Gargantuan_ A Ruby Murphy Mystery - Maggie Estep [86]
Ricky Fisher has now pulled almost four lengths ahead of us and it’d be a relatively simple proposition to just leave him there. The man who threatened me yesterday failed to tell me which horse I was supposed to let win. If it was indeed Fisher’s horse, then the horse doesn’t need much help. It would require a monstrous effort on Jack’s part to get ahead now.
Jack is by Compelling Sound by Seattle Slew and this lineage is nothing to shrug at. His ancestry kicks in now and, just when I thought he was done for, he finds another gear. I feel him dropping lower to the ground as his massive heart pumps. He switches leads, gaining a length on Fisher. I see the jock turn to look over his shoulder at us. Then I am blinded as a clod of dirt gets kicked in my face. I pull my third pair of goggles up. Jack’s strides are monstrous. From nose to tail he is one fluid line of power. He gains on Fisher’s horse. I can’t hear the announcer or the crowd or anything other than my own blood rushing in my ears and the thunder of the narrow but powerful horse underneath me. Then I feel Jack tiring. It’s the last furlong and though I tried to let him know he had to go a little farther than last time he’s weakening.
“Not now, fella,” I say, “not yet. Give me one more burst and we’re there, Jack.” I lift my hands ever so slightly. One of his ears flicks in acknowledgment and I feel him surge once more.
We’re now neck and neck with Ricky Fisher’s horse.
Jack surges again and flies ahead just as the wire comes.
I stand up in the irons, letting Jack know it’s over and he’s done it.
I feel tears in my eyes again and I let them flow as I coo at the horse. His ears are forward now.
I turn him around and start cantering back to the winner’s circle a little sooner than I normally would. I want to cut it short and get off the track where I’m so vulnerable. I don’t imagine a sniper would take a chance in a crowd like this but you never know.
Sophie meets us near the winner’s circle. She is beaming as she reaches up and shakes my hand then pats Jack’s neck and kisses him on the nose. The gelding is tired but proud as he lets Sophie lead us. I see Henry and Violet, both glowing, both radiant. I lean forward on Jack’s neck, studying the intricate network of veins, taking in the smell of a tired but triumphant thoroughbred. My last time.
SAM RIVERMAN/ED BURKE
30.
At Sixes and Sevens
I can’t say I’m sorry to see the state of Florida becoming smaller beneath me. As the plane gains altitude and the city of Ft. Lauderdale recedes, I feel lighter. Chances are, I’ll be back soon, but I’m damn glad to have been called up to Belmont where the Bureau operative is in over his head. An exercise rider is dead, a filly is injured and, according to the operative, there’s more where that came from.
My boss didn’t call me till late yesterday afternoon. I’d just come home to take a break before evening chores and I was feeling good. After seeing Lucinda’s exhilaration over her cathartic incident aboard Mike’s Mohawk, I’d decided the time was ripe to have a talk with her. I had successfully ended things without causing her any evident flickers of pain. I’d come home, fussed over Cat like some sort of lunatic, and was debating whether or not to call Ruby again. We’d actually had a good talk the previous night and though she hadn’t divulged that she’d been knocking boots with some other guy—hadn’t even really told me what she’d been up to at all—I felt like the thread between us was stronger.