Cactus Jack

by Brad Smith

  They parked the Jeep in front of the house. Luke thanked Reese for the tour and walked to his truck, still thinking that Ryker’s recruitment effort had been on the weak side. He had expected a full court press. Not only that, but Reese Ryker—who was used to getting his way—was taking Luke’s rejection in stride, as if the offer had been for a cup of coffee rather than a job.

  “I almost forgot,” Reese said as Luke opened the truck door. “There’s something in the house I wanted to show you. Come on in.”

  Luke smiled as he followed Ryker up the steps. So the boy had an ace up his sleeve after all. What would he offer now? A house in the country with servants and a limo service? Sixteen vestal virgins? Reese led the way through a large living room with vaulted ceilings and pictures of African wildlife on the walls into a den of sorts, with a bay window, dark paneled walls, and a desk the size of a pool table. There was someone there, as if waiting for them, a tall skinny guy with lank blond hair, sitting in a leather chair, one leg over the other.

  “My associate Mr. O’Hara,” Reese said.

  The associate never stood or offered his hand. Luke nodded to him, wondering where this was leading. The whole situation had taken a turn and Luke couldn’t figure the direction. But he had a gut feeling they were through talking about a job offer.

  “I mentioned earlier that I have been looking into you,” Reese said, taking a seat behind the desk. “Mr. O’Hara was doing the actual looking. He tells me you don’t have much of a social media presence, Luke.”

  “I got zero social media presence,” Luke said. “You didn’t have to pay somebody to tell you that.”

  “That’s not quite accurate.” Reese reached into a drawer and brought out a manila envelope. “I have these on a thumb drive but Mr. O’Hara suspects you don’t own a computer.” He pulled a dozen or so glossy photos from the envelope and slid them across the desk. “I believe you know this person?”

  Luke glanced at the pictures. A glance was all that was required. They had been taken in his bedroom a few nights earlier.

  “Yeah, she’s a schoolteacher, name of Rachel. What of it?”

  “You’re close,” Reese said. “Actually, she’s a schoolgirl. Her name is Brenna Simpson and she’s seventeen years old. She goes to private school in Louisville. And—well, you know kids today—everything they do, they feel a need to post pictures of it. She sent these to a friend of hers, bragging about—what did she call it—a dirty night out in Junction City. These kids are so smart and yet they don’t seem to realize there is no such thing as a private photo these days, unless you take it with a Polaroid and hide it under your mattress.”

  Luke could feel his heart in his chest. “She told me she was twenty-five.”

  The associate O’Hara made a chortling sound. When Luke glanced over, he was looking out the window, a slight smile on his face.

  Reese shrugged. “She could tell you she was the quarterback for the Green Bay Packers but that wouldn’t make it true.”

  Reese reached forward to spread the photos out on the desk. “I have to say that she looks very young to me. And acrobatic too, I might add. I just wanted to show you—oh, here we are—we have a couple of nice shots of you too, Luke. You and your seventeen- year-old girlfriend.”

  Luke wouldn’t look at the pictures again. He was thinking of reaching across the desk and taking Ryker by the throat. Presumably that was why the silent associate was there, to prevent such a thing.

  “This gets better, Luke,” Reese went on. “As I’m sure you know, the age of consent in Kentucky is eighteen. Which of course means that you are guilty of statutory rape. The irony here is—this girl’s father is a district attorney in Louisville’s second division court. And he’s known for having prosecuted a number of statutory rape cases. He seems to be on a bit of a crusade about it.”

  “She said she was twenty-five,” Luke said again. “What about the bar? They were serving her.”

  “Maybe her father will go after the bar for serving his daughter alcohol under age,” Reese said. “But I’m thinking he’ll want to go after the rapist instead. I’m thinking he’ll want to put you away for a number of years. A good number.”

  In a daze Luke turned and sat down heavily in a chair across from Ryker. He stared blankly for a moment at the photos spread across the desk. “How?”

