to get started. I had a pad and a couple of pencils and two racing forms in my pockets. I started for the door.
Jimmy called after me. “Now remember, don’t take any markers except those I okay.
And don’t forget to call if you can’t get back on time.”
“All right, Jimmy,” I said, and stepped out the door. The street was bright and hot. It was nearly eleven o’clock and it was going to be a scorcher. I looked at the address book Jimmy had given me. The first stop was a garage on Tenth Avenue and Sixty-third Street. I walked there. I was supposed to ask for a guy named Christy.
I walked in past a couple of cars and it was cool in there. A big black man was washing a car. “Where’s Christy?” I asked him.
“Ah’m Christy,” he answered. “Whadda yuh want?” “I’m from Jimmy Keough,” I said.
He put down the hose. “Got the dope sheet?” he asked. “Sure,” I replied and gave it to him.
He took it and called: “Hey, Joe, the book is here.”
I felt good; he called me the book. At last I was getting somewhere. From out of the darkness somewhere in the back of the garage another black man appeared. He looked at me curiously for a moment then went over to Christy. Together they studied the sheet. I leaned against a car while they made up their minds. Finally, Christy called me over. I walked over, sat down on the running board of the car, and took out the pencil and paper.
He spoke to Joe. “Partners on everything today, hunh?” “Un-hunh,” Joe said.
Christy turned to me. “Okay, boy. Heah is ouah bets. Tomorrow youah boss is broke.” I laughed. “Go ahead and break him. He can afford it.”
They laughed at that.
“Gimme fifty cents on Docket and Red Rose for the daily double,” Christy said, “and fifty cents win and place on Garage-man. That’s a hunch,” he explained to me.
“Sounds good to me,” I said professionally.
“Yeanh, it ought to pay a good price too. Ran out of the money the last three times.
And fifty cents place on Red Rose.” He stopped. “That all? “I asked.
“Thass all for today.” He laughed. “But you bring aroun’ a barr’ful a dough tomorrow and we’ll go you hot and heavy.” He handed the sheet back to me.
“Well, if I need any help in toting it over, I can always call you up and you’ll come for it in a truck,” I said.
“Anytime, boy, anytime!” He laughed and handed me two dollars. I stuck them in my pocket carefully.
“See you tomorrow, fellas,” I said and walked out.
My next stop was at the delivery entrance of a loft building on Sixty-second Street. There was a big loading platform raised about three feet off the ground. Two trucks were backed up against it. Several men were sitting around eating sandwiches and smoking. I walked over to one of them. He was eating a big dill pickle.
“D’ ya know Al Andrews?” I asked him.
“That’s him over there against the elevator door,” he said, pointing with his pickle to a tall man.
“Thanks,” I said, walking over to Andrews. “Al Andrews?” I asked.
The man nodded his head.
“I’m from Jimmy Keough,” I said.
“Come in here,” he said. “I don’t want the boss to see me.”
I followed him into the corridor, then into the men’s room. I gave him the sheet. He took it and, unbuttoning his pants, went into one of the stalls and sat down.
After a few minutes he spoke. “I don’t like nothin’ today!” I laughed. “There’s a winner in every race.”
“But not for me,” he said. “Every dog I played last week is still running.” “Maybe you’re due for a change in luck today,” I said hopefully.
“Maybe,” he said, doubtfully, looking at the sheet. Another few minutes passed. Then he said: “Tell you what. Gimme a dollar place on Smoothie in the second race, if two to win on Short Stop.”
I wrote it down. “Anything else?” I asked.
He looked at the sheet for a few minutes more as if it were a crystal ball. He shook his head and
Jimmy called after me. “Now remember, don’t take any markers except those I okay.
And don’t forget to call if you can’t get back on time.”
“All right, Jimmy,” I said, and stepped out the door. The street was bright and hot. It was nearly eleven o’clock and it was going to be a scorcher. I looked at the address book Jimmy had given me. The first stop was a garage on Tenth Avenue and Sixty-third Street. I walked there. I was supposed to ask for a guy named Christy.
I walked in past a couple of cars and it was cool in there. A big black man was washing a car. “Where’s Christy?” I asked him.
“Ah’m Christy,” he answered. “Whadda yuh want?” “I’m from Jimmy Keough,” I said.
He put down the hose. “Got the dope sheet?” he asked. “Sure,” I replied and gave it to him.
He took it and called: “Hey, Joe, the book is here.”
I felt good; he called me the book. At last I was getting somewhere. From out of the darkness somewhere in the back of the garage another black man appeared. He looked at me curiously for a moment then went over to Christy. Together they studied the sheet. I leaned against a car while they made up their minds. Finally, Christy called me over. I walked over, sat down on the running board of the car, and took out the pencil and paper.
He spoke to Joe. “Partners on everything today, hunh?” “Un-hunh,” Joe said.
Christy turned to me. “Okay, boy. Heah is ouah bets. Tomorrow youah boss is broke.” I laughed. “Go ahead and break him. He can afford it.”
They laughed at that.
“Gimme fifty cents on Docket and Red Rose for the daily double,” Christy said, “and fifty cents win and place on Garage-man. That’s a hunch,” he explained to me.
“Sounds good to me,” I said professionally.
“Yeanh, it ought to pay a good price too. Ran out of the money the last three times.
And fifty cents place on Red Rose.” He stopped. “That all? “I asked.
“Thass all for today.” He laughed. “But you bring aroun’ a barr’ful a dough tomorrow and we’ll go you hot and heavy.” He handed the sheet back to me.
“Well, if I need any help in toting it over, I can always call you up and you’ll come for it in a truck,” I said.
“Anytime, boy, anytime!” He laughed and handed me two dollars. I stuck them in my pocket carefully.
“See you tomorrow, fellas,” I said and walked out.
My next stop was at the delivery entrance of a loft building on Sixty-second Street. There was a big loading platform raised about three feet off the ground. Two trucks were backed up against it. Several men were sitting around eating sandwiches and smoking. I walked over to one of them. He was eating a big dill pickle.
“D’ ya know Al Andrews?” I asked him.
“That’s him over there against the elevator door,” he said, pointing with his pickle to a tall man.
“Thanks,” I said, walking over to Andrews. “Al Andrews?” I asked.
The man nodded his head.
“I’m from Jimmy Keough,” I said.
“Come in here,” he said. “I don’t want the boss to see me.”
I followed him into the corridor, then into the men’s room. I gave him the sheet. He took it and, unbuttoning his pants, went into one of the stalls and sat down.
After a few minutes he spoke. “I don’t like nothin’ today!” I laughed. “There’s a winner in every race.”
“But not for me,” he said. “Every dog I played last week is still running.” “Maybe you’re due for a change in luck today,” I said hopefully.
“Maybe,” he said, doubtfully, looking at the sheet. Another few minutes passed. Then he said: “Tell you what. Gimme a dollar place on Smoothie in the second race, if two to win on Short Stop.”
I wrote it down. “Anything else?” I asked.
He looked at the sheet for a few minutes more as if it were a crystal ball. He shook his head and
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