Dick Francis - Odds against

They thought about this for five seconds. Then Kraye said, ‘We’ll have to make sure about the negatives.’

Bolt nodded. If reason hadn’t told me what Kraye meant, his wife’s smile would have done. My skin crawled.

‘How?’ she said interestedly.

Kraye inspected his grazed knuckles. ‘You won’t beat it out of him,’ said Oxon. ‘Not like that. You haven’t a hope.’

‘Why not?’said Bolt.

Instead of replying, Oxon turned to me. ‘How many races did you ride with broken bones?’

I didn’t answer. I couldn’t remember anyway.

‘That’s ridiculous,’ said Doria scornfully. ‘How could he?’

‘A lot of them do,’ said Oxon. ‘And I’m sure he was no exception.’

‘Nonsense,’ said Kraye.

Oxon shook his head. ‘Collar bones, ribs, forearms, they’ll ride with cracks in any of those if they can keep the owners and trainers from finding out.’

Why couldn’t he shut up, I thought savagely. He was making things much much worse; as if they weren’t appalling enough already.

‘You mean,’ said Doria with sickening pleasure, ‘that he can stand a great deal?’

‘No,’ I said. ‘No.’ It sounded like the plea it was. ‘You can only ride with cracked bones if they don’t hurt.’

‘They must hurt,’ said Bolt reasonably.

‘No,’ I said. ‘Not always.’ It was true, but they didn’t believe it.

‘The negatives were in the office,’ I said despairingly. ‘In the office.’

‘He’s scared,’ said Doria delightedly. And that too was true.

It struck a chord with Kraye. He remembered Aynsford. ‘We know where he’s most easily hurt,’ he said. ‘That hand.’

‘No,’ I said in real horror.

They all smiled.

My whole body flushed with uncontrollable fear. Racing injuries were one thing: they were quick, one didn’t expect them, and they were part of the job.

To sit and wait and know that a part of ones self which had already proved a burden was about to be hurt as much as ever was quite something else. Instinctively I put my arm up across my face to hide from them that I was afraid, but it must have been obvious.

Kraye laughed insultingly. ‘So there’s your brave clever Mr Halley for you. It won’t take much to get the truth.’

‘What a pity,’ said Doria.

They left her standing in front of me holding the little pistol in an unswerving pink nailed hand while they went out and rummaged for what they needed. I judged the distance to the door, which was all of thirty feet, and wondered whether the chance of a bullet on the way wasn’t preferable to what was going to happen if I stayed where I was.

Doria watched my indecision with amusement.

‘Just try it, buddy boy. Just try it.’

I had read that to shoot accurately with an automatic pistol took a great deal of skill and practice. It was possible that all Doria had wanted was the power feeling of owning a gun and she couldn’t aim it. On the other hand she was holding it high and with a nearly straight arm, close to where she could see along the sights. On balance, I thought her claim to be a splendid shot had too much probability to be risked.

It was a pity Doria had such a vicious soul inside her beautiful body. She looked gay and dashing in her white Courreges clothes, smiling a smile which seemed warm and friendly and was as safe as the yawn of a python. She was the perfect mate for Kraye, I thought. Fourth, fifth, sixth time lucky, he’d found a complete complement to himself. If Kraye could do it, perhaps one day I would too… but I didn’t know if I would even see tomorrow.

I put the back of my hand up over my eyes. My whole face hurt, swollen and stiff, and I was developing a headache. I decided that if I ever got out of this I wouldn’t try any more detecting. I had made a proper mess of it.

The men came back, Oxon from the Stewards’ room lugging a wooden spoke-backed chair with arms, Kraye and Bolt from the changing room with the yard-long poker from the stove and the rope the wet breeches had been hung on to dry. There were still a couple of pegs clinging to it.

Oxon put the chair down a yard or two away and Doria waved the gun a fraction to indicate I should sit in it. I didn’t move.

‘God,’ she said disappointedly, ‘you really are a little worm, just like at Aynsford. Scared to a standstill.’

‘He isn’t a shop assistant,’ said Bolt sharply. ‘And don’t forget it.’

I didn’t look at him. But for him and his rejection of Charles’ usefully feeble Halley image, I might not have been faced with quite the present situation.

Oxon punched me on the shoulder. ‘Move,’ he said.

I stood up wearily and stepped off the weighing machine. They stood close round me. Kraye thrust out a hand, twisted it into my shirt, and pushed me into the chair. He, Bolt and Oxon had a fine old time tying my arms and legs to the equivalent wooden ones with the washing line. Doria watched, fascinated.

I remembered her rather unusual pleasures.

‘Like to change places?’ I said tiredly.

It didn’t make her angry. She smiled slowly, put her gun in a pocket, and leaned down and kissed me long and hard on the mouth. I loathed it. When at length she straightened up she had a smear of my blood on her lip. She wiped it off on to her hand, and thoughtfully licked it. She looked misty-eyed and languorous, as if she had had a profound sexual experience. It made me want to vomit.

‘Now,’ said Kraye. ‘Where are they?’ He didn’t seem to mind his wife kissing me. He understood her, of course.

I looked at the way they had tied the rope tightly round and round my left forearm, leaving the wrist bare, palm downwards. A hand, I thought. What good, anyway, was a hand that didn’t work.

I looked at their faces, one by one Doria, rapt Oxon, faintly surprised. Kraye confident, flexing his muscles. And Bolt, calculating and suspicious. None of them within a mile of relenting.

‘Where are they?’ Kraye repeated, lifting his arm.

‘In the office,’ I said helplessly.

He hit my wrist with the poker. I’d hoped he might at least try to be subtle, but instead he used all his strength and with that one first blow smashed the whole shooting match to smithereens. The poker broke through the skin. The bones cracked audibly like sticks.

I didn’t scream only because I couldn’t get enough breath to do it. Before that moment I would have said I knew everything there was to know about pain, but it seems one can always learn. Behind my shut eyes the world turned yellow and grey, like sun shining through mist, and every inch of my skin began to sweat. There had never been anything like it. It was too much, too much. And I couldn’t manage any more.

‘Where are they?’ said Kraye again.

‘Don’t,’ I said. ‘Don’t do it.’ I could hardly speak.

Doria sighed deeply.

I opened my eyes a slit, my head lolling weakly back, too heavy to hold up. Kraye was smiling, pleased with his efforts. Oxon looked sick.

‘Well?’ said Kraye.

I swallowed, hesitating still.

He put the tip of the poker on my shattered bleeding wrist and gave a violent jerk. Among other things it felt like a fizzing electric shock, up my arm into my head and down to my toes. Sweat started sticking my shirt to my chest and my trousers to my legs.

‘Don’t,’ I said. ‘Don’t.’ It was a croak; a capitulation; a prayer.

‘Come on, then,’ said Kraye, and jolted the poker again.

I told them. I told them where to go.

They decided it should be Bolt who went to fetch the negatives.

‘What is this place?’ he said. He hadn’t recognised the address.

‘The home of… a… girl friend.’