Something for Nothing by David Anthony Read Free Book Online Page B

make some calls and then phone Martin with details, have him come out to the house and pick up the money for the buy. And then Martin was retracing his steps through the underground hallway and back up to the main area.
    As he walked he felt a strange elation. A burden had been lifted. He knew this feeling might change, and that he’d probably start to regret what he’d just done. But for now he was just glad the conversation with Val was over, and that he had a plan. He’d been drifting, rudderless, for months. For more than a year, in fact. He’d hoped Radkovitch would be his ace in the hole (and despite his shit-bird idea about the Buick dealership, Martin was still hoping Radkovitch would come through with the Wells Fargo loan). But time was running out, and he needed to try something else. If someone had told him a few months ago that that something else would involve running drugs up from Mexico for Val Desmond, he’d have laughed out loud. But he was desperate. Debt was chasing him around like the Headless Horseman in that old cartoon that came on every year around Halloween. It was closing in on him, in fact—he could hear the horse’s ghost hooves pounding close behind him. And so really, what choice did he have? He’d worry about the repercussions later.
    When he got back to the grandstand, he stood looking out at the big board in the infield, checking out the odds on Big Bad Wolf. They were still at 8–1. Okay, he thought. Good.
    He also noticed that there was a ripple on the water of the big ponds they had out there in the infield, and that the geese and seagulls looked cold and unhappy. The fog was starting to drift in.
    Martin made his way over to the G section. He was in a bit of a daze, but he felt pretty good.
    â€œSo,” Ludwig said. “I put down fifty bucks to win. How about you?”
    Martin looked at him and smiled. “Let’s just say I’ll be buying the drinks.”
    They stood there and listened to the guy in the white pants and red jacket play the tune for the start of the race on his trumpet. The kids always liked this part. Sometimes between races he’d play a real song. Nothing elaborate, just some little jazz tune, or a Sinatra song, maybe. Martin had heard him play “The Girl from Ipanema” a few weeks ago and had thought it was pretty cool.
    B IG B AD W OLF BROKE from the two position and shot right to the front of the pack. He and Carmine were in red, and, using his binoculars, Martin kept his eyes locked on them as they drove forward. Martin was surprised by the quick start, but he figured Carmine was worried about getting boxed in on the rail. He’d probably keep him in hand after the first turn, Martin thought. But he was a little worried.
    â€œHe’s out pretty fast,” he yelled to Ludwig, lowering his binoculars for a second. He had to lean close to be heard over the gathering noise of the crowd. The grandstands were only about half full, but there weren’t many empty seats in the area immediately around them, and people were yelling and shouting as the horses sped down the track.
    Ludwig nodded but didn’t answer. He had his own pair of binoculars, and he was focused on the race.
    Martin watched, waiting for Carmine to slow the pace. But Big Bad Wolf didn’t let up, and pretty soon he’d dragged another horse with him into a solid lead. It was the four horse; Martin wasn’t sure what his name was. Behind Big Bad Wolf and this other horse, there was a chase group of three about three lengths back. The others were already out of it.
    What was Carmine doing? Sure, the race was only six furlongs, but from what Martin could tell, Carmine had him just about flat out. Did he really think he could steal the race like that?
    The horse running with Big Bad Wolf fell off the pace along the back stretch, and fell in with the chase pack, so now it was Big Bad Wolf, and a group of four horses trailing