by Sam O'Brien
“Well done, Ollie! It’s about time you grew some balls.” Richard beamed his most winning smile as he slapped his hand on the table. “What’s your plan, then?”
“Well, I want to buy some horses. Some foals to pinhook and some to race.”
“What’s pinhooking?” asked Evelyn.
“It’s when you buy weanling foals in November or December at the public sales, with a view to re-selling them the following September. It’s pretty much what I was doing for Gorman, except we – that is, he – kept them all to race. I’ll sell some for a quick buck and keep the others to race. It’s tough to get the right foal, but the odds for profit are good.” He looked at his older brother. “Plus, the turnaround is quick, so overheads are low – unless one gets ill and sticks us with big vet bills.”
“Sounds interesting, but risky. What are your margins like?” inquired the businessman.
Oliver perked up and leaned in over the table. “Rich, it’s like this. Buy a number of foals and aim to double your money on re-sale. Some will do better, but some will do worse. In the end, taking into account overheads, we should aim to make 75% or more profit on the investment. Also, like I said, we’ll keep some to race. I’ll raise them to be athletes and they’ll kick ass on the track, just like Gorman’s horses. We’ll have great fun at the races and, Rich, you’d be surprised at the prize funds even for average races these days. And if we buy horses with top class pedigrees, well, d’you remember how much Gorman got from the Japanese for that Derby winner we had? And he only had an average bloodline.”
Richard narrowed his eyes, the wheels turning. “Hmm. Sounds exciting, Ollie. How much will your initial investment be?”
“See, Rich, that’s what I wanted to talk to you about. I want to start with a million. I have forty-five grand saved. That includes the ten that Dad left me. But I was hoping you and Mum might help me out by becoming my investors.”
Richard was about to take a sip of coffee, but paused with the cup almost to his lips. He placed it back down on the saucer and stared into space for a minute.
Their mother’s jaw almost hit the table. She spluttered, but no words came out. As the seconds ticked away, he realised this wasn’t exactly the reception he had anticipated. Surely his own family would help him out?
It was Richard who spoke first. “There’s no way, Ollie. Sorry, I just can’t do it at the moment.”
“What?” Now it was Oliver’s jaw that almost hit the table. “I . . . but, you seemed impressed by the business plan. And you know I know the horse business like the back of my hand. I’ve bought serious performers for Gorman. Jesus, he even won the Epsom Derby. And don’t try telling me you’re broke. When you floated your shares last month, you made a killing. It was all over the papers, for God’s sake.” He took a deep breath. “And I also thought it’d be nice for all of us to enjoy a day at the races with a runner to cheer home. I can do this for all of us. I can make it profitable.” He snorted, almost in amusement. “I mean, shit, I’ve done it before.”
Richard shot a withering look at his brother. “What? What have you done before? What is it that you claim to have done for Gorman? I’ve never seen your name connected with any of his purchases or victories – and I do read the papers, you know – you don’t even go to the bloody races. For all I know, you are just the guy who sits on the farm and cleans out the shit. The stable boy. What do you know about the business, about making profit?” The last word came out in a tone that was almost religious.
Oliver was speechless. He pinched himself to be sure he wasn’t dreaming.
His brother continued, “Look, Ollie, this is all confidential – I haven’t announced it yet – but I’m just about to expand the business to include a private jet hire service. Everything’s tied up.”
Oliver masked his look of disbelief and tried a change of tack. “But that’s the thing. You won’t have to stress or worry. I’ll be doing all of that for you. We can keep the horses here, instead of having to rent a property, or put some of them at home on the paddocks Mum still has. Come on, Rich, we’ll have a lot of fun AND make money. It’s just the three of us at the moment, no wives or kids. We might as well race thoroughbreds.” He turned to look at his mother. “What do you think, Mum? It’d be great!”
“Oliver, I think it’s a wonderful idea. I really do. I’ll be so proud of you if it works, but I don’t have that kind of money.” She started to fiddle with her napkin as she continued, repeating herself nervously, “I would love to help you, but I really don’t have the money.”
“Oh, come on, Mum. Dad got a fortune for those fields and, God knows, he never spent much on anything when he was alive.”
“Oliver! Your father did put his money to use, and I . . .”
“That’s enough, Mother,” Richard cut in, hastily. “Look, Ollie, neither of us can be the soft touches you’d like us to be. I bet you thought coming to us’d be better than a bank, huh? Because, if you mess this up you can just say sorry and not pay us back. Am I wrong?”
Oliver’s eyes widened with incredulity. “I can’t believe you just said that. Am I really talking to my own brother? I came to you because I know I have a proven record and a sound business proposition, which will not only yield a return – potentially a high one – but also give you, me and Mum a bit of sport and some good days out.” He turned to his mother. “And we all know it would do you good to get out of the house more often."
His mother was aghast.
"I also thought you would be the ones I could count on more than a bank manager. They’d never give a loan like that to buy horses.”
“The answer’s no. End of story.”
“But why, Rich, why? You know I’m not an idiot.” His tone was getting desperate.
“Do I? I mean really, Ollie, what is it that you do? Basically, you’re a farmer. Killing yourself just like Dad did.”
