by Sam O'Brien
“Yes yes, Oliver. But who is he?”
“Oh, he’s new to the horse business. Wants to keep a low profile. I’ll be working mostly with his son, but he may come to the sales.”
“It all sounds very mysterious. Are you sure he’ll give you the money?”
“Positive, Mum. Cash up front. No empty promises with this guy, I’m sure of that.” He shuddered as he had a flashback of the conversation with Mike in the car.
“You should tell your brother the good news, he’d be delighted for you as well.”
Oliver stiffened and made a grunting sound.
“Oh, come on Oliver, he’s not as bad as all that. He just lets business rule his heart sometimes.”
“Sometimes? Huh. That’s what business is to him, Mum: heartless. I really do not want to talk to him.”
“I hate to see you boys fighting. I think he would be proud of what you’ve done this week. You really should call him.” She sighed and placed a sizzling plate of breakfast in front of her younger son. “His new business with the private jets is starting this week. He has some pop stars booked on the inaugural flight; they’re off to Germany on tour. It’s been all over the news. Quite exciting, really.”
Oliver didn’t reply, but tucked into his breakfast. Evelyn sat at the table with a mug of tea and some toast. The smile slid away from her face.
Chapter 16
Oliver held his head high as he strode purposefully around the large cluster of barns that was the Keeneland Thoroughbred Horse Sales complex. It was a balmy September day in the heart of Kentucky’s picturesque Bluegrass Country. The humid heat of summer still covered the area like a blanket, and sweat dripped from Oliver’s brow.
Since they flew into Lexington three days ago, Oliver had looked at almost four hundred yearling horses and the week was only beginning. He was hot and tired, his shirt and khaki shorts stuck to him, but he shrugged it off. Nothing mattered except finding the right horses. He was in his element.
The forty-two barns in the complex were full. Over the next twelve days, nearly five thousand thoroughbred yearlings would change hands. It was a mammoth auction for potential racehorses. Buyers would assemble from all over the world. Everybody thought they would be the ones to spot a champion in amongst all the others.
Robert was doing his best to keep up, but was unable to match Oliver’s enthusiasm for the long days of endless walking and standing. To him, all the horses looked the same. Oliver did plenty of explaining, but it was as if he was speaking another language.
Oliver had met several old friends and spent time catching up over drinks or dinner. All were happy to see him, and everyone wanted to know whom he was buying for. They all did their best to pry information out of him and his new friend, but to no avail. Robert found all this curiosity amusing and couldn’t quite believe that not one person knew who he was, although whenever Oliver introduced him to anyone, it was simply as Robert – no surname. Oliver, in particular, enjoyed the bit of mystery. He loved to keep them guessing. After all, they would find out on sale day, when Marco was due to make his appearance.
They stopped under the central arch of barn eleven, to let Oliver check his list and gather his thoughts.
Robert leaned against the wall. “Goddamn, I’d murder a cold beer.” There was a chiming from his pocket, and he pulled out the phone.
“Hi, Dad. What’s up?”
Oliver looked up from his catalogue.
“I can’t tell one from the other. I’ll put you on to Oliver.” He handed the phone over and said, “Dad says he’ll be here today, at four.”
Oliver clutched the handset to his ear. “Hi, Marco. That’s great you’ll be here early." He started chattering excitedly. “Things are going well, I’ve a list of about thirty for a second look. Quality stock. I’ll show them to you–”
Marco cut in. “Good. See you later, my friend.” The line went dead.
Oliver handed the phone back. “Well, if your Dad’s going to be here in a few hours, we might as well have lunch.”
“Cool. Shit, I thought I was going to have to hit you over the head to stop you looking at horses.” Robert ran a hand through his sweaty mop of hair. “Man, I’m thirsty. Let’s go!”
They walked out of the maze of barns, past the auditorium where the horses would be auctioned, and made their way towards a restaurant in the grandstand of the adjacent racetrack.
“This place is far out, man. You kinda know big deals have been done here.”
Oliver smirked. “Just you wait till tomorrow when the bidding starts. The air’ll be thick with money.”
