Theo fascinated River. River counted him—as he counted Beluga—as a true friend.
“Meu amigo! You made it. Beluga said you were sleeping like the dead with a big dog you stole at your side. What are you doing with a dog, eh?”
“I had to take him. He’s a good dog; he was like a slave,” River said. “So, you, meu amigo, how are you doing so far?”
“You mean betting?”
“We are at the track.”
“One little one came in—enough to play for a while,” Theo said cheerfully. “Now, see, look here at my form. There’s the horse for you! He’s a big bay and he’s won most of his races so far. I have my money on him. You going to go bet?”
“You already put in all your choices?”
“You’re too late for the sixth race but there are six more races coming up. Go put in your bets. I’ll be here,” Theo said. “Hey, you want my advice first?”
“No!” River told him, laughing. “I like the way I choose.”
“You choose because you like a horse’s name.”
“Hey, if I like it, the horse probably likes it too. That means he’s a happy horse—and happy horses run fast,” River said.
“Not if they’re ridden by a bad jockey.”
“And what’s a bad jockey? A man who woke up and had a fight with his wife. Who knows who had a fight with his wife on what day?”
River walked back through the stands and the crowds of people in them to reach the window. Grabbing a race form, he quickly jotted down his choices for the six remaining races. One young thoroughbred in the eighth race was rated dead last but River had seen his first race. He decided to put his money on the horse—Montalbo’s Ricardo. In the tenth race, there was a horse named Chancey’s Adventurous Escape. He had to bet on a name like that too.
He placed his bets and found Theo again. Theo was grumbling beneath his breath.
“Your horse didn’t come in?” River asked.
“Fourth! He came in fourth!” Theo said, shaking his head.
“I told you—you can’t go by statistics all the time.”
The next race, River’s horse came in. Theo stared at him, shaking his head in disgust. “You—I call you by the right name: Lucky Dog. You are a lucky dog, you know that, my friend?”
River smiled but felt a little chill. Lucky?
He was lucky, in a sense; he had enough money to spend his days exploring as he chose. He had friends, Beluga and Theo. He had this magnificent country to see, and he meant to do it. But he had killed people. He had seen death. And lately …
He started to say something casual but noted that Theo wasn’t paying attention to him anymore. He was looking up at the boxes—the reserved stands.
“Tio Reed Amato!” Theo said, his voice clipped with aggravation. “I don’t get it. I just don’t get it. How does such a bad man get to do so well in life?”
“He has money, Theo. That doesn’t mean he does well in life.”
“Why can’t he be caught—and stopped?” Theo asked. “Everyone knows that he is as slimy as a vat of olive oil, but they all kowtow to him anyway.”
River stared up at the man. He was wearing dark glasses, a panama hat, and a pristine white suit. He was surrounded by men in dark glasses and dark suits—all standing with their arms crossed over their chests. A human shield? He was, River had to admit, an impressive figure.
As they both looked at Amato, another man, dark-haired, with a swarthy complexion and a five o’clock shadow on his chin, broke through the crowd to speak to him. Amato was not happy with whatever was said. He turned on the man; he didn’t touch him but it was evident that he was either yelling or speaking sternly. At the end of his tirade, he waved a hand in the air, dismissing the man completely. The man practically bowed as he backed away from him, and disappeared out of the reserved box.
“Money. He buys everyone,” Theo grumbled.
“You mean Tio Amato?” River asked.
Theo nodded gravely. “He believes that every man can be bought; every man has his price. Most often, he is right.”
“Not everyone. I would never be bought,” River declared. “And I’m not the only one; there are many people who can’t be bought with money.”
“You are naive—nicely so, but naive,” Theo said.
River shrugged. “There’s nothing I want so much that you could buy me for it,” he said. Then felt a flicker of doubt.
There was something every man wanted badly enough to sell his soul for it—wasn’t there?
But he couldn’t think of what. For a moment, he just felt … empty. “You are different; you’re an ex-pat walking around Brazil. And you do all right—you have the gift with the ponies, eh? But there are men who cannot resist. They are men just trying to eke out an existence,” Theo said. “They are men with babies to feed, who pay bills paycheck to paycheck and run out of money sometimes before the next paycheck. Tio Amato is a powerful man. He rules the world around him because he can. Because there are those with great riches—and there are those who live at the lowest level of poverty.”
“That’s everywhere,” River said.
“Yes—but here, there are only two kinds of people. The rich and the poor. And Tio Amato knows who is who—and sometimes he can even buy the rich. When they are rich, they are often scared. They know that he’s got connections; he’s in the drug trade and there are mean men in that trade. If he wants something, people give in. They don’t want to be enemies with such a man as Amato.”
River had been watching Amato with growing distaste. It wasn’t just his physical look; it was something in his bearing. He enjoyed power—and he enjoyed seeing others broken and bowing to him. He enjoyed cruelty.
And River was pretty sure he’d killed someone.
Maybe a man who couldn’t be bought.
River looked away from Amato at last, not wanting the image of his face to stay implanted in his mind. So “Tio” Reed Amato ruled the world around him. Everyone knew the drug trade came with enforcers—and lots of guns. Did that mean that Amato could get away with murder? Had he dropped a body off the bridge?
River didn’t know it for a fact. He had no way to prove it.
Maybe the body would be found. Still, how to prove Amato was responsible for a body being in the river?
He stared back at the race track. “Hey, there they go!”
“Come on, seven!” Theo cried. “Seven, seven, seven! Gooooooo!”
Horse and jockey number seven raced ahead—and fell back at the loop. Montalbo’s Ricardo started slow, then burst into speed at the loop and came in first.
River was silent as Theo muttered beneath his breath. He looked at River and groaned. “You had your money on that horse,” he said accusingly.
River shrugged, grinning. “I’m thinking they call him Ricky for short. That’s kind of warm and familiar. He’s probably a happy horse.”
“And you remain a lucky dog!” Theo said.
In the ninth race, neither of the men’s horses came in. In the tenth, though, Chauncey’s Adventurous Escape sailed across the finish line, well ahead of the others.
“And that one was yours too,” Theo said. “You don’t gloat, but I see it in your eyes.”