“Richard! How dare you say that about your father?”
“Why not, Mum? It’s true. You know it. That’s why Dad was so disappointed in Ollie. And that’s why I’m not going to back you. I just don’t think it’s good business.”
“But I’m your brother.”
“I don’t care who you are.”
“That’s enough, Richard.” Evelyn was shouting in a hoarse voice. “After all your father did for you, you don’t have the right to say those things. Not in front of me. Has your success made you forget?”
Oliver interrupted. “What do you mean ‘after all he did for you’? What did Dad do for you, Rich?”
It was Richard who answered. “If you must know, Ollie, he gave me the money from the land to buy my cabs. He gave it to me because he knew I would make it into something and not fuck it up. And he knew I’d take care of Mum after he was gone.”
Oliver felt sick. He stared at the table in stunned silence for a second before looking up at his mother. He had a questioning look in his eye, hoping that she would deny it. Hoping that she would say that Richard was lying just to hurt him. Hoping that his father was not so disappointed in him that he had given everything to his brother.
The tears welling up in her eyes gave him his answer.
“Oh, Oliver, Oliver,” she wailed. “Your father didn’t want you to know, and I knew that if you had known then you would’ve been so upset. After he died, I just couldn’t tell you.”
“So that was the good use he found for his money. That was the pleasure he had: seeing his favourite son succeed, while the other was treated like a fool. And why? Because I wanted to go into stud farming!”
“Oliver, I’m so sorry. I wish I could make it up to you, but he left me with very little.”
“Yes, and it’s me who looks after our mother now, Ollie. What do you contribute?”
“I can’t believe you just said that. I go up home every week and do something with her. We have dinner together regularly. Dinner that I cook, Rich. When was the last time you cooked or went home to see Mum?”
“I’m busy doing busin
ess, Ollie, not playing with horses. Anyway, I pay for her living costs.”
“Then I take her to the monthly bridge tournaments in the city.”
“Bridge? When did you start playing bridge?”
“Almost a year ago, Richard,” said Evelyn acidly. “I’ve had enough. You’ve become quite a monster. It’s your duty to look after me. That’s what your father wanted. And I think it’s your duty to help your brother.”
“Oh, do you now? Well, I beg to differ. And while we’re on about what Dad would have wanted, I don’t think he would have wanted me to waste money on Oliver – or else he would have given him a bit more than ten grand. I mean, Jesus, Ollie, you were a fucking doormat for your boss for years and you didn’t have the balls to stand up to him. I have an office full of guys like you – they’re very good at their little jobs, but they never amount to much in their own right.”
“Well, we’re not all sharks like you. I bet if Mum and I were dead in the water, you’d eat us. Wouldn’t you?”
“Vultures eat dead meat, Ollie. Not sharks.”
“Fuck you.” With that, Oliver stood up quickly, sending his chair backwards so that it tipped over and crashed on the floor. “I’m off home. Mum, are you coming?”
“Oliver, please stay.” She cleared her throat. “Come on now, boys, can’t you sort this out.”
“We can talk all you like, Mother, but I’ll never throw away that kind of money on him. So he might as well go.”
“Fine. Rich, you’re an asshole.”
“Ollie, look, you really shouldn’t take it personally. It’s just a business decision.”
“Don’t give me that bullshit. That’s an excuse used by guys like you to justify acting like selfish pricks. How can I not take it personally? You’re my brother.”
Oliver stormed out through the house, towards the entrance hall. His mother hurried after him. “Oliver, I want to stay a bit longer. Try to talk some sense into him.”
“Sorry, Mum, but I’m not staying another second. I’m sure one of his minions’ll drive you home.”
He opened the glass door and slammed it so hard behind him that it cracked. Glancing over his shoulder, he saw what he had done and smiled.
As he got into his car, the realization dawned on him that his plans lay in ruins. Without his family’s help, there was no way he could buy the kind of horses he wanted to. He also knew going back to Gorman would kill him. He started the engine and drove off, not knowing and almost not caring what he was going to do.
Evelyn went back into the conservatory and sat down. She looked at Richard, who had lit a cigar and was leaning back in his chair, nonchalantly blowing smoke rings.
“Richard, I do think you should give your brother the same chance that was given to you.”
He took another puff, exhaled and shook his head. “No way, Mum. Truth is, he needs to grow up. He was looking for an easy loan. He doesn’t have the killer instinct to pull off a business deal and make a profit.”
“You got an easy loan; no, you got a gift. Your father never asked for a penny back. He was just so proud to see you succeed. Can’t you do the same for your brother?”
“No. Because I don’t think he’ll succeed. He’s just a farmer, for God’s sake. Dad backed me because he knew that I never give up till I get what I want. Oliver’s just not that tough.”
“He never was as competitive as you, I’ll admit that. But he’s hard-working and very diligent. Now, I know I don’t know anything about horses – neither do you – but your brother understands them, and he has devoted his life to studying them and working with them all over the world. And he really has had all that success for Donald Gorman, or whatever his name is. Surely that counts for something, Richard.”
