Sociopath?

by Vicki Williams

  “We got a black stud colt that would be right up your alley, Rafe. Problem is the old man would never agree to let you have him. In fact, I think he’s decided the only safe thing to do is have him put down.”

  “Why? What’s up with him?”

  “He’s mean as a rattlesnake. Bites, kicks, bucks. The stable hands all hate him. Too bad ‘cuz he’s gorgeous, a true black, and you know, that isn’t so common. Perfect confirmation. Bloodlines out the wazoo. We originally thought we’d show him, then keep him for breeding but Dad said he’d never want to pass on that kind of disposition. Thought about gelding him, but he’s been a pure little bastard since he was born and seems unlikely anything is going to change him. Anyway, Dad decided if he hurt anybody, he’d feel responsible so I think he’s a goner….”

  “You’ve still got him now though?”

  “Yeah.”

  “I’d like to at least come out and take a look.”

  “Well, it looks like we’re both about to get done here. Why don’t you follow me back to the farm. I’ll show him to you but I warn you, I don’t think you’ll get beyond that with Dad.”

  Roger grinned, brown eyes sparkling, knowing he’d piqued Rafe’s interest. The two had started school together clear back in kindergarten, although Rafe had jumped ahead of him when he’d been skipped those two years. Roger knew if you told Rafe he couldn’t do something, he wouldn’t be able to resist trying to figure out a way to do it just to prove it could be done. Roger remembered when they’d played football together in high school. They’d all been sitting around taking a breather during a practice. Someone had pointed out the tall announcer’s box and said wouldn’t it be cool if they could sneak in and replace the school flag on top with a banner that said, “fuck the Falcons”. If no one official noticed it until the last minute, people would begin coming into the stands and a lot of them would see it before the administration could get a maintenance guy out to take it down. They tossed the possibilities around for a while before sensible heads prevailed, pointing out that a) it was almost impossible to get over the high fence that enclosed the field (there had been a vandalism incident once and the current fence was, if anything an over-reaction on the school’s part) and b) it would be even more difficult to climb to the top of the peaked roof of the announcer’s stand to reach the flag pole (when the school needed to get up there, they used a cherry picker, for God’s sake). Eventually, everyone gave up on the idea, or at least, they thought everyone had given up.

  But at the next game, the one with the Ferris Falcons, Thad Curless had poked Roger in the ribs and whispered, “look at the flagpole but don’t let anyone see you do it”. And there, flying in the breeze, was a white banner that simply said, “RAFE” in large black letters. Of course, it would be Rafe’s style to bypass the smart-ass sentiment like, “fuck the Falcons”, just to make a personal statement. Word about the banner passed from student to student. Clumps of giggling kids wondered how long it was going to take the adults to discover Rafe’s flag. They were thrilled that he’d managed to pull off a coup against the administration. By the time one of the teachers noticed and brought it to the attention of Principal Jacobs, the game was getting ready to start and since it didn’t say anything offensive, he made the decision to leave it until afterwards. So, Rafe’s name floated above the field during the entire game which was fitting at the end when he made the winning touchdown for Benedict.

  Naturally, although they’d let it pass temporarily, the bureaucracy was not happy and Rafe got called into the principal’s office first thing Monday morning. The school grapevine went into overdrive. Soon every student knew.

  “Hey, Rafe’s in Jacob’s office. Wonder what will happen?”

  “Probably wants to know how he did it. You know, he’s wasting his time. Rafe’ll never tell.”

  “Yeah, he wouldn’t even tell any of us and we begged him.”

  “But we don’t have the kind of leverage Jacobs has. He can threaten to call Rafe’s old man or give him a million years of in-school detention or something.”

  “Won’t matter. I’ll bet you ten bucks he won’t get Rafe to talk. If he has to, he’ll just take his punishment.”

  “Maybe he’ll throw Rafe off the team.”

  “Ha-ha! Like Coach would ever let that happen!”

