“No. Not for a while,” said Paulo.
Dan spun around the corner. “He’s not in the stalls.” Then looking at Paulo, “When did you see him last?”
“I don’t know—two, three hours ago.”
“Shit,” said Latimer.
“Got that right,” said Dan, scanning the backside. He moved out of the barn area, looking left and right.
“Not like the kid to be gone five minutes. Where the hell—? Paulo, run up to Crok’s and see if he’s there,” said Latimer. “Ask if anyone’s seen him.”
Dan ran toward the main track. “AJ. Hey, AJ,” he shouted.
Two women sat in the shade of an adjoining barn. “You guys seen AJ? The kid who works for Latimer.”
Both shook their heads, not evoking any emotion, apparently in an attempt to avoid expending any energy.
“Damn it,” Dan muttered. Sweat beaded on his forehead and upper lip. He swiped it away and thought, Where would he go? Test barn? No, no races today, so it would be empty. Grandstand? Nothing over there on dark days. He saw Paulo running back from Crok’s. He didn’t need any words. Paulo hadn’t found him and had no clues.
Dan ran east along the barns. “AJ,” he yelled.
He came to the end of the barns. Two other stable hands were quizzed; neither had any information about AJ’s whereabouts. Dan turned left away from the track and back toward Manassas State Park. Would AJ have gone into the park? What the heck for?
After crossing five rows of barns, he was near the spot where the loose horse was captured. AJ had to be with a horse somewhere. He wouldn’t be away from his barn unless he was helping some animal.
Latimer was several barns to his left, inquiring, then jogging to the next barn. Dan saw him stop suddenly, questioning someone. Dan ran toward them. His shirt was soaked in sweat and clung to him like a body cast. Latimer took off running, Dan followed, slowly gaining ground.
“What is it?” Dan asked between breaths.
“Sons a bitches.”
“What? Where is he?”
Neither was setting any land speed record as they moved westward. Latimer was hindered by age and cowboy boots. Dan made better time, but he didn’t know where they were going.
Latimer huffed, “Dung heap.”
Dan shot him a quizzical look, then realized what he meant. He raced forward toward the far end of the backside. Each day’s straw and manure was mucked from the stalls, collected in piles, and carted to the far end of the backside. Every few days the mountain was loaded on trucks and hauled away.
In the distance he could see a mountain of mucked residue, but no AJ. The stench from the urine and manure hit him like a sledgehammer as he approached. His eyes filled with water, and flies darkened the area.
His vision was drawn to something on the back side of shit mountain. It had to be AJ. Someone was tied to a post with a blanket over his head. Dan sprinted the final fifty yards. “AJ? You okay?” The blanket moved slightly. Dan knelt down and untied the rope binding his hands to the post. Latimer rushed up and pulled the blanket off AJ. His mouth was gagged, and Dan quickly unbound him.
It had to be 120 degrees under that blanket, Dan thought. AJ was soaked from head to toe. Dan looked at a large wet spot on the ground near AJ’s feet. The poor kid had peed himself.
AJ coughed and rubbed his mouth. His eyes were glassy and he bent over to take some deep breaths.
“AJ, who did this?” asked Latimer.
AJ just kept inhaling and wheezing.
“AJ?” Latimer said, grabbing the boy by the shoulders.
The boy looked up at him. “Don’t matter,” he said.
“What do you mean, it doesn’t matter?” said Dan. “You coulda died under there.” He shuddered to think that if AJ had vomited from the smell, he would have drowned in his own puke. “Who did this?”
“Couple guys.” AJ said. “M-M-mad about me helping some horse.”
“What the hell?” Dan said.
AJ started to move away. “Gotta go finish some wraps.” He staggered sideways and nearly collapsed. Latimer caught him.
“Dick, get some water in him,” said Dan. “He’s got to be dehydrated. Get him someplace cool or air conditioned, and I’ll find you. Motherfuckers.” He looked at Latimer. “Where’s Kimbrough’s barn?”
Latimer had his arm around AJ and was walking him back toward the barn. “Trackside, third barn from the entrance,” said Latimer. “Why?”
