Aim High (The Eddie Malloy series Book 7)

by Joe McNally

  Eddie had other plans.

  When the tape went up he got Playlord away in front.

  Eddie and Playlord flew the first fence and heard the others rasp through the black birch. Good pace judgement is vital, especially when making the running. Too fast and your horse has nothing left for the finish. Too slow and you leave the others with enough energy to pass you late on. Dead right and you have a very good chance. Eddie needed the perfect ride: fast enough to draw the finishing spurt out of Tibidabo, but not so fast as to leave Eddie’s horse with nothing to give at the end.

  The diminishing sound of the pack as Eddie pulled farther clear told him the other jockeys thought he was going too fast, a kind of crowd-sourced opinion from hardened pros. But Eddie couldn’t let it affect him. He needed faith in his judgement.

  Playlord was in a strong rhythm, and as they ran down the hill with two to jump, Eddie could hear nothing closing. Playlord showed no signs of fatigue. Eddie look behind, ducking slightly to peer through his legs and see an upside-down Kellagher riding frantically on the big grey. They were ten lengths back.

  Eddie smiled, but he still had a decision to make…if he drove for home now it might exhaust Playlord halfway up the hill. But it might also increase Eddie’s lead just enough to hold on.

  If Eddie kept going at the current pace, he was certain they’d conserve enough energy to last home, but he feared Tibidabo’s renowned finishing kick and his battling qualities.

  It had to be option one.

  Crouching lower, Eddie drew his whip and hit Playlord down the flanks, three sharp smacks then he kicked hard for home. Away to his right he heard the crowd respond with a gathering roar that rolled down the hill. Kellagher would hear it too. The favourite leading the second favourite into the final stages guaranteed pandemonium in the stands as punters dumped decorum for base instinct and the scent of the bookies’ blood.

  Coming into the second last Eddie was on autopilot and fired him over the fence, then smacked him three more times as they hurtled toward the last. The PA commentary was drowned in the rising clamour from the stands. The tone of the crowd developed a frantic edge telling Eddie that Kellagher was making significant ground. Normally he’d hear the hoofbeats as a challenger approached but the racket now swamped everything, and Playlord took the last cleanly and Eddie was riding for his life.

  Head down, whip swinging, kicking and rowing, foam from the horse’s gasping mouth flecking Eddie’s goggles, Eddie felt him falter. Three hundred yards to go. Eddie push harder, almost weeping in the desperate fear of seeing the grey head of Tibidabo at his flanks.

  And slowly, it crept into view.

  He was well to the left of Eddie. He had the rail to help him keep straight while Playlord, oxygen-starved, was wandering up the middle of the track. Everything dropped away from Eddie’s consciousness. The baying of the crowd faded. The grass below him morphed to a smooth sheet of green, and from the corner of Eddie’s left eye, in what seemed the slowest of slow motion, Kellagher drove the grey in front just before the line.

  Finished.

  Done with.

  Eddie shut his eyes. Gutted. Raging that Kellagher had got another result, as had his paymaster Jordan Ivory. He’d failed by half a length. Failed. Eddie’s fault. Eddie’s judgement, and the anger would not fade.

  His next ride fell and his final mount was unplaced. As much as he loved Cheltenham, Eddie couldn’t wait to get away, and he was hurrying through the last of the crowds, when he saw Jordan Ivory alone, head down, counting a wad of notes. Had Eddie been rational, he’d have walked on by…He marched across and blocked Ivory’s path.

  Ivory, tall, fair-haired, and exquisitely dressed, saw Eddie’s shoes in time to look up and avoid bumping into him. Eddie leaned close and said, ‘You were a lucky man, today. I gave that everything. Don’t ever believe that your threats made an ounce of difference to how I rode that race!’ Ivory smiled and stepped aside, ‘Excuse me. I have guests waiting in my box. They’re celebrating, and I’d like to re-join them.’

  ‘You do that. While you can.’ Eddie stopped himself from saying anymore. Ivory’s facade of cool politeness, his fine clothes, were making Eddie feel stupid and thuggish. And vengeful. Heading for the car, Eddie told himself this was not his fight. Eddie hadn’t given in to Ivory, and he never would. That should be consolation enough.

