Elmore Leonard - Raylan

“I’m giving you a break,” Raylan said. “I find her before you do, she’s under arrest.”

Harry took her to the races at Keeneland and sat at his table in the Blue Grass Room: Jackie having crab legs and a Guinness, Harry, a pair of lobster tails and a double whiskey collins, while they watched the races on a rainy day, staring at the giant screen. Harry had won close to five thousand betting across the board on most races. Jackie wasn’t that interested in picking horses. She made side bets with Harry and took him for half of what he’d won. Harry said, “I’m getting an idea how you win at poker. You don’t bet your hand, you bet on the serious guys at the table folding.”

Jackie said, “What’s the difference?”

She was looking past Harry, seeing a woman with teased blond hair, cool in dark shades of designer sportswear, and a guy following her through the dining room, trying to keep up in his tan suit that looked like a uniform. Closing in, the woman was looking at Jackie, not smiling until she turned to Harry and said, “Carol Conlan, Harry,” placing a hand on his shoulder, a wide porcelain bracelet slipping on her wrist, “how’re you doing?”

Holding his drink Harry took time to come around enough to look up at Carol telling him, “The last time I saw you was the day you won the Maker’s Mark. Remember?”

“Running Black Boy,” Harry said, “I won three hundred thousand off that stud.”

“What I meant,” Carol said, sounding pouty now, “you do remember I was here?” Smiling now to show the pout was for fun.

“Yeah, Cuba and I did our routine and I sat down at your table. But hey, I want you to meet Jackie Nevada, my guest.”

Jackie watched Carol raise her eyebrows and say, “Really,” surprised for a moment.

“I want you to know,” Harry said, “I have a keen interest in this little girl.”

“Sounds like fun,” Carol said.

Harry said, “Guess what she does.”

Carol took a moment. “She’s a jockey?”

“You aren’t even close.”

“But she has something to do with horses,” Carol said. “She whispers in their ears and they nod their heads?”

“She’s got nothing to do with horses. Jackie’s out in the world associating with people.”

“She’s an exotic dancer,” Carol said.

Jackie smiled and looked at the guy in the tan suit, pretty sure it was a uniform. She said to him, “What do you think I do?”

He said, “Somethin I believe must draw a crowd.”

“Once in a while,” Jackie said.

“Boyd knows all kinds, good and bad,” Carol said. “It’s why I keep him handy. Harry, you know I owe my life to Boyd.”

Harry was still holding his drink. He said to Carol, “That was a tragic situation. I guess there was nothin else your boy could’ve done but shoot that miner. What was his name, Otis something?”

“I couldn’t move,” Carol said. “Boyd stepped in front of me drawing his revolver-”

“I read in the paper,” Jackie said, “it was an automatic, a Glock? If you’d like to know what I do, I play poker. Harry staked me when I was down, just about out, and takes me to poker games.”

“I put up ten grand,” Harry said. “This was after she’d lost twenty thousand to some boys I happen to know. I was curious and had a feeling about Jackie, the way she talked about poker, on intimate terms with the game, and I decided why I d)"›“I punot? I gave her ten big ones, and said you lose it, I’ll drop you off at the next crossroads. Well, the little girl’s been on a hot streak, a few clubs in Indiana, two whole days in Louisville playin some boys don’t know what hit ’em.” He said to Jackie, “Tell Carol how much you’re up.”

She said to him, “You know you never helped me count my winnings?”

He said, “You poor thing,” and to Carol, “Louisville, Jackie put a wad of bills in the bank and got an ATM card. You want to know for how much? Ask her, she won’t tell me.”

“Well, if she was playing against high rollers,” Carol said, “and you say she was on a streak, I’ll guess…” Carol paused, looking at Jackie. “You’re not saying a word, are you? If you talk about it, I might think you’re bragging, so you keep it to yourself. That’s admirable restraint for a young girl… twenty-one years old? You’ve been playing poker all your life, haven’t you?”

“About seven years,” Jackie said.

“You started when you were-”

“Sixteen,” Jackie said, “playing online.”

“That’s close to all your life. You always play for money? What’s the point if you don’t, right? I suppose at school.”

“Butler,” Jackie said. “I played every night.”

“Do you cheat?”

“No.”

“You mean you don’t have to. You read people.”

“It’s unavoidable,” Jackie said. “You check out mannerisms while you’re deciding on the odds.”

“All there is to it,” Carol said. “We should get together, play a little poker.”

“She’s busy,” Harry said.

“When she’s not,” Carol said. “Have a drink and chat.”

“I’m actually twenty-three,” Jackie said.

Carol gave her a nice smile. She said, “Does it matter?”

N ow at Carol’s table in the middle of the Blue Grass Room, Boyd wasn’t saying a word, hyinem"› ands folded in his lap. Their drinks came, white wine for Carol, Boyd, a bottle of Rolling Rock. She didn’t let him drink anything hard while he’s driving her around Lexington. He poured his beer, raised the glass to take a sip and placed it on the table again.

“I know what it was,” Carol said, “Harry calling you boy. ‘Your boy had to shoot Otis Culpepper.’ Harry calls any guy under fifty boy. He calls Jackie ‘this little girl.’ Did you hear him? Jackie’s twenty-three. She knew I’d caught her, so she owned up. It doesn’t matter to me how old she is. She’s a kid, but she’s aware.”

Boyd said, “Cause you owe your life to me you keep me handy? In case you want me to drive you or run an errand? You know what it’s like, hear people talkin about you while you’re sittin there?”

“She jumped on me,” Carol said, “for calling the Glock a revolver. But I don’t think to correct me. She said it to get my attention.”

“It’s your piece,” Boyd said. “I coulda told her that.”

“It’s like playing poker,” Carol said. “Her turn comes, she says, ‘I’ll raise,’ getting everyone’s attention and reveals what it will cost the table to stay in the game. I think understating the bet would be her style. I’d love to know how much she’s won, betting with Harry’s money.”

“I’ll ask her,” Boyd said, “you swear you’ll never mention Otis Culpepper again in my hearing.”

Carol sipped her wine.

“Why does it make you nervous?”

“You mean everybody thinkin I’m the one shot him? I don’t even own a gun no more.”

“We tell them the gun’s licensed,” Carol said, “and I gave it to you just in case, that evening, once we knew Otis was armed.”

Boyd stared at her across the table.

“We tell who the gun ’s licensed?”

“The marshals,” Carol said. “One of them called again this morning.”

“Raylan?”

“No, a Bill Nichols. He’s writing a report. Wants to be sure he has the facts straight.”

“They got the sheriff’s account don’t they? Everything you told ’em?”

“They’re not coming to get us. He’d like us to stop by the office and I forgot,” Carol said. “He called again this morning and I told him we’d come in tomorrow.”

“It’s that goddamn Raylan,” Boyd said.