They went up to the panoramic restaurant and took in the view of the oval racetrack. It was two tracks, really; the dirt track outside a grass one, with another line of tall oaks set behind, obstructing the noise of the highway. Oliver felt warm and nostalgic, thinking back to the time he’d spent here.
A pretty brunette sitting at another table noticed them. She excused herself, left the two men she was dining with, and made her way towards Robert and Oliver. She was petite in height and build, but moved with cat-like grace and athleticism. Her cropped hair sat in a spiky mess on her head, and her dazzling turquoise eyes stunned everyone she met.
Robert nudged Oliver under the table. “Hot chick at two o’clock,” he muttered through closed teeth.
Oliver casually looked in her direction. He stood, smiled broadly and threw his arms out wide as she neared the table. She flashed her perfect white teeth at him. They embraced and he kissed her on the cheek.
“Dr. Liddell, I presume! What are you doing here? Are you practising here?”
“Right here in Lexington; enough horses here to keep an army of us busy. I specialize in reproductive work, but I’m starting to do some surgeries at the clinic. It’s a good job. The hours suck, though.” She eyed Oliver up and down. “You look great, it’s good to see you again. It’s been what? Ten, eleven years?”
Oliver shrugged. “Something like that. You look stunning.” Her sparkling eyes and tanned skin still mesmerized him. She was that rare thing: a hard-working vet who knew her stuff, who could pull off attractive even whilst knee-deep in blood and manure. Hell, in just a T-shirt and jeans she was a knockout.
She glanced at Robert, who stood reluctantly.
“Rebecca, forgive me, I’m rude. This is Robert. Robert; Rebecca Liddell, an old friend of mine.”
Extending a well-toned arm to shake his hand, she said in her clipped, Ivy League accent, “Nice to meet you Robert. You have a surname, or has he forgotten it?”
Robert smirked. “Maybe he has. It’s Romano.”
“Will you join us for lunch, or do you need to get back to your companions?” asked Oliver.
She glanced back; the two men were paying the bill and getting up. They waved at her.
“They’re colleagues, they’ve been here all week x-raying and doing pre-sale examinations. We’ve already eaten, but I’ll join you to talk and catch up.”
They sat and ordered. Oliver couldn’t help himself but look at her. “It really is good to see you. You haven’t changed a bit.”
“Oh, you’re too kind.” She winked at him. “So, what brings you back to Kentucky after all this time?”
He took a deep breath. “I’m here to buy horses for a new partnership. Robert’s father is my backer. It’s very exciting.”
“Is your father in the business?”
“Horses? No. He’s interested to see what the game is like, but he kinda wants to keep a low profile.”
“People round here love gossip. He won’t stay underground for long,” she prompted.
Oliver interrupted on behalf of an uncomfortable-looking Robert. “He’ll be here in a few hours, so that should take the mystery out of it.”
The drinks arrived and Robert downed his first beer as if it was the elixir of life. Oliver and Rebecca stuck to juice and water. Robert looked at Oliver’s glass with astonishment.
“You not having a beer?”
&n
bsp; “Need to keep a clear head. But don’t worry, I’ll be going mad once we buy the horses.” He thought for a second and asked Rebecca, “Do you do sale exams?”
“Sometimes, but most of the locals prefer the senior partners to do it.”
“Well, if I give you a list of horses, can you check them for me this afternoon?”
She flashed that smile again. “Sure, love to. How many?”
“Thirty.”
“I can do that.”
He produced his catalogue, tore a blank page from the back and scribbled lot numbers on it. “They’re for days one and two. I put my cell number on it, too.”
She folded the paper and stuck it into her pocket. “Great. OK, I’ve got to run back to the clinic quickly, but I should have them all done by five or six this evening. How’s that sound?”
“Excellent! You can meet up with us after, and we’ll discuss things. Call me when you’re done.”
She looked at her watch. “Later.” She kissed him on the cheek and left with a spring in her step.
“What’s the story?” asked Robert. “You guys used to date, or what?”
“Yeah,” Oliver replied with a downcast voice.
