Chapter Twenty Two

By Chris Fulmer

"Well, here we are," Buck said, easing his car into the parking lot of Cedar Creek Park.

"We're going to win some serious coin, right UB?" Miles quipped from the back seat.

"Well, actually Miles, we're not here to gamble," Buck said, secretly wishing he could be able to do just that. "We're just here to watch a horse I'm following try and win. Now we're only going to be here for the one race, and then I'm going to drop you two off and work out some other business I'd like to do before the day's over. And remember, nothing to your mom and dad, right?"

"Right," Maizy gave him the thumbs up.

"Good," Buck parked the car in the nearest open spot to the park entrance. He waited until the tailpipe had backfired again (this sent a horse being led across the lot nearby galloping off in fright, climbing over surrounding cars as it went and causing tons of damage to them) before getting out. He had been wedged so tightly into the window that it had taken the fire department four minutes to cut him out. Fortunately he had been able to get away without Vernon noticing and had made it to the park just in time for the Simmons Editorial Handicap.

"What we've got to do now is find my pal Roger," he told his niece and nephew as he led them toward the main gate. "He's got the..."

"Hey Buck, over here," came Roger's voice from the other end of the entrance tunnel.

"Nice to see you, Rog," Buck trotted over and shook his pal's hand.

"I was started to get a little worried, it's ten minutes till post time," Roger said. He noticed Miles and Maizy. "So you brought the family with you for the big one?"

"I didn't have much choice, Roger, I couldn't find anyone to take them for me," Buck explained. "Their parents don't know, it's best if they don't know, and in fact, don't tell Chanice about this either."

"Works for me," Roger handed his pal a ticket. "This certifies that you are going to make a few bucks off Ughughimdyingyouidiot. He drew the eight post yesterday, so he'll be starting from the outside, there's ten horses going in all. All you have to do is head over to the pari-mutuels and cash it in."

"Uh, I'm not betting anything Roger," Buck told him. "Remember how yesterday I..."

"So there you are!" came a gruff voice from near the track. Rocco Miller was striding over, racing program clenched firmly in fist. He was a very large man, fatter than Buck, and his bald head glistened in the afternoon sun. He ran a lottery ticket shop in the inner city, and Buck frequently bought tickets off him when he got the chance, which recently with his job and family responsibilities had become fewer and fewer. "I've been waiting all afternoon for you," he addressed Buck as he came up alongside him.

"You said you'd be..." his eyes fell upon Miles and Maizy. "What are they doing here?" he asked, rather stern.

"I had no choice, Rocco, I couldn't get someone to look after them," Buck told him. "Say, are you still open to handling my bills, 'cause I got a couple I haven't gotten around to doing yet." He took several bills from under his coat.

"Sure, sure," Rocco took them from him, "although it'll take a while longer with you not around as much. How's that job of yours been lately?"

"It's a bit challenging, but it's money," Buck said. "I pretty much had to come here today, though, because the boss cut into my pay for tomorrow."

"That's corporate America for you," Rocco commented. "I'm glad you're here, though, because otherwise, I'd have to listen to Lloyd going on about how his wife left him, and..."

"Rosemary left him!?" Buck asked, surprised.

"She said she couldn't stand living with an out-of-work drunk anymore," Rocco explained. "He doesn't seem to care too badly, though, he's too drunk anyway."

"Here he comes now," Roger pointed over to the restrooms, where a tall, clearly inebriated man was being helped over by a heavyset, graying, bearded black man. "Buck, you made it!" the drunk cried out in a thick Scottish accent.

"Yeah," Buck said. "So I hear Rosemary cleared out."

"Ah, who needed her anyway?" the drunk shrugged. "All she ever did was criticize me with, 'Lloyd Quinlan, you wretched scourge, how dare you lie around the house all day, drinking your life away, while I slave to make a living for both of us!' It'll be a relief to be able to come home from the club and not have to listen to her rantings."

"Sure," Buck said, shaking his head. "How much did he have to drink, George?" he asked the black man.

"About five glasses," the black man said. "I got him to drink four coffees; he'll be fine as long as he doesn't have any more today."

"I hate to think how much I'd have if Chanice ever left me," Buck said, shivering inside at the thought of that prospect. Seeing the kids were studying the newcomers, he said, "Oh, I'd like you to meet my niece and nephew; Miles, Maizy, this is George Patchko, he runs a bar on the North Side, and this Lloyd Quinlan, he's the golf pro at the club I golf at."

"Pleasure to meet you laddies," Lloyd said, tipping his fedora to Miles and Maizy before keeling out of George's hands to the ground.

"He plays golf like this?" Miles asked, looking unsure.

"Well, usually he's a lot more sober than this," Buck said, helping pick Lloyd up off the ground. "He tends to only drink a lot during the winter, when the golf course is shut down and he doesn't have a job."

"He's been at it for the last twenty years he has," Rocco commented sarcastically, gesturing toward Lloyd, who was now snoring loudly in Buck's arms. "Thinks alcohol can make the world's problems just go away for him."

