Assassin Hunter by August Palumbo

Author:August Palumbo
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Tags: True Crime, Organized Crime, Murder, Thriller, undercover, Suspense, Horse racing, Assassination, ATF
Publisher: Southern Oaks Publishing
Published: 2012-04-02T05:00:00+00:00

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CHAPTER 15

“Buona sera. Come' stai ?” I replied to Trombatore as we rode the escalator to the second floor clubhouse.

“Not bad, except I need a winner. Any information?”

“I get a hot horse once in a while, but I’m mostly picking my nose.”

Trombatore gave an understanding grunt and walked to a table where he was seated with his younger companion. I took a seat at what was by now my regular table, which faced theirs only twenty feet away. As the waiter set up my table I studied the man with Trombatore. He had an intense look and seemed to be more interested in Trombatore’s needs than in betting the horses. He was dressed in a suit that looked like the standard uniform of a Las Vegas pit boss - expensive, well-tailored, charcoal gray suit, with a matching monotone shirt and tie, and Italian leather shoes. He was somewhat taller than Trombatore, about thirty-five years old, medium build, with neatly styled dark hair and a medium-dark complexion. He sported a gold bracelet on one wrist and on the opposite hand, a diamond pinky ring.

A few minutes after I was seated, the waiter delivered a bloody Mary to my table and nodded in the direction of Trombatore, indicating that it was with his compliments. I looked over at him and the charcoal suit, and they were both holding drinks. I picked up the cocktail, held it up in a gesture of thanks and the three of us toasted as Trombatore bellowed “Saluta.” During the evening we passed each other’s tables to and from the betting windows and traded small talk about the horses, except for the charcoal suit who didn’t say a word to me, as if he didn’t have permission or was being dismissive. He ran bets to the windows and was coming into focus as Trombatore’s driver-bodyguard.

After the first race, the waiter brought a telephone to my table. I took the call and T-Red’s voice was on the other end.

“You still love me?”

“I shouldn’t even talk to you, asshole, but what do you want?"

“I’m gonna make things up to you right quick. There’s a five-to-one shot in the next race that can’t blow. He’s been running blistering times in the morning workouts and the clocker has kept these times out of the official publications. Unload on the six horse.”

“I’m not betting a dime for you, Red.”

“Don’t want you to. This is a ta-ta,” he chirped as the phone clicked dead.

I glanced at the program and Daily Racing Form to discover that the horse indeed had no fast published workouts and appeared as if he was only running to round out the field. After handicapping the other horses I decided that if T-Red’s information was correct this would be an easy score. More importantly, it gave me a reason to approach Trombatore’s table. I walked over deliberately and sat down across the table from him. He peered over his racing form with the ever-present cigarette dangling from his lip.

“Six horse.

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