Dan turned and moved that direction. “I made a promise, and I’m going to make good on it.”
Chapter 40
in his search for AJ, Dan had nearly circled the entire backside by the time he made it to Kimbrough’s barn. Anger surged through him as he thought about AJ. Red-faced and dripping with sweat, Dan strode into the grassy area outside Kimbrough’s barn.
“Hey, Romeo,” Dan yelled to the man and girl talking under the eve of the shedrow. “Get your ass over here.”
Romeo pushed away from the wall and casually moved toward Dan. “Name’s Paul.”
“Get over here now,” Dan said.
He walked out into the grass and stopped about eight feet from Dan. He stood with arms crossed and a smile on his face.
“What the hell’s the matter with you?” said Dan.
“What.”
“You nearly killed that boy,” Dan said.
“What boy?” Romeo asked.
“You know damn well what I’m talking about,” Dan said. “I told you anything happens to that boy and I’m coming after you.”
“Just playing a game. We’re just playing with him.”
“He was assaulted and battered. He was tied to a post. That’s not a game. That’s criminal.”
“We were just messing with him. Nobody, like, hit him or anything.”
“I don’t give a shit. I’m holding you accountable,” Dan said, stepping forward. Romeo stepped back and raised his arms, to block a punch. “I’m not going to hit you. I’m going to get you ruled off. I’m going to get you thrown off the property.”
As much as he wanted to smack the kid, Dan knew that he would lose all leverage with the stewards. Although AJ got hurt, if one of the guys who did it also got hurt, the stew’s would rule it a dog fall.
Dan wanted to pummel him, but he had to be smart. It took all his resolve. Be calm. Be smart. Dan could give him physical pain that would last a few hours or he could give him economic pain—take his job away. That would last much longer.
Romeo smiled. “Stew’s won’t do nothing. There are fights all the time on the backside.”
“This wasn’t a fight. This was an ambush. A calculated attack. You’re a predator.”
“So, what are you gonna do?”
“I’m going to have you taken care of. You won’t be messing with anybody from now on. I ought to knock the crap out of you right here, but I’m not going to hit you. I’m not going to give you the satisfaction.” Dan moved in close. They stood eye to eye. “Why pick on that boy? What did he ever do to you?”
“Kid’s a show off.”
“How?”
“Like, like how he caught that loose horse. Like he has some kind of power to talk to these damn horses. Like he’s better than us. He ain’t nothing. We don’t need him showing us up.”
“He is better than you,” Dan said. “You and all your little Nazi pals. But rather than watch and learn something from the kid, you’ve got to tear him down. He’ll always be better than you.”
Romeo shrugged and shifted his weight side to side. The slightest smirk appeared on his face. As if he realized he had won a stalemate in a game he should have lost.
Dan knew the kid was right. The stewards wouldn’t do much, especially given the tension around the extortion plot and dead horses. A civil case was possible, but AJ, though compelling, wasn’t exactly going to be a star witness.
“You and I aren’t done. Far from it,” Dan said.
“See ya round,” said Romeo.
Dan turned to lea
ve, then the thought of AJ under that blanket, combined with Romeo’s smirk, got the best of him. He spun on his heel with balled fist. Romeo threw his hands up to block a punch to his face. Dan had no intention of hitting him in the face. He went low and buried his fist into Romeo’s stomach.
As a lawyer, Dan knew evidence. A broken nose, a bloody lip, a swollen eye, those were direct evidence of an assault. The vision, even in photographs, screamed evidence of a crime. The blow to his unprotected midsection was as satisfying for Dan as any blow to the jaw. It also left little visual evidence. Romeo can to go the stews. Like he said, fights happened all the time. An owner striking a stable hand was unusual, but the claim would go nowhere.
The air flew out of Romeo like a balloon at a child’s party. He doubled over gasping for breath.
Dan jammed his foot into Romeo’s hip and pushed him sideways. Romeo stumbled for two steps, then fell to the ground.