“And you’re still crazy about her, huh?”
“Was it that obvious?”
“Yeah, but don’t worry, I didn’t see any rings on her fingers.”
Oliver looked at him with raised eyebrows. “I noticed the wedding finger alright.” A smile
crept across his face. “She’s cool.”
“Why’d you break up with a chick like that, anyway?”
“Our lives went different ways.” Oliver let out a long sigh. “We had an intense summer romance, she was doing holiday work at a vet clinic here in Lexington, then she went back to University in Colorado. Come to think of it,” he paused for thought, “it all happened just before I pulled you out of the street.”
“I guess you can thank me later.”
“Thank you?”
“Sure! Like, if I hadn’t run onto the road, we wouldn’t be here right now. And you’d still be in Ireland.”
“Probably. OK, so I’ll thank you if I get her out on a date.”
Robert made a mock toast with his beer glass. They grinned at each other.
Chapter 17
At four pm, they were waiting outside the front doors to the sale auditorium. Oliver was pacing, tapping his pen off his catalogue, and smiling. Robert wanted another beer.
The black Lincoln pulled up in front of them. A small, wiry-looking man in a suit jacket and jeans leapt from the front passenger seat, pushed back the valet, and opened the rear door. Marco got out gracefully and stood to take off his tweed jacket and tie, exposing an immaculate white shirt, with black stone cufflinks.
“It’s warm. Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Sorry, Dad. Didn’t think of it.”
Marco embraced his son and then Oliver. “You guys get in any trouble down here? What’s the local skirt like?”
Oliver blushed and shot a sideways glance at Robert.
“Don’t look at me, I didn’t say anything.”
“What’s this?” Marco said. “You been getting some action?”
“Hot vet chick; old flame,” said Robert.
Again Oliver blushed. “I, um, I’d rather get on with business, but you’ll meet her later, Marco.”
Marco slapped Oliver on the back as they turned towards the doors of the auditorium. The swarthy guard brought up the rear.
They walked into the corridor which circled the auction ring. It was theatre-like: a semi-circle of seating for 500 looking onto a small stage, with the auctioneer’s rostrum set behind and above it.
Marco let out a whistle. “This place is something. I was expecting some kind of shed, or an old tobacco barn.”
“Wait till you see it tomorrow,” said Oliver.
Twenty minutes later, they stood under a tree in front of barn seven: Oliver, Marco, Robert and the guard, whom Marco introduced as Joey. An elegant thoroughbred yearling was being paraded by a groom, back and forth before them. Oliver gazed at it, concentrating hard. The horse came to a halt in front of him.
“This one’s at the top of my list,” he said, in a low voice that was almost a murmur. “There’ll be quite a bit of interest. He’s the first foal of a very good racemare, but the pedigree’s not fashionable. Neither is his father, so that might help keep the price down.”
Marco was staring at the animal. “Tell me why you like him.”
“He’s very well made, physically. His legs are straight and correct, he’s muscular, and he walks with a long, graceful stride – he looks like an athlete.” He threw a glance at the groom. “Give him another walk, please.
“You see, Marco, look at that. He eats ground with every stride, but more than that, he’s nimble, light-footed.”
The groom finished the lap with his charge and brought it to a halt again.
Oliver continued, “But what really turns me on about this horse is the elegance of his body – we call it quality – and the look in his eye. He stands there with his big ears pricked and a bold look about him, like he wants to run and battle. Like he won’t give up easily. I love this horse. He looks like he’ll race at a classic distance.” The animal whinnied nervously, making his veins stand out. “He might be a bit highly-strung, but that shouldn’t matter as long as he’s trained right. We have to get this guy.”
Marco switched his steely gaze from the horse to Oliver, his skepticism was evident. “And you can tell all that just by looking at him? Jesus. He looks like any other horse to me.”
“If I’m sure of one thing, it’s this: he is not just any horse,” said Oliver, fixing his eyes directly on Marco’s. Then, out of the corner of his vision, he noticed the vendor of the horse approaching. “OK, Marco, here’s the seller. Poker faces.” He glanced at Robert, too. “We don’t want to show our hand.”
