Puss 'N Cahoots

it?”
Pewter thought the monkey was a blowhard.
    “What she knows.”
Mrs. Murphy glanced over her shoulder as Miss Nasty hung from the light fixture with one hand and made an obscene gesture with the other.

T he acrid smoke frightened many of the horses. Trainers and grooms did their best to comfort the animals. None of this boded well for those who needed to perform tonight, the last night.
    The black billowing smoke spiraled upward as the firemen pumped water onto the van and the sizzling debris. Little by little the cloud flattened out, the flames subsided, but the smell of burned rubber and upholstery remained.
    Fair called Larry, who was back at Kalarama working a horse from a jog cart, a light sulky used to develop an animal’s stamina. Saddlebred training, like any type of equine training, demanded patience, knowledge, and a variety of methods. Harry didn’t need a jog cart, since she could throw her leg over a horse and jog for miles across country. Saddlebred trainers worked on their farms, using outdoor tracks and indoor arenas. They rarely rode across country. Fair reassured Larry that everything was all right in Barn Five and that he, Harry, and Manuel and the other grooms would do whatever was necessary to calm the horses.
    “Need to tranq?” Harry asked when Fair clicked off the cell.
    “Let’s see what we can do without,” Fair told Harry and Manuel. “Hate to tranquilize them before a show, even if it is hours early.”
    With Mrs. Murphy, Pewter, and Tucker tagging along, the humans began visiting each stall.

    Before Charly and Booty walked back to their barns, Ward pulled them aside. “I’m taking the big risk.” He sneezed violently, and they moved farther away from the smoke. “It was my van, not yours, so someone knows.”
    “Don’t jump to conclusions,” Booty counseled.
    “Easy for you to say. Not your van.”
    “We’ll get you another van,” Charly volunteered, patting Ward’s shoulder once. “Blessing in disguise. You collect insurance. We buy you a brand-new,
reliable
van. Everyone’s happy.”
    Ward’s mouth twitched slightly. “It’s got to be a three-way equal split. I’m the one carrying the freight. You two aren’t. I’m the one with your workers still at my farm, Charly.”
    “We make the deals.” Booty ran his hand over his hair. A thin, dark sheen appeared on his palm, which he wiped on his jeans.
    “Soot,” Charly generously said, checking his own hair. “Ward, I understand your position. But Booty and I have the contacts. We make the payment to our man in Texas.”
    “Your man or an independent operator?” Ward’s eyebrows rose.
    “Independent.”
    “See, I don’t think that’s quite the way it goes.” Ward was upset—after all, he or Benny or both could have been blown to bits. “I think Jorge was the go-between.”
    A moment passed, then Booty said, “He was sure helpful, but there’s someone in Texas. We told you when we agreed to do business to let us,” he nodded toward Charly, “take care of the setups, the pickups. You make the deliveries.”
    “I run my van to Memphis or Louisville. Hell, one time I had to go to St. Louis. I’m smart enough to know the rivers prove safer passage than roads, but I still make the last trip on the roads to pick up the boys off the river. It’s me that will get stopped, not you. And I’m telling you, someone’s on to us.”
    “I still say your van blowing up and burning could have been faulty wiring.” Booty avoided the main question.
    Charly said, “Booty, it was a bomb. I’d bet my life on it.”
    Churlish since he was being contradicted, Booty spat, “Let’s hope you don’t have to.”
    “No, it’s me that’s betting my life. If I have to take this risk, I want an equal third. If not, I’m out,” Ward said.
    “Out where?” Booty crossed his arms over his chest.
    “In for a penny, in for a pound.” Charly said this in a lighthearted manner.
    “How do I know you won’t run to the feds to save your skin?” Booty’s eyes narrowed.
    “Don’t be an ass, Booty.” Ward, emotions close to the surface, raised his voice.
    “Shhh, shhh.” Charly held his palms out toward the ground and made a slowing motion.
    “Dammit!” Booty did keep his voice low.
    “If I turned tail, if I double-crossed you all, I’d be in the slammer. They wouldn’t let me walk free. Plea-bargaining is a crock of shit. I’d still get it.” Ward’s voice was urgent, worried.
    “Not as many