  Reese nodded toward the blond man. “I asked Mr. O’Hara to keep tabs on you. I’m pretty sure he’s had tougher assignments. You drive to the same racetrack every morning and you drink at the same bar every night. You left there Tuesday around eleven o’clock with the girl following you in her car. Her license number led to her name and then a little cyber-sleuthing led to . . . these.” He indicated the pictures.

  Luke glanced again at the skinny man in the chair by the wall. “That can’t be legal.”

  Reese laughed. “I’m pretty sure it’s not. Do you want to call the cops, Luke?”

  O’Hara was still smiling, proud of his work. Luke kept a baseball bat behind the seat of his truck. For a moment he entertained the thought of getting it and laying waste to the room and to the two smirking assholes in it. But he knew that wouldn’t change anything. He needed to find out what would.

  “What can I do here?” he asked. “How many people have these pictures?”

  “Good question,” Reese replied. “Mr. O’Hara notified the girl and she told her friend. They of course removed them from the internet. Do others have them? Maybe so, maybe not. If so, they wouldn’t know the implications and they wouldn’t know who you are anyway.” He smiled. “Luke, you look a little peaked. Would you like a drink?”

  “No. Tell me what you want.”

  Reese shrugged, looking over at O’Hara for a moment. “Well, obviously the job offer is no longer on the table. I was hoping you’d take me up on that and then none of this unpleasantness would be necessary.”

  “Tell me what you want.”

  “Come on, Luke. You know what I want.”

  Twenty-One

  IT WAS SHORTLY BEFORE NOON SATURDAY when Billie came out of the house and walked down the hill to the barn. Jodie was there and had been all morning. A few days earlier she and Billie had sorted out the old harness and hooked the pony to the freshly painted cart. The pony was having none of it. The animal was cantankerous by nature and had obviously never been hitched to anything before. Again Billie had been reminded of the ponies she had known growing up; few had been particularly agreeable. After a couple of hours trying to convince this one to pull the cart up and down the lane, they had given up and put a saddle on the animal. The pony had history with a saddle and allowed Jodie to ride her around the yard for a bit. The cart would go back into the machine shed. Maybe in thirty years another little girl would decide it needed a coat of paint.

  This morning Jodie had led the donkey outside and was brushing him as Billie approached. Billie suspected that the girl was concerned that the jack was feeling left out of things, with the pony getting all the attention of late. Billie doubted that a donkey’s mind went in that direction. Next they would have to worry about the goat’s abandonment issues. When Jodie saw Billie now, she straightened from her work and stared.

  “What?” Billie asked.

  “You’re wearing a dress.”

  “I know I’m wearing a dress,” Billie said. “I’m a girl. Girls wear dresses.”

  “I didn’t think you did.”

  Billie, all nerves this morning, affected a haughty southern accent, filched from her hero Scarlett. “Well, I’m going to the racetrack today, young lady. I have a two-year-old colt that shows promise. I thought I would gussy myself up to a certain degree.”

  “You’re funny.”

  “Thank you, child.” Billie turned toward the truck, which she had taken time to wash the day before. “Well, I’m off.”

  “Wait a minute, I’m not ready.”

  “Where do you think you’re going?”

  “To Chestnut Field.”

  “Is your
goat racing today?”

  “I’m going with you to see Jack race,” Jodie said. “I’ve known him longer than you.”

  “What’s that got to do with anything?”

  “He’ll want me there.”

  “How do you know what he wants? Is he a talking horse?”

  “I’m going,” the girl said.

  “Do you think I’m going to let you accompany me to the racetrack, wearing those dirty old sneakers? On an important day like this? Not on your life.”

  Billie turned and headed for the truck. Jodie stared after her.

  “Why can’t I go?”

  Billie opened the passenger to retrieve the shoebox on the seat there. She returned and handed it to the little girl.

  “Put these on and let’s get moving.”

  Jodie opened the box to see the pink Adidas inside. She smiled.

  “These are so cool!”

  The girl thanked Billie three times as she put the donkey in the paddock and they started out. A mile south on the highway was the intersection of the side road that led to Jodie’s house. Billie had a look down the road, realizing that she hadn’t never actually seen the place.

