Kill the Boss Goodbye

by Peter Rabe

  Then they watched the faraway weave of the horse, flat over the railing, and it seemed to get slower. Cripp was watching as if he owned the horse.

  “Look. Did you notice, Mister Dudley, it almost seems he is,she is slowing down—”

  “Looks that way.”

  “Getting tired at that point, must be.”

  “No. He's just flattening out.”

  But the illusion got worse. Once around the near turn all that showed was a muddled pumping of those reedy legs and the horse and rider a foreshortened lump next to the railing stretching this way.

  Dudley was walking again and didn't stop till he might have leaned over to touch the rail. He just stood there watching the horse and then he looked straight ahead. It happened almost with a snap because then there was the horse. A big, long, windy stretching of neck and legs when the horse shot by with a sound like a train.

  Dudley came back and the horse kept going.

  “Well? Come on, give out! Dudley, what's—” Fell leaped off the bench and caught Dudley by the arm.

  Further down the horse was dancing again.

  “Steady climb few yards after the halfway mark,” Dudley was saying.

  Further down the jockey was stiff-legged over the saddle end the pony was waiting there, nodding his head.

  “Too fast at the three-quarter. Dominic's got to learn how anxious she gets.”

  They had their noses together, nodding.

  “The mile, for heaven's sake, what was the mile,” Fell was saying.

  “The mile was one thirty-nine and a fifth.”

  Fell seemed to breathe with relief.

  “This is it! That Mindy they've set up for the race was clocked one forty.

  “She was clocked at one thirty-nine, too,” said Dudley.

  He kept walking back to the barn, with Fell next to him, and Cripp trying to keep up.

  “Are you serious? How come my lookout never told me that figure?”

  “Wasn't important. Buttonhead's done one thirty-eight. At times.”

  “At times, at times! Listen, Dudley—” Fell had forgotten the Mister—“I got to know what goes on. Why won't that horse—”

  “He hates the railing,” said Dudley. “He did one thirty-seven and three-fifths in the middle.”

  “So listen, Mr. Dudley. Just let her have her way and make that time in the middle, and none of this horsing around.”

  “The rail is faster. That horse can hit one thirty-six once he understands about railings.”

  “Mr. Dudley, look. See if I don't make sense. I'm satisfied—”

  “That horse gets to thinking the way you do, Mr. Fell, and he'll stop paying attention to business. I can't have him thinking 'Let's play it safe,' if you know what I mean. That's lack of confidence, and I never seen a winner with lack of confidence.”

  “I'm going crazy,” said Fell, “any minute now I'm going crazy from this talk.”

  “We'll hear what Dominic says.” Dudley stopped by the barn.

  Buttonhead and the pony were taking a walk near the bunkhouse, putting their feet down with care and wafting the blankets that hung over their backs. The boy was leading both of them and they kept squeezing him out of the way so they could get their noses together.

  Dominic was wiping his neck when he came out of the barn. His face was clean where the goggles had been, but the rest was dirty, making him look like an owl.

  “I slowed him at the turn,” he said. “He wanted to leave the rail.”

  “Did you have to all along?”

  “Just the last turn. He's hugging the inside on his own now, especially in the straightaway.”

  “He's catching on,” said Dudley. “When he gets anxious he forgets. Remember, Mr. Fell, I told you he gets anxious near the last turn.”

  “I want to say only one thing. If he is the anxious type, very well, I can understand that there may be horses who are the anxious type. In a case like that...”

  “Not really anxious. Mr. Fell. It's more like eager, too eager.”

  “Believe me, Mr. Dudley, that horse cannot be too eager.”

  “He is eager in such a way he doesn't know his own strength. What I'm teaching him is how to know his own strength.”

  “Yes. What I want to know is, in the few days that are left, can you convince—I mean can you train that horse to do—”

  “He's learning,” said Dudley and looked at his watch. “Tell that boy to walk a left-hand circle, will you, Dominic? Ten more minutes.”

  “Sure, Mr. Dudley.”

