The three mounts that Aiello was listed for that day were, coincidentally, all conditioned by the same trainer, Woody Spencer, who placed among the top ten trainers every year. I asked around and was directed to the Spencer stables.
“Mr. Spencer?” I called. He was talking to someone in one of the stalls, possibly his assistant trainer, and turned when I called his name.
“Yes?”
He was a small man, in his sixties, with thinning gray hair and wire frame glasses. He had a distinct southern accent which years of living in the north had been unable to erase.
I showed him my N.Y.S.R.C. identification.
“One of Howie Biel’s boys, hey?”
“That’s right.”
“What can ah do for ya, son?” he asked.
“Right now I’d like to see Danny Aiello. I understand he’s listed to ride a few of your horses today. I thought I might find him here.”
“He shore is ridin mah animals, son. That boy jest maht end up mah regular ridah. You come to the raht place. He’s inside,” he told me, jerking his thumb over his shoulder. “He’s in mah office. We was jes’ gonna have a conference on the ponies he’s gonna ride today. You go raht in, boy, set yourself down. I’ll be in shortly. Ah’d appreciate it if you’d finish yore business Tore ah’m ready to start mine, heah?”
“I hear, thanks.”
Most people found his accent charming. I found it annoying, especially since I felt most of it was put on. He’d say two words differently in two consecutive sentences, sometimes remembering the accent, and sometimes not.
He was just another phony in a world of phonies.
Like Hopkins.
Like Lassiter.
Lassiter … there was someone else I was going to make it a point to see today.
I entered Spencer’s office without knocking. I didn’t want to announce my arrival.
“Mr. Spencer,” Aiello began without turning around, “I was thinking about this nag in the third race — ”
“Save it, Aiello. Spencer will be in to see you later, if you’re still here. Let’s take care of my business first.”
He turned and demanded, “Who the hell are you?”
I hadn’t intended to do it the hard way, but the things I’d heard about him kind of brought it out.
“I’m the guy who’s going to kick your butt all over this office if you don’t answer some questions.”
He froze up. He knew I was serious, but he didn’t know who I was or why I was there.
That’s when he made a mistake.
He decided he knew who I was or, at least, who had sent me.
“You from Gordie?” he asked.
“I’ll ask the questions, Danny,” I told him.
“Look, tell Gordie I did like he told me, but I didn’t know somebody was going to get killed. I don’t want to get involved — ”
“Shut up!” I snapped. I decided to play along with him. If he thought I was from some guy named Gordie, then that’s who I was from.
“You guys don’t mind playing along as long as the money’s big and the risk is small, but as soon as somebody’s foot gets stepped on, you want out.”
“Look, I didn’t sign on for murder,” he complained.
“What did you sign up for, Danny?”
“For a career, damnit! I just wanted the good mounts, and now I’m getting them — on my own! I don’t need Gordie’s help anymore!”
“What happens if the mounts stop coming?” I asked.
“What?”
“They can stop coming just as easily as they started coming, Danny,” I warned him.
Obviously, someone named Gordie had offered to hand him the breaks in his career in exchange for some kind of service. Talent is talent, but it’s useless without opportunities. He was being supplied with the opportunities to show his talent, but whoever the supplier was could cut off that supply as quickly as they turned it on.
And Danny knew it.
He slumped into a chair and stared at the floor sullenly.
“What does Gordie want me to do now?”
“You feel like picking any more fights?”
“With who? Mapes is dead. Besides, I could’ve gotten seriously hurt last time,” he whined. “I would’ve, too, if some guy hadn’t — hey, wait a minute!”
That was it.
He’d made me.
I was blown.
“You ain’t from Gordie.” He stood up, stretching himself to his full sixty-one inches. “You’re the guy who broke up the fight between me and Mapes.”
“That’s right, Danny, but I’m still the guy who’s going to boot you around this room if you don’t talk to me.”
“Shit, man, I ain’t telling you nothing.”
“You’ve told me quite a bit already, haven’t you, Danny boy? All about Gordie, and murder — ”
“I’m leaving,” he stated and proceeded to try and walk past me to the door.
I grabbed his arm and literally threw him back the way he had come. He ended up on top of Spencer’s desk, scattering papers and paraphernalia about the room.
That’s when Spencer chose to enter the office.
“Heah!” he shouted. “What the hell is going on here?” He all but forgot his accent with that last demand.
“I’m having a private conversation with Danny boy, Mr. Spencer. I’d appreciate it if you would leave the room.”
“This is my office,” he told me. “I don’t have to — ”
I turned around and shouted, “Get the hell out!”
The next thing I knew I was being pushed into him from behind. While we attempted to disentangle ourselves, Aiello took off out the door like a mugger with a cop on his tail.
“Damn!” I pushed past the old man and took off after the kid.
The jockey had short legs, but man he could motor. I wasn’t gaining any ground on him and was, in fact, losing ground when he turned to see how close or far I was and ran smack into the side of one of the biggest horses I’d ever seen. If it had been any bigger the little guy might have run right under it. As it was he went down like a felled tree and landed on his back, but his adrenaline must have enabled him to get back up as quickly as he did and start running again considerably slower than before and in not quite as straight a course.
He was stunned, but his little legs were still moving. I was gaining on him now and people were turning to stare.
His head must have cleared some because just as I was almost on him he accelerated again and pulled away. He leaped a short fence and I followed and suddenly we were two thoroughbreds, running on the Island Downs training track.
We were running down the backstretch toward the turn when I realized that I was in better shape than he was, I had more staying power. I still felt pretty fresh, but his strides were shortening up. He was the sprinter and I was the closer.
As we broke out of the turn into the stretch, I knew I was going to catch him before we reached the finish line, and it gave me the exhilaration a rider must feel when he’s pounding down the stretch and knows he’s got the front runner measured.
I guess I must have gotten carried away by where we were because once I caught up to him, I just kept going past him until I crossed the finish line. I turned and was waiting for him when he crossed it. Second, and dead last.
He lost his balance and fell to the ground, trying desperately to catch his breath.
“You lose, Danny,” I told him. I was panting too, but was still on my feet. He was all in. That’s what you get for letting a horse do all of your running for you.
“W-what do you want, man?” he gasped.
“I want some answers, Danny. I want to know who Gordie is, and where he is. Is that the guy I saw you with before your fight with Eddie Mapes? Did he put you up to it?”
He tried to speak, but ended up just nodding breathlessly.
“Gordie — Gordie said he didn’t want Mapes to have his mind on racing for a while. He told me to keep digging — digging at him for — for being on Donero’s payroll.”
“And who killed him?”
“Man, I don’t know that. All I know is that Gordie told me that if I — if I played along with him and kept harassing Mapes he’d make — make sure I got some good mounts.”
“What’s Gordie’s last name?”
“I don’t know,” he answered. Nobody was around, so I stepped in and kicked him in the side. He must have had a stitch in that side from all the running, because he jumped and yelped more than the actual kick was worth.
“I swear, he never told me his last name or how to get in touch with him. I swear, man!”
That could have been the truth.
“C’mon, get up,” I told him.
“W-why? W-where are we going?”
“We’re going for a ride, Danny, to see a friend of mine who wants to talk to you.”
“I can’t. I’ll lose my mounts. I gotta ride today,” he complained.
I reached down, grabbed him by the arm and yanked him to his feet.
“Not today you don’t, Danny boy. Today you talk, you don’t ride.”
I took him to see Diver.