Kill the Boss Goodbye Page 7

  “All right!” yelled Pander. “Let go your drinks and get organized!”

  Pander stood by the wall, watching the room. He felt like a benign conqueror and all the men were moving around, pushing tables and chairs together, and nobody held a drink any more except Pander. Millie was sipping her ice water.

  “Get in the bedroom,” said Pander across the room.

  “What?” she asked, and they all saw how she looked confused.

  “Just stay there!” he yelled at her and when she closed the door nobody said a word because Pander didn't have much humor.

  They all sat along the tables and Pander sat down at the head of them.

  “Just to remind you,” he said, “now comes business. You too, Kaufman,” and Kaufman looked away from the bedroom door.

  One man handed Pander a stack of sheets, typewritten lists of horses and races.

  “There's plenty of horsemeat this season, not even counting the possibles. And for each horse there's double that many suckers and more. So I want you bookies to keep hopping,” he said. “I want you to push those bets like never before.”

  “I'm afraid of them odds,” said one of them. “I never seen an operation go higher than twenty to one at the most.”

  “In this town we move, boy. Go up to twenty-five to one if the bets call for it, and keep checking in to me. The way we got this thing set up—”

  “Yeah, how?” He was one of the new ones. The Fell-Pander setup had him confused.

  Pander turned around as if the guy were a heckler.

  “What's the matter, Jack? You never make book before?”

  “Not with two kingpins in the game.”

  They all started to buzz, but before Pander got ready to yell the bedroom door opened and Millie came out. The buzzing turned off and they let Millie walk to the liquor table so that only her dress made a sound. She was walking on tiptoe, to avoid distracting the men from their work. She got her cigarettes from the table, walked back to the door, and closed it. Then they all turned their heads back to Pander.

  “What were you saying?” said Roy.

  “If you guys paid attention around here—”

  “What about his setup? Tell them the way it works.”

  “It works for us,” said Pander. “Look at it this way. I run the bookmaking, Fell backs the bets. I do the work, Fell's got the money. You got any questions or anything like that, come to me. You pay in to me, you collect from me, and nobody deals with Fell except me. Clear enough?”

  “I hear tell he's got a crew of his own or something. He's running the joints and you've got the floating crew or something.”

  Pander laughed. “Forget it. Fell isn't running a thing around here except through me.”

  “Fell's out?”

  “Don't mix in politics, bud.” Pander started shuffling his papers. Right then the bedroom door opened again and Millie came out.

  “Now, listen!” said Pander. He talked loud because nobody was looking at him. Only Millie was looking at him so he yelled at her. “What in hell is it now!”

  “I want my ice water,” she said.

  “So go grab it and then stay in that room!”

  She left and there was silence except for one who said, “Ice water she needs.”

  “Who said that?” But Pander didn't get his answer.

  Roy leaned over the table and got things back to business. Even Pander was listening. “The third race on the fourth,” Roy said. “That's the one needs special attention and anybody with information on those nags speak up now.”

  “That's right,” said Pander. “That's the money maker. Take a look at your lists.”

  They all looked at lists with the names of horses.

  “There's four horses to watch. Rainy Day, Claret, Moonday, and Sis. They'll all have run before by the fourth but not in the same field. Watch the performance, stack it up with their past record and go easy on those odds. Each one of those nags is a cinch horse. The suckers know this as well as you guys, so watch it close.”

  “How about pushing the long shots in that race, the other five horses?”

  “Any one here know those five?”

  “Rosebud.. I been following Rosebud. 'Til last year she's been a half-miler part of the time. They're bringing her up slow.”

  “She been in the money?”

  “Some.”

  “There's another deadbeat in this, Buttonhead. Good-looking horse, but—”

  “Good-looking! You think maybe—!”

  “I said good-looking!”

  “Only horse that's good-looking is the one in front. If you ask me—”

  “No, he's right. The—”

  “Shut up, somebody!” They all turned to Pander.

