A favor for a friend

It wasn’t unusual for Billy to show up at 3 in the morning. That was the sort of thing he did all the time. It wasn’t even strange for him to show up beaten and bloody. Billy had a bad habit of getting into fights. It was a normal night for Billy. When he said I was the only one he could trust, that’s when things got weird. He handed me a little black notebook and whispered, “in case anything happens to me…you’ll know what to do with it.” As he turned to leave, he stopped in his tracks just long enough to say, “it’s a sure thing.” And then he was gone. I was still thinking about what he said the next morning when a mutual friend called to tell me that Billy was dead. Murdered. Floating in the river. I didn’t need any coffee to wake me up that morning. A million thoughts were going through my head as I took my first look at the notebook.

There wasn’t anything special about the book. No name on it. No identifying marks. I wasn’t even sure I should open it. I was already convinced the book had something to do with Billy’s death, but I had to know what was inside. I opened the cover. I was shocked to find a lottery ticket between the cover and the first page. The numbers were already scratched off. I saw it instantly. They matched. I checked again, not believing I was right. Then I looked at the prize. $20,000. Twenty thousand dollars. Twenty Thousand! Do I need to tell you I was broke? Billy told me I would know what to do with it. He was right. I called a cab for the lottery office.

I could have stopped with the lottery ticket. All I had to do was cash the ticket and disappear. It would have been so damn easy. There was no name on the ticket. No name on the notebook. I could have thrown the notebook in the trash and walked away, but I had to take a look at what else was inside. There was a good reason Billy had never put his name on that notebook. He didn’t put his name in it for the same reason he gave it to me for safe keeping. It was his betting record. Billy was a gambler and a sometimes bookie. I’d placed a few bets in my life and I recognized the notes were bets and payouts. Initials identified the bettors. Other writings seemed to be in a code devised by Billy to protect the identity of his clients and to disguise his own activity. I was starting to get a little paranoid, wondering whether anyone knew where Billy had gone last night.

As I examined the notebook buried between the pages was a hand-written note with a date and the name Prince Jackson. A quick Google search revealed Prince Jackson was a talented three-year-old who was scheduled to race in three days at the Kentucky Derby, which was also the date written on the note. I was starting to put the puzzle together. As I continued to look through the rest of the notebook, I remembered “It’s a sure thing” was the last thing Billy had told me. I thought Billy was talking about the lottery ticket. Was there more? Was the race fixed? Was Prince Jackson a sure winner? Between the last page and the cover, I found an E-ticket to the Derby. Billy was right about me. I knew what to do.

I had $16,000 in my pocket, after taxes, from the lottery ticket. The money would put me on my feet for several months, but I began to imagine what placing a $16,000 bet on a guaranteed winner at the Kentucky Derby would do for my future. The thought of winning big at the Derby began to consume me. It was all I could think about. Depending on the odds for Prince Jackson, a big win could change my life. I thought about the oft-repeated Balzac quote, “behind every great fortune lies a great crime.” This is literally the only thing I know about Balzac, but it seemed to fit. Was this my big chance? Did I have the guts to see it through? I also began to wonder who killed Billy. I’ve seen enough movies to know that stories like this don’t usually end well. Who else knew about the note? Were they looking for me? Holy shit! Even as I continued to think about being cut up and stuffed into the trunk of a Cadillac, I booked a flight to Louisville. I just couldn’t fricking stop myself.

I decided to be smart. I didn’t want to waste time hanging around the race if people were looking for me. I was still worried someone had seen Billy come to my apartment. Not just anyone. I was convinced bad people were looking for me, so I decided to fly in the night before the race. I flew in at the last minute for another reason. I also didn’t want to waste any of my money on silly stuff like mint julips. I wanted to maximize my winnings. I wanted to get to the race, cash in and get out. I was also covering my tracks. My instincts told me someone might recognize the notebook, so I dumped it prior to the flight. It made no sense to keep it. After removing the handwritten note, I went for a walk and dropped the notebook in a trash can inside of a sandwich wrapper. You can’t be too careful. After memorizing the writing on the note, I ripped it into tiny pieces and flushed it. I wasn’t taking any chances. I tried to breathe regularly in the cab ride to the airport. I didn’t relax until we were in the air and the flight attendants came around. I ordered a Jack and ginger and shut my eyes. I started thinking I might actually pull the whole thing off.

