All Hat (16 page)

Dean turned to Pete then, introduced himself all over again. Pete reluctantly said his own name. Ray looked at the kid in the hat and nodded. The kid smiled and ducked his head. He was wearing jeans and work boots. The boots were scuffed, and the toes were worn through, revealing the steel plates beneath.

“This your horse?” Dean said, barely glancing at the gelding. “Good-looking horse. What's he—three-year-old?”

“He's nine,” Pete said.

“Yeah?” Dean said. “Well, I'm with Stanton Stables; don't know if you knew that. We just brought a colt down. Two-year-old I've been working with, he's running the stakes race next weekend.”

“Well, that's good to hear,” Pete said, and he looked at Ray. “It's real nice to know that you big-time operators are supporting the small tracks.”

“How big's your stable?” Dean wanted to know. Horseman to horseman.

“I got this gelding and a couple broodmares,” Pete said. “That's how big it is.”

Ray smiled as Pete spit a wad of Redman in the dirt, narrowly missing Dean's shiny black shoes. Paulie had moved over to the stall, was looking at the gelding. Dean turned back to Ray.

“Well, we got to be going. I just wanted to straighten out that little misunderstanding. I know all about Sonny, and let's just leave it at that. What're you doing these days?”

“I'm in the roofing business,” Ray told him.

“Roofing business, huh?” Dean said, and he smiled pointlessly at Paulie. “Well, from time to time, I come across an opportunity that might interest you. You know, a chance to make a quick buck.”

Pete went back inside to finish cleaning the gelding's feet. Paulie moved closer to watch. He put his hand on the gelding's neck, and the horse turned his head and nuzzled Paulie's cheek. Then he lifted his nose suddenly, as if by purpose, and knocked Paulie's hat off. Paulie laughed, and even the horse appeared to be grinning as he pushed his nose into Paulie's shoulder.

“What's his name?” Paulie asked as he picked up his hat.

“Fast Market,” Pete said, and he looked the kid over. “You in the thoroughbred business too?”

“We just do odd jobs, really,” Paulie said. “Dean, he always likes to make a big deal of things. This here's a nice horse. He's sure got a soft nose.”

“The roofing business keeps me pretty busy,” Ray was telling Dean outside the stall.

“I'll keep you in mind just the same,” Dean said. “I'll stand you to a drink next time at the Slamdance.”

Ray nodded and didn't say anything.

“Let's go, Paulie,” Dean said then. “We gotta get back to the farm. We're breaking some young horses.”

Paulie looked at Pete and shook his head slightly. Pete looked out at Dean, and then he smiled at Paulie.

“You gonna race your horse today?” Paulie asked.

“Yes, sir, first race.”

“Well, I hope he wins, Mr. Culpepper.”

Dean came closer. “I'm gonna put some money on that horse. I like his configuration, you know that?”

They left then, Dean leading the way and Paulie dragging along behind, turning back every so often to look at the gelding. After a moment Pete came out of the stall, the hoof pick in his hand.

“That's who you told me about?”

“That's them. You figure they're the brains behind Stanton Stables?”

Pete snorted. “The kid seemed all right. Polite, and you could tell he likes horses.”

“What about the other one? The one who likes that gelding's configuration?”

“We got a saying back home,” Pete said, and he watched as the pair departed. “That boy's all hat and no cattle.”

*   *   *

When they got back to the pickup Dean climbed in and fired it up. Paulie got in reluctantly.

“I thought we were gonna bet on Mr. Culpepper's horse,” he said.

Dean snorted. “I wouldn't risk a dime on that broken-down nag. Shit, I don't think I'd cut him up and feed him to my dog.”

“I never knew you had a dog, Dean. What kind is he?”

“Shut the fuck up, Paulie.”

By the time they reached the Falls, Dean had decided that they'd done enough work for the day. He thought he'd play some blackjack. They went down Clifton Hill and parked the truck and trailer illegally on a side street.

The place was full, as it usually was, with high rollers and tourists and nickel-and-dimers. A large percentage of the bettors were Asian. The only spots open for blackjack were at the hundred-dollar tables. Dean had to wait to get a spot at a cheaper table. He played some roulette and complained while he waited: “Fucking Orientals. Why don't they go back where they came from?”