  39

  By the time he’d reached the outskirts of Lambourn, Eddie had decided to call Broc Lisle and offer to testify against Kellagher.

  The logical outlook Eddie had acquired in the past couple of years had been almost snuffed out by his anger and frustration, but enough remained to divert him to Mac’s place to talk over what he planned to do.

  Mac poured him a large whiskey. ‘Drink that. Calm down, and stay well away from this.’

  They sat by the fire. Mac closed the curtains against the November night. Eddie drank a third of the whiskey in one go and stared at him as he settled in the big chair opposite. Mac said, ‘You’ve got that resentful look about you. The one from the old days. The one that tells me you’re going to do something really stupid, and bugger the consequences.’

  Eddie nodded.

  ‘Do you want to discuss it, or just tell me exactly what you’re planning?’

  ‘I don’t know, Mac. I’m disgusted.’

  ‘I saw the race. You rode a peach.’

  ‘A bruised peach. I was half a length out. Half a length that won Ivory, and Kellagher and God knows who else a lot of money. I’ve never in my life wanted to win a race so much.’

  ‘That’s what’s clouding your judgement, Eddie. I could see the point of being disgusted and infuriated if you’d given in to them, but you did the opposite. You should be proud.’

  ‘How can I be proud when that crew are doing exactly as they want? When Kellagher and his sidekicks walked into the sauna the other day, everyone else walked out. While those three were in court, the changing room had never been happier. Now they think they’re unbeatable. Kellagher was boasting about getting off with the charges. He said "What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger". How long am I supposed to put up with that?’

  ‘That’s beside the point. What can you do about it? Lisle asked you to help convict them, and you said no. I suppose he’d welcome a change of mind, but why should you take a lone stand? Ivory is a very smart man. He’s been pulling bigger and bigger stunts for years and has never been convicted of anything. If he finds out you’ve done a deal with Lisle, he’ll get you…one way or another.’

  ‘Not if I get him first.’

  ‘Then you’d best avoid Lisle and everybody else.’

  Eddie smiled for the first time in hours, and looked at Mac. ‘What’s with you? Your natural response is to tell me to stay within the law and out of trouble.’

  ‘Waste of time and breath telling you that. The only reason I used to counsel you thus, was that I had a position to honour. I never expected you to pay me any heed.’

  ‘Thus. That’s another word of yours I like, Mac. I’ll add it to flippant, macabre and belligerent.’ Eddie toasted him. ‘Here’s to your vocabulary.’

  He raised his glass. ‘I’m happy you find me amusing. And even happier that you seem to have calmed down, thus becoming flippant again, not so belligerent and much less likely to do something macabre.’

  Eddie laughed. So did Mac, and the world rebalanced itself.

  Kellagher’s success on Tibidabo went to his head. “What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger” became his mantra, and he let it be known in the changing room that there were three more horses running in big races before Christmas which “would definitely win”. He seemed to think this would soften everyone up and make his pre-race ‘advice’ to his main opponent more acceptable than it had been to Eddie Malloy.

  The Tingle Creek Chase at Sandown in early December was the next race on Kellagher’s list. Eddie spent little time thinking about it as it was most unlikely he’d be riding in it. It was a Grade 1 race, and n
one of Dil’s horses was good enough to run. It would be dominated by the top trainers, most of whom had a retained jockey.

  In the weeks leading up to the Tingle Creek, Nina Raine was burning through Mave’s tips to the extent that Mave was working the system full time again, and Nina’s brother could no longer get bets on. On December 1st, Eddie stayed over at Mave’s place. Eddie hadn’t seen her for a while. He thought she looked burdened, trapped, and unhappy. The house seemed cold and unwelcoming and she’d reverted to working through the night on a regime of coffee and darkness, living only in the pale light from her PC screen, a ghostly, bodiless head.

  ‘Can I put the lamp on?’ Eddie asked.

  ‘If you must.’

  Eddie clicked the switch. Now half the room was lit rather than just the halo around Mave.

  ‘I’ll get some logs in, eh? Build a fire.’

  ‘If you like.’

  Eddie hunkered by her desk and looked up at her. ‘You’re like a prisoner here. The Rapunzel of North Wales.’