  “Did you tell your mother what you’re doing today?” Billie asked.

  “She doesn’t care.”

  “I’m sure she does.”

  The kid didn’t respond. Billie could see the wheels turning though as she searched for a way to change the subject.

  “Does your mom know about your animals?”

  “Of course.”

  “What does she think about them?”

  “She thinks they’re a waste of money.”

  Billie kept her eyes on the road and told herself to shut up, not to comment on a woman who didn’t work and who took her ten-year-old daughter’s inheritance to pay the rent and then told the kid that her animals were a waste of money. Billie couldn’t see an upside to commenting on that. Besides, today was a good day for the girl. And maybe for Billie, too.

  “We need carrots,” Jodie said. “I want to give him carrots after he wins. Can we stop at the market? I know the man there and he gives me the old ones.”

  “Do you think Cactus Jack is going to win?” Billie asked.

  “I know he’s going to win.”

  Billie wished she were as certain. Other than the aftermath of the incident with Rory’s Corvette it had been a long time since she had been nervous about anything. She hadn’t slept well the night before and when she had nodded off, she had strange dreams, none of which had anything to do with what would happen today. She dreamed she was back in school but couldn’t speak when she tried to answer a question. And she dreamed that she and Athena were in Spain, her subconscious summoning up a country she’d never visited. When she woke up, she felt drained.

  Today would inform her of something, even though she wasn’t sure what that something might be. But she was sure that by the time evening rolled around, she would have a clearer picture of what she was doing and whether she should be doing it. There was more to it than just that—at some point she’d come to realize that she was looking at today as possibly a vindication. For herself and for her father. She had stayed away too long and now she couldn’t help but feel that this was the last thing the two of them would ever do together.

  She and Jodie went to see the colt when they got to the track. Tyrone was hanging around the shed row. He had two other rides that day but he was staying close to Cactus Jack. He looked more nervous than Billie felt.

  “You see Luke yet?” Billie asked.

  “Not yet,” Tyrone said. “Figured he’d be here this morning but I haven’t seen hide nor hair.”

  Billie thought it strange but she didn’t tell Tyrone that. There were still two hours until race time. “When are you riding first?”

  “Next race,” Tyrone said. “I better get over there.”

  Billie looked at the kid. “Let’s go to the grandstand and watch. Maybe we’ll put a couple of dollars on Tyrone’s horse.”

  It was two dollars Billie wouldn’t see again. The horse stumbled out of the gate and fell behind at once, finishing sixth in a seven-horse field. Billie watched but her mind wasn’t on the race. Her mind was up in the clubhouse lounge, where she had spotted Reese Ryker and his wife a few minutes earlier, sitting at a table by the outside railing. Across from them was Chuck Caldwell. Billie didn’t have to wonder why Ryker was there.

  She and Jodie watched the next race before going back to the barns, and as they walked along the lane they spotted Luke’s truck coming through the gate. He pulled up and parked but didn’t get out. He sat there behind the wheel, staring straight ahead. It seemed he hadn’t noticed Billie and the girl walking directly toward him. When he did, he opened the door and stepped down.

  He looked like shit. Even to Billie, who had long ago accepted that Luke always appeared a little worse for wear, he looked like shit. She had no doubt that he’d tied one on the night before and although she wasn’t happy with the timing, she told herself that it wouldn’t matter. The work with the colt had been done and it was the horse that would be running the race, not the trainer.

  “Don’t do that,” Luke barked as he approached.

  Billie turned to see Jodie feeding the colt a piece of carrot. The little girl stepped back as if she’d seen a snake.

  “It’s half a carrot,” Billie said.

  “And I’m the trainer,” Luke told her. “I don’t want the horse fed before a race.”

  “Rough night?” Billie asked.

  “My nights are none of your concern.”

  Billie looked at him evenly for a moment, trying to figure what was going on with him. Who knew—maybe he was as nervous as the rest of them and his anxiety was causing him to act like a prick. Whatever the cause, Billie had no intention of enduring it.

