Easy Money

On the first day of the racing season, I struck up a conversation with another security guard. He was from Belmont, doing the meet for the seventh time. The guy who was about as wide and he was tall claimed to have made $30,000 on the ponies last year during the six week meet. He might have, but he never spent the money on a stick of deodorant. Nevertheless he had a friend who is “An Owner” and that gave him an inside to the hot tips coming from the hot walkers, grooms and stable muckers, all who know whose going to win before the horses enter the starting gate.

It’s always those who are friends of “An Owner” who makes money. That is why the barn rats eat cheese and don’t speak English while living in piles of hay and getting their free dental care through BEST, Backstretch Employees Service Team. Meanwhile, the owner wonders why his quarter million dollar investment is 0 for 14 and all his friends smoke fat Cubans cigars.

Anyway, on this first day the first horse in the first race was scratched. Millennium Jet. “Watch for this horse. I got reliable information that this horse is a sure bet. When he comes up again, play him. Easy money.”

As usual I was pouring over the Pink Sheet, selecting my horses for the day’s races. There was Millennium Jet, running in the 6th, the number 12 horse. I pick the horses, not to wager, but to entertain myself throughout the day and to offer friendly selections to those patrons who ask. Believe me they do and I offer my picks with the caveat, “I haven’t hit anything today so don’t come looking for me when you lose. If he wins, I got another pick in the next race.”

Now with an “old” hot tip, I inquired among my security guards how I could get a bet placed, since I wasn’t suppose to while on duty. By the fourth race, I ended up slipping the maintenance guy who cleans up the horse poop a waded up ten. By the fifth, I had two winners, one with a $28.00 pay off, My confidence was running high. “John” had confirmed my bet. I felt connected to the barn rats. I could feel the money burning a hole in my pocket. After all, Millennium Jet was going off ten to one. I was dreaming of dinner at Siro’s and buying a fat cigar.

Then the damn horse scratched.