Venom Read online

  “Your envelopes.”

  “Ohhh,” we say together.

  A huge grin lights up Em’s face. “We should have got about fifty-four dollars each,” Em says, “but because Wee Jimmy still hasn’t shown up, we got to split his share too. Uncle Scampy was feeling generous, so we each got eighty dollars.”

  I love it when a horse in our barn places in the top three. The two grooms and regular exercise riders get to split a barn bonus. It’s not much, but over the whole year, those bonuses can really add up. I wonder how much was in Tony’s envelope. It must have been hard for Scampy to hand it over.

  “You should be buying me dinner!” Grandma says.

  “I could—” I start to say, but she waves me off.

  “I did very nicely myself,” she says. “I had twenty on the filly to win, as you know. But then I also had her as the winner in two exacta bets, and one of those paid off! For a lark I picked the long shot: Fat Chance to come in second. I couldn’t believe she snuck in there right at the wire. It was very close for second and third. That was the more exciting race!”

  “Way to go!” Em says. It’s not easy to pick the top two horses in the right order. It’s hard enough to win a bet trying to figure out if a horse is going to come somewhere in the top three!

  The waitress comes by and takes our order. When she leaves again, Em looks at me from across the table. “Are you thinking about going to ALC?”

  “I had an appointment with the counselor when I was recovering.”

  Em grins. “That’s great! Why didn’t you tell me?”

  I shrug. “I wanted to surprise you?”

  “Turkey.” She kicks me under the table, but she’s smiling.

  “How could I resist a school where I can work here mornings, go in to school for three hours every afternoon and then get back here by four thirty to work some more?”

  “It’s a great life, isn’t it?”

  “I’m curious,” Grandma says. “What are the other students like? Are they all”—she pauses before adding—”troubled?”

  Em rolls her eyes. “Do you think I’m troubled?”

  “Oh, yeah,” I joke. “You’re big trouble.”

  Em balls up her napkin and fires it across the table. “Yeah, we’re all deeply screwed up. You’ll fit right in, Stretch.”

  Grandma laughs. “Thank you,” she says as the waitress delivers our drinks. “Well, that puts my mind at rest!”

  The subject seems to close with that comment, and we return to talking shop. Grandma wants to know what we think of the big American-bred chestnut colt who won the Dubai World Cup earlier this spring. All the talk right now is whether he’ll also win the Man-o’-War Stakes at Belmont Park.

  “He’s never run on the turf,” Grandma says, “so nobody really knows for certain how he’ll handle that. But he’s a damned fine horse, and I’ll have money on him.”

  The conversation continues like this right through our meal. Finally Em says, “You coming back to the barn or heading home?”

  “You need to ask?” Grandma says, reaching for the bill. “This boy would unroll his sleeping bag in the tack room if I let him! I’ll see you later, Spencer.”

  For the rest of the evening as we do another round of checking all the horses, I put up with Em’s teasing about how slow I am, how nobody would ever make a dime if they bet on me to win a race. That might be true, but finishing up the chores beside Em, I feel like I’ve already hit the jackpot.

  chapter nineteen

  At three thirty in the morning, not many people are out and about. It’s quiet, that time between the end of a late night and the start of an early morning. I ride my bike along deserted streets, enjoying the soft hiss of the tires along the road. It’s still dark, though at this time of the year the birds have already begun their symphony of chirps and whistles. They are so loud when I pedal along the edge of the park and down the bike path near the river that I have trouble believing so many birds could possibly spend the rest of the day hiding. Another, smaller, path snakes away from the main bike path by the river and leads me along the fence marking the edge of Hilltop Racetrack’s property. It’s only thirty seconds or so before I slow down and wave at Jo-Anne in the security hut.

  “Morning, Spencer!” she calls out, and I wave back.

  Once past the gate, I pump hard and then lean into the turn along the back end of our barn. I hop off, push the bike around the corner and see the lights are already on. Em is waiting for me just inside the tack room. We’re at the barn an hour earlier than usual. That should be plenty of time to put our plan into effect. Em and I have finally come up with a way to nail Tony.

  The next shedrow over from ours belongs to Ian McIsaac. He has several empty stalls. One is right behind Lordy. Em and I don’t say much—we don’t have time.

  “Laptop?”

  Em nods and asks, “Extension cord?” We both grin because the extension cord is looped over my shoulder. “Flashlight?”

  I nod. “Webcam?”

  Em nods back at me.

  “Good,” she says. Let’s go.”

  We head straight for the stall behind Lordy’s. Once inside, we slide the stall door shut and turn on the flashlight. I pull myself up onto the hay rack. From there, I stretch up to feel along the ledge at the top edge of the stall wall.

  Em passes up the tiny webcam. While I’m fastening the camera to the ledge, Em fires up the laptop. We run the wire down the corner of the stall and connect the two.

  “A little to the left,” Em says, her face lit by the glow of the laptop screen. “The other left. Point it down a little. There. No, up. Down.”

