a year on the horses, win a couple big races, and heâs happy. Ten millionâs nothing to him; shit, I bet heâs spent that much bailing his little boy out over the years.â
âSonny? Yeah, I heard some stories.â
âWell, Iâm betting theyâre all true. Sonnyâs got a real problem with women. Never convicted, though. They donât convict multimillionaires. You or me, weâd be dog meat.â
âSpoiled rich kid, eh?â
âYeah.â Dean reached for his smokes, lit up. He was done with the subject. He turned to look at Paulie playing the machine along the wall. Simpleminded fuck, Dean thought. Must be nice, on a certain level. But then, where would he ever go, what would he ever have?
âWhatâs the stud fee on River Ridge?â he asked, turning back.
âFifty.â
âGoddamn it,â Dean said. âWhat a life. Do nothing but fuck; fifty grand a pop.â
Jim laughed. âItâs not like the horse gets the money.â
âHe gets the fucking.â
âWhy they breeding that mare this time of year, anyway?â
âI think they bred her in February, and she didnât catch.â Dean shrugged. âMaybe the old man wants to see if sheâs barren. Sheâs never foaled, that I know of.â
âThe Ridge will take care of her. Heâs damn near perfect in that area; thatâs why youâre paying fifty grand.â
âFucking horse spermâs worth more than gold, you know that?â Dean said in wonderment. âWhat a racket.â
They got a little drunk, and then Jim said they could sleep over at his place. They followed him out into the country, north of the town, where he lived in a tumble-down frame farmhouse, beside a weathered barn with half the windows broken or boarded up.
Paulie crashed on the couch right away, and Dean and Jim sat up and had another drink, sitting in the kitchen.
âYou know,â Jim said after a time, his voice thick with rye. âA man could make a lot of money with one of these topnotch studs. In a month, you could make enough to retire.â
âHow would you do it?â Dean asked.
âWellâthereâd be some way. I mean, you got a productâitâd just be a matter of selling it. Thereâs plenty of buyers out there. Guys who wouldnât ask questions.â
âYou know these guys?â
âYou betcha I know âem.â
*Â Â Â *Â Â Â *
Sonny had watched the drama surrounding the loading of the roan mare from the house, waiting for the Percodan to gain the upper hand on his hangover. Five minutes after the trailer left the yard, he gathered his car keys and put on his coat. The mail was on the kitchen table; before he left the house he picked up the gas bill and put it in his inside pocket. Then he drove over to Holden County.
The farm was a fifty-acre piece, with a sugar bush at the back that produced maple syrup and a large vegetable garden in the field beside the house. When Sonny pulled up, the old man was in the field, picking the last of the seasonâs tomatoes and placing them gently in a hamper basket. Sonny got out of the car and relit his cigar as he walked across the lawn. Passing the house, he could see the old woman inside, her head framed in the kitchen window. When Sonny waved, she didnât wave back.
The old man was wearing coveralls and a straw hatâlike a farmer in a movie, Sonny thoughtâand he watched Sonny nervously as he approached.
âHey there,â Sonny said.
âHello.â
âStill got tomatoes, I see.â
âJust about the end of them,â the old man said, and he straightened up.
âWell, everything comes to an end,â Sonny told him, and he smiled. He glanced at the house. âMy man Rock tells me youâre thinking of backing out of our deal.â
âWell,â the old man said slowly. âIâve had second