"Looks like it's getting close to post time, so we'd better go take our seats," Roger said, glancing at the clock on the nearby wall.

"What's post time mean?" Maizy asked.

"That's when the horses are supposed to get into the starting gate," Buck told her.

"What do they do before that?"

"Well, right now, they're all in the paddock, that's that big shed row over on the far side," Buck pointed across the track. "In there, they get their saddles put on, and have that big cloth with the number on it so the judges can tell which horse is which gets put on their sides, and once that's all done the jockeys come out and get on them, and when the guy in the red suit out there on the backstretch blows his bugle, they all come out on the track and walk up to the starting gate and start racing."

"How do they pick which gate they start in?" Miles asked as they all climbed up into the grandstand.

"Blind draw. They basically just pick the horses' names out of a hat." They took seats in the middle of the grandstand, just underneath the roof. The bugle called out and the first of the horses began streaming onto the track.

"I'm going to go get some soda," Buck announced, laying his stuff down on his seat, "You kids need anything?" They shook their heads. "Okay, I'll be back."

"I'd like to come too," George said, rising up from his seat.

"Sure thing, George," Buck said. "What's on your mind?"

"I've been little worried about you lately, Buck," George said as they trotted off toward the concession stands. "You've been spending so much time at work and with the family lately, it's been hard for us all to get together as much anymore. And I mean, they seem like nice kids and all, but..."

"What are you saying George? That you think I'm abandoning you all?" Buck frowned.

"I don't, although Rocco does," George commented. "It's just that, well, we used to go everywhere together, does everything, and now you're not around as much. It gets a little lonely without you to liven things up. I mean, the Saturday night crowd at the bar isn't the same without you sitting at the counter cracking jokes all night long."

"You miss me that much, huh? Well, George, I'd be lying to you if I didn't say that I missed going, but I've got a responsibility to the family. It's a burden at times, true, but I..."

Just then the track's PA system roared to life. "Your attention please, due to unforeseen circumstances, Ughughimdyingyouidiot has been scratched from the Simmons Editorial Handicap. Thank you."

"WHAT!!??" Buck and George exclaimed at the same time. They raced over to the rail. "Steward, what's with the scratch!" Buck asked the nearest one.

"Ughughimdyingyouidiot's jockey was run over by another horse," the steward explained, "and there's no backup jockey available. Sorry gentlemen."

"Sure thanks," Buck sighed. "Do you believe that!?" he mused to George as they trudged back to their seats, "I take time away from my schedule for this and then the horse doesn't even get to race!"

"That's horse racing for you, my friend, one moment they're the favorite, the next they're broken down," George shrugged.

"Hey what's going on!?" Rocco shouted from the grandstand.

"Jockey got hurt," George called up to him.

"DAMN IT!!" Rocco stormed down the stairs and over to the pari-mutual stands.

"I hope he doesn't try to kill the bookie like he did that time last March when the horse ran into the starting gate and got knocked senseless," Buck said as they squirmed their way through the crowd back to their seats. "Jockey got run over," he called over to the rest of the party.

"Can't they just get a backup jockey, UB?" Miles asked him.

"Can't do that Miles. You need a small, light guy to ride a horse and those kind of guys are few and..." it was as he glanced around while saying this that Buck noticed something very disturbing.

"Hey guys, where's Maizy?" he asked the group.

"Uh..." Miles looked around, "she was here just a minute ago, UB."

"Oh God, not here, not now!" Buck slapped his face.

"Sorry Buck, we really weren't paying attention," Roger admitted, "We were talking..."

"Never mind, never mind," Buck waved him off. "Just keep a eye on Miles for me. "I'm going to search the food stands and bathrooms. If she comes back to her seat, give me a yell."

He turned and raced down the grandstand stairs. "Cindy's going to kill me!" he groaned to himself as he rushed for the women's bathroom. He stuck his head in the door. "Maizy, are you in here?" he called out.

"PERVERT!" screamed a women to his left. She whacked him with her handbag.

"No, no, you don't...I'm not...!" Buck protested.

"GET OUT OF HERE!" she shouted, hitting him several more times.

"Okay, okay!" Buck backed out of the bathroom. He raced next over to the concession stand he'd been meaning to visit earlier. "Hey Gary, did you see my niece!?" he asked the man on duty, "She's about seven, brown hair, red coat."

"Nope, sorry Buck," the man told him.

"Thanks anyway," Buck ran off. "Maizy!" he yelled out loud, hoping she'd be in the thick crowd surrounding him. There was no reply. A thought crossed his mind: could she have possibly gone to the barn area to visit the horses? He raced off in that area. Running inside Barn Number One, he ducked his head under the first stall on the left. "Maizy?" he called into it. The horse in the stall kicked him in the face, sending him reeling across the barn in a daze.

"Hey, what the hell are you doing back here!?" demanded one of the grooms nearby, "The barn is for authorized personnel only!"