  It takes a few minutes, but we finally get the camera angle right. I scramble back down and give Em a quick kiss on the forehead. We’ve already told Scampy what we’re doing. He’s going to pretend Em is sick. I’m going to help with chores as well as cover my regular rides. That means Tony is going to have to step up and cover Em’s horses too. Lordy’s supposed to race on Saturday, so we’re hoping Tony will think he can get away with giving Lordy a shot. And when he does, Em will be recording every move from the other stall.

  “Hey, Stretch—let’s see what Devil May Care can do. That colt has some serious speed.”

  I nod and take Devil May Care out to do a fast workout. When I get back, Scampy says, “Cool him out, would you? Tony’s disappeared.”

  “Sure.”

  I look down the aisle, but Tony is nowhere to be seen.

  Scampy helps me take off the saddle and bridle. “I’ll give you a hand at the wash rack if Tony isn’t back by then,” he says. “Let me know when you’re done.”

  He doesn’t say anything, but I bet he’s thinking the same thing as I am. Has Tony gone to get the snake venom? Will Em catch him on the camera?

  For once, I’m anxious for Devil May Care to cool down in a hurry. The heat and the fast workout mean there’s no rushing. I walk the horse around and around the barns, letting him stop to sip water as he cools down.

  At the wash rack, I raise my eyebrows when Scampy joins me. He gives a little shake of his head, so I know that Tony still hasn’t come back. I wonder if Em has seen anything.

  When Devil May Care has been washed, I take him on another slow lap. It doesn’t take long for him to be dry enough to put back into his stall. It was hot last night. The fans are already going full blast.

  Tony is nowhere in sight. I decide to risk a quick visit to see how Em is doing. I jog to the end of our barn, turn right and slip into the next aisle.

  The stall door where Em is hiding with the laptop is open a little. All the hairs on my arms stand straight up. Something moves inside the stall. I sprint to the door and see that Tony has his arm wrapped around Em. His big hand is clamped over her mouth. Em struggles to get away, but Tony is three times her size. Tony reaches down for the laptop, which is on the ground, half buried in shavings.

  All of this information hits my brain in a hurry. It feels like I’m in a cartoon, and time slow
s down. I launch myself at Tony’s back and leap on top of him. Caught off guard, he swings around, still hanging onto Em. His hand slips, and she lets out a scream before he muffles her again.

  I pound my fist into the side of his head, and Tony swears at me. I hit him again and again. Tony keeps cursing and reaches back to grab me.

  The distraction is enough to let Em spear Tony in the stomach with one of her sharp elbows. His breath hisses out, and he staggers back, ramming me against the wall. The impact crushes me, knocking the air out of my lungs. I gasp but hang on.

  Em twists sideways and I hear her land a kick. I reach over Tony’s shoulder and grab his nose. I drive my fingers up his nostrils and yank up. He yells and crashes sideways, sending a water bucket flying. Em pops free of his grip and screams. “Help! Scampy!”

  A second later, Scampy pulls me off Tony’s back. Tony is doubled over, his hands covering his face. Blood drips down the back of his hairy arm.

  “What the hell is going on in here?” Ian McIsaac says, crowding into the stall with the rest of us.

  “Call security,” Scampy says grimly. “And the cops.”

  Tony struggles upright and lunges for the door. All of us grab hold and wrestle him to his knees.

  Red-faced and panting, Scampy says, “I don’t think so, Tony. You aren’t going anywhere.”

  Tony does go somewhere. Downtown to the cop shop in the back of a squad car.

  Em spends the rest of the day showing off her bruises to anyone who will stop long enough to look. She laughs at how it was a sneeze that tipped off Tony. He snuck up behind her while she was checking to make sure she’d saved the video. With earphones in so nobody else would hear, Em hadn’t heard a thing until it was too late.

  The video is the talk of the backside. People pop by all day, and Em plays the clip over and over again. Clear as day, there’s Tony injecting venom into Lordy’s hock.

  chapter twenty

  “He won’t work on a track for a long time,” Em says to Grandma a few days later. Em’s at our place enjoying a glass of ice-cold lemonade. “Between the fines, the suspension and the assault charges...” Em sighs happily. She’s pretty proud of the way she helped stop the cheating. There was enough cobra venom left in the needle to identify what had been in the shot. Tony wasn’t very loyal to Big Joe. He made some kind of deal with the racing commission to tell everything he knew about the scams Big Joe was running.

  They weren’t just doping Lordy. At least two other horses in different barns got the snake venom treatment. They never gave it to any of Big Joe’s horses, so they wouldn’t get caught.

  The other trainers didn’t know what was going on. They didn’t worry too much, because their horses were running well. Hope and wishful thinking are common traits for people in the racing business.

  “What about Lordy?” Grandma asks. “What does the vet say?”

  “Looks like bone spavin,” I say. “We won’t know how bad it is for another three or four weeks. That’s how long the effect of the venom lasts.”

  “Strong stuff,” Grandma says.

  “No kidding.” Em agrees. “Scampy sent Lordy to Dr. Conrad’s farm. She’s going to look after him and see what kind of work he’ll be able to do.”

