Off to the races

The gutter spat out sludge. Rain crashed down on the tin roofs. In the dark beneath the unlit window ledges a dark figure clung to the shadows. He hunched over his hands which grasped a fine leather bound book. His beady eyes followed a long finger as he slid it down the crisp white paper.it was the nicest book he had ever seen. He could probably sell the book for a pretty penny. The thought had crossed his mind, yet he knew its real worth lay in what was written on the pages. His pupils widened as his finger came to a stop. He had never learned to read properly but he knew the words written before him.

Horse race 4/14/21

winner old nanny

2nd silver bullet

3rd black heat

These were the results for the big race. The thing was that he held them then in his hands, several hours earlier than the race was to take place. He held gold in his hands, although it remained locked to him. His skin was too ebony, his status too lowly. For him had always been work, Rough work with his hands until they bled. He grasped the book tightly. This was his ticket. He had snatched the book just over an hour before from the local gangster of keifer street. The man had employed him for several years and just that morning saw it feet to fire all his employees. He eluded to a big pay off and decided to liquidate all his assets. The dark man had seen it enough times to know. The little black ledger controlled the outcomes of all the bets to be made in town. This was his instrument and all he needed was to play it. Just as mysteriously as he had arrived he was gone. His little black book tucked away on his person.

All he had to do was stop in at home and get his money. All the money he had in the world. He stepped down the back streets and through puddles he splashed. If this failed he'd be out of every penny he ever made. He thought of his mother and of his departed father. His mother worked her fingers to the bone and his father worked himself to an early grave. He had three kid sisters and a baby brother too. He looked at his hands scarred and sore.

He came to the shambled steps of his home. It was located in the slum quarters just out of town. Only a few minutes from the race track. He stood outside the door as he heard a soft murmur of little girls gossiping like a chorus. when the voices grew so loud that he could almost make out what they said a booming voice rang out to silence them. With a sigh he opened the door carefully . He crept slowly past the living room. As he came to the base of the steps he peered into the kitchen where no doubt his mother stood preparing dinner. He could hear his sisters looking after his brother at the table. As he began his ascension up the steps he lay each foot on the creaky boards. He clenched his face tight. By the time he reached the top no one had become aware of his presence. He strode down the hall and into his room.

As he knelt down beside his bed his hand slid in between his mattress. his heart plunged to depths untold. A voice behind him almost didn't register in his brain.

"Looking for this?"

It was his mother holding a bundle of torn dollar bills"

"Mama"

"I don't wanna hear it Robert. You can't take this."

"It's mine mama I've earned it." he said

"You have. But did you forget you live in my house! Your daddy died paying for this home. You've got a leg up in this world all I ask is you don't go wasting all your money on chance. Hell I'd rather you blow this money on cheap whiskey or ,lord hear me not, a ladies company. Before you go tossing a year's wages in a fire." she finished throwing her hands into the air

“I'm not tossing it in no fire mama”

“That's what those races are Robert. Your father knew enough not to. He never won a single penny all his life; he only ever earned them. Now this is yours.” She tossed him the money.

“”You pay your dues here sure enough. But I don't want you losing all you have chasing a pipe dream.”

Robert lifted to his feet and walked across the room to his mother. He kissed her upon her head "it's not a pipedream mama. I've got a sure thing here." he said.

She smiled "you really are your daddy's son. Alright go. Go off to the races. When you come back dinner will be cold though so don't be complaining "

She went to continue her housework. Robert knew he had to do this. For his mother and for his father he would see his family looked after.

Robert walked up towards the race track doors. He took an immediate left and headed towards the colored doors. As he walked forward he saw the bookie window. As he fell into the long line he took out his money and began to count it, making sure he concealed it behind his coat. When his turn at the teller came he put all he had on old nanny. The teller did all but laugh in his face and as he took his papers and went off to the bleachers outside he felt an unease drift into his heart. The book had to be right. Keifer streets gangster had grown wealthy off of the contents inside enough to fire half the people who lived on the street.

