Puss 'N Cahoots

by Rita Mae Brown

  “’Fess up, Miss Nasty.” Pewter thought the animal even worse than the blue jay who dive-bombed her at home.

  “Pretty things for pretty girls.” Miss Nasty struck a pose.

  “My, my, don’t we think a lot of ourselves,” Pewter purred maliciously.

  Mrs. Murphy thought to change her tack. “How do you keep getting away from Booty?”

  “Easy as pie.” She puffed up, swung around again.

  “Show me,” Tucker egged her on.

  Too smart for that, Miss Nasty just intoned, “I have my ways.”

  “I thought he locked you in that big gilded cage.” Pewter slyly moved a little closer to the wooden side of the barn.

  “Twit. It’s painted white.” Miss Nasty now contemplated her nails.

  “But he locks it?” Pewter called up.

  “Yes.” She grinned, ear to ear. “I can get into or out of anything.”

  “You didn’t get into the van that just blew up, did you?” Mrs. Murphy realized that Miss Nasty knew a lot more than she was telling.

  “No.” The monkey stared down, grinned again as she enjoyed her superior position. “You can’t trick me. I’m too smart.”

  “You go with Booty everywhere, don’t you?” Mrs. Murphy kept on.

  “’Cept on dates.”

  “With you along, the date would be a disaster.” Pewter laughed.

  Miss Nasty flipped her the bird, a gesture she’d studied from Booty. “Fat fleabag.”

  “You play with yourself,” Pewter fired back.

  “I have an itch.” Miss Nasty bared her fangs.

  “Gross.” Pewter’s pupils narrowed to slits.

  Mrs. Murphy hissed quietly, “Pewter, shut up. Let me handle this.”

  Pewter glared at her tiger friend, but she piped down.

  “You know about Booty’s bringing in Mexicans,” Mrs. Murphy flatly declared.

  “How do you know that?”

  “Saw you in Charly’s barn in the middle of the night on Thursday.”

  “What were you doing there?” Miss Nasty was becoming intrigued.

  “Harry couldn’t sleep, so she came over to check on the horses. Was the night after Charly and Renata had the big fight. She took Queen Esther, Voodoo, and Shortro out of his barn.”

  Tucker smiled as she looked up. “Good business.”

  “Yeah, until all those goons showed up.” Miss Nasty, spoiled, wanted Booty to make lots of money, as then she’d get more toys, treats, and dresses.

  “Did you know Jorge?” Mrs. Murphy asked.

  “Not really. He had something to do with that business, but I don’t know what. Booty works with the people in Texas. Charly dealt with Jorge. All three of them hooked the workers up with their employers.”

  “Who took Booty’s hair dye?” Tucker was sure those bottles had been used to blacken Queen Esther’s neck and legs.

  The monkey’s eyes widened. “Don’t you ever mention that! Booty would die.”

  “Because he dyed the horse?” Pewter couldn’t stand it any longer.

  “I’m not talking to you.” Miss Nasty grimaced.

  “Is it because he dyed Queen Esther?” Tucker reiterated Pewter’s question.

  “No. He doesn’t want anyone to know he’s gray. He’d die.” Miss Nasty was very loyal to Booty. “He’s afraid to get old.”

  “Who dyed Queen Esther?” Tucker asked. She knew, but she was testing the monkey.

  “Not Booty. But I’m not everywhere.” She swung around again. “I’m tired of talking about this. I want to talk about me. Did you know that I can eat a raspberry sherbet cone faster than Booty? I can. And I can use the can opener, too, so I can open any can in the kitchen if I’m hungry. I bet you can’t do that.” A malicious gleam enlivened her eye. “Maybe Pewter.”

  “Eat you!” Pewter snarled, fangs at the ready.

  Just as Harry and Fair walked up to Barn Five, Miss Nasty clapped her hands. The humans spied the animals at Barn One.

  “Come on, kids,” Harry called.

  Reluctantly, the three friends turned from the monkey.

  Calling after them, Miss Nasty yelled, “I know things.”

  “We just want Joan’s pin,” Mrs. Murphy called back.

  “I want to kill her,” Pewter threatened.

