All Hat by Brad Smith Read Free Book Online Page A

a year on the horses, win a couple big races, and he’s happy. Ten million’s nothing to him; shit, I bet he’s spent that much bailing his little boy out over the years.”
    â€œSonny? Yeah, I heard some stories.”
    â€œWell, I’m betting they’re all true. Sonny’s got a real problem with women. Never convicted, though. They don’t convict multimillionaires. You or me, we’d be dog meat.”
    â€œSpoiled rich kid, eh?”
    â€œYeah.” 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?
    â€œWhat’s the stud fee on River Ridge?” he asked, turning back.
    â€œFifty.”
    â€œGoddamn it,” Dean said. “What a life. Do nothing but fuck; fifty grand a pop.”
    Jim laughed. “It’s not like the horse gets the money.”
    â€œHe gets the fucking.”
    â€œWhy they breeding that mare this time of year, anyway?”
    â€œI think they bred her in February, and she didn’t catch.” Dean shrugged. “Maybe the old man wants to see if she’s barren. She’s never foaled, that I know of.”
    â€œThe Ridge will take care of her. He’s damn near perfect in that area; that’s why you’re paying fifty grand.”
    â€œFucking horse sperm’s worth more than gold, you know that?” Dean said in wonderment. “What a racket.”
    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.
    â€œYou know,” Jim said after a time, his voice thick with rye. “A man could make a lot of money with one of these topnotch studs. In a month, you could make enough to retire.”
    â€œHow would you do it?” Dean asked.
    â€œWell—there’d be some way. I mean, you got a product—it’d just be a matter of selling it. There’s plenty of buyers out there. Guys who wouldn’t ask questions.”
    â€œYou know these guys?”
    â€œYou betcha I know ’em.”
    *   *   *
    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 season’s 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 didn’t wave back.
    The old man was wearing coveralls and a straw hat—like a farmer in a movie, Sonny thought—and he watched Sonny nervously as he approached.
    â€œHey there,” Sonny said.
    â€œHello.”
    â€œStill got tomatoes, I see.”
    â€œJust about the end of them,” the old man said, and he straightened up.
    â€œWell, everything comes to an end,” Sonny told him, and he smiled. He glanced at the house. “My man Rock tells me you’re thinking of backing out of our deal.”
    â€œWell,” the old man said slowly. “I’ve had second