Puss 'N Cahoots

screaming match at Kalarama’s barn, you pointed a finger at her and said, ‘I know about you.’” Charly’s face was blank. Booty continued, “A comment like that stays with people. Now, most folks when they heard about it assumed you meant she was sleeping with you. Me, I’m a little different. I investigated. I’ve got more friends than you think.”
    “If you pay them enough,” Charly hissed through gritted teeth.
    Booty leaned right toward him and lied through his teeth to shake up Charly. “She worked as a call girl before she hit it big. Worked in New York City and Los Angeles.”
    Charly, with a vicious left hook, hit Booty like thunder.
    Rocked back on his feet, Booty instantly crouched low, then sprang up in Charly’s face. He hit him in the mouth, loosening a tooth.
    As blood trickled from Charly’s mouth, he blocked another blow from the slighter man, then smashed him hard with a punishing straight right to his gut, followed by a left uppercut.
    Booty sprawled on the ground but made no more attempt to defend himself.
    Charly straddled him, daring him to raise up. “Get up, you slimy bastard.”
    “Before you hit me again, let me drop this tidbit into your overheated brain. If you don’t take it down tonight just a notch, a tiny notch, Charly, then I go to the press about Renata’s past and about stealing her own horse for publicity.”
    “I’ll kill you first.”
    Booty, still down, looked at his expensive watch. “Got about two hours to do it. After that we’ll be pushing those clients into the ring.”
    Charly stepped back and Booty got up, sauntering off, although he did rub his jaw.
    Miss Nasty trundled after him as Spike called down,
“Your days are numbered, Nasty. Every cat on this show grounds hates your guts.”
    “Oh la.”
She lifted her shoulders insouciantly and kept right on truckin’.
    Carlos, who’d heard the crunch of fist on jaw, waited until Booty left the barn, then walked into the changing room where Charly was massaging his hand.
    Charly looked at him. “I will kill that walking piece of feces.”

J oan felt like she stood at a turnstile, so many people passed through Barn Five, most of them clients, friends of clients, prospective clients. By five-thirty, even before the greatest crush of people, she felt slightly wilted.
    “I’ll do the shake-and-howdy for twenty minutes,” Harry offered. “You sneak off and drink a nice tall iced tea with a sprig of mint. That will refresh your spirits.”
    Joan wryly smiled. “You sound like my mother.”
    “How is Mother?”
    “Hasn’t spoken to me since she learned about the pin.” Joan brightly smiled as another person came forward. “Well, Mr. Thompson—”
    “John, please.”
    “This is Mrs. Haristeen, and there are drinks and sandwiches in the hospitality room. Dad will be here shortly.”
    The square-built, middle-aged man smiled back. “Thank you.”
    As he walked into the room, Joan whispered, “Looking for a roadster. Dad called me and told me he’d be here probably before Dad and Mom got here. I don’t have but so many roadsters. That’s Dad’s thing.”
    From time to time, Paul enjoyed donning the silks to whiz around the ring, although he’d decided to take it easy this Shelbyville, which proved a prescient decision.
    As if on cue, both women looked down toward Charly’s barn by the practice ring. They saw Charly, his hand wrapped in Vetrap, a sky-blue thin ice pack underneath. He and Renata stood just outside the barn to the side.
    “Hmm.” Joan squinted. “Looks intense.”
    Harry noticed their shoulders raised up, faces flushed. “Yes, it does.”
    Spike, sitting behind them on the grass for a breath of fresh air, heard the whole thing.
    “Shouldn’t you put that in a bucket of ice?”
    “I need to use my hand, Renata. Remember, there’s only Carlos. The rest of the help ran like rabbits when INS raided.”
    “Guess I would, too.” She reached for his hand, gently looking at it. “Good you put the Vetrap on, it will keep the swelling down. Charly, how can you ride like this?”
    “I have to. I have to win.” His chest expanded and he breathed hard, for it hurt even to have her hold his hand. “Look, this can’t wait. I have to know something. Did you work as a call girl in New York and L.A.?”
    Stunned, she stammered, “No. I was a messenger. I rode a bike. Whatever gave you that idea?”
    “Booty. When I threatened you Wednesday and said, ‘I know about you,’ he