A Touch of Greed by Gary Ponzo Page B

After a minute he glanced back up at the TV and said, “Shit.”
    There was an older guy sitting two stools down from him who noticed Tommy’s mild outburst. He was a burly guy with a two-day stubble and a pair of reading glasses hanging around his neck.
    “You okay?” the man asked.
    “Aw, sure,” Tommy said, pointing to the TV, disgusted. “It’s just that the four horse is scratched.”
    The guy looked down at his Form on the bar in front of him. “Of course he’s scratched, he’s a pig. Should be pulling a plow out in a field.”
    Tommy nodded at the old-timer. “Yeah, but he’s the only other speed in the race. Who’s gonna wear down the chalk?”
    The guy kept reading the paper in front of him. “What about the eight?”
    “The eight?” Tommy laughed. “Shit, I could outrun that horse to the first turn.”
    The guy put his reading glasses on and placed his index finger on the Form next to the eight horse’s past performances. While staring at the Form, the guy’s face broke out into a sheepish grin.
    “I guess you’re right,” he said. “So I shouldn’t bet on the five to close up on him, huh?”
    “Not without the four to force the pace.”
    Tommy noticed the man’s beer glass was nearly empty. He waved at the bartender and said, “Please pour another beer for my friend here.”
    The guy looked over to be certain Tommy was talking about him. “You sure?”
    “Of course.” Tommy slid over one stool to sit next to the guy. He held out his hand. “Tommy Bracco.”
    “Ben Westfall,” the man said, shaking Tommy’s hand.
    “Hey, I hate know-it-alls,” Tommy said. “Bet whoever you want. I’m just a big mouth sometimes.”
    “Don’t worry, I always do.”
    “You’ve spent a few afternoons down here betting the ponies, eh, Ben?”
    “A few,” Ben said, as he took his beer from the bartender and held it up to his new friend. “Thanks.”
    “My pleasure,” Tommy said. He looked up and saw a line forming at the teller. “You better get your bet down on the third.”
    “Nah,” Ben said. “I’m not betting the favorite at that price. It’s not worth getting up twice to make twenty cents.”
    “Twenty cents? You’re a two-dollar bettor?”
    Ben sipped some of the foam off his beer. “Yes, sir.”
    Tommy smiled. “My uncle was a two-dollar bettor as well. He used to bet just for the thrill of knowing he was right.”
    “He still around?”
    “Naw, he died when I was a kid. He was an ex-cop, Baltimore PD.”
    Ben put his glass down. “I’m ex-Chicago PD. Your uncle and I would’ve gotten along great.”
    “I’ll bet you would’ve,” Tommy said. “Once he died, my cousins Nick and Phil ended up living with us. Nick followed his footsteps as a Baltimore cop, then went on to become an FBI agent.”
    “How about Phil?”
    “He’s in Vegas gambling his way to bankruptcy.” Tommy shrugged. “You just never know.”
    “No, you don’t.”
    A distant bell rang and both men instinctively looked up to see the horses break from the gate at Hollywood Park. A low murmur filled the room as the favorite settled into an easy lead.
    “You’re right,” Ben said. “He’s going to run away with it.”
    As the favorite came down the stretch, the banter and cheering swelled. The moment he crossed the finish line two lengths ahead of the field, the cheering stopped and a handful of men slapped their hands with their Forms, trying to cash in on a long shot which was never going to make it.
    Ben looked at Tommy. “How come you didn’t bet?”
    “Too much on my mind.”
    “Like what?”
    Tommy stood and faced Ben. “You see this big guy over my left shoulder.”
    Ben gave a cursory glance, then took another sip of his beer. “Yup.”
    “You know him?”
    Ben gave Tommy a cautious look. “You a friend of his?”
    Tommy chuckled. “Hardly. I just want to make sure I got the right guy. His name is Jerry Lemke, right?”
    Ben nodded. “That’s him. Why?”
    Tommy gave Ben a