All Hat (30 page)

He burned the miles to London and found the farm without any problem. He drove by once, saw the rusted pickup in the driveway, then turned around and drove by again. The house was a white frame story and a half with a missing front porch, and it was dark. It was maybe a hundred yards from the barn. He parked a quarter mile down the road, killed the engine and the lights, and got out. He slung the extension cord over his shoulder and pulled on a pair of leather gloves. As he walked he began to hope that he would find the horse asleep. Given the animal's temperament, it could be tough attaching the wires otherwise.

He entered the barn on the east end, the door away from the farmhouse. Inside it was pitch-black, and he thought too late that he should have brought a flashlight. He had no choice but to risk turning on a light. He pulled the gloves off and set them down along with the cord, and then he fumbled along the wall, the odor of hay and bedding and horse manure strong in his nostrils, until he found a switch. A single overhead bulb came on, and he turned.

The barn was empty.

He walked back outside. There was a machine shed off the north end of the barn, and he had a look inside and found it empty as well. There were no other outbuildings. He walked around the perimeter of the house in the darkness and discovered a lone horse in the pasture field at the west end of the farm. He had hope for a moment, but when he got closer to the animal he saw it was a scrawny standardbred. Sonny walked back to the barn and had another look inside. The one stall had fresh bedding in it, and a bucket of water in the manger. There was a pile of horseshit in the bedding.

He walked back outside. If Jumping Jack Flash was on the premises, he must have been in the house, sleeping in one of the beds.

19

Ray woke up to the sound of Pete Culpepper banging around in the kitchen downstairs. It was dawn, but not a minute past. Ray had been in bed for maybe an hour, and he lay there in the gray light for a time. By the time he got downstairs, the coffee was made and the smell of sourdough was beginning to creep from the oven.

Ray made it to the barn just a minute or so after Pete. When Pete looked at him, Ray offered a smile that was not returned.

“Looks like we had a busy night,” Pete said. “I wasn't aware I was running a bed-and-breakfast.”

“I figured I'd better bring the kid back here. You know, for safekeeping.”

“You know damn well I ain't talking about the kid.”

“Well, that little foal just showed up on her own. I didn't have anything to do with that.”

“You know damn well I'm not talking about the filly, neither. I'm talking about that big bay stallion in the back stall. The one I expect you're planning to return to Stanton straightaway.”

“That's exactly what I plan to do.”

“Good.”

“But not straightaway.”

Ray walked over to Fast Market's stall and put his hand out. The gelding came over to see if there was something in the hand for him.

“You know Sonny's running that big gray of his in the Stanton Stakes on the weekend,” Ray said.

“I heard.”

“Well,” Ray said slowly, rubbing the gelding's forehead. “I figure this old horse of yours has got one last race in him, Pete.”

“You figure my old horse with the broken leg has got one last race in him?”

Ray turned. “I'm gonna beat Sonny in that stakes race, Pete.”

“How you figurin' on doing that?”

“I'm gonna beat him with his own horse.”

Back at the house, they cooked up ham and eggs to go with the biscuits and coffee. Pete never said anything about Ray's plan until they were done eating and having a second cup of coffee at the kitchen table.

“We'll load that stud in the trailer and run him on over to Stanton's this morning,” Pete said then.

“I'll take him back on Monday.”

“You listen to me. It ain't ethical, it ain't possible, and goddamnit, it ain't right. That horse is stolen property, Ray.”

Ray had anticipated this conversation but wished he was having it on more than an hour's sleep. He had no choice in the matter.

“First of all, I think we should forget about any ethical considerations where Sonny Stanton is involved,” he said. “You saw his ethics in action in the parking lot last night. If you want another look, then check out the kid's face on the couch in there. Sonny's horse is gonna win that race, Pete; everybody knows it. The old man would never even run his own horse in the race; you know that to be true too. But that horse we got in the barn will beat Sonny's gray running backward. And the only person we're hurting is Sonny. The purse is a quarter million; the winner gets what—$130,000 or $140,000. Pay off what you owe on this place, for one thing.”

