Run Beautiful Run, page 4
‘Like the cup?’ Tom asked.
‘The Melbourne Cup. There is the ever-popular Ladies’ Day—’
‘What about the uncle?’ Eric didn’t give a crap about fillies in overpriced frocks. He had his eye only on one prize, his job. ‘Is there a Robert, Bob Farley on the list?’
The receptionist glanced at her screen. ‘Oh, he was here all the time.’
‘Are there any lockers inside for the VIP members?’
The receptionist arched an over-plucked eyebrow at them. ‘We’re not a gym. It’s a lounge area, boasting a fine dining menu for patrons to enjoy while overlooking an amazing view of the racetrack.’
The receptionist sounded like a salesman on commission selling a luxury car.
‘Oh, and the loos are classy too.’
‘Choice.’ Tom grinned, nodding that big bald boofhead.
Eric wanted to gag. ‘Thank you for your help.’ He walked away with Tom shadowing him like a Great Dane. ‘Stay.’ Well, what d’ya know the puppy stopped. ‘Stay here and keep an eye out for Miss Fancy Pants. Call me the second you see her. Just don’t lose sight of her, okay?’
‘Why? Where are you going?’
‘To find a way to get inside.’
Seven
Maddison lounged back in the sumptuous leather chair with a grand view of Flemington Racetrack. It was so different from Lou’s Sports Bar. Widescreen televisions were set above the luxurious brass bar. Warm floral scents filled the room from lavish rose bouquets, no doubt from the extensive gardens.
With phone and program before her, Maddison studied the race guide. She read the horses’ bloodlines and past race performances, the jockeys and their riding styles, and the racing track’s condition. All these details added up to the science of placing a bet, according to the teachings of Bob.
She used to annoy him by picking a horse because the colours were pretty, and she liked the name. But today, she was an eager pupil.
‘Bob, you got me here, help me play the game.’
She signalled to the waiter, passing him her forms and credit card. He raced to the bookie’s table and soon returned with her chits and coffee, she settled in to watch the show.
Between sips of coffee, Maddison peered through her binoculars as the horses lined up at the gates.
She checked out their form, like Uncle Bob had shown her many times. After all, this was how Bob did his babysitting; and she’d been accompanying him to the racetrack since she was six.
The bell rang. The gates flung open, and the mighty thoroughbreds leapt forward and were off and racing.
Grass flew behind their hammering hoofs as they rounded the turn in a tight pack. Down the first straight, the field of racers lengthened with a group of six fighting for the lead.
With binoculars glued to her eyes, her horse was nose to nose with another. ‘Come on, do this for Bob.’
She held her breath as they barrelled down the straight, racing to the finish, where her horse gallantly dove through.
‘Yes! A win.’ A bloody big win. She pressed her knuckles against her lips to stop her cheer as the other punters in the room groaned at their loss.
Bob would have been so proud for her pick of the longshot. Would there be enough in the kitty now?
Again, she studied the form and the horses’ history. Placed a few more bets and settled in to watch the next three races. She sipped rich coffee while having a long and luxurious brunch, ending up feeling overfull and sleepy. She was looking forward to napping on the plane.
Maddison approached the bookie’s table, manned by a tall, wiry man with a peaked cap that Uncle Bob would call a classic newsboy cap.
She handed the bookie her chits, biting her bottom lip, hoping she’d made enough in the kitty to leave.
He swore under his breath with his arched eyebrows disappearing beneath his peak cap. ‘Jeez, luv, you had the luck of the Irish today.’ The bookie scratched the back of his head, then readjusted his cap. ‘How do you want to do this? You’re looking at well over twenty thousand in cash here.’
Holy crap! She pinched herself to stay calm and act like this happened every day. ‘I believe there’s a back room that’s used for discreet cash transactions?’
‘Yeah, there is.’ The man squinted his eyes at her. ‘Hey, aren’t you Bob Farley’s niece?’
‘Um … yes.’ Was this the bad bookie? Should she run? Wait, she wanted her winnings first.
‘Bob would be proud of you today with winnings like this.’ He then cleared his throat, while removing his cap. ‘I’m sorry to hear what happened to Bob. I didn’t mind the bloke myself.’
