Dead Horsemeat by Dominique Manotti Read Free Book Online

the delivery being made. And it’s not the first. The farrier’s a real pro at this too.’
    Le Dem continues to watch the horses coming and going, and Romero goes on making occasional notes, without much conviction.
    5.20 p.m. An unidentified youth aged about twenty arrives at the forge.
    Romero looks up from his notepad.
    ‘Weird-looking kid. Pass me the binoculars. And take notes. The farrier carries on forging a shoe. They talk. Look, the farrier’s on his feet.He’s grabbing the kid by the shirt, he’s lifting him off the ground with one hand. I don’t believe it… he’s grabbed his tongs… Shit!’
    A howl in the stable yard.
    ‘The farrier’s just branded the kid’s thigh with a red hot horse shoe. The kid’s on the ground. The farrier gives him a kick to get him on his feet.’
    ‘Come on Romero.’
    ‘Don’t panic. The kid crawls away, gets up, leaves. Are you still writing this down?’ He glances at his watch. ‘It’s 5.24.’ Picks up the binoculars again. ‘Nobody’s moving. This guy’s scary.’
    ‘Let’s go and…’
    ‘Wait a bit. The kid’s limping off towards the road that goes to Chantilly. Now we can go. But not to the stables. Go and get the car, don’t let anybody see you, and pick me up on the road.’
    And Romero races into the trees to catch up with the kid. He walks on the opposite side of the road, waiting for Le Dem to arrive. When the car comes into view, he crosses over, goes up to the kid who’s hobbling along sobbing and grabs his arm, opens the rear door of the car, shoves him inside and climbs in next to him.
    ‘Drive, Le Dem, wherever you like, but drive. And wind your window up.’
    ‘What do you want? Let me go, you’ve no right… Stop, I want to get out.’ Interspersed with sobs.
    Romero looks at him, and sniffs him. The kid, in shock, gives off the sour odour of needing a fix. Now’s the time.
    ‘Police. Tell me what you were talking to the farrier about.’
    ‘That’s my business. Let me go.’
    Romero puts his hand on the boy’s thigh which is streaked with a yellow and brown burn that’s beginning to blister, shreds of burnt fabric clinging to his flesh. But seemingly not very deep. The farrier knew how to control his violence.
    ‘I repeat. What were you talking to the farrier about?’
    And he squeezes the thigh. The kid yells. Le Dem swerves. Romero glares at him in the mirror and goes back to the kid.
    ‘I know you’re a user, and I don’t give a shit. It’s the farrier I’m interested in.’ He puts his hand back on the boy’s thigh. ‘Shall I do that again?’
    ‘No!’ he yelps.
    ‘Come on,’ hand still on the thigh, ‘spit it out.’
    ‘I wanted him to give me some stuff to deal.’
    ‘And why did he refuse?’
    ‘I owe him money.’ The kid hiccups. ‘I wanted to make some cash…’
    ‘He burnt you when you told him you didn’t have the dough.’
    Almost inaudible. ‘Yes’.
    ‘You spent the money on smack, and now you’re suffering cold turkey. You tell me who you wanted to sell to, and I’ll give you your hit, right now, in the car.’
    Slight pressure on the boy’s thigh. Groan. The kid’s in a sweat.
    ‘There’s a party here in Chantilly, tomorrow night, at Massillon the jockey’s place, and you can always sell stuff at these parties.’
    Romero takes out a square of paper from the breast pocket of his jacket.
    ‘Slow down a bit,’ he says to Le Dem, who’s staring at the road.
    The boy slips down between the seats and takes out his kit. He’s trembling all over. Romero opens out the paper, holds the spoon. The kid prepares the stuff, heats it up, filters it, shoots it into his arm, inhales deeply, slowly, and lolls backwards, his eyes closed, onto the seat.
    Romero taps Le Dem on the shoulder.
    ‘Now head for the hospital, but not too fast. Give him time to digest. We have to get that burn taken care of.’
    ‘I don’t want to go to hospital.’
    ‘What’s your name?’
    ‘I’m known as