Churches, vampires, diamond heists, it wasn’t pretty. I felt like I was in a Robert Mitchum movie. Not that I didn’t have enough of the usual kidnappings, murders or indigestion, but it was time for me to unravel the relentless rigors of rampant crime. I left my office and headed for the track. It was time to lay down a few sawbucks on the ponies and relax. I headed out across the valley to Arcadia. Santa Anita Park. I was reflective as I made a subjective wager on my first objective. A Benjamin on the 4 horse in the 3rd race. A long shot? Sure, but the chalks were a couple of nags who had let me down before. I parked it in the lower grandstand and waited for the race with a Mint Julep and the Daily Racing Form.
Mint Julep
4 Fresh Mint Leaves, Chopped
1 Tsp. Powdered Sugar
2 Tsps. Water
2 ½ Oz. Jim Beam
Muddle the mint leaves, sugar and water in a Collins glass. Fill the glass with crushed ice and add bourbon. Stir and garnish with a whole mint leaf and a frou-frou umbrella.
My bet was on ‘Bridle of Frankenstein’, a sleek, sassy looking steed that hadn’t broken his maiden. The track was muddy that day, but I wasn’t worried. He was a mudder. The Form said his father was a mudder, it was in the bag. The favorites were the 5 horse, ‘Ghostbusters’ and the 7 horse, a filly out of Hawthorne in Chicago called ‘Who You Gonna Call?’. Game, set and match.
The thundering herd broke from the gate, I sat back and calculated my winnings. It was a clean break, the mud flew and the race was on. By the third pole, ‘Bridle of Frankenstein’ was looking like Elsa Lanchester in the movie, “Bride of Frankenstein’. My dead grandmother could move faster than this nag.
By the time they hit the stretch, my horse was twelve lengths back and I opened up the Form to calculate my next plan of attack. The track announcer’s voice echoed into the crowd over the loudspeakers as they headed toward the tape.
“Two furlongs to go! They’re neck and neck and it’s ‘Ghostbusters’. No, it’s ‘Who You Gonna Call?’”.
I finished my Mint Julep, and broke the tip off my pencil as I scratched in my next wager.
The announcer continued his fury of finalization as they hit the last pole. “It’s ‘Who You Gonna Call?’, ‘Ghostbusters’, ‘Who You Gonna Call?’, ‘Ghostbusters’, and it’s ‘Who You Gonna Call?’ at the wire! I had been slimed in the 3rd race. I needed a sandwich.
Cubano Sandwich
1 12inch Loaf Cuban or French Bread, Sliced Lengthwise
8 Oz. Sliced Ham
8 Oz. Sliced Swiss Cheese
8 Oz. Thinly Sliced Smoked Pork
Yellow Prepared Mustard
Dill Pickle Chips
Preheat oven to 400 degrees.
Butter both halves of the bread and spread with mustard. Assemble the rest of the ingredients on the sandwich and wrap tightly in tin foil.
Place sandwich on a baking sheet and weight down with a brick or the bottom side of a cast-iron skillet. Bake for 30 minutes and serve.
The next race was a bust out and suddenly my wallet was feeling a bit lighter. I didn’t like it. My mind is relaxing when my wallet’s full of Jackson. It was time for a new approach. I paged through the 5th race, closed my eyes and pencil pointed my next winner.
As I made my way up the ramp to the para-mutual windows, a sudden sharp noise wafted through the tunnel over my left shoulder. I reached in my trench coat for my rod. Damn, I left my .38 back at the office in the lower right drawer of my desk. The bottle of bourbon was still safely tucked away in the top left hand drawer.
I turned to my right and saw in the shadows a sole darkened silhouette to my left.
“Psst!”
I recognized him immediately. It was Wang Chung, from the Madam Wu caper a few months back. The shoeshine shill who had been my snitch in past scrapes. I stopped, turned and approached him.
“What’s the wonk, Wang?” I often opened a potential case with a question. He was nervous as he answered, I had seen it before.
“My shoe shine suppler tipped me off that the track vet was doping horses to fix the laces.” Laces? I forgot about the Chinese accent. I took that to mean ‘races’.
Fixing races eh? No wonder I was losing. I quickly leafed through the Form to see who the vet was. Here it is, Dr. Bin Binford, a beauty of a beast horse doctor famous on the West Coast. He had a reputation for living the high life with fast women, fast horses and fast cars. I was fast to react.
“Wang, meet me up at the Paddock Club on the upper level. The Paddock Club was a swanky restaurant on the top level where all the big shots hung out. I had a plan.
To be continued…
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