‘Thank you.’ She was surprised by his changed demeanour.
‘Listen, luv, give us a sec and I’ll get ya cash. I’ll get the steward to take you to the back room, if that’s okay?’ He signalled to the steward on the far side of the room.
‘Fine by me.’ She was here for a reason.
‘Listen, luv, are you sticking around for a bit, or are you heading off for the day?’
‘I’ll be leaving as soon as I get my winnings.’
‘Well, seeing as how your Bob’s niece and all, I’ll get one of me lads to escort you to your car.’
‘Why?’ She swallowed hard, gripping the diamond on her necklace.
‘We wouldn’t want anything to happen to you out here, luv, coz this is Bob’s backyard after all.’
She sighed, loosening the tension in her shoulders. ‘Thank you, Bob would be pleased.’
‘The name’s Quid,’ he said with a cheeky grin and a thick Aussie ocker accent. He gave quick instructions to the steward, then spoke to Maddison, ‘Follow the steward and I’ll see you soon, luv.’
‘This way, miss.’ The steward unlocked a side door. Her heels echoed down the slim corridor, where they were greeted by the aromas from the kitchens.
‘Quid will only be a few minutes.’ The steward unlocked the door to a simple square room where a small table and four chairs faced the large window. ‘If you need anything, press that bell and we’ll be right with you.’
‘Thank you.’ Maddison dropped her large red bag on the nearest chair and checked out the window view that stretched beyond the stables.
As soon as the door closed Maddison kicked off her heels, climbed onto the chair, and then the table. She reached for the white ceiling panel above the window, slid it aside and patted around the dusty edges.
She hoped it was still here.
And in a matter of moments, her fingertips brushed against the cold, thick plastic bag. She pulled it down, sneezing at the dust.
‘Gotcha.’ The pouch was heavier than expected.
Bob had explained, in significant detail, all the wonders this thick black waterproof, rodent-proof pouch had to offer, bragging about how much of a bargain it was. And she dumped it straight into her leather handbag, which was loud. Big. Red. And necessary.
Maddison returned the ceiling panel to its place. Climbed down. Dusted herself off as she slipped into her shoes. Pulled out her compact, touched up her lipstick and checked over her appearance. She then stood by the window, clasping her hands together, despite the itch to open Bob’s pouch.
There was a knock on the door a few moments later.
‘Hello there, luv.’ Quid, carrying a leather satchel, was escorted by a dark-skinned man in a navy suit and maroon tie. ‘This is Reggie, he’s part of my security team. Reggie, this is Bob Farley’s niece.’
‘It’s Maddy, isn’t it?’ Reggie asked, with the build of a compact rugby player.
‘Yes, how did you know?’
‘Bob used to talk about you all the time.’ Reggie gave a tentative smile with a slight shrug.
‘Didn’t he just. Well, let’s get to it.’ Quid dumped his satchel on the table and opened its mouth wide.
It was a bag full of cash.
Maddison’s eyes widened. ‘That’s not all for me? Is it?’
Quid nodded.
‘How much is there?’
‘Twenty-three thousand, four hundred and seventy dollars,’ read out Quid, handing her the slip.
‘Shiiiit.’ She cupped her mouth, stunned.
Quid and Reggie chuckled.
‘You’ll need to sign for it.’ Quid held out a pen and paper, all very business-like. ‘Keep the receipt on you in case the coppers want to know what you’re doing with all this cash.’
‘Sure.’ She signed on the dotted line. ‘Did Bob owe you guys any money?’ Bob would be whooping-it-up, dancing on the tables in the bar, shouting everyone drinks with this much cash.
‘Nah, not me, luv. Heard it was the Talbots. I think Bob owed them about six grand?’ Quin said, glancing at Reggie.
‘Is that all?’ Maddison had been told it was a thirty-thousand-dollar debt.
‘Yeah, I heard the same.’ Reggie, again, gave a slight shrug.
‘Is that enough to have someone shot over a gambling debt?’
‘Jeez, luv.’ Quid took a step back, rubbing his neck. ‘We’re bookies, not murderers. No one gets knocked off like that for spare change.’
