I shuddered at the thought.
“But he always kills them in a way which looks like it was an accident. For the insurance money.”
I did some quick thinking.
“So you switch a bad horse for a good one,” I said, “kill the bad one and claim the insurance money on the good one?”
“Exactly,” he said.
It was a much safer bet than selling the bad one and taking the chance that someone does a DNA check on his new purchase.
“What happens to the good horse?” I asked.
Now that he had started to tell me, it came easier. He was almost bragging at the cleverness of the scheme.
“It goes into training under the name of the nag, the bad one,” he said. “If we’re lucky, we can also make a killing backing it when it first runs in poor company, and wins easily at long odds.”
It was clever, I thought. But risky too. Making a horse’s death appear accidental wasn’t easy, and surely the insurance company would be suspicious.
“How about the insurers?” I said. “Don’t they check?”
“To be sure, they do,” he said. “They even have a special investigator who researches all horse deaths on which someone has made a claim in order to determine that they are genuine accidents.”
“So how come you can get away with it?” I asked.
“The insurer’s special investigator has his eyes set rather too close together.”
Much to my surprise, and his, Betsy was with Luca when they turned up at my house at ten to eleven.
“She just turned up at my place this morning as if nothing had happened,” Luca said to me while she was in the bathroom. “I can’t believe it. She hasn’t said a word about it.”
Perhaps she wasn’t so dumb after all. Luca was surely a catch worth pursuing. He, meanwhile, seemed quietly laid back about it. But I also thought he was secretly rather pleased.
The three of us set off for Uttoxeter just after eleven in my old Volvo, with Luca sitting up front as usual and Betsy in the back. As always, she was soon listening to her iPod through her white headphones, resting her head against the window and dozing.
“I’ve thought about what you asked,” I said to Luca.
“And?” he said, unable to disguise his eagerness.
“I’m prepared to offer you a full partnership in the business under certain conditions.”
“What conditions?” he said warily.
“Nothing too onerous,” I said. “The same conditions would apply to both partners.”
“What sort of conditions?” he asked again, using a tone of voice full of suspicion and disagreement.
“Hold on a minute,” I said. “There’s no need to get on your high horse. Look at it from my point of view. I’d be giving up half my business-and half the profits, remember-and for what? I need assurances on a number of things. You need to show your commitment to the business in the long term, for a start. That means we need a contract that would tie both of us to the business for at least five years, with penalties on either side for early departure. After five years, you would have fully earned your partnership with no financial input needed from you. But we do need to agree that within that five-year period, I have a deciding vote when there is no agreement between us.”
“Agreement about what?” he asked.
“The way in which the business develops,” I said. “I can see that you are eager to push the boundaries.” And go beyond them, I thought, but decided not to say so.
“Yes,” he said.
“Well, that has to be done by agreement. Now, don’t get me wrong. I’m not totally against change, and I will look at any suggestion you make, but, for the next five years, I will have the final say about how we change if we do.”
“How about after that?” he said.
“Well, after five years, as full partners, we would have an equal say in how the business was run. If we couldn’t agree, then the partnership would have to end, but I can’t see that happening. We would have to both give and take a little.”
“But for the next five years, it would be me that does the giving and you the taking?” he said.
“Well, if you put it like that, then, yes, I suppose so.”
“That doesn’t seem much different from now,” he said with resignation in his voice.
I was losing him.
“Yes, it is,” I said. “You are asking for quite a lot here, Luca, and I’m prepared to hand over half of a highly profitable business to you at no direct cost to yourself. You would stop being an employee on a salary and become entitled to half the profits instead. But you would also be liable for half the losses if things went wrong, and I am trying to ensure they don’t. I believe in you, Luca, but I also believe you need guidance until you’ve had a little more experience. I could be asking you to buy a fifty percent share in the business from me but I’m not. I’m giving it to you for free but over five years.”
He sat in silence, thinking.
“I honestly think it’s a great deal,” I said. “And you don’t have to make a decision right now. Think about it. Talk it over with Betsy and with your parents, if you like. We can go on just as we are for as long as you want. Forever, if that’s what suits you.”
He remained sitting silently beside me, studying the road in front, for quite a long way.
“Can we call it ‘Talbot and Mandini’?” he said finally.
I wasn’t sure that I would go that far.
Larry Porter was at Uttoxeter, feeling very sorry for himself, and while he was not literally spitting blood from his damaged ribs he was still spreading hate and venom all around.
“Bloody bastards,” he said to me and anyone else who would listen. “Who do they think they bloody are, beating up innocent people in racetrack parking lots?”
I was the innocent one, I thought, not him.
“Calm down, Larry,” I said. “You’ll give yourself a stroke.”
“But aren’t you angry as well?” he said.
“Of course I am. But I’m not going to just get mad-I’m going to get even.”
“Now you’re talking,” he said.
“Who were they anyway?”
“I don’t know,” he said. “Some bullyboys or other.”
Not too easy to get even, I thought, if we didn’t actually know who had been responsible.
I have a message from my boss, one of the bullyboys had said. Don’t mess again with the starting prices.
It was a fair bet, therefore, that the message had come from one of the big bookmaking firms. They were the only ones who would have suffered from Luca and Larry’s little game at Stratford races. But which big firm? There were half a dozen or so who might be in the frame, but I would have been surprised if one or two of those had resorted to beating people up in racetrack parking lots. Conversely, it was exactly the behavior I would have expected from a couple of the others.
“I hear you’ve been talking to Luca,” Larry said. “About our amusements.”
“Yes, I have,” I said sharply. “Larry, you really should know better.”
“Yes,” he said, “perhaps I should. But I’m that fed up with being treated like an irritation by these big corporations. I refuse to be swatted like a fly and muscled out of my job. They are all now having their own pitches at the races as well, so they can manipulate the odds even further. It’s not just us who should be angry. The betting public shouldn’t stand for it either.”
“Oh come on,” I said.“You must be living in cloud-cuckoo-land if you think the betting public are ever going to feel sorry for us.”
“Yeah,” he replied, “I suppose you’re right.”
Damn right, I was. My grandfather always used to say that bookmakers could expect about as much sympathy as house-breakers: both were trying to rob other people’s belongings, only the bookmakers were doing it legally.