Pat O’Malley was a small, round, balding man in his fifties, who had landed in Kentucky straight from Ireland more than a quarter of a century earlier. He had a shrewd brain for horses and deals, but he relied on his affable exterior to persuade clients to part with more hard cash than they ever dreamed possible.
“Well, lads, how’re you doing? He’s a beauty, isn’t he?” he said, pointing to the horse.
“Not bad. I daresay there’s been some interest in him,” said Oliver. “Even with the pedigree.”
“Jaysus, he’s been flat out with lookers and vets.” Pat eyed Oliver up and down. “Have we met before?”
“About ten years ago, Pat, you were just starting your new farm here, and I was a student over at Harleston Way Farm. We used to drink in the same bar. Oliver McMahon.”
“Oh, Jaysus, I remember now! You were going out with that vet student.”
“Er, that’s right.”
Marco smiled. “I’d say he’s chasing her again,” he said to Pat.
Pat turned to face Marco. “Well is that right? Ah, sure why not? She was a good-looking bird!” He let out a cackle, which made Oliver blush and Marco and Robert smirk. “Who are you fellas, anyway?” he asked Marco.
“My man here’s going to buy us a few winners.”
Instantly, there was a twinkle in his eye. “Pat O’Malley,” he said, as he thrust out his hand to grip Marco’s. “Nice to meet you.”
“Marco Romano.”
“You should look at my three other horses; they’re all beauties. You fellas’d do well to buy ‘em all.”
“Thanks, Pat, we’ll come back later. We’ve others to look at now,” said Oliver.
“Not at all, sure you’re here now. I’ll have ‘em pulled out for you in a second.” He looked back at the barn and whistled to two members of his staff.
“Really, Pat, we’ve a lot to do before dark,” Oliver objected.
“It’ll only take you five minutes,” insisted Pat.
“He says he don’t want to see them, I don’t want to see them,” said Marco. He fixed his da
rk eyes on the small round man. The gaze did its job.
“Oh, um, I’ll leave you fellas to it, then.” He hurried away back to the shadows of the barn.
“Thanks for that. He’s a slimy little shit. A good horseman, but he wants everybody’s money,” said Oliver. “Still, he could be useful.”
“How?”
“If we buy his horse, he’ll have to do us a discount rate for board and keep when I ask him if he can look after him for a month or two, until I get him broken.”
Marco gave Oliver a look of admiration. “You impress me more and more each day, my friend.”
“Thanks, Marco. I’ll continue to impress you,” he said. “Right, now on to the next one.”
As the group passed through the complex, a few heads turned, some people did double-takes as they passed Marco. There seemed to be an air of gossip and rumour flying around. Oliver loved it. He felt like some of Marco’s presence was rubbing off on him. When they asked to see the next horse, the vendor – an American – took one look at Marco and dropped his cup of water.
“Could we see lot two-five-seven, please?” repeated Oliver.
“What? Oh sure. Right away, sir.”
Oliver’s face was a mixture of surprise and amusement. He shot a look at Robert, who sported a satisfied grin.
The horse was produced and Oliver began to absorb every detail of its physique. He was so lost in the horse and explaining the regal beast in hushed tones to Marco, he did not notice the vendor peering out at them from the shadows of the barn.
The man stood with two other people. All three were having a rapid but quiet discussion about the large man with the slicked back hair and immaculate shirt. They decided Marco was indeed the spitting image of a Mafia boss who had been in the news several years ago, but that there was no way it could be him. That is, until somebody pointed out the seedy-looking man in the jacket and jeans who kept close, but discreetly so, and who paid as much attention to the comings and goings of everyone around as he did to his charge.
Oliver asked for the equine athlete to be walked again and put away. He then led the group onto the next horse, and so it went until late afternoon. As they made their rounds, assessing every potential racehorse on Oliver’s shortlist, the gossip followed. Robert and Oliver could sense the constant whispering that floated behind them. If Marco picked up on it, he made no indication of it.