As Robert sat down he bundled up tightly in his coat. He held the book close to his chest. After the track had settled and the bleachers filled, the jockeys took their place atop their mounts. The crack of the starting pistol sent the horses off down the track. Robert felt it in his gut. The dread had bubbled up. Old nanny, his horse was dead last.

Lap after lap came and went. Old nanny seemed to be pushing no more than a light stride as the other beasts bound effortlessly down the track. Robert sank down and he felt tears well up under his eyes. Just then he saw it. The jockey atop old nanny lurched forward and the horse went off. Just at that moment he could have sworn the two leads, silver bullet and black heat had almost pulled back. It was too late at that moment old nanny crossed the finish line ahead of all the rest.

The race was over and Robert had won. His heart did not leap for joy in this moment. Even as all around him people cheered for their winnings, as many hung their heads for all they had lost, Robert simply stood up. He had to cash out his winnings. As he fell in behind the many people heading towards the betting stands he felt an unease as if he wasn't sure of his balance.

Man after man filed out down through the bleachers. He found himself anticipating and dreading himself growing nearer to the bookie window. Soon enough he came to the double doored entrance and he found an almost clear shot to the window. He shuffled up to the counter. Ahead of him stood an older black gentleman with white whiskers who spat at the bookie and slammed his fists down on the counter. The bookie, calm as he could closed the window and two men in well-pressed uniforms removed the older gentleman kicking and screaming. Robert sighed and stepped forward. Before he could reach the counter a uniformed man came up to him and held a hand up to stop.

"Windows closed" he declared.

"I just need to collect my earnings sir"

"Windows closed boy now get"

“Sir please? I just need-”

“You need to get outta here or else” the man threatened.

Robert put his hands up and complied.

“Yes sir” he said weakly.

Robert stumbled out onto the steps that had brought him to the tracks. His world was muffled as he realized what had just happened. Everything gone. He was so dazed he just started walking. It was a moment before he realized he'd walked into the whites only section. He kept walking without a care. In a sea of white he stood alone as a black moses parting the way. The scowls came from furrowed brows that jeered over freshly won money. The more solemn faces did not look up from the floor to see his face. The true equalizer it seemed was shared poverty.

Robert snapped out of his daze and began to worry. He needed to get out of there fast. He was in a dangerous place. Then he saw it. The whites only bookies window. He knew what he had to do. Against the scorn filled glances he headed confidently towards the window. He stopped in front of a young man wearing a tight vest with papers sticking out of every pocket.

“I'd like to cash out please.” He handed the man his papers.

“This is the whites only.” the teller spoke without even looking at Robert.

Robert simply repeated himself, “I'd like to cash out please.”

Now the teller did look at Robert and with a reddened rage he said, “Boy listen here this is the whites only get the hell outta here!”

Robert took the little black book out of his pocket and showed it to the man. His face immediately recognized the well bound leather book and fear gripped his expression.

“I'm collecting for keifer street.” Robert spoke confidently. Now with a more playful grin he said, “you know who bets from keifer street?”. The teller nodded and snatched the papers from Roberts' hands. “Well sir it seems your earnings come up to twenty thousand dollars.” the teller leaned over the counter and whispered, “How would he like that bagged?”

Robert just stared dumbstruck at the teller mouth agape. After a moment he came to and barked at the man, “in something inconspicuous! Why do you think he sent me?” The man filled an old potato sack with more bills than Robert had ever seen and handed over. As Robert took it up and let it hang at his side he felt giddy at the weight. It was heavier than if the sack had been full of potatoes. As Robert walked off with his bag in hand he stopped aside a stone ledge. He took the little black book from his coat and set it atop the wall. He glanced over the book and thought to himself for only a moment of how he could make a pretty penny off the book alone before starting off again. He didn't need it anymore. He was gonna make his way through life now on his own terms. No black book was gonna decide his fate. No gangster on keifer street would tell him his worth. He headed home walking down the middle of the street, his head high. He no longer clung to the shadows as he headed home. His mother wouldn't need to worry about him anymore.