoever had fired the gun was shooting down from that hill toward the backside. A flash and another gunshot rang out.

  Several horses cried out in terror, and the backside was abuzz with horses stirring in their stalls, contributing to the sounds of fear around them. AJ scrambled to his feet and ran in his skip-hop fashion toward the park.

  He had to veer left and run the length of two barns to get to the spot where the separation in the fence would allow him to squeeze through. He slid through the opening and was on the park property.

  He moved back to his right to get near the spot where he’d seen the flash. His pace was slowed by the uneven terrain, the brush, and the low hanging limbs of the trees. In perfect daylight this would be a treacherous walk; in total darkness, it was virtually impossible. He tripped over a root growing above ground and fell, banging his knee against the base of another tree.

  He looked to the right and tried to gauge his distance by the familiar sight of the shedrows. He was still about one and a half barns from where the shot was fired. He got back on his feet and trudged forward. His arms were braced in front of his face to block the tree limbs. AJ entered what seemed to be a clearing and covered ground quickly, entering more heavy brush after about fifty feet.