Bullet Work (29 page)

Dancett moved quickly to the vet van and
rummaged through a side panel. He quickly drew out two long,
slender boxes and cracked the casings to remove the hypodermic
needles. Dancett skillfully pierced the small medicine bottle with
one of the needles and drew in the fluid. He handed the hypo to a
man standing near him and filled the second needle with the same
liquid.

In the trade it was called “the pink” because
of the tinged color to the substance. In the lab it was called
sodium pentobarbitol. For this filly it would simply be the end of
suffering.

AJ was kicking out wildly with his legs and
was on his belly, shaking and convulsing. He wouldn’t remove his
hands from the horse. All stood back a step as Dancett
approached.

AJ was oblivious to all that was around him.
Arestie was still. That made Dancett’s job easier. He wouldn’t need
to administer a tranquilizer.

Dancett knelt next to the horse and found a
bulging vein in Arestie’s neck. He deftly injected the barbiturate
from the first needle, then threw that one aside and held his hand
out to the man holding the other needle. Each injection was 60 ccs
of the pink and would depress the respiratory system until death
quickly ensued.

All was quiet with the exception of the
engines of the vet van and ambulance and the sounds coming from AJ.
Dancett leaned forward.

Dan suddenly had a sickening feeling. He
couldn’t define it. He rushed forward. “AJ, get away!” Dancett
plunged the second needle to the hilt. “Get the boy’s hands off the
horse,” Dan screamed. “AJ, let go!”

Dan ran forward, trying to get through the
group of men standing near the horse. “Get his hands off.”
Dancett’s needle was empty, and he withdrew it. Dan dove toward AJ
and tried to pull him off the horse.

AJ had collapsed onto the horse. Dan pulled
and tried to roll his small, sweaty body near him. AJ flopped over
and was unresponsive. Dan put his hand on his chest and could feel
no heartbeat. He wasn’t breathing.

“Get a doctor over here,” Dan shouted. He put
his fingers on AJ’s neck as he’d seen done in television programs.
He couldn’t feel a pulse. “God damn it, get a doctor over
here.”

Dancett stared at him. He was on his knees,
still holding the needle, and looked at Dan like
I didn’t do that
. Dancett jumped up and came to where
Dan was, on the other side of the horse. “We need to give him
CPR.”

Vic cleared AJ’s mouth and smeared blood away
from his nose. He pressed the nostrils closed and put his mouth on
AJ’s. Dan waited for three breaths, then compressed AJ’s chest for
five beats. Vic repeated, then Dan repeated. Vic repeated; Dan
repeated. They checked for a pulse. They repeated and repeated and
checked for a pulse, for a breath, anything.

“Don’t stop,” Dan said, wheezing from the
exertion.

Vic repeated; Dan repeated. The men, who
moments before had formed a fortress around them, sagged and
shuffled away, heads hanging. Finally, Vic looked across and shook
his head. Dan kept going, exhausted, breathless, but relentless. He
gave CPR and pressed on the boy’s chest. His motions were ragged
and choppy. Vic sat silent. There were no right words. Dan looked
pleadingly at Vic. Blood covered Dan’s chin and ran down the side
of his face. Vic’s eyes told all.

Dan collapsed back on his haunches. Vic
slowly got to his feet and walked past Dan, pausing to squeeze his
shoulder lightly.

Somewhere, sixty yards away from Dan, they
were taking the picture of Aly Dancer in the winner’s circle—his
baby, the winner of the My Lassie Stakes, his undefeated
two-year-old filly. The picture would show only Jake, Beth, and
Jorge standing in the winner’s circle. When the photo was snapped,
Kyle was sitting, looking up the track toward the commotion. No one
was smiling. A tear could be seen glistening on Beth’s cheek.

Dan put one arm underneath AJ’s neck and one
under his knees. He carried him to the ambulance. They had Dagens
on a bed inside the ambulance, and there was a flurry of medical
activity around him.

One of the EMTs met Dan outside the back door
of the ambulance. He reached forward, took AJ from him, and lifted
the boy into the ambulance.

Dan collapsed backward onto the seat of his
pants. He put his elbows on his knees and his face in his
hands.

And he cried.

