W. Kinsella - If Wishes Were Horses

The Friday Project An imprint of HarperCollins Publishers Ltd 77–85 Fulham Palace Road Hammersmith, London W6 8JB

www.harpercollins.co.uk

This ebook first published in Great Britain by HarperCollins Publishers Ltd 2014

Copyright © W. P. Kinsella 1996

Cover design © HarperCollins Publishers Ltd 2014

Quotation from The Temple of Dawn by Yukio Mishima reprinted with permission of Random House, Inc

W. P. Kinsella asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

FIRST EDITION

A catalogue copy of this book is available from the British Library.

This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

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Source ISBN: 9780007497553

Ebook Edition © July 2014 ISBN: 9780007497560

Version: 2014-07-31

Title Page If Wishes Were Horses BY W. P. KINSELLA

Copyright

SECTION ONE: HEARTLAND

ONE: RAY KINSELLA

TWO: GIDEON CLARKE TWO

THREE: RAY KINSELLA

FOUR: GIDEON CLARKE

FIVE: JOE McCOY

SIX: RAY KINSELLA

SEVEN: JOE McCOY

EIGHT: JOE McCOY

NINE: JOE McCOY

TEN: JOE McCOY

SECTION TWO: AT LARGE

ELEVEN: JOE McCOY

TWELVE: RAY KINSELLA

THIRTEEN: GIDEON CLARKE

FOURTEEN: JOE McCOY

FIFTEEN: JOE MCCOY

SIXTEEN: JOE McCOY

SEVENTEEN: JOE McCOY

EIGHTEEN: JOE McCOY

SECTION THREE: IF WISHES WERE HORSES

NINETEEN: JOE McCOY

TWENTY: GIDEON CLARKE

TWENTY-ONE: JOE McCOY

TWENTY-TWO: JOE McCOY

TWENTY-THREE: JOE McCOY

TWENTY-FOUR: JOE McCOY

Also by the W.P. Kinsella

About the Publisher

They say it can’t be done,

but sometimes it doesn’t always work.

—Casey Stengel

ONE Contents Title Page If Wishes Were Horses BY W. P. KINSELLA Copyright SECTION ONE: HEARTLAND ONE: RAY KINSELLA TWO: GIDEON CLARKE TWO THREE: RAY KINSELLA FOUR: GIDEON CLARKE FIVE: JOE McCOY SIX: RAY KINSELLA SEVEN: JOE McCOY EIGHT: JOE McCOY NINE: JOE McCOY TEN: JOE McCOY SECTION TWO: AT LARGE ELEVEN: JOE McCOY TWELVE: RAY KINSELLA THIRTEEN: GIDEON CLARKE FOURTEEN: JOE McCOY FIFTEEN: JOE MCCOY SIXTEEN: JOE McCOY SEVENTEEN: JOE McCOY EIGHTEEN: JOE McCOY SECTION THREE: IF WISHES WERE HORSES NINETEEN: JOE McCOY TWENTY: GIDEON CLARKE TWENTY-ONE: JOE McCOY TWENTY-TWO: JOE McCOY TWENTY-THREE: JOE McCOY TWENTY-FOUR: JOE McCOY Also by the W.P. Kinsella About the Publisher

This morning I received a telephone call from a man on the FBI’s 10 Most Wanted List. Annie handed me the phone as I walked in the back door of our farmhouse, my shoes covered in early morning dew. The odors of morning trailed me into the kitchen, which is warm as a comforter and exudes its own odors: coffee, toast, cinnamon, frying bacon.

‘This is Joe McCoy,’ the thin, rather nervous voice said. ‘Do you know who I am?’

‘Everyone with a television set knows who you are,’ I replied.

‘I’m not far away,’ McCoy said.

‘I’m not sure I want to hear this …’

‘Listen, don’t believe everything you see on television or read in the newspapers. Events don’t always happen the way they’re reported. Especially not the way they’re reported.’

‘I understand that. But what do you want from me?’

‘I’ve heard rumors about unusual goings-on at your farm, that you have a complete baseball field in your back yard, that all kinds of people from all over the world visit your farm every summer. I’ve heard that weird things happen out there at night, that there are long-dead ballplayers …’

‘Mostly true,’ I said. ‘It’s no secret from anyone who wants to know. I didn’t know you’d kept in touch with events in this part of the world.’

‘I’m calling you as a sort of last resort. I was hoping we might have something in common.’

‘If you want to know the truth,’ I said, choosing my words carefully, ‘though I know you only by reputation, I’ve always thought you were …’ and I fumble for the exact words I want, ‘kind of irresponsible. And in light of your recent exploits I honestly can’t see any reason to change my opinion.’

‘Then you don’t know anything about my other life?’

There was a note of desperation in his voice.

‘Other life?’

‘My other life is one of the things I was hoping I could discuss with you. I know this sounds weird, but I think I may never have left this part of the world. I haven’t had a byline in the Iowa City Press Citizen recently, have I?’

I could sense his confusion. I could see him tucked into an aluminum-and-glass telephone booth at a truck stop out on I-80. He would have had to get my number from Information, for there isn’t a phone booth in America that has a phone book in it.