Bullet Work by Steve O'Brien

eligible and had a shot at getting a purse. Agents used
it to argue that their boy could ride a certain style or distance,
for which a race had been written.
    Good jock agents knew every horse on the
grounds and were aware who had first call and what kinds of races
each horse was eligible for. A savvy jock agent could look at a
condition book and know which barns and which horses were likely to
enter.
    From that information, the jock agent could,
with remarkable accuracy, predict which jockeys had conflicts. That
was where the jockey had previously ridden two horses that would be
entered in the same race. The jock could only ride one at a time,
so the agent had a pitch to make to one or both trainers. Knowing
the horse and the race, the agent would tailor the pitch for why
his boy would be perfect for that ride.
    The agent would also get the kid over to the
barn early in the mornings to shake hands, smile, laugh, and say,
“Oh, your rider isn’t here yet? Let my guy work your horse this
morning.”
    If the kid was presentable, respectful, and
could ride worth a damn, they had a shot at getting a mount. It
might also take some cold beers after the work day, but day after
day, you chipped away and built relationships to get rides
eventually. If the agent got his kid on a horse, he better ride
hard to keep the mount, or the guy behind him got the next shot.
So, despite the beautiful weather and picturesque racetrack
setting, TP was working.
    So was Lennie. Milt squeezed his way into the
box and over to his seat.
    “Hey, Dan-o,” said Lennie. TP scribbled some
notes and threw his hand back toward Dan to shake. “Good to see
Milt finally found someone to carry his food for him.”
    “Right,” Dan said. “Damn near killed an old
lady with a pizza avalanche up there. Lucky I came along when I
did, Milt, or I’d have to represent you for assault with a deadly
pepperoni.”
    “Screw you guys.” Milt laughed. “You’re just
jealous that I can eat like this and keep my girlish figure.”
    “Got that right, Maj,” said TP.
    Dan glanced at the tote; it was eleven
minutes to post for the fourth race. “Lennie, you see anything in
Hudgins’ horse?”
    “Funny you ask. I’ve been looking at
him.”
    “Who you talking about?” Milt jumped in.
    “Film Star,” Lennie said. “He’s been off for
six weeks. Likes a layoff, though. He’s got the back speed to run
with these guys. Kind of interesting that Hudgins moved him from
fifteen thousand to twenty. The purse differential between Delaware
Park and here makes that almost a double move. One might think he’s
over his head, but he’s shown he can compete.”
    Dan knew that Lennie was too much of a pro to
ask whether Dan had been touted on the horse. Lennie could handicap
a race without the noise of other opinions. His career had proven
him right. Milt, of course, couldn’t hold back.
    “Morgan, what do you know? He’s 7-1. What’s
the deal? Is the fix in?” he said, leaning forward as if Dan was
about to share some unknown clue to a treasure quest.
    “Nothing big, Maj. I’ve got a friend who used
to work in the barn where Film Star was claimed up at Delaware.
Thinks he’s got some talent. I’m going to play him, but, Maj, take
it easy. This is no mortal lock, just a friend who thinks the horse
will run well today.”
    Lennie studied his sheets. “I do like him
coming off a layoff. Only one work and that was okay, nothing
special. At those odds, it’s worth a little action. I’m going to
tie him up with the nine and twelve. The way the track’s been
playing the last few days, I can’t leave those live frontrunners
out.”
    They all got up and headed to the windows. At
the top of the mezzanine stairs they split off and got in separate
betting lines. Dan put twenty across and boxed Film Star with the
nine and twelve as well. Word from Lennie was good enough for
him.
    Milt made it back to the box just as the
horses were loading in the gate. He had a bag of