She stood there frozen as if she were a statue, as the crowd thinned. What had happened was simply unbelievable. The money had come so fast… and had gone just as rapidly. It was a disaster. Now, if she remained, she would have to bet her own money, and there was only a few dollars in her purse.
For a split second Grace had the foolish hope that maybe she had asked for the wrong horse or that the ticket seller has mistakenly punched out tickets on the eight horse. The more she thought about it, the more she became convinced that it was a distinct possibility. Almost frantically, she rummaged in her purse until she found the tickets. Six. All sixes. There had been no mistake… none… she had bought a loser.
She jumped as an oily voice next to her said, "Well… well… well. Mrs. Hope. What a surprise!" He glanced down at the tickets in her hand, and Grace saw his eyes widen in surprise as he made a low whistle of amazement. "Jesus. You're quite a plunger. I never realized." Without bothering to ask permission, he reached down and peeled apart her tickets as though he were spreading a deck of cards. Again he whistled. "Six or seven hundred bucks. You know, you… ah… ought to do business with the local merchants instead of giving the state its fifteen percent bite. Ah… if you decide you want to get a bet down at another track – anywhere in the country – I've got a friend who pays track odds."
Grace was furious with him. Who did he think she was? Besides, she didn't like the sudden greedy look in his eyes or the speculative stare he had given her. "Thank you, Mister Karl," she said in her coldest voice, "but I don't need… or want… your help. Good night." She spun and began walking rapidly toward the bar.
Ricky Karl watched her go. He grinned nastily. He really had been surprised to see the cold, snooty bitch here. Even more, he had been surprised to see that she was hooked. He knew that look. He'd seen it often enough on his bookmaking customers. They were the born losers. They were hooked on gambling the same way some people get hooked on heroin or alcohol. She had the fever; he had seen it in her eyes. And, in spite of what she said or acted, it was only a matter of time before she came to him or one of his boys wanting to place a bet.
Laughing now, he pulled out his own losing tickets – some $1500 worth on the six horses. He dropped them to the floor, thinking that he really hadn't lost… he had won! The tight-assed, contemptuous Mrs. Hope would have unlimited credit with his firm. He thought with pleasure the route she would go, the fun he would have breaking her in to his own special demands. And when he personally was through with her, there would be the special shows he sometimes staged for the boys from the east coast and Chicago. God! They'd go out of their gourds when they saw a classy broad like this with Andy's specially-trained German Shepherd.
It had been, he thought as he waddled across the decking toward the down escalator, a pretty good evening, after all. He'd give the bitch a week… two weeks… before she started getting the urge to bet elsewhere or on the day races when she was working.
And once that happened, Grace Hope would be in his web from that day on.
CHAPTER SIX
Grace retired to a leather couch in the far comer of the Turf Club where the full realization of the enormity of her disaster finally manifested itself. She had lost six hundred dollars in less than 45 minutes. She had been so sure that her actions were in keeping with Jim Meloney's instructions. Admittedly it had been foolish in the first race to play a hunch; that wouldn't happen again! But she had followed Jim's axiom on the last race: Make sure your information comes from reliable sources.
Gradually her disappointment gave way to a smouldering resentment, then to anger… anger at herself and anger at the track. Some people made money at the track. She, too, would make money – or at least enough to get back her six hundred dollars. Then she would quit. After all, she had a head for figures and knew now how the game was played. The decision made, Grace counted the money in her purse. Twenty-two dollars! She put the two dollars aside for cab fare home, then quickly went back upstairs seeking information. A few minutes later she had purchased five two-dollar win tickets on a horse called Yellow Raft. She disliked standing in the two dollar ticket line; it seemed to be filled with riff-raff, seedy looking people. Yellow Raft won easily, but paid only $3.60 for each two dollar win ticket. On the next and last race of the evening, Grace pooled her original twenty dollars with the eight dollar winnings to bet a big, beautiful black horse by the name of Bar Bar Black which was going off at six to one. Grace made a swift calculation and decided her tickets would be worth about $210 when the horse won.
Screaming encouragement, jumping up and down, and her body afire, Grace saw Bar Bar Black come out of the gate and take what appeared to be a commanding lead. Then, on the far outside, a gray began closing ground. The two horses nosed up to the wire at almost the same instant. Grace was positive she had won, even though the Photo Finish lights were on. Then, after waiting for what seemed to be an eternity, with her knees actually quaking and throat painfully dry, she saw the photo lights blink out and the winner posted. It was the gray; Bar Bar Black finished second.
Grace rode silently home in the taxi. She could not ever remember being so weary as she was at this moment; it was as though she had been ill and running a high temperature. She was completely debilitated, washed out, but not too tired to feel the dull anger at the track still smouldering inside her brain.
When she got home, she went directly upstairs and to bed.
This time she didn't even think about the mail before sleep overcame her.
On Saturday, Grace cashed a hundred dollar check at the nearby super-market where she was known, and went back to the track, determined that today would be the last time she ever visited it. Her money was gone by the sixth race. She took a bus home and cried when in the privacy of her own bedroom.
California tracks generally are closed on Mondays, and Bay Meadows was no exception. On Tuesday evening, Grace was back again after writing a check for $175, almost all that she had left in the checking account. She came home with $35.
On Wednesday evening, she asked one of the trainers about Jim Meloney.
"Oh, he's taken part of the string and gone to Raton."
"Raton?"
"Sure. New Mexico. Quarter horse meet going on there."
That was the night Grace had to wait forty minutes across the street from the track for a bus because she had lost the taxi money. Several leering lone males in cars offered her a lift, and once she shrank back in terror prepared to scream for help when six husky youths in a car stopped. One of them got out of the car and said, "Hey, baby. Come on. We'll give you a ride home." A second boy was in the process of getting out of the car also when a police car cruised by and made a U-turn. The youths lost no time in leaving.
Grace went to the track every night for the next two weeks. At the end of that time, she had borrowed $500 from a loan company, asked for and received an advance on her salary, depleted her and Stan's pitifully small savings account, borrowed $30 from Judi… and pawned her engagement ring… and lost it all.
Grace was sure that Judi was puzzled by her sudden need of money and by absences away from the house every night, but the little blonde remained silent. Grace also was almost positive that Judi thought she was having an affair with Jim Meloney and was spending her evenings with him.
On a Friday, exactly three weeks after she had gone to the track for the first time in her life, Grace "borrowed" two hundred dollars from the bank deposit. She won that night and happily remained about even on Saturday. On Monday, she replaced the money.