“Where did they come from, Dean?”

“Where?” Dean repeated. “Well, from the Orient, where do you think?”

Paulie spent ten dollars on the quarter slots and then quit. “I'm gonna go look at the Falls,” he told Dean.

“Yeah, maybe they changed since the last time we were here.”

“I doubt that. How long we gonna be here?”

“I don't know; couple hours. I'll see you later.”

Paulie walked out of the casino and wandered over to the big bridge just down the street. He liked to watch the rainbows above the escarpment, how they constantly appeared and then disappeared into the mist. Paulie leaned on the railing and watched the spectrum over the cascading water, and from time to time he would turn back toward the blinking neon behind him, and he wondered why anyone would think they needed all those lights next to something that was advertised as one of the world's great wonders. Paulie often thought that the Falls must have been an amazing thing before human beings found out about them.

After a while he walked to a Wendy's and had a burger and fries. At three o'clock he was sitting on a bench in front of the casino, talking to one of the limo drivers there.

“How come you're not gambling?” the man asked. “Shoot your wad?”

“I'm just waiting for my cousin.”

“So he's the gambler?”

“He sure thinks he is.”

Finally, Paulie went in to get Dean. On a whim, he bought five dollars' worth of tokens, hit a jackpot on his first pull at a slot, and won four hundred dollars. He cashed in and then saw Dean coming through the crowd, looking glum.

“Let's get the fuck out of here,” he said.

The truck had a fifty-dollar parking citation on the windshield. Dean tore it up and threw it in the street, and they drove away.

On the drive home Dean was silent, and Paulie never mentioned his windfall at the slots. He knew better than that.

*   *   *

Pete Culpepper was waiting for Chrissie at the saddling barn, standing in front of the stall, his hat low on his head, his eyes narrow beneath the brim. Inside the stall, Fast Market was already bridled. Ray Dokes was leaning with his back to the paddock fence, the Culpepper silks under his arm.

She arrived in the backseat of a cab. They watched as she got out at the gate, paid the driver, and made her way toward them.

“It's the first race,” Pete said.

“I know. I had truck trouble,” Chrissie said.

“Well, let's get moving,” Pete said, and he spit tobacco in the dirt.

Chrissie turned toward Ray, who was watching her as he lit a cigarette. “The fuck you lookin' at?” she demanded.

“What kind of truck trouble?” he asked.

“Like, the kind where I can't find it,” she said. “Gimme the fucking silks.”

Ray offered them over. When she was near, he could see her eyes and smell the alcohol on her. “How you feeling?” he asked.

“Fuck you.”

He smiled. “I bet you're a joy to wake up to when you're like this.”

She jerked the clothes from his hand and stomped off into the jockeys' room to change and to weigh in.

Fast Market was sound as a new dollar now, and he ran like it. She had him in second coming into the stretch, and he was hardly breathing. The leader was a bay mare, Juan Romano up, and the mare was tight to the rail, but she could be had, Chrissie knew. With a furlong to go, she moved the gelding outside and just touched him on the shoulder with the whip. He jumped under her hand, and Chrissie knew at once she had enough horse; she laid her hand on his neck and watched the mare drop back to her. Her head was feeling better with every stride.

Juan Romano turned his head toward them, and then suddenly the mare lurched into the gelding's path, barely clipping the horse's front shoulder with her hip. Chrissie felt the gelding stumble, and then the front left hoof caught the right and he went down. Chrissie went over the horse's neck, hit the dirt headfirst, felt the gelding roll over her. Her face was mashed into the track, and her nostrils filled with dirt.

At the rail Pete and Ray had watched as the gelding made his move in the stretch. They saw that the bay mare was done and there was nothing behind coming on. Ray turned to see Pete smiling, and then he saw Pete's eyes widen, and he turned back in time to see Fast Market go down, and Chrissie disappear underneath.

Ray jumped the fence and ran across the track. He had to wait for the trailers to pass him, and by the time he reached her, Chrissie was on her feet. Her face was covered in dirt, and her nose was bleeding. There were tears streaming down her cheeks, and when he tried to grab her, she pushed him away.