As I got off the plane, things started to get interesting. I was still in the terminal when I recognized a minor big shot from my hometown. I wouldn’t say he was a major player in the crime scene, but he had always impressed me as someone who worked the bad side of the law. Not like me. I’m a nobody. I’m what you’d call a low life, and I often frequent the same local bars. I was worried he might recognize me. He didn’t seem to notice me, but the experience shook me up. Now I was starting to sweat. Why was he here? Was he looking for me? It was irrational. There were a thousand different reasons why a guy from my neighborhood would be at the Kentucky Derby. Maybe the race was on his bucket list. Maybe he likes horses. I was starting to lose it.

Now in case anyone doesn’t know, the Kentucky Derby is quite the spectacle. The best comparison I can give is the Super Bowl. Events are going on everywhere and everyone plays a part. There are the horses, of course, whose only purpose is to run the race and make fame and fortune for the owners. There are the owners, the trainers and everyone who places a bet. The fans are a who’s who of socialites, politicians, social media influencers and horse royalty. Alcohol flows like the Mississippi. The spectators put on a show and the rich flaunt their wealth. Evidence of money is blatant, from the luxury seating to the plethora of limousines and overdressed trophy wives. And then there are all of those stupid hats, each one more ridiculous than the next. Under any other circumstances I would have had a great time taking in the carnival atmosphere, but I was too busy looking over my shoulder.

I had only a couple of hours before the race, but I couldn’t hide forever. I needed to place my bet. I was thinking about everything that could still go wrong. What if someone else knew the name of the guaranteed horse? What if they placed a big bet? It could change the odds and the payout for me. What if people were watching at the betting window for anyone who might place a bet on Prince Jackson? It was silly. There were so many windows. Thousands of people were making bets. There was no logic to my fear, but I was a wreck. I started thinking I should have placed my bet somewhere other than Churchill Downs. Then I realized why I made the trip. This was my big chance. This was going to change my life. I couldn’t miss it. Besides, Billy had given me the ticket for a reason.

As I approached the window, I could see the odds were 15-1. Prince Jackson was a medium long shot. If he won, I would pocket close to $200,000, even after taxes. Damn! I was having trouble breathing again. It was so bad I started to pray even though God and I aren’t on the best of terms. “If I get through this alive, I will walk away and never bet again. Ever!” All this was running through my mind as a placed my bet. Even as I laid the money on the counter, I was thinking what the hell am I doing? I was taking the biggest chunk of money I had ever had at one time in my entire life and betting it on a horse. I could barely breathe as they took my money. My legs actually wobbled as I realized I was probably the biggest fool alive. I was betting good money on a horse because a dead man had given me a notebook. It was crazy, but then a switch flipped somewhere in my brain. The roller coaster had left the station and I couldn’t get off now. I thought what the hell and bought a julip. I fought my way through the crowd. Now I didn’t want to miss one second. The pre-race tension hit me along with the rest of the crowd as the horses lined up for the start. The bell sounded. The gates opened. Time seemed to stop but it was over in an instant. The race wasn’t even close. Prince Jackson led from start to finish.

The realization I had won swept over me like Christmas morning. I was rich! I had pulled it off, from Billy’s lucky ticket to winning big at the Kentucky Derby. All I needed to do now was collect my winnings. That’s when the panic set in again. What if someone recognized me? As I walked to the window, my hands kept shaking. It was for nothing. I filled out some paperwork for taxes and they gave me the money. I could have kissed the teller. I had $150,000 in my pocket. No one stopped me. No one recognized me. No one placed a hand on my shoulder. No one asked me about the notebook. I was home free. The only thing left for me to do was to decide what to do with my winnings. I sure as hell wasn’t going back to Cleveland. I didn’t want to end like Billy. I remembered how he said I would know what to do. He was right. I do know what to do. I am going to come clean. I haven’t told you everything. There was more than one horse on that note. I am on my way to the Preakness.