Chapter 11: CHAPTER EIGHT

Dawny Lee made remarkable progress throughout the spring. Doc Landon dropped by several times to check on her, told Gilbert the filly’s leg was healing beyond expectation. It was almost as if Dawny Lee wanted to run again, but Gilbert didn’t want to push her too hard so he had Tony work her lightly at first in order to get her mind back to business again. From what he noticed about the filly Dawny Lee couldn’t wait to get on the track again.

The first day of summer dawned bright and clear, not a cloud in the sky, not a hint of rain in the near future. Doc Landon called, said he’d be by later to check on the filly.

When he arrived later that afternoon Gilbert was standing by the fence watching Dawny Lee stare into the distance.

“Your track?” Doc Landon nodded in the direction Dawny Lee was looking.

“She wants to be there.”

“Thinking of running her at Westover?”

“I’ve got my mind on it. I’m working out something with the Jockey Club. A match race between one of Duncan Reynolds’s... horses and Dawny Lee.”

“Reynolds did pretty well last year.” Doc Landon walked into the paddock. The filly turned her head, greeted the vet with a nicker, craned her neck as if expecting a treat.

When Doc Landon had finished his exam the two men headed to Landon’s pickup.

“Would you like a coffee? Got a fresh brew.”

“No thanks. You know, Dave, when Reynolds had the real horses he could be one mean son of a bitch. He hated to lose, and he told me so. Tended to blame me if one of his horses got injured and I couldn’t get him fixed one hundred percent.” Doc’s hand rested on the door handle. “I remember one year he lost almost every year, especially stakes races. He was basically the owner of claiming horses, but he didn’t want to admit it. I know horseflesh, and the horses he had were worth a couple thousands maybe, not the millions he imagined. If you’re going to deal with Reynolds’s horses you better be careful. He says his trainer is Paul Brenner but that’s bullshit. He is listed as the trainer of most of his horses, and Brenner is just... I don’t know... an assistant, I guess.” He opened the door, climbed into the cab. “Reynolds’s mood depends on how his horses run. And now that he’s on that losing streak better be doubly careful.”

“Don’t worry about me, Doc. I know what I’m doing.”

“I’m on my way to see an ornery colt. Got to do a bit of snipping. Just wanted to see how your filly was doing.”

“She ok for...?”

“Yeah. Make sure it’s gradual.”

After Doc Landon had driven up the long dirt driveway he strolled up to the country road. He had Reynolds’s farm in mind, decided against it. He wanted Reynolds to think about it a little more.

Maybe Reynolds should have a time limit.

The fields to his left and right stood empty. Nothing had been cared for, and the grass was having a field day out there. He smiled at the analogy. If this summer was going to be as hot and dry as last year he’d have to make funeral arrangements for his fields. Of course if the real horses ever did make a comeback he’d have to plow the fields, plant grass seeds, wait. It’d be a long process, but well worth waiting for.

What were the chances?

Traffic on this road was almost non-existent. He walked a few feet, stopped. Ahead the town of Arrowhead, which had given its name to the river – to be honest, a wide creek, and behind him, the village of Sunriver. Arrowhead was closer, within walking distance, and the thought of getting something at the convenience store appealed to him.

Three cars sped by, and that was nothing new. A country road, with only farms left and right, and only one actually operating, tempted a lot of drivers to test out their cars. Farting mufflers, came to his mind when the last of the three roared by.

Ten minutes later, another car approached, this one a little slower. It pulled on to the shoulder, stopped a few feet in front of him.

A large black sedan. He didn’t like the look of this.

“David Gilbert?” the taller of the two asked. He had a slight foreign accent Gilbert couldn’t place.

“Depends on who’s asking.”

Tall man looked at his companion who nodded. “You’re Gilbert.”

In an instant the shorter man grabbed him from behind. The tall man’s fist sank into Gilbert’s abdominal area, once, twice, three times.

He doubled over, sank to the ground, hands clutching his belly, trying to protect himself from further damage.

Not content with leaving him alone both men kicked whatever body part was available, and the pain that shot through his body was beyond excruciating.

“This is just a reminder,” the tall one said. “There’ll be more where that came from if you don’t mind your own business.”