“Are you all right?” he asked.

But she pulled away from him and began to run to the gelding, who was limping along the rail near the finish line, moving on three legs, favoring the left front.

Pete Culpepper was on the track now, too, trotting stiff-legged across the dirt. Chrissie caught the gelding by the reins.

“I'm sorry, I'm sorry…,” she said over and over. Ray couldn't tell if she was speaking to the horse or to Pete.

She held the horse's head still while Pete knelt in the dirt and had a look at the leg, running his hands gently down each side of the shin, feeling for the source of the pain. Then he ran his hand up the leg to the shoulder, felt there too.

“I don't know,” he said when he stood up. “I don't know.”

Chrissie was watching him, the side of her face pressed tightly against the gelding's cheek, her arm beneath the horse's neck, keeping him still.

“Are you okay?” Ray asked her.

When she turned toward him, she saw Juan Romano loping the mare back to the finish, standing in the irons and grinning like he'd just invented winning. Chrissie let go of Fast Market's reins and headed to the finish line. When Romano jumped down from his mount, she decked him with a hard right hand.

“You fucking asshole,” she said. “You wanna win like that?”

Ray moved over, thinking to protect her. There was no need, though; Romano got to his feet at once, but he clearly wanted no part of Chrissie. Bleeding from the mouth, he retreated behind the horse's owner, a heavy blond woman with a Lhasa apso in her arms and a jangle of gold jewelry around her wrinkled neck.

“My horse jumped,” Romano said.

“You're a fucking liar,” Chrissie said. “You better hope my horse is all right.”

“Watch your language,” the fat blond woman said. “It was an accident.”

“Fuck you and your little dog too,” Chrissie said, and she walked away.

They led Fast Market back to the barn. Limping from her fall, Chrissie kept her hand on the horse's withers as they walked. Inside the stall, they pulled the saddle and bridle off and rubbed the gelding down, and then they waited for the vet to come. The horse had a scrape on his shoulder. Pete got some clean cloths in the truck, and he wiped the scrape down with witch hazel before spreading some salve over it.

Ray took one of the cloths and gave it to Chrissie. “Clean yourself up,” he told her.

Ray watched as she used the hose to wash the dirt from her face and arms. Her nose had stopped bleeding now, and he could see that her upper lip was cut. It looked as if she'd pushed a tooth through it.

“You're gonna need some stitches,” he told her, but she ignored him.

The vet finally showed and examined the horse exactly the same way Pete had. The only difference was about seven years' education, Ray figured. Even at that, he doubted the man knew more than Pete Culpepper about the species at hand.

“Well, he's going to need an X ray,” the vet said, still kneeling.

“I figured that,” Pete said.

“If it's a break, it's not a bad one,” the vet went on. “The bone is intact, but any kind of fracture is bad, you know what I mean. This is not a young horse. I don't know how far you want to go with him.”

Pete nodded. “I'll take him up home. See to him there.”

The vet shrugged and left them to their own decisions. They loaded the gelding into the trailer, mindful of the bad leg. When they closed the tailgate, Chrissie was gone.

“Didn't even say good-bye,” Ray said.

They loaded the tack and the feed into the truck. Pete left a check for the vet at the office. Getting into the truck to leave, they saw Chrissie walking between the barns, dressed in her street clothes. They waited by the truck.

“I'm going with you,” she said.

“Why would you do that?” Pete asked.

“It's my fault,” she said. “I wasn't so hungover, it never woulda happened.”

“I figured you punched out Juan Romano because it was his fault,” Ray said.

“Oh, he bumped me all right, the motherfucker,” Chrissie said. “But if I'd have been sober, I'd've seen it coming.”

When they got back to the farm, they installed the horse in the barn, and then Pete went in to call Ben Houston. Ray and Chrissie stayed with the horse, Chrissie in the stall, cleaning the dirt from his tail and mane. She continued to fuss over the animal as she'd never fussed over a human, Ray suspected.

“Either way, he won't run again,” Ray said.

“I don't care about that. Long as they don't have to put him down.”