Dan leaned down over Romeo. He was curled into a ball and struggling to draw oxygen. “That’s an appetizer,” said Dan. “You don’t want me to serve the fucking entrée.”
Dan turned and planted a kicked to Romeo’s backside as a parting shot. “Leave the kid alone. This is the last time I’m going to say it.”
Chapter 41
sunday mornings caused no change in the routine of the backside. More people were hung over and fewer horses worked on the track, but the routine and activity was the same. Dan had just dropped AJ off at Latimer’s barn and stopped by to see Beth and Aly Dancer. The fact that Jake was paying the protection money was some small comfort to Dan. But the fact that someone had targeted his filly made it personal. He also kept an eye peeled for Romeo. He didn’t need to get jumped by some punks as he walked the backside.
The My Lassie Stakes was Saturday, and he didn’t think it would ever get here. Dan had learned that, with an improving two-year-old, the time between races seemed to stand still. When an owner had a common horse, the time flew by, accompanied by frequent training and vet bills.
Beth had been around some good horses, but her connection with Aly Dancer was something he’d never seen before. She spent all her free time with the horse and, according to Jake, had started sleeping at the barn to be around her. If the guy attacking the horses had any honor at all, Aly Dancer should be safe, since Jake was now off the list, but Beth wasn’t taking any chances. All the better for Dan.
Aly Dancer was eating well, and her coat shone like stained glass. Jake was going to work her on Wednesday to blow her out in preparation for the stake. Beth was finishing the last of the wraps on her hind legs. Two-year-olds were so brittle and still growing, so all the tender touches and special attention would add to her chances to become a stronger horse when she matured and grew up a little. Dan held a couple of peppermints in his extended hand, and Aly Dancer gratefully chomped them up. She crunched and threw her head around, apparently pleased.
“Don’t spoil her,” Beth said, laughing. “She has a job to do. We don’t want her getting soft on us.”
“You’re the one spoiling her,” Dan said. “And I really appreciate it. She does, too. You take care of our girl here. We have to be in some pictures come Saturday.”
“We’ll be there,” she said.
As he rounded the back of his car, his eye caught something shiny on the ground. It was a cell phone. There was no vehicle parked next to him. Whoever had parked beside his car had dropped a cell phone on the way out.
Dan picked it up and examined it. After scanning the contact list, he realized this phone didn’t have a hi-tech owner. No names in the contact list. He turned the phone off and turned it back on. If it was the same as his phone, the cell number would appear as it logged on.
Dan got into his vehicle as the phone was logging on. Sure enough, the number appeared. He pulled out his cell phone and dialed the number. It was odd to be dialing a number in one hand and holding the ringing phone in the other, but he wanted to see whether he could identify the owner from the voice mail message.
After five rings a voice came on. “This is Hank Skelton. Leave a message.”
Dan opened Skelton’s phone and clicked open the page for received, placed, and missed calls. He was hoping to find a clue in the received calls about who had placed the extortion calls to identify the drop.
There were several 312 numbers—could be friends in Chicago or owners. Hank had raced there. Dan also noticed a few 410 numbers—Pennsylvania, another state where Skelton raced and probably had owners. Some 703 numbers, but that was local and didn’t tell him much. He clicked over to placed calls, again a smattering of 312, 403, and 703 numbers.
There was one 703 number that came up repeatedly. He checked the received calls again. There it was. Seven of the last ten calls received were from 703-544-8180.
He opened the missed calls. The 703 number was there as well. Three times. Could be his vet or could be a local owner. Dan dialed the number, this time using Hank’s phone.
It rang three times, then a voice came on the line. “Belker. What’s up, Hank?”
Dan snapped the phone shut, disconnecting the call. He flipped the phone back open and powered down the phone. Belker would be calling back. Why so many calls with Belker?Skelton was all over Belker and his staff over the kidnapped mare.
Belker’s response was unusual as well. “What’s up?” It could be just a common greeting. Dan didn’t know Belker well enough to know whether he said that all the time. If Belker knew it was Hank, he wouldn’t ask “What’s up.” He’d know he was going to be questioned about the kidnapped horse, maybe be asked for an update on the investigation. “What’s up” seemed too casual.
