Jackpot (Frank Renzi mystery series) Read Online Free

resist.
    “Five minutes to post time,” the announcer said, urging people to place their bets.
    The fifth race was a mile and an eighth. According to the racing form, Goldilocks had made strong stretch runs in her three previous races, and her jockey was tops. The favorite was a big gray. Gray was his lucky color, but the gray was in position four. Goldilocks was in slot six, his lucky number.
    Through a large plate-glass window he watched Goldilocks prance down the track. She looked ready to run. He checked the board. Bloody hell! Now the odds on Goldilocks were twelve to one! The bettors were backing the favorite, which didn’t have a chance, in his opinion.
    Flushed with excitement, he went to the hundred-dollar window where the high rollers did business. After Hale threatened to pull the plug on the Vegas gigs, he’d promised to stop gambling. He’d made the same promise to his ex-wife, but bloody hell, she was the cause of his current difficulty. Joanna wanted five grand by the end of the month, had threatened to haul him into court if she didn’t get it.
    Panic hit him like a fist. He didn’t have it, behind on all his credit cards, paying off more loans than he could count. He joined the queue at the hundred-dollar window behind two men in flashy suits. Maybe he’d split his bet between Goldilocks and the favorite. That way he couldn’t lose.
    Four minutes to post time . The queue moved forward, and the man ahead of him began placing his bet.
    Guilt crept into his heart like a poisonous fog. Vicky thought he’d quit gambling. He’d fallen in love with her the first time he conducted Pops two years ago. He was forty-one, eight years older than Vicky, but that didn’t seem to matter. He’d told her about his previous problems, though not the size of his debts, and she had convinced him to stop. Vicky thought gambling was stupid. He hated to let her down.
    Three minutes to post time. The man in front of him left the window and Nigel stepped forward.
    “What’ll it be?” the clerk said.
    “Fifth race. Three thousand to win on the six-horse.”
    The clerk’s eyes darted to the bills Nigel put down, then to his face. “Yes, sir. Fifth race, three thousand to win on number six.” The man counted his money, punched the computer and handed him the ticket.
    He left the window with the sickening feeling he’d done something stupid. But it was out of his hands now. A burning sensation seared his chest as he raced upstairs to the restaurant.
    Vicky was staring at the track, nibbling her thumbnail. He kissed her cheek and slid into his seat.
    She beamed him a radiant smile. It made his heart ache. Raven-black hair curled in ringlets around her face, and round black-rimmed glasses framed her velvety-brown eyes.
    “I got us a hot-fudge sundae,” she said. “With mocha ice cream. But I only ordered one. We can split it. If I don’t take off ten pounds—”
    “You’re gorgeous the way you are, luv. Who wants a skinny little string bean?” Nothing wrong with Vicky’s appetite, but he loved women with healthy appetites.
    “What did Hale say?”
    “Same old California-speak. He just booked me a gig in Cincinnati. That’s the good news.”
    “And?”
    “My ex-wife is badgering him. Badgering me, actually. I’m a bit behind on alimony, and her career’s on the skids. Joanna’s forty-six. Hollywood’s not keen on older actresses.”
    Vicky reached over and stroked his hand. “If you’re really short, I can lend you—”
    “Not a chance, luv, wouldn’t hear of it.”
    The announcer’s agitated voice came over the loudspeakers: “They’re in the gate!”
    “Let’s watch the race,” he said. “Should be a good one.”
    His palms dampened with sweat. Come on, Goldilocks, win one for Nigel.
    The favorite broke in front, followed by a cluster of four horses. Goldilocks was on the outside, running easily, clear of the pack. So far so good.
    “This ice cream is delicious,” Vicky said.
    Her words