Jaimy Gordon - Lord of Misrule

You just smile.

Punter? Naa, that ain't it. Pelter, he answers himself. The Darkesville Stalker, First Horse of West Virginia. Now that says something.

He didn't give me Pelter. I paid for the animal, you say. I was working for Hickok at the time.

Yeah, but money was never the issue with Roland Hickok. He had class and he picked you. That says it all.

The guy was good-he about had you pegged-for a moment you couldn't let him see your face, because it was glowing with pride. You turned your shoulder to him, busied yourself with a case of electrolytes, counting the foil packages.

Plus you get the girls to work for you, Joe Dale went on. I wish I had that. I got no women in my barn. Everybody knows they have a softer touch, more patient. They get more out of the animals. They don't strong-arm a horse. They finesse. There it was. You knew he'd come round to her, sliding under the door, soaking in, pearling up the edges. Instead of hiding her you pushed her towards him-surprise him a little.

Girls work harder, he said.

Girlfriends work cheaper, you said with a wry smile.

She must love the hell out of you, Joe Dale said. You couldn't get me to sling hay bales for no amount of love or money, no matter how cute your ass was.

Actually I'm only second best, you said coolly. After Hickok sold me his horse it was nothing but Pelter. She likes that horse.

Izzat right? Joe Dale shook his head in wonderment. Yeah, some of em's like that. Even the trollops that drip diamonds, you'd be surprised. It's like, Ooooo, he's so beautiful, can I pet him? Sure, baby. Imagine thinking one of these dumb hayeaters is beautiful. He laughed. Must be the sight of those big shlongs that gets em sentimental. Hey, that girl of yours looks intelligent, though. I used to know girls like her back in New York. I bet she went to Barnard College or somewhere. What is she, Jewish?

You know-she might be, you said, as if you'd never thought of that before. Why don't you ask her yourself, if you're interested? She'll tell you. She's quite a candid person.

Maybe I will-try to get her away from you while I'm at it-into my barn, I mean. I pay better. Big open-faced smile, shining with well-groomed wop geniality.

He talked dirty to you and that, too, was a way of looking for her. Hey, I even had a Jewish girlfriend once. She was only this big-he held his manicured thumb and index finger an inch apart-which usually I like, but it took me a long time to get around to banging her. I thought she'd have a big twat, don't ask me why-because of what they say about twats and noses, you know?-so it was prejudice, I admit it, because she didn't even have a big nose. But turns out she was incredible, a little hairy down there but tight like a pencil sharpener. I swear she ruined me for Catholic girls for three years.

You stared at him but he was absorbed in pulling a hair out of his watchband, laughing softly at his own joke. A mean wind had blown in from Ohio on the tail of the rain. The puddle by the back gate had a thin new skin of ice. Inside Joe Dale's Cadillac the heat must have been ninety degrees. The window was all the way down, his pale aqua shirt lay open at the collar and he wasn't even wearing a coat. That was when you decided to take whatever he dangled and turn it upside down on him. Do business but do exactly as you liked. You knew an offer was coming. Some type of deal to give him power over you, only he would have no power over you. You waited and there it came.

You know, Hansel, I got more than I can handle. You got the kind of brains behind horses I wish I had, no, I mean it, I got the humility to see I need help. I know what I do good, nobody does it better, but I need people like you. What do you say I push some owners your way, and maybe sometimes a horse that don't win for me? And you tell me what looks good to you out there and I see about getting it for you, no claim necessary. See, that's one thing about having that leading trainer hand to file. Maybe I don't know much, but plenty of times I go to the owner, make the case he's with the wrong guy, and whatever I say, the jerk's so sick of wondering if his trainer is turning him around, he does what I say. You need owners, Hansel. Am I right?

I wouldn't turn the right kind away, you say.

This way I get you some live ones, deep dough, high rollers, flashy good time guys, accident lawyers and like that, lotsa playing room there. And also I got some people waiting in line right now who don't want their names involved for various reasons. You take their horses, you go down as owner on paper, or the girl can-whichever way you want-they'll pay by the day and meanwhile-we'll be in touch. You know how to get horses ready as good as I do. In fact, better. Big friendly grin here. Only, now and then I let you know about a race that's literally made for them and you might not of heard about it-see what I'm getting at?

So there it was. You had nothing to lose-asked right away for his ass on the table.

I want that horse back that Zeno claimed from me. The Mahdi. He's in for two grand on Saturday night.

Jesus Christ, Hansel, I don't know if I can move that fast. Who's the trainer?

Jim Hamm, for Mrs. Zeno.

Not good, not good. Jim Hamm don't do business with me-not directly. I don't think he likes me. He smiled.

Get me somebody who puts up two grand and dailys and I'll claim him myself. Nobody's going to lose money on the deal, I'll tell you that. If you can get me two thousand-sure, okay, I'll take a horse for you. Those are my terms. Take it or leave it.

Oooo. Must be a helluva horse, huh. The Mahdi, eh? Joe Dale said, pretending to be impressed.

He's a piece of junk, but he'll win at the Mound for a while. If he stays sound.

What's that again-fourth race Saturday night? But of course you hadn't said which race. He was letting you know he knew. You peered at him without answering.

He shrugged. Hey, you know what you're talking about. I'll see what I can do.

And he departed. So it looked like luck, which had been doing her best to claw her way through to you, had decreed that you should have The Mahdi back after all, which made beautiful sense-but of course you had no intention of doing what Joe Dale Bigg asked you to do, unless it happened to coincide with your own intention. A small-town mafioso like that couldn't hurt you. You'd have to look out for Maggie now-she wasn't as strong-but Biglia deserved no loyalty. He was dark and rich in flesh like duck meat, but shallow. He talked dirty about women to men he hardly knew. Never mind that Women are more patient crap. Joe Dale, same as Biggy, went into rages at spirited horses and kicked and bullied them-the whole family was famous for it. He didn't even like to come in his barn and dirty his shoes. In fact he hated animals. He was vulgar. He couldn't love. He was nothing but a dark emptiness-the absence of good. He could do you no harm.

SEEM LIKE EVERY DAY since time he been thinking what a shame and pity it is how the world is coming down, how the pride of work has disappeared, until they just laugh at him, the boys that come on the racetrack now-how the horses is misused and abused, started out racing too young before they bones is hard, not rested proper and dosed with all kind of shots and pills, and so consequently don't last-how these five-and-dime horsetrainers and they ten-cent owners anymore be tighter than the bark on a beech tree, when it come to anything but rush rush rush them horses back to the track and collect a bet. It ain't no real sportsmen round here no more, if it ever was, or either sportswomen. And John Q. Public wasn't no dumber than he used to was, but also he ain't no smarter.

Seem like since time, that was the most fun old Medicine Ed been having, studying on it every day, every day, how this good thing has come down and this other thing that once was fine, has went to pieces on him. Until he be sick and tired of his own self. And then he land up in his mashed-in trailer in the deep of night, mumbling through his bald gums and mixing up some pocket toby to get his own back. Snatching blind at any thread that maybe tie his luck to him.