‘Is that what you got told?’ Reggie asked Maddison.
She nodded. ‘They said Bob’s murder was a message sent to other gamblers to pay their debts.’
‘Jeez, luv, if us bookies did that no one would wanna bet with us or ask us for tick. That’s where we make our money—on the interest. It’s just business. I’ve heard of a few getting a bit of a touch-up, but not murder.’ Quid shook his head. ‘And the Talbots, they had a soft spot for Bob, like most of us.’
‘The Talbot’s wouldn’t knock someone off for six gees,’ said Reggie, so sure of himself.
‘Bob may be what he was, luv, but he always paid his debts,’ said Quid. ‘You know, you can’t get money out of a dead man.’
‘Uncle Bob said the same thing.’ She stared at the cash in confusion.
‘Who told you Bob’s death was over a gambling gig?’ Reggie asked Maddison.
‘The detectives investigating his murder.’
‘They’re full of it,’ blurted out Quid. ‘I’d say them coppers are being lazy and not doing their job.’
Maddison blinked. Why would the police lie?
‘Listen, luv, Bob was a good bloke underneath it all. I didn’t mind the man. He was just down on his luck, is all. Most come good in the end.’
‘Thank you.’ She swallowed down the tears, grateful someone had a kind word to say about her uncle.
Quid nodded, again readjusting his cap. ‘Do you wanna count your cash?’
‘No, I believe you.’ Strangely enough, she believed their side of the story more than what she’d been told by the detectives.
‘Bob never counted his cash either. So, where do you want it then, luv?’
‘In here.’ She opened her red handbag and loaded it up with bundles of cash. ‘For you two, gentlemen.’ She gave them a hundred dollar note each. ‘Thank you for your kindness and for being honest about my uncle, too.’
‘Hey, I couldn’t accept this, luv.’ Quid held up his hands in surrender.
‘Please, have a drink for Uncle Bob sometime. I insist.’
‘Thanks, luv.’ Quid grinned, plucking the cash. ‘It’s been a while since anyone gave me a tip.’
‘Me too. Thank you.’ Reggie slid the cash into his jacket’s inner breast pocket, then opened the door. ‘Now I’ll escort you to your car. If you care to follow me.’
Maddison slung her heavier bag over her shoulder, yet it still looked half empty and was soon guided into the mainstream area of the racetrack.
Moving through the crowds, Reggie glanced back over his shoulder. ‘Did someone come with you today?’
‘No, just me.’ Sad, but true.
‘Did anyone know you were coming out here today?’
‘No, it was all last minute. I thought I’d come and place a few bets in honour of my uncle. This was his favourite place. Why?’ Her grip tightened on the straps of her handbag.
Again, Reggie looked back over his shoulder. ‘What do you think is the real reason that got your uncle murdered like that?’
‘What the—’ She stopped and stared at Reggie. ‘Bob was working on a story. That’s all I know.’ And that’s all anyone knew, even if her handbag felt like a solid block of concrete that contained a ticking bomb.
Reggie stared long and hard at her, taking in all the details. ‘Did anything else happen since his murder?’
‘Um …’ Trapped by his stare, she couldn’t help but answer him. ‘My place got broken into yesterday while I was at Bob’s funeral.’
Reggie again frowned. ‘Did they steal anything?’
‘Not that I’m aware of, but they trashed everything.’ She couldn’t believe she’d spilled so much. She was lousy at this secret-squirrel stuff. ‘Why do you ask?’
‘Don’t panic none, but you’re being followed.’
Eight
‘I’m being followed?’ Maddison gasped, stepping back, but Reggie grabbed her by the elbow as people moved around them like they were stones in a stream. Everything was suddenly too loud, with the clashing chatter of a hundred voices drowned out by the next race being announced over the speakers.
She tried to breathe, but gagged on the overpowering aroma of sun-baked concrete, fragrant roses, and horse dung.
‘Calm down, Maddy, just walk normally.’ Reggie escorted her through the crowds. His grip was strong yet gentle on her arm.
She wanted to stop and see who was following.