  “That's better.” He sat back and put gum in his mouth. “I don't want you guys worrying about half-milers running this nine-furlong track. That's allowed. Fact is, we like it. And what's more, the favorite in this race, that is, the favoritewe want to see win is this nag—Roy, what's her name?”

  “Mindy.”

  “Millie?” said a half dozen of them.

  “Who said that?” said Pander.

  “Anyway, her name's Mindy,” said Roy, “and she's done well on the half-mile. She's run the mile only off the record and she's even better. She's in this race by arrangement.”

  “Clear enough,” said one. “Do we handle it so she pays twenty to one?”

  “That's the idea,” said Pander. “That's why this meeting.”

  “And the other four long shots?”

  “Go higher. Make it look good, as if no other horse mattered except those first four. Let the long shots go sky-high.”

  “What? Twenty-two to one?”

  “Higher. Up to twenty-five. At the track we'll go more, but you guys working on the road go up to twenty-five.”

  “Hell, Pander, that's pushing it.”

  “I said—”

  “All right, I'm just asking.”

  “But aside from this,” said Roy, “keep in touch with the office. We'll be watching all bets coming in and we'll tell you how to adjust if the betting runs too heavy on any of those.”

  “Will you know for sure? How about the bets taken in through Fell's bookies?”

  “Don't worry,” said Pander. “I'll have that information. After all—“ he moved the gum so he could smite— “we're all one big happy family.”

  “What about Buttonhead?” somebody asked. “It's her first race on this track.”

  “Maybe her last. I saw her in Omaha making show once out of three tries.”

  “At Ak-Sar-Ben? That's a half-mile track.”

  “A guy by the name of Dudley owns her. Nice guy. He says he's only putting her in a five-thousand-dollar race because of the training. She runs three thousand stake, usually.”

  “You mean he runs her out of her class just to—”

  “All right! Forget about Buttonhead! I want some attention around here. Get this thing done!”

  They got down to business and went through details of some other races. Millie never showed up again and they all looked sour attending to business till one in the morning.

  Chapter Thirteen

  It was around the time that Pander's meeting broke up when Cripp got a call. The phone woke him and he jumped up. He had Fell on his mind, first thing, and it worried him.

  “Say, Cripp? This is Tom.”

  “Tom—Who—”

  “This is Fell, you jerk. Wake up.”

  “I'm up. I'm awake, Tom. You need me?” Cripp leaned with the phone at his ear as if it would help him to hear.

  “Wanna see a horse?”

  “You say horse?”

  “Sure. Put your clothes on, Cripp, and I'll pick you up in twenty minutes.”

  “Tom, it's two in the morning.”

  “I know. See you in twenty minutes. About a horse,” and before Fell hung up Cripp heard him laugh at his own joke.

  While Cripp got dressed he thought that he should have asked Fel
l from where he was calling. He should have made sure Fell was going to show up. When a man fresh out of a sanatorium calls at two in the morning and laughs about buying a horse... Cripp gave his head a sharp snap. He wasn't sure what Fell had said and went to the bathroom for some cold water. Then he'd better call Janice.

  Perhaps Fell was right there, with Janice, and nothing was wrong. After the cold water Cripp heated some coffee. He stood in the empty kitchen and watched the coffee heat. Perhaps a bite—but the kitchen was empty. Cripp never bought food. He ate out and except for coffee he never spent time in the kitchen. Or in the living room. The few pieces of furniture were against two walls because all Cripp ever used the room for was to walk to the bedroom. When at home he would sit in bed where his magazines and his albums of pictures were stacked up. He clipped pictures from magazines—ships, mountain scenes, trees. He didn't know the names of any of them but he was partial to trees.

  It couldn't have been more than ten minutes when the horn blew downstairs. Fell was there. Cripp gulped what was left in his cup and hurried downstairs. He slid in next to Fell and tried to see how he looked, but the car shot off and Cripp had to hold on. After the next turn he straightened up. Fell was heading out of town.