Chapter 54

the drive home was interminable. The
stop lights seemed to last hours—so long one’s life could flash
before his eyes while waiting for a green light. He slogged forward
through the traffic like rancid water through a plugged pipe.

All thoughts turned to what he should have
done. Why he failed to act? How he could have changed the
outcome?

He visualized himself lunging for AJ and
pulling his hands free from Arestie. The boy was dazed, sobbing,
and resistant but still alive. Then reality would crack him between
the eyes like an axe handle.

He just stood there and watched his friend
die. How could he have known? He knew. Yes, he knew. He had just
failed to act.

Why do people leave
me?
he thought. His dad, Vickie, now Ananias. What caused
these people to turn from him, to desert him? Or did he desert
them?

Maybe that’s why his relationship with horses
was better. No emotional baggage—just property, just an investment.
The emotional baggage was there all the same; it was just
temporary. And if he controlled how long “temporary” was,
everything was fine. Horses were better. You owned them for three
years, maybe four, then they moved on. Or maybe Dan moved on—he
wasn’t sure.

He eased forward and stopped at the
intersection as the light flashed from yellow to red. Loud honking
erupted behind him. Only in Virginia were drivers chastised for
failing to run a red light. He shook his head and replayed the
events again. Darkness had shrouded the highway, and pin oak trees
adjoining the highway leaned forward like a jury eager to convict
him of cowardice.

The honking returned as he failed to move the
instant the light flashed green. He didn’t go to the barn following
the race. He didn’t go anywhere. He sat in the middle of the
racetrack as the ambulance pulled away with Dagens and his dead
friend. After a while, Doc Dancett extended an arm and helped him
to his feet. He said something, but Dan couldn’t hear him and
couldn’t remember what it was.

He staggered back to the grandstand, turned,
and looked back to where Arestie had lain on the track. Everything
was gone, except for the ghosts that taunted him. After several
minutes he made his way to the parking lot. The winning tickets in
his pocket were un-cashed and long forgotten.

He sat in his car with his head on the
steering wheel and his fingers laced behind his neck until he was
the last car in the section. He’d driven home alone all his life.
He never felt more alone than now. The weight in his chest pulled
him farther down into the car seat as if he were going to fall
through the bottom of the car onto the asphalt.

At last he turned into the parking complex by
his building. He eased down to the last open parking space at the
far end of the building. He opened the door and was awash in
humidity and the smell of freshly cut grass. His suit coat that had
been freshly pressed ten hours before was like a year-old dishrag
as he pulled it from the backseat.

He cast it over his shoulder just as the body
crushed into him from behind. He flew several steps forward and
slammed onto the asphalt like a rookie quarterback blindsided by a
blitzing safety. His hands fell under him, and he slid forward on
his chest and the backs of his hands. He couldn’t gather his
breath, facedown with a large body on his back. He tried to move
but couldn’t.

His arms were ripped behind his back despite
his efforts to wedge his hands under him. He tried to look over his
shoulder but could only see the cowboy boots and jeans of the man
who knelt on his back. His hands were quickly secured with a
plastic handcuff.

Dan tried to scream, but a calloused and
powerful hand enveloped his mouth and nostrils.

“Don’t yell.”

He knew the voice. It was Ginny Perino.

Chapter 55

dan tried to look out the sliver of
window. It was all that was available from this angle. He tried to
pick up any kind of landmark. He noticed a gas station sign and
knew which direction they were headed. Then he realized that, from
this angle, all gas station signs looked the same. They could be
heading anywhere.

Several turns quickly made the process
random. The left-hand turns were particularly noteworthy as they
would throw his head into the side of the pickup, and he would
crunch up into a ball as they rolled that direction. His hands were
bleeding yet felt cool because of the loss of circulation.

Apparently believing that Dan would yell if
given a chance, Ginny had fastened a silver piece of duct tape over
Dan’s mouth. Ginny swooped Dan off the ground like a man picking up
a sack of jelly beans and tossed him into the back of the crew cap
pickup. Once in the vehicle he became truly terrified.

Ginny pulled out his cell phone. The
conversation was short. “Got him.” Followed by “Where?” and “Thirty
minutes.” The phone slapped shut.

