Kit Ehrman - At Risk

"Finished with the paint removal yet?"

I glanced over my shoulder as Marty strolled into the room. "Yeah," I said. "Finally."

"What did the inspector say?"

"That horse barns were almost always a total loss if a fire breaks out." I soaped my hands and looked at Marty's reflection in the mirror. "Shit. There's so many horses in one barn, just the thought of it makes me sick."

"Jesus." Marty leaned against the wall and crossed his arms over his chest. "Did he have any suggestions?"

"Not really. We've done everything we can short of installing an overhead sprinkler system, and-"

"That'll be the day."

"Got that right. No way in hell will Ambrose shell out that kind of money. He said no to hiring a night watchman, too."

"I heard."

"Mrs. Hill did talk the local cops into driving by after-hours to give the farm a once over. Who knows how long that'll last."

"Or how open their eyes'll be."

I rinsed my hands and splashed water on my face. "Well, I'm finally caught up." I yanked some paper towels out of the dispenser and started to dry my face.

"Er… maybe not."

I paused. "What do you mean, maybe not?"

"Whitcombe's added two more horses to your list."

"Shit."

"And he's in a foul mood. Motherfucker needs to get laid."

I wadded the towels into a ball and hooked them into the trash bin that stood in the corner of the room. "Damn. Would you do one for me?"

"Sure."

"Thanks."

"Speakin' of needin' a good lay," Marty said. "You've been awfully tense lately."

I made a noncommittal noise in my throat and turned for the door, not trusting my expression. "See ya," I said over my shoulder.

I was heading for the lounge to get a Coke when Whitcombe called after me. He had already jumped off the horse he'd been riding and was leading it across the ring. I glanced at my watch. He'd quit early.

I wound my way through a bunch of kids who were waiting for the three-thirty lesson to begin and stood by the arena gate. The horse's sides were heaving, and despite the chilly air, he was damp with sweat.

"Got lead up your ass, Cline?" Whitcombe said. "I don't have all day."

I glanced over my shoulder. Everyone was watching and no wonder. The man was hard to ignore. But, it was his grave he was digging if Mrs. Hill caught him talking like that. I reached out to take the horse's reins. Whitcombe didn't let them go, so I dropped my hand to my side.

"You don't know jack shit about horses do you?" he said. "I asked for a figure-eight noseband, and I get a flash attachment."

"Your figure-eight was-"

"And I wanted a Dr. Bristol, and you can't figure that out, either."

I clenched my fists. I hadn't messed up, and he knew it.

"You ought to be ashamed of yourself, Cline. You have no business working here. You're an incompetent, ignorant, lazy"-and then he lowered his voice so only I could hear-"son of a bitch who wouldn't be able to find your own fucking asshole without a map." He continued again with increasing decibels. "That you're barn manager blows me away. You're too damn stupid."

What a goddamned jerk.

He was down to a whisper again. "What'd you have to do, screw Mrs. Hill to get the job?"

I felt my face getting hot. I snatched the reins out of his hands. "What's wrong, Lawrence?" I whispered. "Can't find any boys to fuck?"

He narrowed his eyes and clamped his mouth shut. A film of sweat glistened on his skin, and he glared at me with such hatred, I felt as if a cold ball of ice had settled in my gut.

I turned away from him and led the horse back to the barn.

Damn it. I'd crossed that line, and worse, I had let him push me over it. I should have known better. Should have kept my damn mouth shut.

After Razz had cooled down, I tied him in his stall and began the tedious job of brushing the sweat out of his coat. I was working on the matted hair along his stifle when I heard someone stop in the aisle outside Razz's stall. I looked over the horse's rump.

Marty took note of my expression and grinned. "Expecting somebody, Steve?"

"You could say that."

He came into the stall. "I hear Whitcombe's at it again."

"Got that right. And shit, Marty. I let the asshole get to me."

"Damn… you're human after all. What'd you do?"

"It's not what I did, it's what I said."

"Well?"

"I called him a fag, more or less."

Marty snorted. "When you lose it, you do it with style. Anyway, thought I'd better warn ya. He's in the office, whinin' to Mrs. Hill."

I swiped the brush down the horse's rump. "He's prob-"

Mrs. Hill's voice came over the PA system loud and clear, calling me to the office. Marty chuckled.

"Here, Marty." I tossed the brush at him. "You think it's so funny, you finish Razz."

"Give 'em hell, Steve."

"Damn it, Marty. Don't look so happy."

"I'm not. It's just that you're so damned serious."

I walked into the office. Mrs. Hill was sitting behind her desk, and what surprised me was that she didn't look angry. I glanced at the door to the lounge. It was locked.

Whitcombe had claimed the one and only comfortable chair in the room. He crossed his legs and brushed the horsehair off his britches. His own hair was freshly combed, and I could have sworn he'd changed his shirt.

I crossed the room and stood facing him with my back to a row of filing cabinets. Leaning against the cool metal, I hooked my thumbs in my pockets and crossed my ankles.

"Stephen," Mrs. Hill said. "I want you to apologize to Larry for what you said."

I looked at her and tried to keep anything from showing in my face. She was watching me with calm eyes, certain that I would do as she asked.

I turned back to Whitcombe. His blue eyes glimmered, and the corners of his mouth twitched. He was enjoying himself. Gloating. I felt like wringing his scrawny neck. But if and when I left the job, I wouldn't let Whitcombe have the satisfaction of thinking he'd had a hand it in.

I unclenched my jaw and took a deep breath. "I'm sorry I lost my temper," I mumbled. It wasn't exactly what Mrs. Hill had in mind, but it was all she was going to get.

A small smile crept across his fat-lipped mouth. "That's more like it, Cline. Remember who's-"

"And, Larry," Mrs. Hill interrupted. "I want you to apologize to Stephen for the way you've been treating him."

"But-"

"In the past month, more than one person's complained to me about your actions. Stephen's the best barn manager we've ever had, and you don't give him the respect he deserves."

Whitcombe's, or should I say "Larry's," face deflated like a punctured balloon. His smug, self-satisfied smile dissolved and his eyes widened with astonishment. His mouth hung open, and when I realized I was mirroring him, I snapped my mouth shut.

Whitcombe jumped to his feet. "Mrs. Hill, I beg to differ. I owe Cline nothing. He's insubordinate and insolent and disrespectful, and I will do nothing of the sort."

He started for the door, spun back around, and whisked his coat off the back of the chair. He raised a finger and pointed in my direction. "They make fun of me."

His eyes were moist, and I wondered if he was going to cry. He turned around abruptly and slammed the door on his way out.

I stared after him. As much as I disliked the guy, I'd never intended for him to overhear the things Marty and I said.

"Stephen," Mrs. Hill said.

I pulled my gaze away from the empty doorway.

"In the future, please keep your opinions of Larry to yourself."

"Yes, ma'am."

"You may go."

"Thank you." I walked outside, half expecting to find Whitcombe waiting for me. But he was nowhere in sight.

I didn't see Whitcombe for the rest of the day, and when I opened the door to the loft, the phone was ringing. I dumped my notebook and mail on the counter and snatched up the receiver.