  “Now, what was this, Mr. Fell?”

  Fell stuck his hands in his pockets and dipped on his feet.

  “What's on my mind is very simple. Is this horse going to take that race? Is she going to?”

  “All owners want to know that,” said Mr. Dudley and then he excused himself because he had to get a solution ready for bathing Buttonhead's ankles....

  Fell drove and Cripp sat next to him. He lit a cigarette from a stub.

  “I'm going crazy,” said Cripp. “I think that guy's going to drive me absolutely crazy.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  When they got back to San Pietro, Fell dropped Cripp off and told him he wouldn't need him till later. Cripp watched Fell drive off and went upstairs to his rooms.

  The fever had left him. He remembered the way he had felt when he had watched the horse running, feeling exactly as Fell did. Fell, perhaps, felt like that often; it made Cripp apprehensive. When the phone rang he was glad for the interruption. He sat down on his bed, took the phone, and said, “Hello.”

  “Cripp, this is Janice.”

  “Yes, Mrs. Fell.”

  There was a pause, but both of them knew they were thinking of the same thing.

  “Have you seen Tom?” said Janice. “I'm calling only because he left while I was still asleep, very early....”

  “He's all right, Mrs. Fell. I've been with him.”

  Janice said “Oh” and then she laughed, but Cripp knew that she was still anxious.

  “We went out early to clock a horse,” said Cripp. “They clock them early, that's the only reason Tom had to go when he did.”

  “I'm glad,” said Janice. “I'm glad that it was only a horse.”

  Cripp nodded, forgetting that Janice couldn't see him. He thought how good it would be if it were only a horse, if there were no other doubts.

  “You know I don't like to do this,” said Janice, “calling you about him like this. But you understand, don't you, Cripp?”

  “I do, Mrs. Fell. I know what you mean.”

  “I don't—I really haven't anyone to talk to about this, so perhaps that makes it worse for me than it is. You know, Cripp?”

  Cripp nodded again without saying anything. It shocked him to find that someone else thought about Fell the way he did; like a confirmation, as if his doubts about Fell had suddenly gained real basis.

  “Of course I'm exaggerating,” Janice said, and laughed again. “But I can't help being concerned.”

  Cripp could tell how she felt. He wanted to smile, so she would be reassured, but she couldn't see him. He said, “There's really nothing to worry about,” and after a pause, “believe me, Mrs. Fell, I'm watching him.”

  “I'm glad, Cripp.”

  “Sure, Mrs. Fell. It's just that you and me don't know about these things and the way Doctor Emilson talks, it's hard to know what to think.”

  “That's true, Cripp. Especially when Tom seems to be all right. He acts perfectly all right when I see him.”

  “When I see him, too.”

  They paused again, and then Janice laughed, more relaxed now, and said, “I'll let you go now, Cripp. You must be busy.”

  “That's all right, Mrs. Fell. I'm glad we had this talk.”

  “This was just between us. All right, Cripp?”

  “Sure. And if you like, I can call you back some time, just so you don't have to worry.”

  “Thank you, Cripp.”

  Cripp nodded again
and hung up.

  He would call Janice back, now and then, to tell her that there was nothing to worry about. He looked for a cigarette, found the pack empty, dropped it on the floor. He would call her back, now and then, to find out how Fell was at home, what Janice thought about Fell. That was the real reason.

  Cripp got up, feeling angry, and when he took the first step he stumbled. He caught himself and started to swear, low and fast. He started to swear at Emilson, at himself, at Fell, and then again Emilson. After a while he was rid of it and went to heat the coffee. The thing to do was to forget about doubts, speculations, and about Emilson's ifs and maybes. He would go by what he saw, by the way Fell acted, and if Fell didn't keep on an even keel, Cripp would know it.

  But Fell didn't show a thing. He was active and very sure, doing all the routine things required of him when the season started. Cripp noticed only one thing: Fell did nothing but routine things.

  He hadn't done a thing about Pander.