  “Wouldn’t mind that myself,” Tucker agreed.

  “Not until we find that pin,” Mrs. Murphy paused, “and the rest of it.”

  “What rest of it?” Pewter thought the monkey was a blowhard.

  “What she knows.” Mrs. Murphy glanced over her shoulder as Miss Nasty hung from the light fixture with one hand and made an obscene gesture with the other.

  The acrid smoke frightened many of the horses. Trainers and grooms did their best to comfort the animals. None of this boded well for those who needed to perform tonight, the last night.

  The black billowing smoke spiraled upward as the firemen pumped water onto the van and the sizzling debris. Little by little the cloud flattened out, the flames subsided, but the smell of burned rubber and upholstery remained.

  Fair called Larry, who was back at Kalarama working a horse from a jog cart, a light sulky used to develop an animal’s stamina. Saddlebred training, like any type of equine training, demanded patience, knowledge, and a variety of methods. Harry didn’t need a jog cart, since she could throw her leg over a horse and jog for miles across country. Saddlebred trainers worked on their farms, using outdoor tracks and indoor arenas. They rarely rode across country. Fair reassured Larry that everything was all right in Barn Five and that he, Harry, and Manuel and the other grooms would do whatever was necessary to calm the horses.

  “Need to tranq?” Harry asked when Fair clicked off the cell.

  “Let’s see what we can do without,” Fair told Harry and Manuel. “Hate to tranquilize them before a show, even if it is hours early.”

  With Mrs. Murphy, Pewter, and Tucker tagging along, the humans began visiting each stall.

  Before Charly and Booty walked back to their barns, Ward pulled them aside. “I’m taking the big risk.” He sneezed violently, and they moved farther away from the smoke. “It was my van, not yours, so someone knows.”

  “Don’t jump to conclusions,” Booty counseled.

  “Easy for you to say. Not your van.”

  “We’ll get you another van,” Charly volunteered, patting Ward’s shoulder once. “Blessing in disguise. You collect insurance. We buy you a brand-new, reliable van. Everyone’s happy.”

  Ward’s mouth twitched slightly. “It’s got to be a three-way equal split. I’m the one carrying the freight. You two aren’t. I’m the one with your workers still at my farm, Charly.”

  “We make the deals.” Booty ran his hand over his hair. A thin, dark sheen appeared on his palm, which he wiped on his jeans.

  “Soot,” Charly generously said, checking his own hair. “Ward, I understand your position. But Booty and I have the contacts. We make the payment to our man in Texas.”

  “Your man or an independent operator?” Ward’s eyebrows rose.

  “Independent.”

  “See, I don’t think that’s quite the way it goes.” Ward was upset—after all, he or Benny or both could have been blown to bits. “I think Jorge was the go-between.”

  A moment passed, then Booty said, “He was sure helpful, but there’s someone in Texas. We told you when we agreed to do business to let us,” he nodded toward Charly, “take care of the setups, the pickups. You make the deliveries.”

  “I run my van to Memphis or Louisville. Hell, one time I had to go to St. Louis. I’m smart enough to know the rivers prove safer passage than roads, but I still make the last trip on the roads to pick up the boys off the river. It’s me that will get stopped, not you. And I’m telling you, someone’s on to us.”

  “I still say your van blowing up and burning could have been faulty wiring.” Booty avoided the main question.

  Charly said, “Booty, it was a bomb. I’d bet my life on it.�
�

  Churlish since he was being contradicted, Booty spat, “Let’s hope you don’t have to.”

  “No, it’s me that’s betting my life. If I have to take this risk, I want an equal third. If not, I’m out,” Ward said.

  “Out where?” Booty crossed his arms over his chest.

  “In for a penny, in for a pound.” Charly said this in a lighthearted manner.

  “How do I know you won’t run to the feds to save your skin?” Booty’s eyes narrowed.

  “Don’t be an ass, Booty.” Ward, emotions close to the surface, raised his voice.

  “Shhh, shhh.” Charly held his palms out toward the ground and made a slowing motion.

  “Dammit!” Booty did keep his voice low.

