I felt like a freshman girl on her first date with a senior. We drank together in silence for a minute or so. I was betting that SueSue couldn't tolerate silence. I was right.
"What was it you were asking me about, darlin'?"
"You," I said. "Tell me about you."
More than one way to ask a question.
"I'm a Clive," she said.
"Is that complicated?"
She shook her head sadly.
"I think one of our ancestors must have stolen something from a tomb," she said.
"Family curse?"
"We're all corrupt," she said. "Drunks, liars, fornicators."
"You too?" I said.
"Me especially," she said. "Hell, why do you think I'm married to Fred Flintstone?"
"Love?" I said.
She made a nasty sound, which might have been a contemptuous laugh.
"There you go again," she said. "Daddy wanted his girls married. He wanted them out of the clubs and off their backs and in a marriage. He wanted sons-in-law to inherit the business. Pud was what there was."
"Stonie too?"
"Don't get me started on Stonie and Cord."
"Why not?"
"Don't get me started," she said.
"Okay."
SueSue had a drink of whiskey.
"How about Penny?" I said. "She's not married."
"Little Penelope," SueSue said. She struggled to say "Penelope." "Sometimes I think she was switched at birth."
"She's different?"
"She stands up to Daddy."
"And?"
"And he thinks it's cute. He trusts her with everything. Hell, she knows the business better than he does."
"So she doesn't have to get married?"
"Not now, but she better, she wants to inherit anything."
"Really?"
"Man's gotta be in charge," SueSue said. "Can't have a woman ruining the business."
"Even though she halfway runs it now."
"Daddy still in charge."
Talking was getting harder for her as the Jack Daniel's went in. I needed to get what I could before talking became too hard.
"What's wrong with Stonie and Cord?" I said.
"Stonie so frustrated she rubbing up doorknobs," SueSue said.
Her syntax was deteriorating fast.
"How come?"
Her smile was dreamy without ceasing to be nasty.
"Little boys," she said.
"Cord likes little boys?" I said.
Her eyes closed and her head lolled back against the chair cushion.
She said, "Un-huh."
And then she fell asleep.
NINE
I WAS HAVING breakfast with Billy Rice off the back of a commissary truck parked under some high pines at the edge of the Three Fillies training track.
"Donuts put a nice foundation under your morning," Rice said.
"Go good with coffee too," I said.
Across from us the track was empty, except for Hugger Mugger. We could hear him breathing in the short heavy way that horses breathe. His chest was huge. His legs were positively dainty, the odd, beautiful result of endless selectivity. A half-ton heart-lung machine on legs smaller than mine. His only function was to run a mile or so, in two minutes or so. Rice watched him all the time while we ate our donuts.
"Great horse?" I said.
"Be a great horse," Rice said.
"Doesn't look that different."
"Ain't what makes a great horse," Billy said. "Same as any athlete. He got to have the right body, and the right training. Then he got to have the heart. One with the heart be the great one."
"And he's got it?"
"Yes, he do."
"How do you know?"
Rice was too gentle a man to be scornful. But he came close.
"I know him," Rice said.
He was smallish. Not smallish like a jockey, just smallish compared to me. He wore jeans and sneakers and a polo shirt and a baseball cap that read THREE FILLIES across the front, over the bill. Martin, the trainer, leaned on the fence watching Hugger Mugger. And four Security South sentinels stood around the track.
"Tell me about the prowler," I said.
Rice sipped his coffee. His dark eyes were thoughtful and opaque, a little like the eyes of the racehorses.
"Nothing much to tell. I sleeping with Hugger. I hear a noise, shine my flashlight, see a gun. When I shine my light, the gun goes away. I hear footsteps running. Then nothing."
"You didn't follow?"
"I don't have no gun. Am I going out in the dark, chase somebody got a gun?"
"No," I said. "You're not."
"How 'bout you?" Rice said.
"I'm not either," I said. "Can you describe the gun?"
"No. Don't know much 'bout guns."
"Handgun or long gun?"
"Long gun."
"Shotgun or rifle?"
"Don't know."
"One barrel or two?"
"One."
"What kind of front sight?"
"Don't know," Rice said. "Only saw it in the flashlight for a second."
"Color?"
"Color? What color is a gun barrel? It was iron-colored."
"Bluish?"
"Yes, I guess."
"How about the footsteps? Heavy? Light? Fast? Slow?"
"Just footsteps, sounded like running. It was on the dirt outside the stable. Didn't make a lot of noise."
"Any smells?"
"Smells?"
"Hair tonic, shaving lotion, cologne, perfume, mouthwash, tobacco, booze, liniment."
"Sleeping in the stable," Rice said, "mostly everything smells like horses."
I nodded.
"They going to bring Jimbo out," Rice said. "Time to get Hugger out the way."
The exercise rider brought Hugger Mugger to the rail. Billy snapped the lead shank onto his bridle. The exercise rider climbed down, and Billy led Hugger Mugger back toward the stable area. As they walked their heads were very close together, as if they were exchanging confidences. The security guards moved in closer around Hugger Mugger as he walked, and by the time he'd reached the stable area they were around him like the Secret Service.