  For the moment Cripp let it alone and didn't remind Fell; it might not be good pushing him. On the day of the race Fell seemed at ease and very sure with himself. At seven in the morning he was waiting for Cripp in the hall of his house, and when Cripp walked in Fell was just through using the telephone. Fell said hi and Cripp just nodded because he was still tired. When they walked out Cripp looked at the lawn, wondering about the color. It was light green, almost yellow, and men there were dark green patches next to some dry ones.

  “Got a disease there?” he asked.

  “Naw,” said Fell. “Just not enough water.”

  “So water it.”

  “It'll get water,” said Fell, “Wait till the roots grow deep.”

  Cripp drove and Fell told him where to go. They headed out of town to the sheep ranch that a man by the name of Coon used to own; he had sold the house and corrals when the factories got big and paid easier money. A young guy called Fritters had moved in because he liked space for his kids and the place was cheap. Fritters was engineer at the San Pietro radio station, but being a short-wave bug he never had quite enough money. He had lots of expensive equipment and could listen to any place in the world but the hobby cost money. That's how he got to know Fell.

  They swung off the road toward the ranch house and Cripp wondered why. He'd done a lot of things for the past week that didn't make sense to him, but since Fell had wanted them done Cripp did them.

  Cripp wanted things to go smoothly for Fell. Cripp had paid money to total strangers, from fifty bucks up to several thousand. It had been Fell's own account so that was all right. And Fell knew the guys, he said, so that was all right too. Then Cripp had arranged it so Pander's men couldn't get to the new books they were keeping. Pander had no chance to check how the bets to Fell's bookies were coming in, but that didn't mean a hell of a lot because there were so few of them left. Then there was the letter to a man named Gross, a department head in the telephone company. Cripp had delivered the envelope to the man's house, late one night.

  And about Buttonhead: Fell hadn't placed a single bet on his horse, even though nobody knew he was owner, but Dudley was listed. Then Fritters. “Call up this guy Fritters and tell him I want to see him,” Fell had said. It made even less sense to see the guy, at his house, at the crack of dawn, before Fritters went off to work.

  Cripp parked by the house and they walked to a shed by the corrals.

  “Did you know Pander's bookies got radios in their cars?” said Fell.

  “Good for them,” said Cripp.

  “Two-way radios,” Fell said. “To phone in their bets. To check odds.”

  “Clever,” said Cripp, and then Fritters stood in the doorway of the shack and said “Good morning.”

  The inside of the shed was all control boards, dials, and knobs. The tubes of the short-wave sets were hidden by panels.

  “How's it working?” said Fell.

  “Fine. I've got their wave length pegged for three days now.”

  “Tell Cripp about it,” Fell laughed. “Cripp thinks he's still dreaming.”

  “Pander's cars have an assigned wave length. It's registered and licensed, and that's how I found out,” said Fritters. “So I've got this thing here set up.” He pointed to a wired box that looked the same as all the others. “This causes a racket on their wave length. They can barely make out voices.”

  “They can't radio in the bets and they can't get the odds,” said Fell.

  It sounded smart, but crazy.

  “How about phones?” said Cripp. “They can't phone in?”

  “Sure. But Pander wasn't set up for that. His dumb raids ruined the equipment we had and what he's using now can't handle the calls from a fleet of bookies.”

  “Man,” said Cripp. “He shouldn't have gummed your setup. He could use it now.”

  “And he can't get new equipment in time. There's a queer log jam in orders at the telephone company.”

  It might ruin Fell's fun, but Cripp said it anyway. “All they have to do is figure odds at the end of the day and be ready for the next twenty-four hours.”

  “That's what he has to do,” said Fell, “only it's risky when the bets come in fast. And one thing is sure. He can't do it for the third race today. It's at four-thirty this afternoon, and today's bets have to go by yesterday's odds. With the way bets pour in for that race Pander's running himself ragged trying to get a picture of what, goes on.”

  Cripp said, “You've got him coming and going, but neat.”

  “How do you know?” said Fell, but Cripp didn't want to answer in front of Fritters and he waited till they got back to the car.

