Nice Fillies Finish Last Read Online Free PDF

himself. He would no more take a drink of wood alcohol than you would, Mike. I mean it. It would have to be at least half sherry, camouflaged in a sherry bottle. That means that whoever gave it to him knew his habits.”
    Shayne said, “Maybe he stuck to sherry when you were around, but you know drunks as well as I do. You’ve got a rosy-tinted picture of the life this guy led—no office hours, no rent to pay, no butt-kissing, hundreds of friends. But be realistic, Tim. The happy-go-lucky bum is a myth.”
    “I liked him, goddamn it.”
    “Sure. Just don’t turn him into a hero or a saint. Even if you’re right about what happened, you know you’ll have a hell of a time proving anything, don’t you? I’ve got to go now, Tim. I have a date with a guy who’s going to put me in touch with somebody who knows what the boys are asking for the diamonds. If I don’t show up, he’s going to look for some other go-between. I don’t feel like throwing away fifteen thousand bucks because you’ve been kidding yourself about some picturesque rummy.”
    Trying to keep his temper, Rourke commented that Shayne would have taken a different attitude when he was starting out in business. In those days he hadn’t looked for easy jobs, and the wealthier his clients were, the less time he had for them. Shayne answered sharply and the reporter blew up. Ever since he had heard about Dolan’s death, he had been spoiling for trouble.
    “If that’s the way you want it, Mike,” he said. “From now on let’s assume we don’t know each other.”
    He slammed down the phone and felt for cigarettes. He didn’t need any help from Mike Shayne. He could get along perfectly well by himself.

 
CHAPTER 4
     
    ONLY ONE OF THE HORSES Paul Thorne owned was in its stall, and Thorne himself, Rourke was told, was rarely around at this time of day. All the stablemen had different ideas of where to start looking for him. Maybe the racing secretary’s office.
    Thorne wasn’t there. A driver who was waiting in the anteroom thought he might be at the smithy. The blacksmith reported to Rourke that Thorne had been there and gone. If he wasn’t at the vet’s or in the driver’s shed or out timing a horse on one of the training tracks, Rourke had better ask his wife. If he left the track on a day when he was scheduled to race, he usually told her where he could be reached.
    Rourke was given directions to the Thornes’ trailer, in a large, disorderly trailer park beyond the double-decked bunkhouses. He knocked on the door, waited, knocked again, and was about to give up when the door opened and a pretty young woman looked out. Her hair was in curlers, and Rourke’s first impression was that she was naked. With a spurt of relief, he saw that she was wearing a bikini. Without 20/20 vision he might not have been able to find it.
    “Looking for somebody?” she said in a high voice.
    Rourke pulled himself together. “You must be Mrs. Thorne. My name’s Tim Rourke, and I’m from the Miami News. We want to do a picture story on one of the two or three top drivers here, to give the public an idea of what goes on behind the scenes. Your husband’s the obvious choice, but I’ve got to clear up a few things before I can give it the go-ahead. I’m supposed to phone the paper and let them know right away.”
    “Golly,” she said, impressed. “He had to go downtown and I don’t expect him back before like five. If there’s anything I could do?”
    She let the door swing open a little more. She was holding a martini. All in all, she was one of the most pleasant sights Rourke had seen in weeks. Probably he wasn’t in as much of a hurry as he had supposed. He quieted his conscience by telling it that she would undoubtedly allow herself to be pumped about her husband. She might even tell him more than Thorne would himself.
    “Maybe you could give me some background, at that.”
    She gave a little giggle as he stepped into the darkened interior of the