Billy’s leg begins to twitch just like that day in Buxbaum’s. “Once I am satisfied with your information, I will make you another offer for how you may pay for the remainder.”
Noemi gives me the barest nod.
“Fine.”
“Now, what is this information?” He cuts an irritated glance at Noemi. “And it better be good.”
“Oh, it’s good,” she says.
“As of this morning, I have been added to the roster.”
“You.” The news seems to suck Billy’s displeasure right out the window. “Well, well. Ain’t you a thief’s bag, full of all sorts of goodies. But I hardly see how that information helps me.”
“There will be no odds taken on my entry.Officialodds, that is.”
A moth of a smile alights on his face. “You ever race before?”
“No, but I know how to ride.”
“And your horse. Is he seasoned?”
“Shehas never raced either.”
“She.” He runs a pointy tongue over his lips, then chuckles. “Well, good.” He shoots a few rounds from his finger guns. “People love a long shot. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have someodds in need of refinement.” He grabs his hat off the hook and wiggles it onto his head.
“But what’s the offer for the rest?”
Billy hardly seems to hear me, smoothing his eyebrows in a looking glass.
Noemi’s reflection joins Billy’s in the mirror. Now that they are side by side, I can see a family resemblance around the pointed cheekbones and square hairline. The eye sees what it wants. “Make her an offer for the balance, you crook,” she says.
“Right.” Turning to me again, he straightens his vest so that the pinstripes running down it are no longer lightning jags. His pupils slide to one corner for a moment as he thinks, and then he scowls so hard, his forehead turns white. “A man I hate has a pony in that race. I hate him for the simple fact that God handed him everything, while He made me bow and scrape for every cent I own.” With quick tucks, he adjusts his sleeve garters. “By all accounts, he operates on penny promises nowadays—there is some justice in the world. Still, I would like nothing more than to see his horse and jockey bested by a pair of females. In fact, his jockey was a patron here until I had to kick him out for being too rough on the ladies.” He straightens his tie, oblivious to the irony in his statement. “You cross the line before them, and you can have your bottle back.”
My shoulders pull at my cloak. “I told you, I am a novice. If I make it around the track, it will be a miracle.”
He grins. “God and I may not see eye to eye”—in one smooth motion, he slips into a rifle-brown frock coat—“but I do believe in miracles.”
I release an effortless exhale. So, I must pull a chestnut from an open fire. At least that horse is not Ameer. God may have handed Merritt everything, but the Payne heir is as wealthy as sin itself. “Who is this horse?”
“His name is Thief.”
Forty-Two
The tincture has kept Old Gin in a foggy but hopefully painless state. But before the sun rises on Friday morning, Old Gin calls out, “Sao Yue.”
“Grandfather?” I fly to his side from my makeshift bed. His eyes are unfocused and wet.
“Sao Yue?”
“No, it’s me, Jo.”
His face falls, as if disappointed by the answer. I help him drink. “Who is Sao Yue?” The words, meaning “graceful moon,” taste sweet on my tongue.
“Your grandmother. Sao Yue gave me a snuff bottle,” he gasps. “A wedding present. Your father pawned it to the turtle egg, wanting to buy something to impress Mrs. Payne, a hair comb, I think. He foolishly thought he had a chance with her. When I found out what he had done, I”—his face crumples a little—“I raised my hand against him. I told him he had shamed our family, and he must leave. I said I didn’t want to see himagain.” His chest collapses, as if the confession has broken something inside, and a thread-y cough starts up.
“Shh, don’t talk.”
He shakes his head. “I hoped, if I could get that peach back, the bats of good fortune might return. Maybe bring my son back with them.” A tear rolls down his cheek, and he turns his face away, as if to hide it.
