ONCE I HAVE A NOTION firmly planted in my brain, it stays fixed. A quick calculation told me I would have more than twenty grand left after I gave Bill Smith his forty-two and change. Because Mick Clarence had said he would give me ten grand if our horse won, I decided that was what I was entitled to. I had ten grand to spend quickly. A romantic might have given more to Natalie, but I never entertained that notion. A smart man would have bought her a ten-grand diamond ring, something to wheedle from her to pawn when I was down on my luck. I was not doing that, either
___o0o___
THE CHIEF STEWARD RANG me at seven on Monday morning.
‘You woke me,’ I said, sipping coffee in my lounge room and peering down at the racing page of the morning paper. ‘How’d you get my number?’
‘You’re a licensed bookmaker’s clerk; we have your details.’
‘Sure, that’s right,’ I said, and waited for him to get to the point.
Joe Boss, which is still the name we are using for the chief steward, reminded me of the $60,000 in bookies’ and totalisator cheques I had in my possession.
I didn’t ask how he knew about the money, but let him move on instead.
‘I’d like you to promise not to deposit those cheques until after you come to my office on Thursday morning,’ Joe Boss said.
I asked why, but he simply repeated his request. I asked whether he had instructed people to stop any of the cheques.
‘I would need authorisation from a court to do that, Steele. I am just asking you not to deposit the cheques until Thursday afternoon. I can only add that it might prove beneficial to you, if certain circumstances prevail.’
‘Awlright, you have totally confused me now, Boss. You want to see me on Thursday morning about something or other, and you want me to hold on to the paper I could turn into cash today. But it’s still my choice. So, it’s also my choice to give our Thursday appointment a miss.’
‘That’s a different kettle of fish, entirely. You have to attend the inquiry I am calling.’
‘An inquiry into what?’
‘That you already know, so I believe I am safe legally to withhold further details. But I would like you to reassure me you will do what I ask, and refrain from depositing those cheques until Thursday afternoon.’
‘Sure, Boss, I’ll do that, because, if you know about the cheques, you also know I collected thousands in cash. I can hold off until Thursday afternoon. Will I need a lawyer for this inquiry?’
‘That’s up to you, Steele. My advice would be to keep the lawyers out of it until we are clearer on a few details. As I said, that’s up to you.’
‘Yair well, I might bring a lawyer, because I know a good one. His name is Jim Mecklam.’
I heard Boss snort a laugh down the phone. ‘They tell me you’re something of a comedian,’ he said. ‘Leave the jokes at home on Thursday and, for now, let’s have the record clear. You will cash those cheques in your possession on Thursday afternoon at the earliest.’
‘I’ve agreed to that twice already,’ I said, offended by his distrust.
I was the first person through the door of my bank when it opened later that morning, and I paid for six-hour clearances on all the cheques. I didn’t like the way Boss described my cheques as cheques in my possession. I would turn up for the Thursday morning showdown, but I was determined that Bill Smith and I had the flexibility of stacks of cash in case we were unhappy with what we heard.
At Bill’s place, he told me Boss was not seeing him until Friday morning, which set us both thinking. You had to figure Smith for a badder guy than I was in a race fix, when all they had me for was being the moneyman. Unless Boss knew more than we gave him credit for.
Bill’s daughter Flick had contacted him and told him that their stupid kidnapping prank was their last together. He said she was quite cheerful, but she gave him a good dressing-down. She was returning home to Sailor that day.
With Flick safe, our main worry was the chief steward and what information he had. As far as Bill and I could figure, only three people knew the full details of the scam. Mick Clarence was dead, leaving Smith and me.
Bill had read about Mick’s death in the morning paper, but I could see he did not want to talk about it. He asked me if I knew anything, and I said that the last time I had seen Mick was on Friday night. Smith muttered ‘sad’ and ‘good young bloke’, and the topic returned to our meetings with the chief steward.
Of course, Bill thought he had hidden the full story about his daughter’s role in the hustle from everybody. I guess that put me at the top of the tree for seeing the whole scene, not that it gave me extra protection. It did make me wonder if Bill had been too clever by half in other matters, and allowed someone else to work out parts of the hustle. Bill and I decided that Boss wanted to get as much from me and from other unknown parties as he could, to be able to throw some scares into the trainer on Friday.
