A Stone's Throw, James Ziskin [best books to read for students .TXT] 📗

doesn’t make any difference now,” I said. “But I really thought you were the dead man in the fire.”

He looked deflated. “You’re right. It doesn’t matter. Not anymore.”

“How did you find me?” I asked.

“You should’ve locked your car that night at the farm.”

“So you figured out I worked for the Republic?”

“Yeah. I started following your stories in the paper. Then when I realized you managed to get inside the caretaker’s house, I was sure you knew it wasn’t me who died in the fire.”

“And that was you who followed us to the pizzeria that night?”

“Your friend caught on. Kept driving in circles and slowing down until I had to give up.”

I didn’t tell him that Bill Goossens had memorized his license plate number, and that reminded me that Fadge was supposed to call Benny Arnold at the DMV. Was that the important information he wanted to tell me? Where the hell was he anyway?

“And you didn’t feel any guilt about cheating?” I asked, returning to the nine-year-old race-fixing scandal. “You must have realized it could end your career or land you in jail if you got caught.”

“All I could see was her eyes. And the rest of her. She got under my skin. I wanted her. So when she laid it all out and promised me it was a lead-pipe cinch, I said sure. I told myself it would just be that one time. Lou was on board, too. How could we get caught? And I figured I wasn’t hurting anyone.”

“What about the bettors?”

He shrugged indifference. “So what if a couple of guys lost a few bucks? No big deal, right? And I did it for love, not money. I got nothing more than my rider’s fee and the promise of more rides.” He frowned. “And that never happened.”

If Johnny was expecting absolution from me, he’d mistaken me for a priest. And he showed little remorse besides.

“I should’ve expected it,” he mused with regret. “Someone was bound to recognize me. But I thought I could plead coincidence, say I wasn’t Johnny Sprague, and point to my new driver’s license as proof. But then I ran into Bruce Robertson. I never thought he’d show up at Aqueduct a year ago last spring. He always worked the South. And he knew me too well to be fooled.”

“So he approached you to blackmail you?”

“He said he’d keep quiet in exchange for a favor now and then.” “And did you agree?”

“I didn’t even have the chance. He turned around and sold the information that I was riding again to Mack Hodges. Out of the blue, Mack turned up and asked me if I’d be interested in saving my career from ruin.”

“Then Mack had the good manners to die in a fire,” I said.

“Shouldn’t have been smoking in bed.”

“Didn’t that solve your problem?”

“It’s like one of those monsters from Greek stories. You cut off one head and another sprouts up.”

“The hydra.”

“That’s right,” he said, reflecting with a glossy look in his eyes. “Nine heads. Nine years. Nine races on a race card. My unlucky number.”

“And after Mack went up in smoke, it was Vivian and Ledoux’s turn to squeeze you?”

He nodded and sipped the beer. “That started here in Saratoga, at the beginning of the meet. I got a message from Viv. She wanted to see me again. To make things right.”

“Did you believe her?”

“Maybe I was in love with her once, but I’m not stupid. I knew she was the same lying tramp as before. But I also figured her and Ledoux were the only people left who were part of the fix. So, if they were out of the picture . . .”

“Aren’t you forgetting Lou Fleischman? He was there at Hagerstown, too.”

“Lou’s no risk to me. He’s a businessman, and I’m good for business. He never double-crossed me, and I never did anything but make money for him.”

I wanted to know exactly how deep into the mud Lou had waded. “Does he know you’re alive?”

Johnny shook his head but said nothing. His mood soured. The beer must’ve tasted bitter on his tongue because he made a face as he took a sip. He stood and began to pace the room, his heavy boots clopping across the floor like a plow horse. He put my question to one side for the moment. Apparently he preferred to defend his actions first.

“Do you have any idea what my life was like after Mack and Ledoux started the rumors that I threw that race?”

I nearly corrected him by pointing out that he had indeed thrown that race, but thought better of it in light of his agitated state and the long knife in his hand.

“They blackened my name throughout racing. Even without any proof, the racing commission banned me for life. It took about two minutes for every other state to do the same.”

“How did you get by?” Keep him talking, I thought.

“I mucked out stables, worked as a farmhand, gave riding lessons to little girls. And when things got real bad, I stole. Armed robbery, burglary, even blackmail.”

“And you never got caught? Never went to jail?”

He stopped his pacing. “I’m too smart to get caught. And no one’s catching me this time either. I’m going to clean up this mess and get out. Go back to Manitoba and start over.”

“Why haven’t you left already? Why stick around?”

“I had to take care of Bruce Robertson once and for all. Then you stuck your nose into it, and I knew I couldn’t leave until I was sure of what you had on me.”

I gulped. He knew now exactly what I had on him. Everything.

He resumed his pacing. And I considered my options. As things stood, I had no weapons, no defense, and little hope of finding any at my kitchen table. The only thing within arm’s length was the bottle of Dewar’s. What was I going to do with that? Drink him under the table?

“They took everything from me,” he continued. “I did what they wanted, and