  He didn’t tell, and he did not get thrown off the team, but he did get an entire month of in-school suspension (no one had ever gotten as much). Jacobs thought it was a punishment to sit in a small room each day, isolated from his fellow students, but, of course, he didn’t understand that to Rafe, this wasn’t the case at all. In fact, he could do his reading and his homework better in this quiet place than in class. He was almost sorry when it was over.

  *

  All this was why Roger was hoping that Rafe might be the beautiful black colt’s salvation. He figured that if anyone could handle the little hellion, it would be Rafe….if they could talk Roger’s dad into letting him try.

  “Hey, you know what else, Rafe?”

  “What?”

  “This guy’s grandfather? Desfino, Destiny’s brother.”

  *

  Max Corning was an older version of his son or maybe that was vice versa. Both were short and wiry with arms and legs muscled from years of riding horses. Both had sun-weathered complexions, although the father’s face was aged like old leather. Both had brown eyes that could size up a colt in an instant and both usually had ready smiles, although the elder Mr Corning’s smile wasn’t in evidence just now.

  “What are you up to, Roger? You know I’ve already made my decision. There’s no sense trying to talk me out of it. I’ve got Doc scheduled to come next week. I’m not going to let a horse with his temperament waste food and stall space….or ruin Legacy Ridge’s reputation.”

  “I know, Dad, but I was telling Rafe about him and he just wanted to see him.”

  Rafe and Roger leaned against the paddock fence, each with one booted foot propped up on the lower rail.

  “We leave him out in good weather. It’s just too hard on the guys fighting with him to get him back and forth to the barn.”

  “Jesus, Roger, you’re right about him. He’s fucking awesome.”

  The colt was running along the far end of his fence line, muscles rippling under his ebony skin, long black tail floating behind him. When he slowed down, he snorted and shook his head at the men, black forelock bobbing. He obviously didn’t like them being so near, watching him. He had the distinctive dish face of the full-blooded Arab. Right now, his ears were pinned back in anger. He screamed out a warning for Rafe and Roger to keep their distance, stamping his front feet to accentuate the threat.

  “It’s not really safe to leave the long lead on him. He could step on it and trip himself when he’s running but it’s the only way we can catch him without a big hassle,” Roger told him.

  Rafe watched the colt, thinking he probably wanted the challenge of trying to seduce this horse as much as he’d ever wanted to seduce any woman. He admired the young stud’s unwillingness to submit. Of course, in order to survive, he’d have to learn to keep the wildness hidden, fooling people into thinking they’d tamed him. They would kill you off if you didn’t. He’d had to learn that and the colt needed to learn it too.

  “Please, Mr Corning, just let me try. One week, give me one week. If I’m not riding him by then, I’ll admit defeat and you can do what you want to do.”

  “No, Rafe, absolutely not. I can just see me informing Renny that one of my horses has hurt his son while I just stood back and let it happen, knowing how unpredicatable he was.”

  Rafe grinned. “Okay, do it this way then. Call my Dad and ask him. See what he says. If he gives his approval, then you let me have my shot. What do you say, Mr Corning? That’s fair, isn’t it?”

  “Come on, Dad, please. I think he can do it, I really do.”

  With both Rafe and Roger pounding on him, Max Corning gave up.

  “I’ll call your father,
Rafe, but I’m going to be completely up-front with him about how dangerous I think this horse is and that there’s a serious risk to you.”

  Rafe nodded in agreement.

  And when Max briefed Renny over the phone, he was dead honest.

  “I’m opposed, Renny, but I promised Rafe I’d let you make the call.”

  Renny was silent for a moment and then Max heard a sigh coming through the phone.

  “Let him do it, Max. Trying to keep Rafe safe is a lost cause. Over time, I’ve learned to have faith in him. He won’t take stupid chances. If he thinks he can win over your colt, he probably can.”

  Rafe and Roger stood listening to Max’s end of the call. If Renny had faith in Rafe, Rafe had as much faith in his father. He would have bet any amount of money that Renny would say yes although that decision seemed to shock old Max.

  He hung up the phone and turned around.

  “One week, Rafe. You’ve got one week. If that colt isn’t a perfect gentleman by then, Doctor Hammond still comes on schedule.” He frowned at the boys. “I want you both to know I’m not happy about this and I feel like you scammed me, especially you, Roger, bringing Rafe out here after my decision had been made.”

