Just Gus and Tiny and me in the night, for the next hour or so. The only sounds came from the horse, and Gus. He’d set six jumps. I don’t know how he did it as quickly as he did. But he was Gus.
I’d finish a round and even if I was clear, this is what I’d hear: “Again.”
One time I knocked down the first rail. After I had finished, he raced the wheelchair over to me and said, “You acted like the rest of the round didn’t matter.”
“Is that what you think you saw?”
“What I know I saw,” he said.
Spun the chair around and took off, spraying dirt on me this time.
“Now do it again,” he said.
It was midnight when we finished. I hopped down off the horse, gave her an extra mint I had in my pocket. The horse seemed fine. I was exhausted. But wasn’t going to show him that.
I walked the horse over to him as he shut the lights in the ring.
“Gotta ask you something,” he said. “Do you really want this? Or does it just sound good when you say it?”
“Now you are joking,” I said. “Of course I want it.”
He stared at me.
“Are you sure?”
At which point I had heard enough from Gus Bennett. Felt like I’d been riding all night—and yelled at just as long.
“Yes!” I yelled back now. “Yes, I’m sure!”
He smiled.
“See you in the morning,” he said. “You can lock up.”
And rode away.
SEVENTY-SIX
Gorton
THEY’D TAKEN THE first booth to the left of the entrance into the Palm Beach Grill, next door to the Honor Bar. Steve Gorton liked both places, chose between them depending on his mood. Both bars attracted equally good-looking women.
He was having Monday lunch with Tyler Cullen. Not as much an invitation as a direct order. Gorton liked making Cullen come to him every chance he got. Cullen wasn’t technically one of Gorton’s employees. But still treated him like one. Cullen let him. What choice did he have? Some things never changed. Gorton had something Cullen wanted.
Gorton’s lunch today was a Bloody Bull, beef bouillon mixed in with his Bloody Mary. Cullen was having a salad, no dressing, with a Diet Coke. Little guy watched his weight like a jockey.
“I thought you told me she couldn’t win,” Gorton said.
“It’s like an old trainer of mine says,” Cullen said. “A lot of people have won one in a row.”
“She looked pretty damn good on that horse to me,” Gorton said.
“Obviously getting back with her old trainer made a difference,” Cullen said. “You saw what she was like her first time out. Scared shitless. She was a different rider Saturday night.”
Gorton leaned forward.
“The one who looks scared right now is you,” Gorton said. “You have to know what usually happens to people who get shit wrong with me, right?”
“It won’t happen again,” Cullen said. “Trust me.”
Gorton laughed so loud people at the other end of the bar turned around.
“Oh, wait,” Gorton said to him. “You’re serious.”
“But you can trust me,” Cullen said.
“A glorified jockey?” Gorton said.
Cullen just stared at him, almost as if seeing Gorton, really seeing him, for the first time. Gorton had seen the look plenty of times before. People swore up and down, all the time, about how they knew it was a mistake to underestimate him. Then they went ahead and underestimated him.
“You know how much I want to be in business with you.”
“That actually brings me to the reason I got you over here today,” Gorton said. “I need you to explain why I should still want to be in business with you.”
He sipped his drink.
“Because for the life of me, I can’t come up with a single good goddamn reason.”
Cullen looked as if he’d been slapped.
“I’ve got some new intel on the whole situation,” he said.
“I’ll be the judge of that.”
“Will you at least hear me out?” Cullen said.
Gorton did. Cullen talked for a long time, the words spilling out of him. Or maybe it just felt like a long time to Steve Gorton, who never had much of an attention span when hearing pitches. An idea. A partnership. Themselves. It was what Cullen was doing now. Pitching himself all over again. Trying not to look desperate, or needy. But Gorton could always see it on people. Could smell it. It was like when he’d watch that show Shark Tank on television. Gorton had no use for the hosts. He had more money than they did. Even Mark Cuban. No, he just liked to watch some of the contestants beg.