“I don't care about this place. I'm headin' to Texas, and I thought you were comin' with me.”

“Maybe I am. But I'm gonna do this first.”

Pete butted his cigarette and raised his cup to his mouth. “This is all about you and Sonny,” he said after he drank. “You can pretend it's about this farm or the kid in there, but it's just you and Sonny. Jesus Christ, you already did two years in jail for him.”

“Not for him. For Elizabeth.”

“Two years is two years; don't matter who it's for. You get this out of your head. It's a bad idea, Ray.”

Ray got up and went to the counter for more coffee. His brain was fuzzy from lack of sleep, and he was beginning to worry that maybe Pete Culpepper was right, that maybe the whole thing had been a bad idea from the get-go. Another flash of midnight brilliance that didn't play too well in the harsh morning light.

“Sonny's holding a note on Etta's place,” Ray said, and he came back to the table and sat down. “He chiseled Homer in a poker game.”

Pete stared at him. “How come I never knew this?”

Ray shrugged. “I don't know. Maybe I was afraid you'd go riding off like the Lone Ranger.”

“That sounds familiar. How the hell did Sonny pull that?”

“Shit, I don't know. You know Sonny. Doesn't matter how it happened, just that it did. Etta needs forty thousand dollars, and she needs it now.”

He looked at Pete over the rim of his cup, and he thought he saw in the old man's eyes a tiny shim of reconsideration. Ray lit a cigarette and watched as Pete turned in his chair to gaze out the kitchen window toward the barn. He shook his head and looked back at Ray.

“How would you ever pull it off?”

“That gelding of yours may not have world-class speed, but he's a good-looking horse. He's about the same size as the stud, and he's jowly like a stallion. The only difference is the color; we gotta make that bay look like a chestnut. And we'll have to be fast on our feet when it comes to the ID. Remember, it doesn't have to be perfect; nobody at Woodbine knows what your horse looks like anyway.”

Pete, thinking about it, shook his head again. “What about Etta? What makes you think she's gonna take the money when she finds out where it came from?”

“I'm hoping she'll go us one better. I'm gonna ask her to help us.”

“Good luck with that. I guess I don't have to ask about a jockey.”

“That one might take some convincing, too.”

“Looks like you got your work cut out for you.”

“Yeah, and right now I need some sleep. I'm a little lightheaded to be facing either of those women right now. I might forget which one is which.” He got to his feet. “That stallion still gonna be here when I get up?”

Pete Culpepper glanced toward the barn again. Ray stood there waiting for him to say something, and when he didn't Ray went back upstairs and went to bed.

When he woke up it was midafternoon. He lay awake in bed for a time, leafing through the Bible he'd been given in prison, looking for something to bolster his case. When he got up he had a shower and put on clean jeans and a sweatshirt. He shaved and brushed his teeth, and then he went downstairs.

Pete was at the kitchen table reading the paper, drinking coffee, and smoking a cigarette, or rather allowing a cigarette to burn in the ashtray by his elbow. Pete had a habit of lighting cigarettes and never smoking them.

“Where's Paulie?” Ray asked.

“Out to the barn,” Pete said. He glanced up. “With your horse.”

Ray nodded at the news. “How is the animal?”

“About as affable as a damn scorpion. I went in the stall to spread some fresh straw, and the sumbitch took a kick at me, near took my head off. Funny thing is, the kid goes in, and the animal's like a lapdog. I never seen anything like it.”

“It was the same last night when we took him,” Ray said. “I think we better keep the kid around 'til this is done.”

“I think we better keep him around anyway,” Pete said. “He runs into Sonny again, he might not get off so easy.”

Ray drank a cup of coffee and drove over to Etta's. She was in the kitchen, making dinner for Homer, who was sitting at the table, watching her prepare the macaroni and cheese. When Homer turned toward him, Ray braced himself, but the old man never said a word. It took Ray a moment to realize that Homer didn't recognize him at all; his eyes were vacant.