  “Whew,” said Roger. “He is seriously pissed. Don’t screw this up, Rafe, or it’s my ass.”

  “Don’t worry, Rog. I won’t screw it up. Oh, by the way, does this colt have a name.”

  “Yep.” Roger smiled. “It’s Desperado - fitting, huh?”

  *

  He went back to Heron Point long enough to pack a small tote of clothes, a sleeping bag, a cooler of food and water and some books. He changed into ragged jeans, a lined flannel shirt and his beat-up cowboy boots, before returning to Legacy Ridge. He went into the colt’s paddock and set up a miniature base camp, close to the feed box and hay rack. If the young stud wanted to eat anything but grass he’d have to come within a few yards of Rafe. Then he simply sat in an unthreatening position with back against the fence, reading out loud while ignoring the horse completely. Meanwhile, Desperado maintained a position as far from the man as he could get. If Rafe appeared uninterested in him, he was certainly focused on Rafe, as if wondering what the hell was going on. Nothing like this had ever happened before.

  When dark came, Rafe curled up in his sleeping bag and fell asleep. At dawn, he went behind a tree to take a piss, ate some cheese and crackers and drank some water, then resumed his reading.

  During that day, both Rafe and the colt maintained their positions. The stand off was a source of great interest to everyone at Legacy Ridge at first. Periodically, they would lounge against the fence and watch but it soon became boring since neither of the main actors seemed to be making any advances.

  By the third day, the colt grazed his way closer to Rafe, his ears pricked forward toward the sound of Rafe’e voice. That evening, he ate from his feed box although he kept a wary eye on the man seated on the ground near by.

  For the first time, Rafe raised his head from his book and addressed Desperado directly.

  “Well, hey, there, Sweetheart,” he murmured in a low voice, “you’ve decided it’s safe to come a little closer now, have you? That’s good. I’m the only chance you’ve got, Youngster, whether you know it or not.”

  The colt snorted but didn’t move away.

  That night, Rafe felt rather than saw the black shape approaching him slowly. If horses could be said to tiptoe, this one was, putting one hoof cautiously in front of the other. Rafe kept perfectly still until he could almost feel the colt’s breath in his face. Although his eyes were closed, he could sense Desperado’s own curious eyes watching him. He didn’t want to move enough even to smile but inwardly, he was grinning.

  On the third day, Rafe took a walk around the paddock. The colt followed him, keeping a short distance between them. Rafe paid no attention to him.

  “What do you think, Dad?” Roger asked his father. Both of them had been monitoring the situation closely.

  “It’s an unorthodox approach to say the least but he seems to be making progress. I know you have a soft spot for that colt, Roger, but don’t get your hopes up too much. He’s still got a ways to go.”

  In the beginning, the employees at Legacy Ridge were going to take bets about whether Rafe could win the colt over or not but they’d all had experience with him, so no one wanted to take Rafe’s side of the bet. They scoffed when Rafe set up his little camp right inside Desperado’s paddock. They scoffed even more about the novel concept of reading a horse into submission.

  The consensus was that they’d probably come out one morning and find the kid stomped to death.

  On the fourth day, the colt allowed Rafe to walk up to him. Rafe removed the halter and attached lead rope. Desperado seemed startled. No human had ever removed a binding from him before, only put them on.

  The Legacy Ridge crew was startled too.

  “Christ sakes, he took the goddam halter and lead rope off. Now, we’re going to have to go through all that bullshit to catch him again, like we did before.”

  On the fifth day, they walked together, Rafe’s arm flung across Desperado’s neck. That evening, he put the halter and lead rope back on and led the colt around the inside of the fence.

  During the entire time, Rafe carried on long conversations with the young stud, like they were best friends. Rafe explained his philosophy of life to the horse, who shook his head, as if in agreement. Sometimes, he explained mathematical formulas and other times, he deconstructed the plots of books he’d read. He quoted long streams of poetry (it was the first time, he’d ever thought memorizing poetry had any practical value).

