Something for Nothing Read Online Free Page B

while.
    Traffic in the tunnel started moving again, and soon enough Martin was driving through Hayward, almost at the airport and work. It was still overcast on the bay side of the hills, and much cooler. There were lots of gas lines here, as well. A couple of signs even read no gas.
    He pulled over at Nelda’s, the local diner near the airport, and bought a cup of coffee and some donuts—scarfed a couple down right there, put the rest in a bag for later. He’d give a couple to Ludwig. Then he walked over to the news shop next door to get the
Daily Racing Form
. He wanted to try for a few of the later races today at Golden Gate Fields, especially to see this one horse he’d been hearing about, Big Bad Wolf. Adrian Carmine, a hotshot jockey from L.A., was riding him, and he wanted to put some money on him. If there weren’t any potential buyers coming by, why hang around? On Wednesday a guy in a white 240Z had stopped in and asked to set up a test flight for Monday morning—today. He’d even talked about trade-in value on the Z, which was usually a good sign. But something about the guy had made Martin think he was full of shit.
    The other reason for going to the track—let’s face it,
the
reason—was that he knew he needed to check in with Val Desmond, the trainer for his current horse, Temperature’s Rising. He was running in the bigstakes race out at the county fair on the Fourth of July. It was the main event of the year, and Martin was excited—thrilled—that a horse of his had made it into the race. Temperature’s Rising was the third horse Martin had owned, and Val had trained all of them. The first two had been only okay, but Temperature’s Rising was the real deal (for a local horse, at least).
    Martin was also worried, though, because he’d been avoiding the messages Val had been leaving for him the past month or so. And, he knew, these weren’t calls about the billing statements Val had been sending. (Martin didn’t even know how much he owed anymore, couldn’t bear to open the envelopes.) No, they were calls about the money Martin had borrowed from him. It was a lot of money. But what choice had he had? Penalties for back taxes; behind on the business loan; late on the bills for the Viking (he’d actually slept on the boat for a week to make sure some repo guy didn’t snatch it before the check cleared); and of course there were the gambling debts. Too many calls to the bookie, too many trips to the track, and too many day flights up to Reno. This had all scared the shit out of him, and he’d turned to Val out of desperation.
    Val and Martin had gotten close in the five years or so since Martin had hired him as the trainer for Gunpowder, his first horse. But he wasn’t quite what you’d call a friend . . . or not a good friend, anyway. He was a little too intense, maybe even a little scary. And now Martin had proof of this scariness. Val hadn’t threatened him—not unless you considered his recent offer to Martin a threat of some sort. He had a plan, he’d told Martin, something to “pull you out of the fucking hole you’re in.”
    It was a straightforward proposition: fly down to Mexico, pick up shipments of heroin, and fly them back up to the Bay Area. Val said he’d give him five thousand dollars per flight. About one per month, he said. “For about a year. And then we’re done. The guys who stay in it for too long, they’re the ones who get caught.”
    As a start-up bonus, he’d forgive Martin half his debt, which now was well over eighty thousand dollars.
    â€œYou gotta admit, Martin,” he said. “That’s a pretty good deal.”
    Martin had thought he was joking, that this was Val’s way of letting him know that he’d better figure out a way to pay him back, and fast. But Val wasn’t really the sort of guy who joked around much. And when he