Рита Браун - Hiss Of Death

As they settled at the table, Fair returned to the conversation in the bathroom. “Steroids used by equines are usually in bottles about the size of a pint of milk. Glass. It would make no sense to put a glass bottle of steroids, whatever the type, in one of those cylinders. Plus, there wouldn’t be enough money in shipping just one bottle at a time.”

“That’s what Coop said about cocaine and prescription drugs. The cylinders are too small, but Fair”—she put down her spoon, lightly smacking the table for emphasis—“the cylinders are not a coincidence. They mean something important.”

“Honey, they might. But whatever it is, I have no idea. Those cylinders are perfect for shipping sperm. I don’t know if they are perfect for anything else.”

“Okay, back to steroids. Is there a lot of money to be made?” Harry asked.

“Not so much in the equine world. There are laws against using them in flat racing. Enforcement is another problem, but you can use them in other equine sports and—unless there is blood testing at the events—you can get away with it. Steroids, I mean.”

“Fair, you look at a horse and you can tell.”

“You can. I can. A person assigned by the government to draw blood, maybe not. They aren’t always vets. I hate to say this about my own profession, but someone offers twenty-five thousand dollars to shut up at that event, someone else might just take it. Or you take a sample of blood that’s clean and substitute that for the blood of the horse loaded up on steroids. Kind of on par with urine testing for humans. Before the authorities cracked down, you could use someone else’s urine or someone else’s blood. Now you pee on command.”

They both laughed.

Then Fair continued, “But the thing about steroids is if you give them to a yearling, the animal develops a robust musculature. But the bones aren’t completely set, especially at the joints. And I do not believe they are at two, but we race them at two, and you know how I feel about that, so I’ll shut up.”

“I feel the same way, but this has as much to do with a tax structure that mitigates against agricultural pursuits. The way things are now, a breeder, an owner, needs to put the horses on the track way too early. You just can’t afford to keep them that extra year while they continue to mature.”

“That’s why I love sitting with my beautiful wife at the breakfast table. You’re off and running.”

“I know.” She lowered her eyes for a moment.

“Trainers are so sophisticated these days about when to use steroids and when to drop off, even I have difficulty telling sometimes. But if I’m looking at a two-year-old that looks like a perfectly conditioned three-year-old? Steroids, no doubt. Beyond that, when they’re older, if I don’t draw blood, I don’t know, because the musculature is consistent with age. And it’s the same for humans. Steroids give any competitor an edge.”

“Especially in strength sports or sports where you take a beating.”

“And there is a fortune in selling them. But using cylinders to ship? No. I’m no help to you. I’m frustrated, too. I guess you could ship contraband diamonds or emeralds. But we haven’t seen any jewelry around here.”

“It’s driving me crazy.”

Fair savored his coffee, then set the heavy Bennington pottery mug down. “Let it be. You have more important things to focus on, like your recovery.”

“I feel fine.”

“Harry.”

“Okay. I don’t feel fine after radiation, but then I come back. I feel good right now.”

“And you still have your hair.”

“Haven’t had enough radiation to lose it. Boy, when you see what happens to the people who get the one-two punch, chemo and radiation, it’s amazing they can stand up.”

“Speaking of steroids, doctors give steroids to help patients with the effect.”

“Back to legal and illegal drugs. What would you do if I lost my hair?”

“Sweep it up.” He smiled.

“I’d just shave it off, what was left. The hell with it. I’d wear a hat or something, but I’d make a preemptive strike.”

He rubbed the top of his blond head. “If I were losing mine, think I’d do the same thing.”

“It’s funny, isn’t it? People are sexually attracted to each other because of their looks, and then you lose them one way or the other: illness or age.”

“You will always be that gorgeous girl I fell in love with when you were a junior in high school. Don’t care if you’re one hundred.”

“Ha!” She loved it, though.

“He’s smart,” Mrs. Murphy noted.

“Hey, he keeps her happy.” Tucker adored Fair.

“If he doesn’t keep her happy, some other man will,” Pewter, finished, declared.

“You are such a sourpuss,” Mrs. Murphy said.

“No, I’m not. I tell the truth. That’s the way humans are. They need to pay constant attention to one another or else. One cat’s observation” —she puffed out her chest— “but what a cat.”

Mrs. Murphy made a gagging sound. “I’m going to throw up.”

Harry stood up, grabbed a paper towel. “You eat too fast, too much, and then you drink water.”

“It’s Pewter. I’m fine.” Mrs. Murphy jumped off the counter and exited through the cat door to the small screened-in porch off the back door.

Then she went out the pet door in the outside door and trotted to the barn.

“It can now be said that you can empty a room.”

“Oh, shut up. She’s acting like an old Virginia biddy.” Pewter snarled at the dog.

• • •

Three hours later, the chores were done and the cats and dogs were returning to their normal good humor—or as good as Pewter could manage. Harry lifted the hatch on the Volvo, and the cats jumped in.

On her hind legs, Tucker put her front paws on the car’s back end.

“Upsy-daisy.” Harry lifted Tucker’s hind end, and the dog was in.

First Harry stopped at her husband’s clinic. He was in the lay-up barn, checking on a patient who had a twisted gut. Fair had operated in time: No portion of bowel had atrophied or become necrotic. He removed the knot, and the animal would make a full recovery. The trick was in keeping the horse calm while the incision healed. For a time, that meant administering a light sedative.

While he was in the barn, Harry plucked a yellow shipping cylinder from the storage room. She didn’t tell Fair, and he didn’t know she was there.

Her next stop was Heavy Metal Gym.

At 10:30 A.M., the place was much quieter than it was when she worked out. The lunch crowd—looking for a fast workout—would trickle in starting at 11:30 and fade out by 1:30 P.M. Then, at 5:30 P.M., people would come in and the gym would be full until about 8:00 or 9:00 P.M., depending on the day. The late-night crowd wrapped it up at 11:00 P.M.

Another perfect day at seventy-two degrees. Harry, following one of her odd hunches, put the windows down two inches for the animals and grabbed the cylinder. “I’ll be right back.”

The three said nothing, but as she left, Mrs. Murphy said, “I wish she hadn’t taken that cylinder.”

The other two nodded in agreement.

Out on the floor, Noddy was spotting for Annalise, flat on her back at the bench press.

Waiting until Annalise finished her exercise, Harry walked over. “Hey, what are you doing here at this hour?”

“My day off. It’s nice and quiet now. I don’t have to listen to that awful music the men play.”

Noddy replied, “Yeah, it is awful, but they love it. Unfortunately, there are more of them than people with good musical taste. Cock rock, as I call it, does nothing to make you lift harder and better. But it’s one of those myths that will die hard. They believe it, so therefore it helps them.”