Mortal Lock by Andrew Vachss Read Free Book Online Page B

heads-up,” he told me. “The only racehorses this little weasel knows anything about are the kind you rent by the hour. This Arnie guy, he’s all about flash. Nevergoes anywhere without full front. He picks the wrong whore to bring with him one night, we’ll get a call. That happens, you’ll get one, too. But don’t count on it, all right? Just study those photos; make sure you’ll know him if you see him.”
    I knew what they’d expect me to do with the photos after I was done studying. The man gave me half the money in front, like always. Said it was mine to keep even if I didn’t do the job. I knew that meant they had other people working the same job, but I didn’t ask any questions. That’s not my place—I’m a contract man, not a family member.
    So I put in a couple of months, seeing the old man two-three nights a week, just like he’d said. Some days, too—he told me the real pros never miss the baby races—two-year-olds racing for stakes their connections put up when they were born—or the Qualifiers—where horses coming in from another track have to prove they can go the course in under a certain time.
    You can’t bet on any of those races, but it’s the best place to get advance info. “Like scouting a farm team, see who’s going to be a star in a couple of years,” the old man said.
    He kept a notebook, and he made a separate section for each new horse he liked. Every time that horse would go after that, the old man would be there, making his notes.
    He showed me how to make a notebook of my own, but he never showed me what was in his—that wasn’t part of the deal.
    “Every handicapper’s got his own system,” he said. “And it all comes down to weight.”
    “I thought weight didn’t matter with trotters. You said it’s only the thoroughbreds who have to—”
    “Not the weight they pull,” he said. “The weight you put.”
    “Huh?”
    “Look, kid, you see this program?”
    “Sure.”
    “Got all kinds of information, if you take the time to learn how to read it. Most of the suckers who come here, they don’t even bother to do that, and that’s good, because they’re the ones we’re betting against, remember? But even if you learn to read the program perfect, even if you check the breeding books, read everything you can get your hands on, you’re still working with the same information anyone can get: Like how many times the horse has been out, how much money he’s won, his fastest time, what class he’s been in … right?”
    “I … guess. Sure. But, all that information, how do you know what piece is more important than another?”
    “That’s the trick!” the old man, said, like he was proud of me for figuring it out. “That’s the weight I was talking about. Some handicappers, they’re speed whores. Others, they go for horses that race better in the mud. Or take a drop in class.”
    “What about the breeding? You said there were books on it, so that’s real important, right?”
    “To some people, yeah. To them, bloodlines are everything. Me, I never went much by that. You got horses, you look up who their mother and father was, you’d think they’d be rockets. But they turn out to be duds, never even make it to a racetrack. Other ones, you never heard of any horse in their whole family tree, just a bunch of mutts. And they turn out to be world-beaters.”
    “What do you look for, then?”
    “Heart,” the old man said.
    “Where’s that on the program?”
    “It’s not supposed to be on the program.”
    “So how—?”
    “That’s mine,” the old man said. “I was asked to teach you the game, and I’m doing that. And one of the things you learn is, a real handicapper, he puts together a system that works, he don’t share it with anyone, ever. You ever watch those commercials on the TVin the middle of the night? The ones where this guy, he’s made a zillion dollars in real estate, now he’s going to show you how to do the same thing for a