  ‘Minus the tower. And the hair. And the beauty.’

  ‘Minus about half a stone since I last saw you. I wouldn’t have thought you’d a pound of flesh to lose.’

  Her eyes stayed on the screen, her fingers on the keyboard. ‘You’re obsessed with my weight.’

  ‘I’m obsessed with your health, Mave.’

  ‘Go and build your fire and let me finish this.’

  The flames warmed the room with light as well as heat, and Eddie picked Maven up from the old semi-circular studded leather chair at her desk and carried her to the soft couch by the fireplace. As they crossed the room, she smiled for the first time since he’d arrived, and she mimicked her keyboard action in the air.

  Eddie had shopped for bread and butter and ham on the way, as he knew her larder would be empty. ‘Eat,’ Eddie said, laying down the sandwiches and tea.

  ‘Yes, sir!’

  Eddie watched her chew slowly and stare at the flames. ‘Mave, I know the last time we talked about this, I said you ought to do what you’d have done if we’d never met.’

  ‘I remember. You didn’t want to control me.’

  ‘I don’t want to control you. But I don’t want to lose you. Believe me, you look ill.’

  She nodded. ‘I feel like I’m on a hamster wheel.’

  ‘And Nina Raine’s spinning it.’

  ‘I’m doing it for Sonny.’

  ‘I know you are, but what’s it worth? What’s it worth to him? If she had any feelings for him, she wouldn’t be sending him on begging missions. Where is this son of hers? How much has she spent trying to find him?’

  Mave stared at the flames. ‘I’ve lost count.’

  ‘A million?’

  ‘Maybe…Probably.’

  ‘And not a sniff so far? Nothing in, what, months?’

  Mave shrugged.

  ‘Is there a son? Was there ever a marriage?’

  Mave looked at him. ‘Why wouldn’t there be?’

  ‘Because she’s spent north of a million employing God knows how many supposed investigators, bribing officials, running Sonny and you ragged for months and not the slightest sign of any son or husband…Maybe it’s time to ease off on the programme and do some research into Ms. Raine’s background.’

  ‘And if she’s not who she says she is, what do I tell Sonny?’

  ‘The truth. It’s his decision after that.’

  ‘And what if she does have a son?’

  ‘Well, I bet you she hasn’t spent a million trying to find him.’

  Mave swallowed and massaged her face. Eddie rose from the fireside chair to sit beside her and he put an arm around her shoulder. She moved an inch toward him, her body beginning to relax then she caught herself and straightened again and pushed her joined hands between her skinny thighs. ‘Miss Resist,’ Eddie said quietly.

  ‘Mister Resistor,’ she said, her word-game brain responding automatically.

  ‘Go to sleep,’ Eddie said. ‘I’ll protect you from the Hooded Claw.’

  She smiled, and her muscles eased and her tiny bones settled against him, and the old clock she kept in the corner chimed midnight.

  40

  On the day before the Tingle Creek Chase, Eddie was at Sandown for two rides. Both were at a comfortable weight for him so he’d no need of a sauna. But as he walked into the changing room, Eddie saw five jockeys leaving the sauna box. None spoke. Nobody smiled. Dinky Cobb was one of them. Eddie stopped him. ‘Kellagher and his pals just go in there?’

  He nodded, firing sweat drops from his nose.

  ‘Who with?’

  ‘Alex.’

  Alex Brophy was champion jockey. He was due to ride the favourite in the Tingle Creek. Alex was a tough guy on course; no quarter asked or given. In the changing room he was as close to a loner as you’ll get among jockeys. Tim Bellamy, a good friend of Alex’s when he’d started riding, had been killed in a hurdle race at Wincanton. Alex pretty much shut down his emotions after that. Everything he did was focused on winning the championship each season.

  Kellagher and crew had come along a few years after Alex had withdrawn from the banter and camaraderie of the changing room. They knew little about him except that he was hard to beat in a race, and that would be the only reason those three were in there with him.

  Eddie dumped his bag, took off his jacket and went to the sauna. Sampson stood guard. Eddie pushed the handle. Sampson let it open six inches and said, ‘Closed for temporary repairs.’