He stubbed out his cigar. “You may be right there, Mum, and I’m not saying he’s useless, but I’m not risking my money on him. Sorry.” He stood up abruptly. “I’ve got a call to make. I’ll get a driver to take you home. It was nice to see you both again, though.” He strode out of the room, leaving his mother alone at the table. She made no attempt to hold back the tears.
Oliver’s drive back to Cork calmed him and, without his mother’s chat filling the car, he had time to think things through.
He stopped for petrol and noticed a mother with two daughters; the older one was eyeing a big chocolate egg. “Mam, can I have that?”
“No, dear, it’s too big.”
“Ah, go on, pleeeease.”
“I want one, too,” cried the smaller girl.
The harried woman weighed up the situation. “Christina, if I buy it, you have to share it with your sister - equally.”
“But I said it first.”
“You’ll share or have none at all,”" their mother replied, wagging a finger.
“Okay,” Christina said, with a sulky face.
The smaller girl smiled. “Yay!”
* * *
Oliver paid and ambled to his car, staring at his feet. His brother was a champion asshole for treating him like that. And, as for his father . . . He swore and pulled out into the traffic. He knew that the only way to prove them all wrong was to be a success in his own right and make his own opportunities happen. He just needed to re-think; he knew this couldn’t stop him, though in hindsight, he had probably gone into his pitch a bit amateurishly.
Oliver got back to the farm and went for a walk in the paddocks as darkness set in. He cleared his head completely and considered his options as he strolled through the yearling barn and watched the big black colt munch hay sedately in his stable. The elegant steed ambled over and hung his head over the door, snorting and sniffing Oliver’s sleeve. Something occurred to Oliver that suddenly seemed like the best idea he had ever had. Sure, it was a bit crazy and off the wall, but what was it people said about thinking outside the box? That night, he formed a new plan; a plan that did not involve his brother.
The next day, Oliver handed in his written resignation to Gorman. The man read the letter and burst out laughing. “I suppose you think I’m going to get on my knees, offer you a pay rise, and beg you to stay?”
“Actually, no. This isn’t a ploy. I’ll work out my notice,” said Oliver.
“You idiot. This’ll be the end of you!”
“I doubt that, but it might be the end of you.” Oliver turned on his heel and started to walk out. “Get Diarmuid to run the place,” he said over his shoulder.
Oliver was shaking with nerves as he walked out. He dragged his feet back to the yard and told the staff. They stood silent, apart from one who said, “Sure, you’re a brave lad. Good luck to you. You’ve always been fair. I suppose that little shite Diarmuid’ll be taking over?”
Oliver shrugged. “It’s a possibility.”
“God help us.”
Oliver took a long walk around the farm, and his pace quickened and his back straightened as he went. By the time he returned to the yard, he was smiling. He dashed about with renewed enthusiasm.
* * *
That evening he called his mother and told her he was coming home for a while.
“You sound chirpy,” she said.
“I am, Mum. I am.”
One interminable month later, he had a final look at all the horses. He approached the black colt in the paddock and rubbed the animal’s forehead. The horse snorted, sighed and leaned into Oliver. “Mind yourself, Bad Boy.”
At precisely five o’clock, he drove through the gates and on to Limerick. An hour later he was on his mother’s doorstep, his car packed with his few belongings. He sipped tea with his mother in the large old kitchen and told her that he was going to buy horses, anyway, without Richard’s help. Then he went up to his old room, set up his laptop, connected to the phone line and searched the internet for cheap flights to New York.
Chapter 9
May 2004
As the plane took off from Shannon Airport, Oliver’s stomach was churning with nerves. He could not sleep during the five hour flight to Newark. He fidgeted an
d spent his time flicking from film to film, much to the annoyance of the old lady next to him.
He opened his wallet, took out Marco’s business card, and held it like it was the Holy Grail. It was still as pristine as the day it was given to him, ten years before. He put it away and wondered what on earth he would do when the plane touched down.
He had purchased a one-week return ticket, though in truth, he did not know how much time it would take. He changed some money and went to a payphone in the arrivals hall, took out the card, placed it carefully on top of the phone, and assembled his large pile of quarters. He had brought his mobile phone with him, but having watched so many Mafia movies, he thought it better to use a public phone.
He tried the number that Marco had scrawled on the back of the card. ‘I am sorry, the number you have dialled is no longer in service,’ the message announced. Not really a surprise. Next, he tried the office numbers. They, too, were either out of order or had changed. No luck. In a strange way, Oliver was relieved that he did not have to explain himself over the telephone. He then picked up the phone book and checked for Shadows nightclub; it still existed, according to the listing. He took down the new number, then went to the information desk and asked about cheap hotels close to the airport. The clerk gave him details of a nearby place and he took a waiting taxi to the soulless hotel.
In his room, he flopped onto the bed and looked at his watch; it was six-thirty on a Thursday evening. He picked up the bedside phone and called the club. The phone rang out for at least a full minute before a rough male voice answered. “Yeah, Shadows.”
“What time do you open tonight?”
“Uh, doors at nine.”
“Thanks.” Oliver hung up and considered what he would do when he got there. He thought it was best to play the mindless optimism card, to just believe that things would be okay once he made contact with Marco. He closed his eyes and drifted off.