They drove in silence—no radio, no
conversation, just the sound of rubber moving over the cement.
Ginny’s instructions to Dan were “Don’t move.” Even if he did move,
there was nothing he could do. Ginny could lay a beating on Dan
from his position and never be distracted in driving the
vehicle.

After a long stint on a straight highway,
Ginny made a right turn, a left turn, another quick right, and
pulled up to a weathered red brick warehouse. Dan could see the
blackened and pock-marked bricks along with the one boarded up
window. It was a place that, unfortunately, would ensure extreme
privacy. Ginny honked the horn, and the overhead door went up.
After a few seconds the pickup pulled forward. The door came back
down behind them.

“Dan Morgan—long time, no see,” said Belker.
Ginny pushed Dan forward and made it apparent that he was to sit on
the lone chair in the middle of the warehouse. Belker was full of
himself as he chuckled. “Nice win today. Too bad you’ll never see
her race again.”

Dan winced as Ginny ripped the tape off his
mouth. He spat and said, “You make me sick.”

Ginny unfolded a knife, walked behind Dan,
and in one motion sliced off the handcuffs.

Belker shot a puzzled look at Ginny. “Yeah, I
guess we don’t need a dead body in handcuffs,” said Belker as he
pulled the handgun tucked into his belt. Dan rubbed his wrists and
shook his fingers. They were blue and cold.

“Appreciate the help, Ginny,” Belker
said.

Ginny just glared at Belker. The look made
Belker step back and reach for a package on the stack of boxes
behind him. “As agreed. Twenty Gs.” He tossed the package to Ginny.
It hit Ginny in the chest and fell to the ground. Ginny kept moving
forward.

“What?” Belker pleaded. “That was our deal.
What are you doing? What do you want?” He moved backward against a
wall of boxes. Then apparently remembering that he was holding a
gun, Belker shook it at Ginny as if to say,
Look,
I have a gun
. Ginny kept moving.

“Don’t make me do it, Ginny.”

“You won’t do it,” said Ginny.

“Wha-what do you mean?”

“You won’t shoot me.”

Dan had seen him shoot a man already. He knew
Belker could do it.

“How do you know?” said Belker.

“’Cause you’re a coward.”

Belker extended the gun just as Ginny leapt
toward him. Ginny knocked Belker’s arm to the side. The gun fired.
Cement dust splashed up from the floor a foot in front of Dan. He
lunged from the chair and dove behind the edge of Ginny’s
truck.

Ginny was on Belker. He grabbed the gun from
Belker’s hands like he was taking a rattle from a baby, except he
crushed Belker’s hand in the process.

“What are you doing?” Belker squealed. Ginny
grabbed the front of Belker’s shirt and slammed him against the
boxes, then he slammed his fist into the side of Belker’s face. The
sound was like a bat hitting a melon. “What are you doing? We had a
deal.”

Ginny hit him again and again. Belker’s legs
went wobbly, and Ginny let him fall to the ground. Then he got down
on one knee and hit him again and again.

Dan jumped up. “Ginny. Stop. You’re going to
kill him.” He wanted to run but couldn’t bring himself to move.

Belker was beyond providing resistance. Ginny
hit him again, then gave him two downward shots to the ribs.
“Ginny. That’s enough,” Dan yelled.

Ginny looked over, slipped another plastic
cuff from his back pocket, and quickly bound Belker’s limp arms
together. Then he stood. He wasn’t even breathing hard.

Dan raised his hands and backed away. “Ginny,
come on now. I got no beef with you.”

Ginny swept his hair back into place with his
left hand. “Guy pissed me off.” He walked past Dan without looking
at him. He walked past the pickup and hit the button to open the
garage door. Dan stammered for something to say. Nothing came out.
“No need to hurt those horses,” Ginny said. “Guy pissed me
off.”

“Ginny, I don’t get it. Why’d you rough me up
and tie my hands? I would have gone along.”

“Needed you to be believable.”

“Believable?”

“Hard to fake bein’ scared.” Ginny opened the
pickup door and pointed at Dan. “You were scared.”

“Jesus, I guess.”

Ginny smirked as he started to get into the
truck. The first expression of any emotion Dan had ever witnessed
in Ginny. Dan pointed at the package on the floor. “What about the
money? Ginny, take the money.”

“Not my money. Didn’t earn it.”