  I pick up the story. “Then Lordy’s going to After Track, that place where they adopt out retired racehorses to new families.”

  “Another glass?” Grandma asks, clinking a spoon against the jug of lemonade.

  Just as Em nods, someone bangs open the screen door. We all jump. “Expecting someone?” Grandma asks, getting out of her chair.

  “Spencer?” My mom’s voice cuts through the pleasant atmosphere.

  Oh no. “Mom!”

  “Who’s this?” Mom asks when she spots Em sitting beside me at the table. “You’ve got yourself a girlfriend?”

  The blush creeps up the back of my neck and burns its way to my scalp. Em stands up and sticks her hand out. Mom ignores it. “My name’s Em. I work with Spencer at the track.”

  Wrong thing to say!

  Mom’s lips pinch together in a tight line. She automatically reaches into her purse to fish out her pack of cigarettes.

  “Angel—” Grandma warns. The pack disappears back into Mom’s purse. “So what brings you here?”

  “I’m here to visit my son, if you don’t mind.”

  It’s Grandma’s turn to purse her lips. I can see where Mom gets it from.

  “And to find out what he plans to do about school.”

  “I’m right here,” I say. “You don’t have to talk about me like—” I glance over at Em. She’s still smiling sweetly. There’s no way to know what she’s thinking.

  “I’m going to ALC in September.”

  “The school for bad kids?” Mom snaps back at me.

  “My school,” Em says, still smiling. Her cheeks must be getting sore.

  Grandma clears her throat. “They offer a good program for kids who don’t quite fit into the regular system.” She glances from me to Em before adding, “They can give Spencer the extra help he needs.”

  “I’ll try it until Christmas,” I say. “If my grades haven’t improved, I’ll transfer back to Reston High.”

  Mom looks less than impressed.

  “And I’ll quit my job.”

  Mom’s eyes narrow. “So if you flunk out after the first semester, you won’t try to work at the track?”

  “Not during the school year.”

  Mom considers this. “And if you flunk out, you’ll move back home with me.”

  I hear Grandma take a deep breath like she’s going to say something. She doesn’t, though. Moving home with Mom? Over my dead body. I nod, though, as if I’m considering the possibility. “Okay. Fine.”

  Mom doesn’t exactly smile. She leans back in the kitchen chair. “Good.”

  Grandma and I have talked a lot about how Mom might react to me changing schools. What I’m not going to tell Mom is that I’ll do whatever it takes to pass. There’s no way I’m going to fail anything.

  Then, without warning, Mom leans over the table and reaches for me. I flinch, thinking she’s going to slap me. “Hold still,” she says. She doesn’t smack me. Instead she smoothes a bit of hair away from my forehead and says, “You are so much like your father.”

  Her eyes fill with tears, and she blinks. Then her phone rings, and she is instantly transported back into her other life. She pulls her hand back and snaps open the phone.

  “Hi, honey, I’m just leaving now. Everything seems fine here. Yes. Yes, I’ll be back soon. Oh my god! I’ve only been gone for—Fine. Ice cream? What flavor? Another video? But you never finished the last—”

  She keeps talking as she pushes the chair back from the table, picks up her purse and heads back to her car.

  When she’s gone, we all let out a breath.

  “So now you’ve met my mom,” I say to Em.

  Em nods. “When do you plan to tell her you’re saving up to buy a yearling at the sales next year?”

  “If I value my life? Never.”

  “There’s a difference, you know, between being mean and being unhappy.” Em stares down at the tablecloth when she says this, almost like she doesn’t want to interfere.

  What she says makes sense. It’s easier to think of Mom as mean and crazy, but it’s probably true that she isn’t very happy.

  Em looks up and smiles at me. My face relaxes into a goofy grin. It strikes me that I don’t have to share my mom’s house, and I sure don’t need to share her miserable outlook.

  Em reaches over for the stack of paper on the table. “Is that the race program?” she asks.

  “Sure is,” Grandma says. “So, you two, who do you like in the first?”

  “No Worries Mon,” I say without hesitating. “Just because I like the name.”

  Acknowledgments

  If the dream of some is to run away and join the circus, mine is to run away and join life on the backside. Over the years, dozens of generous souls
have opened their shedrows, endured my endless questions and tolerated my scribbling pen. To all of you who work with horses in the racing industry and who have been so helpful, thank you. Thanks, too, are due to Melissa McKee, DVM, who graciously answered my questions about snake venom. Of course, this story could not have found its way into the world without the hard work of the wonderful team at Orca. My editor, Sarah Harvey, deserves a special mention. Without her encouragement and guidance, this book would never have crossed the finish line.

  Nikki Tate is the popular author of many books for children, including Jo’s Triumph and Jo’s Journey. Nikki (and her collection of goats, ponies, dogs, cats and assorted feathered friends) makes her home on Vancouver Island. Each year Nikki visits many schools to talk about her books, lead writing workshops and perform as a storyteller. Interested teachers can visit www.nikkitate.com for more information.