Dan dialed the number again, this time with his cell phone. After two rings, the same voice came on the line. “Tim Belker, Fairfax Security.”
“Hey, Tim, this is Dan Morgan. You know, the guy keeping the kid AJ at nights.”
Belker grunted. “Oh yeah, you.”
“Anyway, the reason I’m calling is, if I can be of any assistance in the investigation or provide any contacts, whatever, just want you to know I’d be willing to help.”
“Well, uh, thank you. Dan, was it?”
“Right, Dan Morgan.”
“Look, I appreciate the offer, but we’ve got a full team locally as well as investigations ongoing with the local sheriff’s office and the FBI.”
“Okay, just wanted to make the offer. Anything to help out. But I do have one question. I heard that Hank Skelton gets a call about where to drop the money. Is that a local number or any luck on a trace?”
“That’s part of an ongoing investigation, so I can’t discuss that.”
“I understand. Just seems strange that we can’t get a hit on the phone being used.”
“The call is coming through some switchboard in the Caribbean. It’s being bounced and coming through a Skype account, but it changes each time. It’s become kind of a wild goose chase.”
“Okay, let me know if there’s anything I can do.” Dan snapped off the call. He sat and thought for a few minutes, then powered up Belker’s phone. He clicked on the received call page and deleted the history. Then he clicked over to the placed call menu and deleted those calls.
He got out of his car and walked toward Crok’s. He could have simply walked to Skelton’s barn and handed someone the phone but opted to be an anonymous Good Samaritan and just turn it in to Crok’s and let them find its owner.
On his way back to the car, he pulled out his phone again and dialed a familiar number. “Mom? I need a big favor.”
Chapter 42
the horses flew past the finish line, and Milt shouted, “Yeah, baby. I got the exacta ten times.”
“Not bad,” said Lennie. “With the top two favorites, you’ll be lucky if it pays twenty bucks.”
“I’ll take two bills,” said Milt. “That race was like stealing.”
Lennie had passed the race, as had TP and Dan.
“A little too chalky for my tastes,” TP said. Chal
k referred to the betting favorite. Astute horseplayers perceived the odds of a favorite winning were less than the potential return on a winning bet. Such that even if handicapping said a horse would win, they wouldn’t bet on it because over time the gambler would lose money. In that situation it was better just to watch.
“Can’t win if you don’t play,” said Milt. “I’m gonna roll ’em today. I can just feel it.”
Lennie smiled to himself and turned his pages to the next contest. He looked over at Dan and said, “Hey, when you gonna run Hero’s Echo?”
“May not find a race until the last month of the meet. Jake said he didn’t lose that much conditioning as a result of the surgery, but we’ll need a few weeks to get him on top of his game.”
“Going to run in allowance company?”
“Yeah, he’s still eligible for ‘non-two other than,’ and they have a pretty fair purse for those here.” Non-two other than referred to an allowance, or non-claiming, race where the horses haven’t won two races lifetime other than maiden or claiming races. Horse racing was based around grouping horses of similar experience and success through “conditions.” Once a horse ran through its conditions, it would only run in open stakes, allowance or claiming events, where the competition was much stiffer.
“A lot of horses come back from that throat surgery and tear up the track,” said TP.
“I guess before the surgery it’s like running the hundred yard dash while holding your breath,” Dan said.
“Emilio would fit your horse perfect,” said TP.
Lennie shot back, “Teep, you’d say your boy could fit a lamppost perfectly if it could get him a mount.”
“Kid can ride the hair off a goat,” TP said.
“I leave all that to Jake, Teep. Talk to him.”
“Wouldn’t kill you to put in a good word.”
“I will, but you know Jake,” Dan said, laughing. “He does only what Jake wants. I just keep my mouth shut and pay the bills. It’s worked well for me so far.”
“Pardon me, boys,” said Milt as he got up to move out of the box. “But I’ve got a date with the cashier’s window.”
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