Gargantuan_ A Ruby Murphy Mystery - Maggie Estep [88]
I watch Cat lap water from a plastic cup and, when I’m sure that she’s comfortable and has suffered no adverse effects from the plane ride, I bid her adieu, lock the door, and reflect that I am in all likelihood the only FBI agent who travels to his assignments with a cat. Last time I checked I didn’t even like cats. I walk to the nondescript car, get in, and drive.
SPRING HASN’T EVEN thought of putting its touches on New York yet, but the entrance to the Belmont backside looks inviting all the same. Feels like home. A little less so when I pull up to the gate and a young security guard scowls, removing any trace of attractiveness from her face, and asks me my business.
“My name should be on your sheet. Sam Riverman,” I tell her. She looks down at her clipboard.
“Okay, go,” she says, waving me on without looking at me.
I haven’t been gone long but I realize I’ve already gotten used to the friendlier environment of Florida.
I park the car and start walking over toward the barn area. Before I’ve reached the first shedrow, the sounds come. Radios, hooves against cold dirt, buckets banging into wooden stalls. The Belmont backside population has been thinned by winter, with the heavy hitters gone south or west. Those left behind have settled in, grinding their teeth and bearing the cold.
I find my way to Jim Radcliffe’s barn where Carmelo Jimenez, our operative, is posing as a groom named Carlo Sanchez. The first person I see at Radcliffe’s shedrow is a sturdy but slightly stooped Latin man leading a sleepy bay mare.
“Hi, I’m looking for Carlo,” I say.
“You found him.”
“Oh.” I’m genuinely surprised. The man really looks like a groom. “Carlo Sanchez?” I double-check.
“Yep. And you’re Sam Riverman,” Carlo says.
Carlo is a weathered man in his mid-forties. He has a pencil mustache that doesn’t belong on his thick-featured face.
“Got a minute?” I ask.
“Sure. Let me just put this girl away.”
I make myself comfortable on a tack trunk in the aisle while Carlo finishes up with the mare. I note that our operative has found a good outfit to work for. Though I don’t know much about Jim Radcliffe, it’s obvious the man runs a tight ship. Everything in the shedrow is tidy, clean, and color coordinated in maroon and yellow. I feel a sudden stab of anxiety wondering how my three claimers are faring down at Gulfstream this morning with only Rod to tend to them. I’m about to take out my phone to call Rod when Carlo materializes before me and indicates that I should follow him. He leads the way to the tack room and shows me in, pulling the door shut behind us.
“This is okay?” I ask, a little surprised since it doesn’t seem like the most secure place to talk.
“Fine,” he assures me. “Radcliffe isn’t coming in till afternoon and no one else will walk in with the door closed, they know I come in here to make phone calls. They think I’ve got a hot mama tucked away somewhere.” Carlo smiles faintly.
He indicates a chair and tells me to make myself comfortable. He flips a bucket over and sits on it. He brings his enormous calloused hands to rest on his knees then looks up at me with an almost mischievous expression. “I got the job done about two hours ago.”
“How’s that?”
“Got it on tape,” he grins.
“Got what on tape? I’m not up to speed with the situation here. You were bugging this Nick Blackman individual?”
“Oh yeah. Bugging him. Dude couldn’t have been more stupid.”
It surprises me to hear dude issue from Carmelo’s mouth.
“What happened?”
“Talked in his car. Seemed to know we had his barn office wired but didn’t seem to think we’d get his car. Took a ride with his boss, Davide Marinella. You heard about Marinella?”
“Yeah. Sure, I read the file. Bookie, mob, et cetera.