Puss 'N Cahoots

years,” Booty shot back.
    “I don’t want any years. As I see it this is a needed business, supply and demand.”
    “Got that right.” Charly agreed with Ward, which he hoped would help defuse the situation.
    “The fact that this is illegal is ridiculous. The laws will change.” Ward also lowered his voice. “They must. White folks ain’t doin’ this work.” He half-smiled. “But in the meantime, we’re breaking the law. I’ll pay for it. You two will be safe. ’Course, while I’m in the slammer, maybe Congress will figure out a way to make these guys legal. Then you two have a head start on an upright business while I’m punching out license plates.”
    “If whoever blew up your van is the same person who killed Jorge,” Charly hooked his thumb into his belt loop, “Booty and I won’t be safe. I’ve been thinking about that.”
    “You think too much.” Booty, exasperated, threw up his hands. “Looks to me like Jorge’s regrettable murder was a crime of passion.”
    “You think a woman slit his throat?” Ward was incredulous.
    “No, a brother, another lover. Too violent.” Booty pondered this. “Too violent to just be business.”
    “Never stopped the Mafia.” Charly stated the obvious, which only made Booty angrier. Charly noticed and added, “But you might have a point.”
    Booty checked out the firemen, the sheriff. “We need to wrap up this meeting. I need to get to my horses. My advice, especially to you, Charly, is for God’s sake don’t mention a bomb. Let them figure it out. If it is, we’ll think of something else and try to find out what’s going on. Maybe Ward’s right, maybe someone is on to us.”
    “What I can’t fathom is, why try to scare us? That’s what drug czars do. Doesn’t fit.” Charly stifled his worry, hoping it wouldn’t show on his face.
    “Fit or not, one man is dead, my van is cinders.”
    “We’ll buy you a new van.” Charly repeated this as though to a child.
    “An equal third and a van.” Ward looked each man square in the eye, then returned his gaze to his van.
    “Charly and I need to talk about it.” Booty played for time.
    “Now or never, Booty. I’m not the fool you take me to be.”
    “I say we let him in as an equal partner. He’s proven himself these last two years, and he does risk more,” Charly paused, “initially.”
    Booty was livid that, as he saw it, Charly had given in, but he agreed through gritted teeth. “Fine.”
    “And we’d better start sniffing around.” Ward’s shoulders dropped a little, he’d been so tense. “You might be next.”
    “Shit.” Booty spat on the ground.
    “Booty, don’t be so sure you won’t wind up with your throat slit. We’re all marked, I swear it.” Ward’s voice wavered slightly.
    “Oh, hell, Booty will be killed by his ex-wife. She’ll start lower with the knife, then work her way up to his throat.” Charly couldn’t suppress a laugh.
    “Kill Miss Nasty, too,” Ward, enjoying Booty’s sudden look of discomfort, added.

A s the smoke slowly dissipated, the horses calmed down. No matter what happens, even in war, horse chores must get done. Manuel kept everyone moving once the worst had passed, so Fair and Harry could attend to other things.
    No sooner had Fair stepped out of Barn Five than Booty waved for him to come over to his barn. Miss Nasty, on his shoulder, waved, too. “Mare cast.”
    Fair strode toward the barn, daylight so bright he squinted. “Harry, shouldn’t take long,” he called over his shoulder.
    A horse who is cast has laid down in his or her stall and can’t get up again. Sometimes it’s foolishness; they literally get stuck in a corner and then become frightened. Other times, they’re down and appear cast but are sick, even though they showed no prior signs of illness. You didn’t know until you got into the stall with the horse.
    Booty, taking no chances, for it had already been a bad day from his point of view, hailed Fair.
    If the horse was simply cast, the men could raise her up. Even then, Booty wanted Fair to examine her. She’d probably flopped down in a fit over the smoke, fire, and hollering.
    Harry, left to her own devices, headed toward the practice ring, then noticed it was empty. Given the proximity of the incinerated van, that made sense.
    People were working their horses in the main show ring with the blessing of the fairground officials.
    In an impromptu meeting, the officials, some on a speakerphone, deliberated