  “If I turned tail, if I double-crossed you all, I’d be in the slammer. They wouldn’t let me walk free. Plea-bargaining is a crock of shit. I’d still get it.” Ward’s voice was urgent, worried.

  “Not as many years,” Booty shot back.

  “I don’t want any years. As I see it this is a needed business, supply and demand.”

  “Got that right.” Charly agreed with Ward, which he hoped would help defuse the situation.

  “The fact that this is illegal is ridiculous. The laws will change.” Ward also lowered his voice. “They must. White folks ain’t doin’ this work.” He half-smiled. “But in the meantime, we’re breaking the law. I’ll pay for it. You two will be safe. ’Course, while I’m in the slammer, maybe Congress will figure out a way to make these guys legal. Then you two have a head start on an upright business while I’m punching out license plates.”

  “If whoever blew up your van is the same person who killed Jorge,” Charly hooked his thumb into his belt loop, “Booty and I won’t be safe. I’ve been thinking about that.”

  “You think too much.” Booty, exasperated, threw up his hands. “Looks to me like Jorge’s regrettable murder was a crime of passion.”

  “You think a woman slit his throat?” Ward was incredulous.

  “No, a brother, another lover. Too violent.” Booty pondered this. “Too violent to just be business.”

  “Never stopped the Mafia.” Charly stated the obvious, which only made Booty angrier. Charly noticed and added, “But you might have a point.”

  Booty checked out the firemen, the sheriff. “We need to wrap up this meeting. I need to get to my horses. My advice, especially to you, Charly, is for God’s sake don’t mention a bomb. Let them figure it out. If it is, we’ll think of something else and try to find out what’s going on. Maybe Ward’s right, maybe someone is on to us.”

  “What I can’t fathom is, why try to scare us? That’s what drug czars do. Doesn’t fit.” Charly stifled his worry, hoping it wouldn’t show on his face.

  “Fit or not, one man is dead, my van is cinders.”

  “We’ll buy you a new van.” Charly repeated this as though to a child.

  “An equal third and a van.” Ward looked each man square in the eye, then returned his gaze to his van.

  “Charly and I need to talk about it.” Booty played for time.

  “Now or never, Booty. I’m not the fool you take me to be.”

  “I say we let him in as an equal partner. He’s proven himself these last two years, and he does risk more,” Charly paused, “initially.”

  Booty was livid that, as he saw it, Charly had given in, but he agreed through gritted teeth. “Fine.”

  “And we’d better start sniffing around.” Ward’s shoulders dropped a little, he’d been so tense. “You might be next.”

  “Shit.” Booty spat on the ground.

  “Booty, don’t be so sure you won’t wind up with your throat slit. We’re all marked, I swear it.” Ward’s voice wavered slightly.

  “Oh, hell, Booty will be killed by his ex-wife. She’ll start lower with the knife, then work her way up to his throat.” Charly couldn’t suppress a laugh.

  “Kill Miss Nasty, too,” Ward, enjoying Booty’s sudden look of discomfort, added.

  As the smoke slowly dissipated, the horses calmed down. No matter what happens, even in war, horse chores must get done. Manuel kept everyone moving once the worst had passed, so Fair and Harry could attend to other things.

  No sooner had Fair stepped out of Barn Five than Booty waved for him to come over to his barn. Miss Nasty, on his shoulder, waved, too. “Mare cast.”

  Fair strode toward the barn, daylight so bright he squinted. “Harry, shouldn’t take long,” he called over his shoulder.

  A horse who is cast has laid down in his or her stall and can’t get up again. Sometimes it’s foolishness; they literally get stuck in a corner and then become frightened. Other times, they’re down and appear cast but are sick, even though they showed no prior signs of illness. You didn’t know until you got into the stall with the horse.

  Booty, taking no chances, for it had already been a bad day from his point of view, hailed Fair.

  If the horse was simply cast, the men could raise her up. Even then, Booty wanted Fair to examine her. She’d probably flopped down in a fit over the smoke, fire, and hollering.

  Harry, left to her own devices, headed toward the practice ring, then noticed it was empty. Given the proximity of the incinerated van, that made sense.

  People were working their horses in the main show ring with the blessing of the fairground officials.