Etta took one look at Ray, and he could see that she knew something was up. But then she could always read him. She put a plate in front of Homer and made sure that he began to eat. Then she walked over to Ray and said, “Something on your mind?”

“Can we go in the front room?”

They sat by the bay window, Etta on the couch and Ray in the big overstuffed chair—Homer's chair. Ray looked out the big window. The Ford tractor was still parked on the front yard, the For Sale sign propped against the wheel.

“No bites on the tractor?” Ray said.

“No,” she said. Then, remembering: “Oh, Mabel's husband offered me five hundred dollars. But I'm not giving it away.”

“I'll give you forty grand for it.”

“Sure.” She smiled and waited for him to smile back. “Okay, what's going on?”

“I'll give you forty grand for the tractor.”

“You said that.”

He told her his plan, or at least as much as he'd figured out so far. While he talked she sat and looked out the bay window. Occasionally, when the scheme grew a little too unlikely, she would glance over at him. At one point Homer began to ramble in the kitchen. She let him, and in a moment he stopped.

When Ray finished, he waited for her to say something. She turned to look at him, and then she smiled in the manner of someone who'd just been told a joke. “I think you should go to Texas,” she said.

“You been talking to Pete?”

“No. But I can see him giving you the same advice. It's the sensible thing.”

“I'm not exactly famous for doing the sensible thing.”

“Hope you're not looking for an argument on that.”

She shook her head then and got to her feet and walked across the room. She glanced into the kitchen, and then she walked to the staircase and sat down on the lower step. She looked at him evenly and said: “You're like a goddamn ten-year-old. You just need to be in trouble.”

“I don't plan on getting into trouble with this. If I thought that, I'd leave it alone.”

“Like hell you would. You have a need for this, Ray. You gotta have a windmill to tilt at, or you get bored. You haven't been out of jail for two months, and you're set to do something that's gonna get you thrown back inside.”

Ray, sitting in the chair, looked out at the yard. It was growing dark already; to him it seemed like morning still.

“I was hoping I could talk you into this,” he said after a moment.

“Why is that so important?”

“I don't know. Maybe there's a part of me that knows that it's wrong, and if I can get you involved that'll make it right. Because you're usually right, Etta,” he said without a hint of sarcasm.

“So if I say no, you'll forget about the whole thing?”

“Maybe.” He stood up and half-smiled. “But I wouldn't bet on it,” he added.

“Neither would I.”

He walked over to where she sat on the stairs. She stood up, stepped on the first tread so she was as tall as him, looked him in the eye. He returned the look.

“I don't want him to take this place from you, Etta. He's gonna get away with it, like always.”

“Maybe not. I hired a lawyer yesterday. We're gonna challenge Dad's marker to Sonny in court.”

“And Sonny'll bring in half a dozen of his boys to testify that's it's legit.”

“Maybe.”

“And you're gonna spend money on a lawyer that you can't afford.”

She sighed. “Maybe.”

He reached out and brushed her hair back from her forehead with his fingertips. Then he turned and walked to the back door. She stepped down and followed. In the doorway he turned back to her, his hands in his coat pockets, and he played his hole card.

“To me, Sonny's like those money changers in the temple,” he said. “Remember, Jesus had to go in there and kick some ass. It was the Book of Mark, if memory serves.”

“Been reading the Bible today, Ray?”

“I might have glanced at it,” he said and then left.

Etta crossed the room and watched out the kitchen window as he drove down the driveway and onto the side road. Behind her, Homer had finished what he was going to finish of his macaroni.

“What do you do with a guy like that, Dad?” she asked without turning. “Steals me a horse and then tells me that Jesus says it's okay.”

*   *   *

Dean got back to the farm at a little past ten in the morning. He'd spent the night with the waitress from the Dorchester Tavern, and over the past twelve hours he'd drank too much and ate too much and invested way too much time and money in a fruitless effort to get laid. When he got out of the truck Jim was standing in the doorway of the barn, leaning against the jamb. He was in the shadow of the awning, and he was giving Dean a look that appeared to be somewhere between huge disappointment and just plain pissed off.