Paul Theroux - The Family Arsenal

‘If you’re worried about losing you shouldn’t be betting.’

‘It’s just a flutter,’ she said. ‘Bit of fun. Little gamble.’

‘Bullshit,’ he said, and she seemed amazed by how serious he had become. He growled, ‘If it ain’t risky, sweetheart, it ain’t gambling.’

‘The big villain,’ she said.

He snatched her money and stepped past her to the window. ‘Five pounds on Number Three — to win.’ He took the tickets and handed them to her: ‘Now watch that bitch run.’

He put his arm around her and kissed her. They walked arm in arm to an empty place on the grandstand steps. It was to be a long race, over five-hundred metres, so the traps were across the stadium from the finishing line. But even at that distance the dogs’ howls were loud, and they carried from the far side — long anxious wails from the barred traps. The lights went off and only the track shone, a sugary yellow; the rabbit started its circuit and the wire sang again. The traps banged open.

It was not clear until the dogs passed them which one was ahead, but at the turn they saw the number four dog baulk and the white vest of Number Three flash to the front.

‘He’s in the lead!’ said Lorna.

The pack darted after him, the lean dogs sprinting beautifully, low to the ground, almost horizontal in a silent chase, like gaunt racing wolves liquefying with the speed. Their names were absurd — Kelowna Gem, Tawny Perch, Aerial Miss, Star Beyond — but for half a minute their names mattered, and Lucky Gold jostled with the blue-vested number two dog, Act On, for first place. They had circled the stadium once and were now leaping around the last curve. Hood saw the second dog slowing and Lucky Gold’s slender head shoot across the finish line in a burst of light as the photo was taken.

Lorna screamed delightedly. Hood said, ‘You’re rolling in it,’ and helped her collect her winnings at the pay-out window.

After that win of nearly thirty pounds, they bet in the same way on the next two races, going behind to the paddock and choosing the liveliest dog before placing the bet. But both dogs lost; one was fast away but finished fourth, the other came in second. Lorna said, ‘I told you we should have got place tickets.’

‘Forget it,’ said Hood. ‘You’re still in the money. Let’s go up there and you can buy me a drink.’

‘We can’t go there — you need a blue programme for that enclosure. They’ll chuck us out.’

The first-class enclosure was just above them, a lighted ledge. They were at the margin of the track, away from the men crowding the bookies.

‘There’s your friend,’ said Lorna.

Hood was looking at the twinkling lights on the far side. It was a pleasing circus, a fine way of playing at risk. He said, ‘Who?’

‘Willy Rutter.’ Seeing Hood squint she added, ‘Don’t pretend you don’t know him. He’s up there.’ She frowned and pointed to a man leaning against that high window. ‘Look at him — he thinks he’s big. He’s looking at you.’

Hood said, ‘I see him.’

The dark-haired man, bulked at the glass, was gesturing, motioning in a friendly way. The light behind him blackened his face and showed how his hair was fluffed at his ears. But even so, in these dim features, Hood could see how mistakenly he had characterized the man. He had imagined a thug and had given him a heavy jaw and fangs and an ape’s shoulders. This was a smaller creature than he had pictured in his mind, a man who looked like a car salesman, waving with sham geniality. The man turned aside to face the light and Hood saw a smile on his pouchy face.

‘He wants us to go up,’ said Lorna.

‘I’m not going,’ said Hood, and without looking again at Rutter he steered Lorna quickly to the bar at the top of the second-class enclosure. He ordered drinks and said, ‘Aren’t we going to bet on this race?’

Lorna shrugged. ‘I should have known we’d see Willy here. I’ll bet he’s with the rest of them. I don’t want to talk to him.’

‘Then drink up and we’ll go.’

‘Go? What for? I’m not leaving just because that fucker’s here.’

‘Right.’ Hood looked for the man’s face, the stringy head in the crowd. There’s your friend : the man would expose him, and if he was exposed it was all over. The friendship he had contrived with Lorna would be proved a fraud; he would lose her. He did not worry about himself, but he feared for her. He said, ‘Let’s go around back.’

‘What’s the rush? We can give this one a miss. There’s still one more race. I’ll put a tenner on the last race — I’ve never bet a tenner before.’

They watched the preparations for the race, a handicap with staggered traps in pairs along the last stretch. When the lights went out and the race began, Hood said, ‘Let’s go to the paddock now.’ He did not wait for a reply. He helped her through the darkness of the enclosure, taking care not to alert her that he was running away from the man she had named.

In the paddock he instinctively looked for another exit. Seeing none he felt cornered. Lorna was at the fence, examining the dogs. The fence was a semi-circle, gateless, meeting the back of the grandstand at one end and joined to the gangway, leading to the track, at the other. Beyond it, above the dogs’ stalls, was the railway. He was trapped. The dogs began to moan loudly, a wolfish baying that made his own throat dry.

‘I’ve seen all I want,’ said a man near Lorna, and he started away. The rest of the men left and the dogs themselves were led out. The dogs’ close pelts gave them a look of nakedness, exaggerating their skinny, punished bodies, and they shook as they trotted beside the fence. From trap to trap, with the interruption of a futile chase: the agony was as familiar to Hood as waking to life.

He said, ‘So let’s go.’

‘I haven’t made up my mind.’

‘Decide at the window. It never fails.’ He took her arm and tried to hurry her, but as he turned the paddock entrance, that small alley, filled with three men.

‘There she is,’ one said, and the men started towards them. The smallest, whom Hood took to be Rutter, was in the middle; the two others marched at his elbows.

‘Here comes trouble,’ said Lorna into her hand.

Hood faced them. The paddock was empty — the dogs, the attendants, the starter had gone for the last race, and Hood could hear the voice quacking on the loudspeaker, urging people to place their bets: Ladies and gentlemen, the race will begin in three minutes . In the paddock there were only the cries of the dogs locked in their stalls, and the light broken by posts and trees into blocks of shadow that half hid the approaching men.

‘Hello, Willy.’

‘Lorna, baby,’ he said. ‘I want to talk to you. Sorry about Ron.’

Hood said, ‘We were just leaving.’

‘Who are you?’ As Rutter spoke the two other men drew close to Hood, preventing him from moving on.

‘He a friend of yours, Lorna?’ said Rutter.

‘What if he is?’ she said.

‘You’re in the way,’ said Hood. ‘We’re betting on this race.’

‘I got a tip for you,’ said Rutter. He lifted his hands and pointed at Hood. ‘Start talking.’

‘Put your cock-scratchers back in your pocket or I’ll break them off.’

‘You didn’t answer my question. You one of the family?’

‘Who wants to know?’ said Hood snarling and trying to keep back from the men so that they couldn’t slip behind him. A dog began to yelp from his box and he started more shrill baying from the others.

Rutter said, ‘Because if you’re one of the family, then maybe it don’t matter. But I think you’re crow-barring in, and the thing is, we’re looking after Lorna. Aren’t we, baby?’