He struggled into a sitting position, stomach twisted into knots. Thought he’d vomit, but a few hacking coughs was all he could manage.

His assailants disappeared into the black sedan, eased the car on to the road, casually drove away.

The walk to the convenience store in Arrowhead didn’t look so inviting anymore.

Ten minutes later he decided to head back home even though he still felt as if a building had fallen on him. Tony was waiting for him by the paddock.

“Where were you?” the young man asked.

“I took a walk.”

Tony studied him. “Are you all right, sir?”

He looked away, at nothing in particular. “Fine... I’m fine.” That lie didn’t even convince him.

“I want to exercise Dawny Lee.”

“I guess so.” His mind was on Reynolds. “Lightly. No galloping.”

“Yes, sir.”

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“I want a progress report when you’re finished. Everything you can think of.” He winced as the pain in his belly returned. He turned away from Tony.

“Aren’t you going to watch?”

“No. I think I’ll head to the office and check on something.”

Fifteen minutes later, feeling a little better, feeling more angry than bruised, he called Reynolds.

“You goddamn son of a bitch,” he yelled as soon as he heard Reynolds’s voice.

“Gilbert? What’s the matter with you?”

“What’s the idea of sending two goons after me?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Who else could it be? Are you saying two guys in black business suits just decided to pull off the road so they can beat the crap out of me?”

“I’m busy right now. Why don’t you call back later?”

“I could go to the police, although I don’t know what good that will do. You’d just deny it, and it’d be your word against mine.”

“Good bye, Dave.”

“I’ll have Peter Chapman call you back.”

“If you do that...”

“Your... thugs are going to pay me a visit? You do realize I have a shotgun on the farm, and I know how to use it. So you better tell them not to bother coming here.”

“I have to go.”

“Let me put it plain and simple, Reynolds,” he said, voice cold, “if you don’t agree to run one of your horses against Dawny Lee I’ll tell Chapman everything. They’ll question you, they’ll question Brian Forster, they’ll question everyone in the computer department, including Janine McNally, and you won’t be able to sweep it under the rug, especially if the press hears about this. It’ll set horse racing back seventy, eighty years. You know what? I don’t even give a damn if Dawny Lee loses, just as long as she gives a good accounting of herself.”

“You’ll do nothing,” Reynolds said.

“You want to bet on that?”

“In case you, or that exercise rider of yours, were curious about Janine McNally’s whereabouts, she’s staying at my place. Haven’t you wondered why you haven’t heard from her these last couple of weeks? As far as her family and friends are concerned she decided to take an extended vacation in England. Amazing what you can find out by just asking a few questions. Right now she’s somewhere on the farm, but her continued existence depends on you.”

It took a moment for the words to sink in.

“She’s fine right now,” Reynolds continued, “but she won’t be if you don’t do exactly as I say.”

“What do you want?”

“We’ll have that match race, but you will lose.”

Of course she’ll lose. “Are you worried about something?”

“I’m not worried, Gilbert. You should be. And so should Miss McNally.”

“What if she wins?” Maybe with a twenty length headstart.

“Then Miss McNally won’t see her next birthday.”

“What chances do I have?”

“None. You know as well as I do that your horse doesn’t have a prayer of winning anything. This is what’s going to happen: Your horse will lose by at least... at least thirty lengths. More would be nice, but not less than thirty. Make sure you tell that to your rider. If she’s even breathing next to my horse Miss McNally will stop breathing. Do we understand each other?”

“Dawny Lee is still training. I don’t think she’ll be ready until late summer... early fall.”

“Whenever she’s ready, give me a call.”

“I always knew you were a son of a bitch, but I didn’t think you’d add kidnapping to your other illegal activities.”

“It’s your fault,” Reynolds said. “I should have won the title last year, but no... that bitch McNally ruined everything.”

“All right, I’ll play your game. When do you want the match race? September? October?”

“That’s up to you... and your horse.”

“Any particular track?”

“Westover. You know how much I love that track.”

“I’ll let you know when she’s ready.” He clicked off the phone, made a face as if Reynolds’s image were imprinted on the screen.

He’d see the man in hell before he let his filly lose by thirty lengths.

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