get involved,” he said. “I didn’t like the look of those men.”
“So you did see what they looked like?” I said.
He was slightly flustered.
“It’s OK,” I said. “I understand completely. I won’t be describing them to the police either.” One kicking was more than enough, I thought.
I leaned wearily against his car and felt sick, the skin of my face cold and clammy.
“Right,” he said, and he turned on his heel and walked briskly away.
He may not have wanted to get involved, but I still noted down the registration of his car on my notepad. Just in case.
Luca and Betsy were both waiting for me at our pitch in front of the grandstand. By the time I had recovered sufficiently and made my way through to the betting ring, they had set up everything and were sitting on our metal platform in the shade of our large yellow TRUST TEDDY TALBOT umbrella.
“Hello,” I said. “Have any trouble?”
“No,” said Luca. “Traffic was fairly light, really, from Richmond, for a Friday.”
“No problems in the parking lot?” I asked.
“No,” he said. “But I forgot how bloody hard it is to get that trolley across from the center of the course.”
“I’ve just been given a message,” I said to him.
“Where?” he asked.
“In the parking lot behind the stands,” I said.
“Who by?” he said.
“I don’t know,” I said. “Someone who’s not very happy about what happened at Stratford races on Wednesday.”
“What sort of message?” asked Luca with concern.
“Fists and steel toe caps,” I said.
“What!” He seemed genuinely distressed. “Here? In the parking lot?”
I nodded.
“You’re having me on?” he said, but he wasn’t smiling.
“Sadly, I’m not,” I said. “And I could show you my bruised solar plexus to prove it.”
“God,” he said, clearly upset. “I’m so sorry.”
“Why are you sorry?” said Betsy. “You didn’t do it.”
“Shut up, Betsy,” said Luca sharply, clearly annoyed.
“Don’t talk to me like that,” she whined at him.
“Then don’t say such stupid things,” he said to her. He turned back to me. “Ned, I’m really sorry. Are you OK?”
“I’ll live,” I said without much warmth. It would do no harm, I thought, for Luca to realize that his little games had consequences, some of which were decidedly unpleasant, and not just for him.
Betsy went off towards the grandstand in a huff, and both Luca and I watched her go.
“Go after her, if you like,” I said to him.
He said nothing but shrugged his shoulders and stayed just where he was. It would appear, I reflected, that we would soon need another junior assistant. And I wouldn’t be sorry. I decided I didn’t really like Betsy much. Maybe it was because she wasn’t very bright. She was certainly streets behind Luca, and perhaps he could see it too.
“How about Larry?” I said. “Is he here this evening?”
“He should be,” said Luca.
“Really?” I said. Why, I wondered, did Luca know that Larry should be here?
He looked at me sideways. “Yeah, well,” he said, “I just know.” I looked at him in mock surprise. “He told me last night. At Leicester, all right?” Luca was visibly flustered, and that was a rarity.
“Do you have his phone number?” I asked.
“Sure,” he said.
“Then call him,” I said. “Warn him to watch his back. And his stomach.”
Luca pulled his mobile from his pocket and pushed the buttons.
“Larry,” he said. “It’s Luca.”
He listened for a moment.
“So where are you now?” he said.
He listened again for a moment.
“Right,” he said. “I’ll call you later.” He hung up and looked at me. “Too late. He’s in Ascot Hospital having X-rays for suspected broken ribs.”
“So who were they?” I said.
“Who?” he asked.
“Who do you think?” I said. “Mike Tyson and his chum?”
“How the hell would I know?” he said. “I didn’t see them.”
“Who did we upset so much?”
“All of them,” he said. “The talk was of nothing else last night at Leicester. Some of the other bookies were openly delighted, and one or two even congratulated us.” He was smiling.
What bloody fools, I thought. And it was me that gets the “message,” not Luca, because it’s my name on the board.
“I told you not to mess with the big outfits,” I said. “At least, you shouldn’t mess with them so openly and obviously. We need to be more subtle. And far more devious.” I smiled back at him.
He was confused. “What do you mean?”
“I don’t know yet,” I said. “But if you think I am going to let them get away with beating me up in racetrack parking lots, you can have