  “Got a cigarette, Cripp?”

  “Sure.” He gave Fell one.

  The match showed Fell's face, alive, wide awake. He looked at his watch, then drove faster.

  “Tom, what's that you said on the phone?”

  Fell laughed but kept his eyes on the road. Cripp was grateful for that.

  “Do you want to see a horse, I said.”

  Cripp smoked, and after a long exhale he said, “That's what I thought you said.”

  “It's a long drive, so I thought—just for company—”

  “Where's Janice?” said Cripp.

  “You know Janice and horses. They don't mean a thing to each other. Janice is asleep.”

  “When it comes to that, Tom, I myself don't have much of a feeling for horses. Tom, could you go a little slower?”

  “She starts working at four-thirty. It'll take close to two hours getting to her.”

  “I see,” said Cripp, and watched the highway get eaten up.

  “You've seen nothing till you see this little money maker of ours. That horse—”

  “What horse, Buttonhead?” Cripp said it like a joke.

  “That's right. Buttonhead.”

  Fell was crazy. He may just be a harmless dud any other time, which was enough of a worrisome change in itself, but now this thing about Buttonhead—Cripp watched Fell drive and they talked about other things. It wasn't hard talking to Fell. He seemed active and pleased. He was far out of San Pietro, he was going to see his horse, and perhaps this was all just the normal thing for somebody nuts enough to own a horse.

  When the sky started to turn light blue they were close to the foot of the Sierras. Some peaks in the distance showed sun, but the rest of the land still held the dark of early morning. Where the pines started, Fell turned off the road, drove through a small town where a milk wagon was making the rounds, and then out into the open again. They passed two ranches, then Fell turned in at the third.

  There were no stables in back, just a barn. There was an empty corral and an open stretch behind that Cripp saw the fresh wood they had used to build a new railing. Like a nine-furlong track.

  “They'll be up at the bunkhouse,” said Fell. “Want breakfast?”

  Cripp did and they walked to the bunkhouse.

  The long table had two plates and two cups on it. By the stove a man was slicing onions into a pot.

  “They're out,” said the man. “Left ten minutes ago. Want breakfast?”

  Fell said yes. The man brought plates of eggs and the coffee and then went back to his onions.

  Fell ate fast. He slurped the hot coffee as if he couldn't wait and kept looking out to the barn.

  “More eggs?” said the man.

  “Sure. All around.”

  “They went to pony her,” said the man.

  “Whom with? Sally?”

  “She won't pony with nobody but Sally.”

  “I know,” said Fell because he had only asked to make conversation.

  Then they heard the horses, Sally and Buttonhead, come around the barn.

  “Look at her!” Fell got up. “Look at her, Cripp. Isn't she neat?”

  Cripp looked. “But why say she? It's a gelding.”

  “I call 'em all she,” said Fell, and then he went outside to Buttonhead.

  The rider got off the pony and the two horses kept their noses together as if they had a secret.

  “Cripp, tell the truth, is she a beauty?”

  “He is,” said Cripp because he had to admit it.

  The small head kept nodding and poking and the tall legs made little dancing steps. The gelding had a big heart, very high withers, and the long swayback of thoroughbreds.

  “And smart,” said Fell. “You catch how she's listening to me?”

  “I guess so,” said Cripp.

  “And look at that nose. Ever see such an articulate nose, Cripp?”

  “No,” he said, very politely, but he thought this was going too far. So he said, “Can she run?”

  “Can she run!”

  “Yes, you know—”

  “Can she run, Cripp! She's born for running; she can run better than she can walk. Now look at that pony. See that steam all over the pony?”

  Cripp saw how the pony was steaming in the cool air.

  “Now, Buttonhead. See any steam?”

  “No steam,” said Cripp. “Perhaps that's because he took it easy—like at all those tracks where he's been following the field around the course.”