I rang the bookie I worked for, saying I was crook and would be unable to field until Saturday at the earliest. He sounded pissed off, though plenty of casual clerks were available. I realised word of my big collects would have been all over the bookies’ ring. He would have felt a dill, being no wiser than anyone who I was fronting for when I pulled off the big plunge on Who Loves Yer Baby. My bookie never went so far as to fire me, so he could tell the other bookies whatever he liked as far as I was concerned.
___o0o___
JOE BOSS DISMISSED the copper to outside the tiny office. He looked at me after the copper shut the door on us.
‘I’m sorry about the death of your mate, Clarence. Is it true he rang up the Canterbury stewards and abused them for ten minutes for moving the barrier stalls five metres after sudden rain?’ Boss asked.
I said it was, and we discussed the details that Mick had shared with me. Boss looked at me across his desk.
‘You’re only a baby, Hill. What the fuck are you mixing with these lunatics for?’
It was funny, the impression Mick Clarence made, even on people who only knew of him second or third-hand. Boss was calling him a lunatic for leading me astray, though Clarence was almost four years younger than me and the only favour he had ever asked of me was to put his twenty grand on Who Loves Yer Baby. One of the other lunatics he was referring to had to be Bill Smith, and I played along.
‘I haven’t done anything, Boss. Is this about that mad Russian?’
Boss shook his head, not in answer to my question but in general disbelief at my audacity.
‘I don’t know how you blokes reckoned you could possibly get away with it. When I looked at the time, a new race record, almost a course record, and with what I had seen of the race with my own eyes, I couldn’t believe it.’
I looked blankly at the chief steward, knowing he had more to say.
‘I took all the reports from the other stewards. Together, we watched the patrol film over and over. Of course, we declared correct weight, as no interference to other runners occurred. But we knew we would be taking the race from you. So we ordered a routine swab of the second placegetter, which we intended to promote to first, once we found out what Smith gave your horse. We asked for a quick process of the analysis, and we had the results yesterday afternoon.’
‘That was quick,’ I said.
‘Oh, they’ve been checked half a dozen times. So, what would you like to say at this point?’
I could see through the blinds of the solitary window that it was a fine day outside, but apart from chitchat about the weather, I had nothing to add.
‘Okay,’ Boss said. He sat upright in his chair and stared hard into my face. ‘If anything remotely like what I am about to tell you comes back to me, you will never enter any racetrack anywhere in the world ever again. You understand me?’
Boss had my full attention as I nodded agreement.
‘The second placegetter, All The Favours, came back positive for a go-fast they discovered in Italy three months ago.’
‘Mecklam’s horse was doped,’ I said.
I was trying to control my smile as Boss gave me a filthy look.
With my best serious expression, I said, ‘You wouldn’t expect that sort of thing from a member of the legal profession.’
It was Mr Boss’s turn to suppress a smile. I began to ponder why we were discussing Mecklam’s results rather than ours.
The chief steward opened and closed his mouth twice before he spoke, as if unsure whether he should offer the next piece of information.
‘Who Loves Yer Baby came back clean,’ he said finally and with little enthusiasm.
I stared hard at the other man, and his dejected expression confirmed the good news. Who Loves Yer Baby clean. Clean as the whistle that legend has top jockeys using to tell their peers they need an uninterrupted run through the field.
Mick Clarence had been spot on with every prediction. Psilocybin was an effective undetectable go-fast. I wished I could meet Mick back in his tiny Spring Hill flat to congratulate him. I rose from my chair as if our session was over.
‘I guess I can cash those cheques now,’ I said, and turned towards the door. ‘You know, you only had to ask on Monday, and I could have told you that Bill Smith had trained the horse to perfection because he wanted to win the race with a passion.’
Mr Boss ignored my regrets at the misunderstandings between us. He rose quickly and took a few large strides to place his hand on the doorknob before I could reach it.
‘Sit down, Hill, I am not finished with you yet. What if I tell you all the money you defrauded and your job as a bookie’s clerk are both still yours, if you tell me what you used to dope the horse?’
‘Fresh air and good feed, that’s all Smith used.’
‘You know I can pull your licence before you get to your car.’
‘That would be corruption.’
‘That would be justice. You’re lucky half of Brisbane hates Mecklam’s guts. I’m sick of trainers asking me to make him pay his bills. Maybe this will force him out of the game.’
‘I doubt it.’
The chief steward agreed. ‘I do, too, but we won’t have you around much longer, Hill, unless you pull your socks up and stay away from the wrong crowd.’
‘You know, Boss, I’d love to do that. The trouble is, these days, you never know who the wrong crowd are.