The Next Sure Thing (3 page)

My guitar and small amplifier stood in the corner, and the idea of finally making it into a recording studio excited me. But there was pressure I didn’t need. The odds of finding a sure thing were long enough without the added weight of having to keep Hardy happy and avoid the dark side of his goons. I didn’t like owing him. I didn’t like feeling kept like a dog on a leash. I didn’t like the threat hanging over me.

But the blues is built of stories of men who make deals with the devil. And the glitter of promise I saw outweighed the bad feelings in the end. I unfolded the racing form and lay back on my bed to study it. At least I got to play with my strong suit.

There wasn’t a lot of action the next day. As hard as I studied, nothing emerged that smelled anything like a winner. At least, not in the big way of Ocean’s Folly. People never seem to realize that winning big takes a lot more than just knowing what to look for in the racing line. You need to know the variables. What a horse looks like by the numbers has little to do with how they look in the post parade. There’s taping and liniment, the way they move, the set of their ears, if they’re wearing blinders. Even the condition of the track and the weather make a difference. The numbers only get you so far, and the way they read, there was nothing to really move on.

After three hours, there was only one thing to do. There was a horse in the seventh named Sports Day, and he was listed as a five-to-one shot. That would pay a mere ten dollars on a two-dollar bet. But if a guy were to lay down a thousand, it would mean a payout of five thousand. The trouble was that Sports Day was going up in class. It meant that he would be racing stronger, more experienced horses. But his workout times impressed me, and the race was a sprint. Six furlongs. He’d raced at a mile at the lower levels and always been very quick in the first half mile. It was worth a shot, if a guy had an extra thousand to lay down. I did, but the idea made me nervous.

This was no sure thing. It was a risk. Hardy wanted bets that would cash out, and there was no way of knowing whether this one would make the cut. I decided that I would use some of the advance money and make the bet myself. I’d tell Hardy there was nothing going on the race card that day. I could learn something betting big money and not have to risk losing Hardy’s cash and maybe not being able to record my songs. That was the most important thing. When you get this close to a dream, you can’t let it go. You can’t.

I told myself that move was all about education. I told myself it was preparing me for doing what Hardy wanted me to do. I told myself it was okay. Still, I didn’t sleep much that night. Playing big money will do that to you.

CHAPTER SIX

T
he recording engineer was a guy named Keys. They called him that because he’d been a hot keyboard player when he was young and had actually toured with some big-name jazz groups. But he developed arthritis in his hands. Keys knew his way around a soundboard though. And he knew how to talk to musicians and how they liked to work. I felt comfortable right away. He set me up behind some wooden sound baffles with a stool and a microphone and my guitar plugged into an old Fender tube amp. He said it would give my riffs a good old-time sound. It did.

We laid down five songs that morning. I’d only ever heard myself on cheap tape recorders before. The way the studio recording sounded made me feel ten feet tall. The guitar runs were crystal clear, and when I vamped the chords, they were all fat and thumpy like the old-time bluesmen. My voice sounded raspy and growly and very blue.

“We got something here,” Keys said. “It’s bluesy, jazzy, very funky. I like it. You write good stuff.”

I’d never felt prouder.

Vic and Jerry hung around for the whole session. They hadn’t been too happy when I told them there was nothing to bet that day. They were less impressed when I booked out of there alone.

“The boss won’t like this much,” Vic said. “Things are a little one-ended here.”

“Well, what would you have me do? Lie to him? Lay down dumb money just so he’s happy knowing there’s action?”

“Maybe not. But you have to give him the word. Not me.”

Vic punched in some numbers and then handed me the phone. Hardy answered right away.

“Yeah,” was all he said.

“It’s me. Cree.”

“Hey, Wonderboy. How’s the action looking?”

“Well, if it was my money, I’d keep it in my pocket today.”

“Why?”

“There’s nothing. Everything’s a tossup. I wouldn’t put your cash out there.”

“You’re not just saying that?”

“No.”

There was a silence at the end of the line. Vic and Jerry eyed me. I shifted from foot to foot, waiting.

“Okay,” he said finally. “You’re the man. I trust you. Take the day. Spend some loot. Have a little fun. I’ll talk to you later.”

I handed Vic the phone, and he mumbled into it. Then broke the connection and shrugged.

“Guess you can go,” he said.

“With your permission,” I said.

“Don’t get cute, kid. Ever.”

I took that as my cue to leave.

Ashton wasn’t exactly impressed with my thinking. He sat there while I told him my plan and shook his head slowly. Then he looked up at me and stared for long enough to make me nervous.

“This guy sounds like trouble if things don’t follow his line,” he said finally.

“I know that. But the thing is, Ash, I gotta show him that I know how to think too. Right now he’s making all the moves and taking control. I don’t want him thinking I’m just a flunky.”

“Okay, but are you prepared to handle it if he flips out because you acted on your own?”

“He asks me to act on my own.”

“To pick the horses, yeah. Not to venture out without telling him.”

“I don’t see the problem.”

“You won’t until after.” He picked up his coffee and took a long slow sip. “But I’m still gonna go with you.”

“Why?”

He laughed. “I’ve never seen anyone lay down a thousand bucks on a bet before. Nor have I watched anyone have to watch their money run around a track.”

“Glad I entertain you.”

By the time we got to the track, the grandstand was full. We’d missed the first four races, and the action for the fifth was fast and heavy, according to the numbers on the tote board. We picked up some burgers, Cokes and a racing form and found a quiet area that overlooked the paddock area so we could see the horses when they arrived prior to their race. Ashton liked to people-watch. He sat and ate and looked over the crowd while I thumbed through the form. I was so nervous that I had trouble reading. Finally I put the form down and ate my burger while I watched the horses and jockeys get ready in the paddock. Just for something to do, I walked to the window and put a ten-dollar bet on a big roan gelding called Falmouth’s Boy. I never made pointless bets, but I was antsy. I needed a distraction. Ashton followed my lead and bet five dollars on the same horse. He won by half a head.

