“Can we just change our name without telling anyone?” Luca asked.
“I don’t know,” I said. “I’ll find out. But the name Teddy Talbot is coming off our sign as of today.”
I hadn’t realized the forcefulness with which I had spoken until I noticed Luca standing there stock-still just looking at me.
“My,” he said, “that must have been some mighty emotive family business you were dealing with yesterday.”
I glared at him. I was not in the mood for explanations, so the three of us continued to set up in silence.
“I’d never been to the races before last Wednesday,” said Duggie when we had finished. “It’s wicked.”
“I’m glad you enjoy it,” I said, assuming that was what he meant.
“It all seems smaller than on the telly,” he said. “You know, the horses seem smaller and everything’s so much closer together.”
“But you’ve only been to the smaller meetings,” Luca said. “It’s not like this at Ascot or Cheltenham.”
“But the horses can’t be any bigger,” Duggie said.
“No,” I said. “But there are lots and lots more people.”
“When do we go there, then?” he said eagerly.
“Soon,” I said. “But concentrate on today first.”
Leicester was a long, thin, undulating track with the public enclosures squeezed together at one end. As with many racetracks, the space in the center doubled as a golf course. I had occasionally played a round of golf, and these holes would have suited me well, I thought, as there were no large trees to get stuck behind. Large trees would have spoiled the view of the racing.
The betting ring was in front of the glass-fronted grandstand, and there were several other bookies also setting up before the first race.
“Where’s Larry?” I asked Luca, noting his absence from the neighboring pitch.
“Nottingham,” he said.
“But he is all set for Monday?”
“Sure is,” said Luca with a grin. “Norman Joyner’s coming too.”
“Good,” I said. “Do they know?”
“They think it’s the same as last time, at Ascot,” he said.
“Good,” I said. “It will be as far as they are concerned.”
The Saturday crowd was beginning to build, with cars queuing for the popular parking-and-picnic enclosure alongside the running rail. Even the weather had cooperated, with blue skies and only the occasional puffy white cloud. A glorious English-summer day at the races. What could be better than this?
I suppose six losing short-priced favorites would be good.
Just as I was starting to relax from my earlier anxiety and was actually beginning to enjoy the day, my two nonfriends from Kempton and Towcester turned up and stood in front of me. Once more, they were wearing their uniforms, short-sleeved white shirts and black trousers, plus the work boots. I was on my platform at the time, which gave me a height advantage for a change. It also gave me some courage.
“I thought I told you boys to bugger off,” I said down to them.
“Our boss wants to talk to you,” said the spokesman of the two.
“Well, I don’t want to talk to him,” I said. “So go away.”
I felt reasonably confident that they wouldn’t start a physical assault just here, not with hundreds of witnesses about.
“He wants to make you an offer,” said the spokesman.
“Which part of ‘go away’ didn’t you understand?” I said to him.
They didn’t move an inch but stood full square in front of me. It wasn’t very good for my business.
“He wants to buy you out.” It was like a stuck record.
“Tell him to come and see me himself if he wants to talk,” I said, “rather than sending a pair of his goons.”
Thoughts of poking hornet’s nests with sticks floated into my head. And I’d been the one to warn Larry against doing it.
“You are to come with us,” the man said.
“You must be joking,” I said, almost with a laugh. “I’m not going anywhere with you two. Now, move out of the bloody way. I’ve got a bookmaking business to run.”
They didn’t move.
Luca and Duggie came on the platform and stood on either side of me, and a staring match ensued, us three against them two. It was like a prelude to a gunfight at the O.K. Corral. But who was going to go for their guns first?
“Sod off,” said Duggie suddenly, breaking the silence.“Why don’t you two arseholes go and play with your balls somewhere else?”
They both turned their full attention to him, this young slip of a lad who I still thought looked only about fourteen years old.
The talkative arsehole opened his mouth as if to say something.
“Save it,” said Duggie, beating him to the draw. “Now, piss off.”
There was something about the boy’s assured confidence in the face of physical threat that had even me a little scared. The two men in front of me definitely wavered.
“We’ll be back,” the talkative one said.
But Duggie wasn’t finished with them. “The man here told you he wasn’t coming with you to see your boss, so go away now and stay away.” He sounded so reasonable. “Go on, scram, and you can tell your boss it’s no deal.”
The men looked at him like two big sheep under the gaze of a tiny Border collie puppy, and then, slowly, they moved to the side and walked away.
Both Luca and I watched them go out of sight around the grandstand, and then we turned to Duggie in astonishment. He was smiling.
“All brawn and no brain,” he said. “Guys like them need orders to follow. Can’t think for themselves.”
If I hadn’t seen it myself, I wouldn’t have believed it.
“My God, Duggie,” I said, “you were brilliant. Where on earth did you learn to do that?”
“The streets of High Wycombe are not so friendly as some people would like to think,” he said. “Friday and Saturday nights can be rough, I can tell you, bloody rough.”
“I think he just completed his probation,” Luca said.
“Damn right, he did,” I said. “Welcome to the firm.”
Duggie beamed. “Just so long as you don’t sell out to those guys.”
“No chance.” Luca and I said it together.
The rest of the day was tame by comparison to what had gone before. The six favorites didn’t all lose, but, nevertheless, our afternoon was both profitable and enjoyable, with Duggie warming to his newfound permanent status.
He was a natural showman, with a quick wit, and as his confidence grew he became a great success with the punters. He hardly stopped talking and bantering with them all afternoon. There was no doubt in my mind that we did far more business because of it. Some of our neighboring bookies weren’t too pleased, however, especially when Duggie would shout across to their potential customers that they could get a better deal from us, even if they couldn’t.
But our neighbors were not our friends, they were our competition. In a way, I was quite pleased that Larry Porter had been at Nottingham. I didn’t want to antagonize him before Monday. I needed his unwitting cooperation.
The two goons didn’t reappear at our pitch, but I was worried they might be waiting for us outside the racetrack gates, or in the parking lot, where there would be fewer witnesses for them to worry about. I didn’t exactly relish another of their “messages” being applied to my solar plexus.
“Where are you parked?” I asked Luca as we packed the equipment onto our trolley.
“Across the road in the free parking lot,” he said.
“Good, so am I. Let’s keep together when we go just in case we find we have unwelcome company.”
“Too bloody right,” he said.
“Wait for me, then,” said Duggie. “I’m just going for a pee.”
He ran off towards the Gents’, leaving Luca and me standing beside the trolley.