Page 24 of Dark Things
“No, why the fuck would I? I also don’t give a shit. She has a pussy and she ain’t racing. Go cry to your Daddy.”
He goes to walk away, but my voice stops him in his tracks.
“This is Pitch, she’ll be riding Black Caviar tonight. You have an issue with it, you can take it up with her. I won’t even suggest calling Stan.”
His back straightens as he spins around, jaw almost to the floor. Reb steps around me, gun in hand.
“I’m sure if you need a demonstration, I can give you one. Or you can shut the fuck up, open the line,and let us race. It’s your choice, though,” she says, with a bright smile on her face.
He stammers a bit before swallowing. “No, Pitch, it’s cool. We’ll just start, okay. Let me get back over to the others. When you’re ready, just get into position.”
He practically runs away, which causes a few of the crowd around us to watch more closely. I’m sure this is why Stan didn’t want anyone to know who was jockeying tonight. Reb tends to make her own statement.
She clicks the safety back on and hands me the gun as we walk Caviar over to the rest of the horses. He starts to do his prance, which is more like a toddler being wrangled into a pair of shoes they don't want to wear.
“Hey, cut it out, fucker. I still need to ride and you are not going to kill me tonight,” she whispers.
I can see the nerves on her. We watched Caviar’s previous jockey’s skull get smashed in by his back hoof. It’s in the top ten things I do not want to witness again.
I give her a leg up, and she flings herself over, grabbing his reins while I grip the bottom lead and take them over to the other horses.
We line up in between the hay barrels one of the guys gestures to. They create a small gate, rising up to around my shoulder height. This does not help Caviar calm at all. His front starts to lift up, but Reb pulls the left rein back a bit and tilts his head. He tries to back up, but I hold firm—not that he couldn’t rip my arm out of its socketif he chose, but he seems to agree this isn’t the time to fuck around.
I unclip the lead and walk back out of the shoot, grabbing Reb’s leg. “You got this. I’ll see you on the other side.Ti amo, gioia mia.”
She mouths back the words before pulling down her goggles and sitting forward, her crop in her right hand. I stand back enough to keep safe, and send up a little prayer to the universe this goes well.
A bell dings, and the horses race into the darkness. My pulse speeds up when I can’t see how she’s doing. I climb up on a barrel on the side of the track, and look out toward the first spotlight. That’s when I see it.
Black Caviar is a blur of movement. His coat matches the night, but his rider is a halo attached to a demon, her white silks standing out among the darker silks of the other jockeys. She’s also almost a furlong in front of the other horses.
I start yelling, cupping my hands. “Get it, Pitch!” She raises her crop and puts her head down, giving Black Caviar enough room to let go. He’s got two speeds, fast and get-the-fuck-out-of-dodge. She just activated second gear.
As they come back to the start, the other horses are so far behind that there won’t be any arguing who won. She crosses the line and lifts onto her feet, fully standing, throwing her arm in the air with three fingers pointed upward. She does this at every race andcompetition. I asked her about it once, and she said it’s her way of thanking whoever is looking out for her. Today on the field when she did it for me, I was a little misty-eyed. She’s never done that for me before.
I run over to where she’s easing her pace and jump into the oval to help Caviar settle. He’ll need to walk a bit to cool off, but I have to reach her.
“Holy fuck; that was awesome,” she screams when I approach. “Who knew this fucking asshole could fly like that? After that first bend it was like the devil was coming to collect this motherfucker. Why in the shit is he not racing for real?”
I laugh, clipping the lead back on Caviar and walking us away from the rest of the crowd. We’ll do a short circle before going back to the trailer.
“Because he can’t pass to get his gate card. Fucker doesn’t understand the race starts after you get into the shoot.”
“Well let me tell you, all that fear I had went out the goddamn window. He’s a fucking dream under me. Like fucking Secretariat or Giacomo dream.”
I smile up and tap her leg. She swings around and lands on my shoulder before doing a flip and dismounting.
“All right, showoff. Let’s go collect, and then I’m taking you home for a bath and maybe some gnocchi. I heard Marc made some this afternoon.”
She pretends to swoon, holding onto my arm for support. “Gnocchi and bubbles? What did I do to deserve you?” she asks.
She unclips her helmet and puts her gloves inside before sticking it under her arms. I want to pull her into me, but if it got back to Stan he’d be in a mood, saying this was business and not the time to fuck around. Not worth it.
Overalls comes over to us, handing me a stack of bills before flinching back when he notices Reb step up. “Nice race, Pitch. Um…hope we see you again. Next time I’ll be betting on you.”
He scurries away, and I pocket the cash. “Jesus, you put the fear of God in that one.”
“What can I say? I make an excellent first impression.” She smiles, all teeth, nothing sweet about it. But that’s my little Pitch. She knows just how to catch her prey.