  “I’ll see you in the saddling barn,” she told him.

  She and Jodie went back to the grandstand. They bought popcorn and sodas and stood outside by the walking ring, watching the entries for the next race as they filed out onto the track. Billie didn’t have any appetite but the girl did. She was totally at ease; it seemed as if her young heart couldn’t conceive of the day being anything but a success. Billie was envious.

  Luke himself led Cactus Jack to the saddling barn before the sixth race. Billie told Jodie to stay close to the rail and followed. Tyrone came out of the jockeys’ room, wearing the new silks and an expression like a teenage bride. When the colt was saddled, a walker led him along the path to the walking ring, lined by bettors wanting a look at where their money was going. Billie stood in the middle of the ring, beneath ancient sugar maples, and watched the rest of the entries circle around her.

  Reese Ryker and Sofia were along the rail, as she had known they would be. Spotting Billie, Sofia shouted her name and waved like they were old friends. Billie wondered if she knew that her husband was there hoping that Billie’s colt would break a leg. She wondered if Sofia cared what her husband wanted. Probably not.

  When Billie turned she saw Luke and Tyrone now standing at the number four post, where Tyrone would mount up. They were talking in earnest, words she couldn’t hear.

  “Change of plans,” Luke was telling Tyrone. His voice was low and he kept his eyes on Billie across the way as he spoke. “I want you to take him to the front. Right out of the gate.”

  Tyrone stared at Luke. “You’re not serious?”

  “Goddamn right I’m serious.”

  “That’s not what we talked about,” Tyrone said. “This horse needs to come off the pace.”

  “Well, I changed my mind,” Luke said. “I think he can wire it. Bring him out flying.”

  Tyrone waited a moment. He looked toward Billie, as if for assistance, but she was out of earshot. “Luke, this horse has got all kinds of late speed. All due respect—”

  “All due respect what?” Luke snapped. “You’re a fucking bug boy with three wins. I was training thoroughbreds when you were still pissing your pants
. Now you bust him hard out of that gate.”

  Billie came closer as the call came for riders up. Luke hoisted Tyrone into the saddle and walked alongside the colt toward the exit.

  “Flying,” was the last he said.

  They watched the race from the railing near the finish line. Luke was quiet even yet, still sullen. Over the years she’d known him, Billie had seen him at his lowest—hungover, beat up, dejected— but she’d never seen him as he was today. When she tried to make eye contact, he wouldn’t oblige.

  Before the horses went into the starting gate, Billie turned to look for Ryker again. What did he hope to accomplish by being there? Or was it that he couldn’t keep away? She saw him up top again, at the same table. And then she spotted Marian, in the stands below, sitting alone. Billie stared at her but she didn’t return the look. It seemed she was focused on the horses, just now entering the starting gate.

  “Will he be okay coming out of the gate?” Billie asked Luke.

  “He’s got no problems with the gate,” Luke said.

  Billie didn’t know why she’d asked that. She knew that the colt had been breaking well in training. Maybe she’d been hoping for a civil reply from Luke, a change in his tone. She didn’t get it.

  And then they were off. Cactus Jack came out of the gate like his tail was afire, moving at once to the rail, flying flat out. The colt had a five-length lead on the pack at the first turn and was increasing it with every stride. Tyrone didn’t let up, keeping him tight to the rail as they barreled out of the second turn and into the backstretch.

  “He’s winning!” Jodie shouted. She had climbed onto the wooden railing.

  Billie glanced at Luke. He was staring straight ahead but she could have sworn he wasn’t watching the race. His eyes seemed fixed on some point far away, as if imagining a better place in a better time.

  In the back stretch it was Cactus Jack by fifteen lengths, but Billie already had a bad feeling in her stomach. And then the field began to close. By the three-quarter pole the colt had run himself out. The rest of the field went past him one by one. By the time the gray colt came down the stretch, the race was over. Billie could see that Tyrone was holding him up. There was no point in pushing him now. Dead last was dead last.