  “Drive to the motel,” said Fell.

  “You've got him neat,” said Cripp, “because he's bound to take bets on that race without being sure of the odds.”

  “You know what Buttonhead is paying?”

  “Buttonhead?”

  “We're paying the limit, twenty-to one.”

  “I don't mean to slam your horse, Tom, but—”

  “You know what Pander is paying?”

  “I can check,” said Cripp. “I didn't know you wanted to know.”

  “I know already. Twenty-six to one.”

  “He must be nuts,” said Cripp. “No bookie pays more than—”

  “He doesn't think so. There's two half-milers in that race who don't stand a chance with the favorites. Buttonhead is one, only Pander doesn't know about her. The other one's Mindy. He knows about Mindy. He wants high odds on that horse because he thinks she'll run in the money, and giving crazy odds on Mindy he keeps away outside bettors who would collect plenty when she comes in. And it won't look like a set-up job so much because there are two long shots in the bunch.”

  “If that makes sense...”

  “It makes sense.”

  “If that makes sense why do you need all that hocus pocus with the radios and the phones?”

  “Because there's going to be some awful heavy betting between now and the race. On Buttonhead.”

  It made sense again, especially after having seen the horse train and remembering the money Cripp had paid out to those strangers. It was Fell's own money, and he stood to make a pile with the bets those guys were going to place.

  “You think that will rattle Pander any?” said Cripp. “You think he gives a damn when he has to pay off those bets?”

  They had stopped at the motel and Fell got out.

  “I'll see that it does,” said Fell and told Cripp to pick him up again at 2:30.

  “How are you going to—”

  “I can't lose,” said Fell.

  Chapter Fifteen

  On top of everything else the air conditioner had broken down so Pander blamed it all on that.

  “Pander,” said Roy, “just keep thinking that it might rain. Just think of—”

  “So then the heat gets sticky.”

  “I mean if it rains the track calls off the races.”

  “Stop dreaming and call that repair place again. This heat—”


  “We got only three phones; we don't want to waste a phone on a call about air conditioning, Pander.”

  “Shut your face and—what? You waving at me?” Pander stalked around desks and chairs to get to the sweaty man by the far phone.

  “He wants to know if we can carry a one-thousand bet on her,” the man was saying.

  “On whom, dammit?”

  “This Buttonhead horse.”

  “How in hell do I know, if you guys keep tying the instruments up with conversation. Hey Mac, isn't that shortwave fixed yet?”

  “How in hell do I know?” said Mac and stuck his head back behind the panel.

  “I'll tell you how in hell! You're the mechanic around here, and—”

  “That's right. Mechanic. I don't know from short-waves and I'm telling you again, get a guy over here who knows this crate.”

  The man on the phone kept tapping on Pander's arm.

  “—wants to know if—”

  “What! What!”

  “Buttonnose—the Buttonhead bet, Pander. He wants to know.”

  “All right, just hold it a minute. Pinky! What's the figure on Buttonnose, third race today. Come on, Pinky!”

  Pinky looked across the room from the cluttered desk where he sat. “There's no Buttonnose in that race. Not on this sheet. Maybe—”

  “I said Buttonhead!”

  Pinky stuck his head down again, then said, “Twenty to win, twenty-two to—”

  “All right, stop jabbering.” Pander turned back to the man at the phone.

  “Take it, tell him to take it. It's twenty to one, and I don't want no long-winded—”

  “That's from the day before yesterday, Pander. He wants to know—”

  “Don't argue with me. There's no change.”

  “But it's the third high one he's taken, Pander. He wants to know—”

  “Tell him he's nuts. Tell him to get off that phone and to keep those horses straight. Those bets musta been on Mindy, the other half-miler, and besides it's not his place to worry who's covering.”

  “He says—”

  “Hang up!” yelled Pander and turned away.

  It made him bump into Roy and that brought on more yelling. Roy waited till it was over and then he said, “What was that you said about covering?”

  “Huh?” Pander was winded and sweating.