‘Don’t turn around. Keep going.’
‘But—’ She glared at him. ‘I want answers.’
‘First, I want to make sure. We’ll wander round for a bit and play the game, okay?’
If it meant her safety … ‘Sure.’
He guided her through the crowds, turning left then right, reaching for his mobile, while pulling Maddison along for the ride. But his face was dead serious.
She was itching to look. ‘Can you see them?’
Facing straight ahead, he replied, ‘Tall man, bald head, wearing a mid-length black leather coat. He’s with a small bloke with Elvis hair.’
‘Elvis hair?’
‘Yeah, you know …’ Reggie let go of her arm to sweep his hand over his black curls. She had to grin with him. ‘Hey, Croco? Reggie here. I’m on the south side near Tammy’s TAB, can you get a visual on me?’ He paused on the phone, stopping in the middle of the walkway. ‘Maddy, pretend you’re checking out the board for the odds on the next race,’ he said, cupping the phone.
Maddison struggled to read the board and act calm while her brain rattled with so many questions.
‘Yeah, you’ve got me … Do me a favour and check out if I’m being tailed by two blokes and ring me back with their descriptions … Cheers.’
‘What are you doing?’ Maddison asked Reggie.
‘I want to be sure. So slow down your pace, keep your eyes ahead, and we’ll aim for your car the long way round.’ Again, he grabbed her elbow and resumed walking. ‘Are you sure you don’t know what your uncle was into?’
She shook her head, as they strolled past the gardens like the tourist groups she’d seen earlier.
‘Who else have you spoken to about your uncle’s murder?’
‘My boss. The detectives. Now you. I can’t believe I’m telling you.’
Reggie gave a crooked grin that soon disappeared. ‘Was that the same detectives who fed you that BS about Bob getting murdered over a gambling debt?’
Oh, my God. ‘Yes. Are you a detective?’
‘No, but I know plenty. When did you see them detectives of yours last?’
‘They were at my apartment after it got broken into, only yesterday.’ Yesterday felt like a week ago.
‘Homicide detectives interested in a break-in? That’s rare, don’t you think? Most coppers wouldn’t bother to show up. They’d send in the uniforms with forensics to dust for prints and log in the job number for the insurance. Are you sleeping with one of them or something?’
‘Hey!’ She stopped and glared at him. ‘They’re regular customers at the bar I work at. They were there when I spoke to my boss, who rang to see if I was okay after my uncle’s funeral. I thought an intruder was still inside my apartment, but the wind had knocked over a vase in my room.’
‘Keep walking, Maddy.’ Reggie expertly steered her around the other punters. ‘Bit convenient, don’t you think, to have the same detectives show up at your place like that? The same ones who told you that BS about the Talbots knocking him off?’
‘What makes you so sure the Talbots didn’t do it?’
He stopped to stand squarely in front of her. ‘I used to work for the Talbots. I used to be that guy who’d go around collecting their money. And the Talbots never ordered me to break a bloke’s finger unless it was over the ten-grand marker. For someone to say your uncle got whacked for a lousy six-gee debt is pissing in your ear.’
Maddison gasped at Reggie as his words hit home.
Reggie’s phone rang. ‘Yeah … You sure? … That’s them, same blokes I pegged. Hey, Croco, do me a favour? … Call the boys on the VIP car park gate and have them create a lockdown for me. I want the lady to make a clean getaway … Thanks, mate, we’ll be there in a few.’
‘Is it true? I’m being followed?’ What freaking nightmare is this?
‘There’s a mirror over my right shoulder, you can check out your tails. You’ll see a tall fella with a bald head?’
She narrowed her eyes at the mirror. ‘I see him. He’s so big. Black coat, with a shaved head that’s shiny under the sun.’
Reggie nodded. ‘Beside him, you’ll see a smaller bloke with dark hair.’
‘Oh, I get the Elvis hair now.’
It made him grin which calmed her down some.
‘Have you ever seen those men before?’
‘No, never.’ She stared at the mirror, committing their faces to memory. The tall guy had big hands that made the racing program look like a sheet of toilet paper. He looked like everyone else who’d come to the track to place a bet.