  In an impromptu meeting, the officials, some on a speakerphone, deliberated whether to cancel Saturday’s events and send everyone home. After viewing this from every single angle, they chose to go forward. They deliberated more because the next proposed step was costly, but they finally agreed to hire extra security. Under other circumstances this might offend the sheriff’s department. As it was, Sheriff Howlett was overstretched, so he felt relief. This had turned into one hell of a week for the department.

  Harry observed the manager striding down to the parking lot, so she turned toward the show ring. Mrs. Murphy, Pewter, and Tucker tagged along. The sun high overhead encouraged her to duck under the covered arena on the eastern side of the ring. Sitting in the front was Renata.

  “May I join you?” Harry inquired.

  Harry, even though she was pretty sure Renata had “stolen” her own horse, liked her more each day. Renata wasn’t silly, she loved horses, and, given all that had happened apart from Queen Esther, Renata stayed grounded.

  “Please.”

  The two women watched as three good horses, each with little dangling chains like bracelets on their long hooves, trotted.

  “Hot. Hope those trainers have sense enough to shorten this.” Harry hated to see a horse ill-used or pushed too hard.

  “Think they will.” Renata leaned forward, elbows on knees. “More than anything I think this was to give them a positive focus—you know, take their minds off the explosion.” She paused. “Charly swears it was a bomb.”

  “He would know.” Harry leaned forward, as well, since the bleachers had no backs on them.

  Mrs. Murphy and Pewter climbed to the top of the bleachers because birds made nests under the eaves. They couldn’t reach them, but they could listen and dream. Tucker stayed with Harry.

  “You’re talking to Charly again?”

  “Sort of.” Renata tugged at the ends of her cowboy neckerchief, which she’d tied around her neck.

  Neckerchiefs proved useful when the dust kicked up. Slip one up over your nose and you could breathe better than without.

  “I’m surprised you’re not at Kalarama with Queen Esther. Don’t you ride tonight?”

  She turned her beautiful face toward Harry. “I’m chicken.”

  “’Cause you haven’t worked her much?”

  “No. Too many terrible things going on around here. I don’t want my mare hurt. I don’t want to bring her back here.” She inhaled deeply. “And I don’t want to get hurt, either. Publicity may be good, but I care about Queen Esther more than that.” Renata now regretted generating that publicity, although she couldn’t say
as much.

  “Understand that.” Harry breathed in, the sticky air coating her throat. “You are the main attraction, though.”

  “No.” Renata smiled disarmingly. “The main attraction is the five-gaited stake, Charly and Booty going head to head.”

  “Don’t forget Larry.”

  “Point Guard should do well, but it really is between Frederick the Great and Senator. Point Guard is young. Lots of time.”

  Charly came into the ring, with Carlos leading a light-brown gelding with a high head carriage. The horse possessed the desired Saddlebred attributes: long neck, good head set and carriage, longish strong back, powerful hindquarters. He threw his right foreleg out a bit to the side. This small flaw would in no way compromise his performance, but if in a class with a horse who was equal to him in presentation, he’d be pinned beneath that horse. Still, he’d be in the ribbons.

  “Haven’t seen that horse before.” Harry remembered horses, dogs, and cats the way most people remembered human faces.

  “Charly brought him in from Indiana. He’s just starting his career. He goes right back to the farm after this. But we agreed to meet here so I could watch him—easier for both of us today and, well, who knew?” She threw up her hands.

  Charly tipped his Panama hat at the ladies while slowly walking the gelding around, giving the animal time to relax, stretch his legs. Even at the walk, the horse exhibited a big, fluid stride.

  “Nice mover.” Harry studied intently.

  “Charly says he’s easy to ride.”

  “How much?”

  “Today, forty thousand. If he starts the bigger show circuit and does well, that will double fast enough.” She rested her chin on her fist. “I need more horses, horses I can ride. I’m not paying all this money to watch someone else ride my horses.”

  Harry laughed. “You start out with one or two; two’s better since horses shouldn’t be alone, they need a friend. Next thing you know, you’ve got a herd.”

  “I can do the job.” Tucker could, too. “I can move them in and out of the barn all by myself. You just get a herd.”