  Eddie took two steps back and kicked the door hard, his boot-heel denting the pine just below the handle. The edge of the door slammed against Sampson’s ear and he howled and fell. Blackaby tried to catch him as Eddie walked in, but Sampson clattered onto the duckboards, his head hitting the wooden water bucket. All the anger Eddie had felt after losing out to Kellagher at Cheltenham flooded back, and he bent and grabbed Sampson by the hair and turned his bleeding face toward him. ‘Nothing’s fucking closed to me! Understand? Nothing!’ Sampson’s dazed brown eyes searched for his companions. Eddie didn’t even bother looking at them. He tightened his grip on Sampson’s hair and moved his face close. ‘Understand? You fucking moron!’

  Kellagher said, ‘Leave him alone, Malloy. You don’t have a dog in this fight.’

  Eddie turned quickly. Kellagher was on the lower bench beside Alex Brophy. Eddie grabbed Kellagher by the throat and hauled him upward, forcing his chin back, feeling massively superior. The rage made everything effortless. Their nakedness rendered them helpless in Eddie’s eyes. He could have lifted Kellagher off the floor with that single hand clamped on his windpipe. ‘You’re a dog, in this fight, Kellagher. You wouldn’t be my dog ‘cause you’re a fucking cur like your two pals. Now get the fuck out of here…’ Eddie threw him with such force that Kellagher couldn’t keep his feet and he slithered along the floor of the changing room as everyone watched. Eddie spun and grabbed Sampson and dragged him out and laid him beside Kellagher and as he went back for Blackaby, the jockey hurried out under his own steam and stood over his friends. Eddie held open the sauna door and shouted at them, ‘Don’t ever fucking tell me where I can and can’t go! Don’t ever! And tell your boss, Ivory, that anytime he wants a fucking sauna with me he can bring it on!’

  Nobody laughed. Everyone stared at Eddie as though he were mad. Eddie turned triumphantly to Alex Brophy who was still seated in the sauna. Brophy looked at him and seemed to be wondering if Eddie might attack him next, and some sense of how out of it he was seeped into Eddie.

  The changing room door opened and the clerk of the scales looked in. ‘Everything all right?’ Then he recognized the half-naked bodies on the floor and he smiled and quietly closed the door again. Nobody moved, and as Eddie strode toward the bathroom area, that sense of power, of invulnerability, bloomed once more and for the first time in Eddie’s life, he understood how men could become addicted to barbarism.

  The sense of utter satisfaction took a long time to fade. Driving home, Eddie sti
ll felt as though he could conquer the world. He was convinced he’d finished the criminal careers of Kellagher and co and he laughed out loud at the thought of them squirming, sweating, trying to hold towels around themselves in a final attempt at retaining some dignity. Nobody would fear them now. Nobody.

  Except Alex Brophy.

  Brophy was due to ride Pearlyman in the Tingle Creek. At nine that night Johnson Carver rang Eddie. Carver trained Pearlyman. When Eddie heard his voice, he thought Carver was about to thank him for dealing with the Kellagher threat. But he didn’t. Carver offered him the ride.

  ‘Why? What’s wrong with Alex?’ Eddie said.

  ‘He’s been got at.’

  ‘How? Have they hurt him?’

  ‘Threatened his family.’

  ‘Kellagher did?’

  ‘No. He got stopped a mile from home today, by somebody he thought was a cop on a motorcycle. He had all the gear on and when Alex wound the window down the guy put a gun against his forehead and told him he’d shoot his wife and daughter if Alex won the Tingle Creek.’

  ‘That bastard, Ivory. How the fuck has he stayed out of jail?’

  ‘Eddie, I’m being upfront with you, here. This horse will win tomorrow. I don’t want to withdraw him. But I don’t want you taking the ride without knowing what the consequences might be.’

  ‘Johnson, tell Alex to go to the police.’

  I’ve tried. He’s not soft. You know that. He could have dealt with Kellagher and the other two. But he won’t put his family at risk.’

  ‘So what’s he planning to tell the press?’

  ‘That he aggravated an old neck injury today and he doesn’t feel he can do Pearlyman justice.’

  ‘Bastards.’ Eddie wanted the ride, but not at the price of anyone, least of all the Champion Jockey, bowing to these criminals.

  I can give you an hour to think about it,’ Carver said.