“How’d you know?” Ashton asked as we cashed out.

“I guessed,” I said.

“Good guess.”

“Yeah. But I never do that. It’s being foolish.”

“Foolishness just made me fifteen bucks.”

“Yeah, well, luck is luck, I guess.”

“Hope your luck holds out in the seventh.”

We killed time until the horses paraded for the seventh and I got a chance to look at Sports Day. He was muscular and fit-looking but smaller than the rest of the field. There was a knot of anxiety in my gut. I fingered the roll of bills in my pocket and toyed with the idea of just forgetting it and waiting until I could find a sure thing for Hardy. But I needed to show him that I was independent, that I could operate on my own. I didn’t like feeling owned. This was my chance to gain a little freedom. With three minutes to post time, I walked up and made the bet. My hands shook while I counted out the bills. My mouth was dry, and I gulped down a Coke. There was no way I could sit to watch the race, so we stood at the rail at the edge of the second-floor seats. Ashton watched me worriedly.

“You gonna be okay?”

“I hope so.”

When the horses charged out of the starting gate, Sports Day was almost invisible behind the larger horses. But his size let him slip between them, and he found daylight. The gate was at the foot of the backstretch, and I could see him race into the far turn, leading by half a length. I thought I would faint. He led through the turn, and then a pair of bigger horses made a move and drew even with his shoulder. Down the homestretch, there wasn’t an inch to separate them. Every lunging stride seemed to push one of the three ahead. The crowd was wild. I leaned on the railing and clutched it hard. Time slowed. Everything seemed to move in slow motion. I could hear Ashton yelling in my ear, but the words didn’t register. My hands hurt from gripping the rail.

When the horses flashed across the finish line, Sports Day had won by a nose. I wobbled to a seat and flopped down in it. I could barely breathe. I put my head on my forearms and swallowed huge gulps of air. When I looked up, Ashton was smiling at me.

“You just won five thousand dollars,” he said.

I still hadn’t got my breath back when we returned to the counter for the winnings.

CHAPTER SEVEN

Y
ou walk a little different when you carry a check for five grand in your wallet. There’s a casual flow to your stride and you feel like walking is easier. You feel lightheaded and you breathe shallower. And if you close your eyes, you get the feeling that you might just float away. That’s how I felt as Ashton and I walked away from the racetrack. I’d never won so much before. But then, I had never bet so much either. My nerves were frayed and I was still jittery. But I was full of energy—vibrating, really. I wouldn’t have changed those feelings for anything.

“That was freakin’ awesome,” Ashton said. “Thrilling, scary, wonderful all at the same time.”

“I thought I was going to lose it at the end,” I said.

“Jeez. He only won because he exhaled when the other horses inhaled. That’s how close it was.”

“Tell me about it.” I was still lost in the thrill of the race and that heady feeling that comes when you’re so excited you forget to breathe.

The day was suddenly sunnier and warmer than it had been before. I laughed and punched Ashton on the shoulder. He winced and grabbed at it, but he laughed too. We walked faster toward the bus stop. We were shaking our heads and talking about what we’d do with the rest of the day when a black Lincoln Navigator swung in across the sidewalk in front of us. Neither of us was too surprised when Vic and Jerry stepped out.

“Both of you. In the back,” Jerry said. His hand was in the front of his blazer.

Ashton was pale. I looked at Vic, and he just shook his head at me and held out one hand to the open back door of the suv. We climbed in. The silence was hard. Neither of them spoke at all. Vic drove, and Jerry sat staring straight ahead. Ashton and I fidgeted nervously while we made our way through downtown traffic. Finally we pulled up behind a long red-brick warehouse.

“Get out,” was all Jerry said.

They walked us in the back door. It looked like an auto parts place. There were long rows of shelving where workers were gathering items and boxing them to place on conveyors that carried them to other workers, who loaded them onto trucks at a pair of loading docks. No one bothered to look at us as we passed. We were marched up a set of stairs and through a set of offices with secretaries busy with paperwork. The silence was the worst. Neither Vic nor Jerry spoke all that time. They just walked solemnly behind us. We could feel the weight of their big bodies following us, and we walked as fast as we could. We ended up in a paneled office with floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the street. Vic motioned us to sit on a leather couch along one wall. They went to stand at either side of the door.

Hardy entered through a side door. He walked to his desk without looking at us or speaking. When he sat, he drank from a tumbler and eyed me over the rim. Then he put it on the table softly—so gently it gave me the creeps. He folded his hands in front of him and leaned forward in his chair.

“Never did much care for freelancers, Cree. I expected some degree of loyalty from you.” He leaned back in his chair.

“I don’t know what you mean,” I said.

“You took my money and made your own play. You left me out of the loop. I call that a total lack of respect.”

“That’s not what happened.”

He stood up suddenly. He leveled a hard look at me.

“You take a grand of my money and put it to work and you don’t tell me about it? You pick up five grand, and you’re gonna walk off and play like nothing happened? Like you didn’t use my generosity for your own end? Don’t play me, Cree. We know what you did.”

“You had me followed?”

“You think I don’t have people at the track? I knew as soon as you got there, and I knew when you made your play. Nice trick though. Waiting until just before the bell went off to lay down your wager. Makes it hard for anyone else to get in.”

“I waited because it took me that long to be sure.”

“Sure of what? That you were in the clear?”