  Fell gave Cripp a look of pity and then he laughed. He turned to the boy who was holding the pony and asked him if the track came next, if Buttonhead were going to be clocked now. The boy said that was next and walked the horses into the barn.

  “I see Buttonhead taking ten steps for every one the pony takes,” said Cripp.

  Fell laughed again and said that was prancing and it limbered the legs.

  “Perhaps in a prance race—” Cripp started, but then Fell cut in. He wasn't kidding any more.

  “Those other races you mentioned. They were half-mile tracks. Buttonhead is a one-miler.”

  Cripp got it. “This is news. This news is worth some money.”

  “Better than that,” said Fell. “It's worth everything I let slide in San Pietro.” Fell wouldn't explain any more because the two horses came back from the barn. The same boy was on the pony and a lean little guy was riding Buttonhead.

  He said, “Hi, Mister Fell,” and Fell said, “How are you, Dominic,” and if Fell had also mentioned the last name even Cripp might have known that this jockey was big time. The two men rode by and Buttonhead was clinking his bit. But he had stopped prancing. He walked almost like a cat.

  Then the trainer came out of the barn, a wrinkled man with skin the color of his leggings and a look on his face as if he were half asleep.

  “How's it look?” said Fell, without the time to say hello first.

  “We'll see, Fell,” and the trainer held up the stop watch in his hand. Then he walked by and followed the horses.

  They followed him and Fell kept mumbling, “That guy's going to drive me crazy. I swear, one of these days that guy's going to drive me crazy—”

  Cripp caught Fell's fever by the time they got to the track, but then came some more torture.

  “Pony around once, Dominic. At the three-quarter mark start dancing.”

  “Okay, Mr. Dudley.” The horses walked off.

  A three-quarter-mile walk on a track takes longer than on foot to China. Cripp started to know that and he wondered how Fell kept so still. Dudley kept still too, except that with him it was more like sleep.

  Fell said, “Mr. Dudley, why the quarter-mile before clocking her?”

  Mr. Dudley. That was the second time he'd been called Mr. Dudley. First th
e jockey, then the owner.

  “She likes it, I guess,” said the trainer.

  “Look, that'll change the timing between here and the real track. I need a sure figure.”

  “All owners need a sure figure,” said Dudley.

  Cripp was surprised to see Fell give up.

  “Three-quarter,” said Dudley as if he didn't care.

  Buttonhead was starting to sidle, with the jockey straddling high and stiff-legged over the horse. Then the canter got smooth: a dipping canter with a short reach, almost as if the horse weren't leaving the spot. Then the pony wasn't next to the thoroughbred any more. After a while the pony veered off.

  Mr. Dudley got up to stretch, the way it looked, but then kept walking into the track. The big horse further down was thumping closer, so they could hear it, but Dudley kept walking till he seemed almost up to the railing. He raised a slow arm and held it. Buttonhead wasn't sidling any more and the jockey was coming down to the saddle. He came down, smooth and slow, and the horse's rock never reached his body.

  They were going to run right over Dudley.

  The trainer's arm shot up straight and the jockey was glued down flat in a monkey crouch; the trainer snapped down his arm, which must have fanned the nose of the horse, they were so close then, and they were off.

  The pace was so smooth Cripp had to get impressions from the clods of earth that had started flying. They suddenly flew like shrapnel and then the horse started leaning because there was the turn.

  Dudley came back and he walked watching his shoes.

  “Man!” said Cripp.

  “What did you say?” said Dudley.

  “Just—you know, what a runner.”

  “He's below the half-mile,” said Dudley. “That's the race he's been losing.”

  “This is nothing? You mean this is nothing special?”

  “Nothing,” said Dudley.

  He climbed up to stand on the bench.

  “Half-mile?” said Fell.

  “Coming up.”

  Fell got on the bench like he was performing on a tightrope.

  “Start watching now,” said Dudley. “Time was one fifty-four.”

  “Man!” said Cripp.

  “It stinks,” said Dudley.