"I'm looking for my niece. Have you...?"

"Ladies and gentlemen, it appears that Ughughimdyingyouidiot has found another jockey after all and is now headed for the gate," announced the PA guy. Buck frowned. It couldn't be Maizy he meant...could it? He rushed over toward the track. Pushing his way through a crowd at the rail near the top of the stretch, he glanced down the track.

Ughughimdyingyouidiot, a chestnut colt with the pink #8 saddlebag flapping in the wind, was galloping toward the starting gate where the other horses were being loaded for the race. A half dozen stewards and grooms were giving it chase, without much success. Its rider was wearing jockey silks...but was clearly a seven-year-old girl. Buck's jaw dropped in horror. "OH MY GOD!!!!" he gasped and ran like hell for the starting gate.

"Maizy Russell, what the hell do you think you're doing out there!?" he shouted out at her once he reached it.

"Hi Uncle Buck!" Maizy waved to him as she steered Ughughimdyingyouidiot into gate number 8.

"Get off that horse this minute, or your mother will have...!" Buck was cut off by the starting bell ringing. The starter, apparently not noticing Ughughimdyingyouidiot's jockey was underage, had hit the button to open the gate once the horse was in place, and the field tore down the track as the announcer roared, "And they're off in the thirty-eighth Simmons Editorial Handicap!"

"MAIZY!!!!" Abandoning all logic, Buck jumped over the rail and began chasing after his niece. "Come back here!" he screamed over the din of the horses' hooves, "You don't know how to ride a horse!"

Up in the stands, Miles, who had been leafing through the program until the starting bell had rung, looked down at the field and frowned. "What's UB doing on the track?" he asked out loud.

Roger jumped up. "Oh my lord, it is him!" he gasped. "What...?"

"Buck's running the race?" Lloyd asked drunkenly from the seat next to him.

"It looks like it, Lloyd."

"Then cancel my bet on Ughughimdyingyouidiot and put all my money on him!"

Down on the track, Buck was quickly running out of steam. He had never been a strong exerciser, and the horses, among the best in Illinois, were driving away from him at about thirty miles an hour. Finally, he came to a stop near the first turn, clutching his hip in agony. "Come back, Maizy," he gasped after the horses, knowing his niece wasn't going to do that. Laying one hand on the rail, he watched the race unfold along with the PA announcer's voice: "And as they head onto the backstretch, it's Pneumatic Tire leading with Prized Pig on his tail, Barry's Fortune drops back to fifth, Captain Video III moves up along the outside; he's moving into third place. Now Prized Pig is sputtering, he drops back into traffic, Shark Bait comes riding up along the rail, Pneumatic Tire closes him off. Captain Video III makes his move along the outside as they approach the top of the stretch, but here comes Ughughimdyinguyouidiot from the pack, he's coming on rather strong..."

"Come on, Maizy, come on," Buck muttered under his breath, seeing his niece move the car up toward the leaders. The shock of the moment over with, he was now noticing that maybe the horse he was rooting for could win after all.

"...as they go into the final turn, Pneumatic Tire is starting to slip, Captain Video III moves up, Ughughimdyingyouidiot jerks up alongside him, now Pneumatic Tire is even with them, and DOWN THE STRETCH THEY COME! Captain Video III sticks his head in front, Ughughimdyingyouidiot is right alongside, Pneumatic Tire drops back. It's Ughughimdyingyouidiot and Captain Video III heading into the final couple of furlongs, and Ughughimdyingyouidiot sticks his head in front..."

"That's it! Good Ughughimdyingyouidiot!" Buck cheered, waving his hat in the air, "Go Maizy go! Bring it home!"

"...he's giving it everything he has! Captain Video III's sliding back as they approach the wire, and it's Ughughimdyingyouidiot, with a last second jockey change by two lengths in the Simmons Editorial Handicap!"

"YES! WE DID IT! WE...!!!" it was at this point that Buck realized the whole field was coming straight at him. He screamed and took off running, the horses breathing right up his back. Frantic, he raced for the outside rail and dove headfirst over it, landing right in a pile of horse droppings. "Oh great, this coat's ruined, but what the hell, we won!" he shouted jumping around in the hazardous material.

"How'd I do, Uncle Buck?" Maizy asked, having ridden Ughughimdyingyouidiot up to the rail.

"Uh, one question Maizy, why'd you do it?" Buck said, giving the horse a triumphant stroking on the nose.

"The horse needed a jockey, so I filled in. You're too nice to lose a race on something like that," Maizy told him.

"Thanks," Buck smiled. "Just don't ever scare me like that again! I thought something bad had happened to you!"

"Now do you really think I'd just run off and leave you here?"

"I guess not," Buck noticed the press corps heading toward them. "Uh, why don't we get going now? I'll drop you and your brother off, and then I'll head on off; there's something else I'd like to do early this evening while I have the chance. And remember, not a word to your mom and dad about this."