Evan Hunter - A Horse’s Head

“What do you mean?”

“We’ll watch the race together. When the horse wins, we’ll cash the ticket, and I’ll give you your share on the spot. How does that sound?”

“Oh my it sounds very dangerous,” Merilee said. “I told him I was going to the ladies’ room. He’s liable to send someone looking for me.”

“We’ll watch the race from inside the restaurant. It’ll be starting in...” He looked again at the board. “... four minutes. He won’t miss you in that time. Merilee, please give me the money. We’ve got to place the bet before it’s too late.”

“What’s the horse’s name?” she asked.

“The money first.”

“The name first,” she said.

It was three minutes to post time.

“Merilee...”

“The name,” she said.

“Merilee, let’s not...”

“The name.”

Mullaney sighed. “No,” he said. “I can’t take that chance.”

“I thought you were a gambler.”

“I am, but...”

“One should always get the name first.”

“This is not a cocktail party,” he said, “it’s a horse race.” He looked at the tote board. “Merilee, the windows are going to close in two minutes, will you please for the love of God give me the money?”

“You’re a very distrustful person,” she said, but she opened her handbag and took out three hundred dollars in twenty-dollar bills, which she handed to him immediately. “Will you tell me the name now?”

“Jawbone,” he said, and turned to run toward the hundred-dollar Win window.

“That’s a nice name,” she said behind him. “Jawbone.”

He bought the three Win tickets and looked at the tote board a last time before they went into the restaurant. The odds were holding at ten to one. If Jawbone won, they’d get three thousand dollars, give or take, and his share would be twelve hundred, which was exactly twelve hundred more than he’d awakened with yesterday morning. Enough to break open a Harlem crap game, enough to buy a hundred good poker hands, enough to start the upward trend, change the course of this damn gamble and have it start paying off at last. The Man O’ War Room was a sumptuous restaurant with twelve closed-circuit television receivers quartering the four walls of the room, enabling bettors to dine without missing any of the track action. Mullaney and the girl entered the restaurant just as the track announcer said, “It is now post time.” They took seats at a table in the far comer, away from the entrance doors in case Henry and George were still on the prowl, and looked up at the nearest television receiver in time to see the horses breaking from the gate and the announcer shouting, “They’re off!”

“Luck,” Mullaney whispered.

“Oh yes indeed,” the girl whispered back and covered his hand on the white tablecloth.

“It’s a good start,” the announcer said, “with no interference. Jawbone broke fast, God Sal is clear on the outside, Mercy’s Baby is third by a length, Felicity in fourth place leading the field. Heading for the turn now...”

“It looks good,” Mullaney said.

“Oh yes indeed,” the girl answered. Her blue eyes were glowing. She kept licking her lips with her tongue, squeezing Mullaney’s hand where it rested in a tight fist on the table top.

“... it’s still Jawbone in the lead, Mercy’s Baby head and head with Good Sal, Felicity in fourth place on the outside...”

“Come on, Jawbone!” Mullaney whispered.

“Come on, Felicity!” someone at another table shouted.

“Rolling around the turn now,” the announcer said, “it’s Jawbone by a length, Good Sal, and moving up in there, Felicity, getting into contention now...”

“Come on, Jawbone!” Mullaney shouted.

“Come on, Jawbone!” the girl yelled.

“It’s still Jawbone by a head, Good Sal second, and Mona Girl breaking away from the field, moving fast, moving up to fourth, passing Felicity now, making a strong bid, head and head with Good Sal...”

“Jawbone!” Mullaney shouted.

“Into the stretch,” the announcer said, “it’s Jawbone and Mona Girl, the others beaten off... Mona Girl coming to the front, Mona Girl in front by a length, Mona Girl leading by two lengths, coming to the finish line, it’s Mona Girl all the way, Mona Girl by three lengths, Mona Girl is the winner!”

“Mona Girl?” Mullaney said.

“One should always get the name first,” Merilee said, and sighed.

“You are a loser,” Merilee said, “oh you are very definitely a loser.”

He thought about that while watching the tote board for the final results. Sure enough, it was Mona Girl first, Jawbone in the place position, and Felicity showing; his Win tickets on Jawbone were worth exactly the paper they were printed on, like the New York Times bills that had been in the jacket. He thought Yes, I am a loser on this race, on this particular race, Merilee, but that does not necessarily make me an all-time loser, I am just having a run of bad luck, that’s all. But his run of bad luck seemed to take a decided downward turn in that moment because it was then that George and Henry entered the restaurant and began glomming the room in twin intensity. Oh my, Mullaney thought.

He was feeling pretty depressed just then, truly feeling like the loser Merilee claimed he was, certainly too depressed to run again. Besides, he felt he had done quite enough running in two days, thank you, what had happened to that nice quality of unexpectedness he had initiated with the twins and used to such advantage? He decided to sit this one out, so he waited calmly at the table until the twins saw him, and then waited calmly as they walked over to him. Merilee, who had also seen them by this time, said only, “Oh my they are going to kill you, you are very definitely a loser.”

He doubted very much that they would kill him in the midst of a crowded restaurant, no one was that dumb. The unexpected, he thought, that is the secret.

“Hello, boys,” he said cheerfully, “nice to see you again.”

“I’ll bet,” Henry said.

“I’ll just bet,” George said.

“I think you had better get up and come with us,” Henry said. “Kruger would like to see you.”

“I’d like to see him, too,” Mullaney said.

“I’ll just bet,” George said.

They led him out of the restaurant and then over to the chain-link fence separating the sections, paid the attendant there (very nice of them) the difference between the admission prices for grandstand and clubhouse, and then led him over to where Kruger was sitting in the reserved section down front. The horses were already in the paddock for the third race, and Kruger was watching them through his binoculars. Mullaney sat down next to him, with Merilee on his right and with the twins taking seats behind him where they could shoot him through the head if necessary. Merilee crossed her legs, distracting some of the gamblers who were watching the horses in the paddock. She did not distract Kruger, however, who kept the binoculars to his eyes without turning to look at either her or Mullaney.

“You didn’t come back,” Kruger said.

“I know,” Mullaney said.

“I trusted you, and you didn’t come back.”

“I promised to come back with the money, but there was no money.”

“So Merilee has told me,” Kruger said, still not taking the binoculars from his eyes. “What do you make of it?”

“Well, I don’t know,” Mullaney said. “I have the jacket here with me, if you’d like to look it over. You can take my word, however, that...”

“I will never take your word again,” Kruger said. “You may not realize it, sir, but you hurt me deeply last night. Give me the jacket.”