  On the next to the last day, Rafe moved into touch mode. He scratched the colt’s ears and under his mane. He ran his hands across his back and down his legs. He leaned into him. He laid his cheek against the Desperado’s own face, whispering into his ear. He put his arms around the horse’s neck.

  “Okay,” Rafe told him on the morning of the seventh day. “Our time is up so this is the acid test. You’ve got to let me ride you or you have a date with a needle later this afternoon. Have you got that, Tee?” (He’d taken to calling the colt Tee which stood for Des Two, or maybe Des Too).

  “I’m coming up now, Tee,” he crooned into the horse’s ear (in much the same tone, he used when he was getting ready to enter a woman). “Just relax, Sweetheart, and trust me. I’ll make it all right, I promise.”

  Grabbing hold of a handful of mane, he leapt onto Desperado’s back, still reassuring the horse of his good intentions. After the first shock of feeling Rafe’s weight on him, the young stallion seemed to accept the man on his back without protest. Rafe patted his neck and nudged him a little with his heels.

  “Let’s pick up the pace a little, what do you say?”

  They went from a trot into an easy lope.

  “Dad, look!” Roger pointed to the paddock. Rafe was crouched over the colt’s neck, hands clutching its mane, jean-clad legs tightly clasping its sides. The colt’s mane and tail were flying and so was Rafe’s own black hair.

  “Yes!” Roger pumped one arm into the air triumphantly.

  The Cornings walked over to the paddock fence. Rafe rode over and slid down.

  His smile went flashing across his face. “So, Mr Corning, are you going to sell him to me?”

  “I’ll keep my word. He’s yours, Rafe. I’m not going to charge you for a horse I was going to have put down. I think you still might want to be careful. I’m not sure he’ll be safe for anyone but you.”

  Rafe shook his head. “No, Mr Corning, I think you might be right about that.”

  He went back later with the horse trailer to bring Desperado home. Renny came out to see the colt when he got there.

  “Thanks for backing me up, Dad. He wouldn’t have let me try it if you hadn’t given your okay.”

  Renny gave his son a quick squeeze on the shoulder.

  “That’s because he doesn’t know you as well as I do, Rafe.”

&n
bsp; *

  In March, he called a meeting with Chet and Jeri.

  He’d been in four NASCAR Busch series races last year and had come in fifth, second, fifth and first - yeah, baby! - all top fives. All in all, an incredible record for a stone rookie just jumping over from driving sprint cars. Ron Corydon was so pleased, he’d offered Rafe the spot as full time driver for the Number 10 Winchester Chevrolet for this season. From the very first minute, he slid into the window to the cockpit of his car, it felt like coming home. The American monsters of NASCAR, almost 3 ? tons of muscle, were right up his alley. He loved goosing the white Monte Carlo with the black pony express rider on the side down the straightaways and powering it around the turns. If he could keep doing as well as he was, his team and sponsors would be more than satisfied.

  *

  “I think it’s time you guys became official. Jeri, I know managing the fan club and the website has become a full-time job, and you’ve had to expand to handle the movie stuff as well, so starting today I’m putting you on salary. We’ll begin with $40,000 a year and see how that goes. And, Chet, you tell me what title you want and what you think it’s worth?”

  Chet, who’d only been visualizing just this scenario for about three years, was speechless now that the time had come.

  “I don’t know, Rafe.”

  “Well, let’s figure it out then. First, I see you as just a kind of general friend and manager, as you have been all along anyway, but what about your business, Chet? I can’t ask you to short that on my account.”

  “I’m ready to sell and just throw in with you, Rafe. I was thinking about retiring anyway. I’ve even got a guy lined up who wants to buy me out.”

  “And how much will you be giving up in income to do that, Chet?”

  The old man waved his hand. “That’s not really important. Everything I have is paid for so the money I get will just be mine. I believe in you, Rafe. I think you’ll jump to Cup after a year with the Busch series and probably win a championship within five. How about we go with a percentage? It will save you money up front but I’ll get more when we get things really rolling. Say ten percent.”