Originally published on Facebook November 9, 2017.
When Rescues Write Noir....
had a thing about horses. It got him in trouble before, betting on
them. He just needed that one win, he told himself. There was one
horse in particular he was fond of, a big fellow with fuzzy feet. He
sure wasn’t a plow horse, that one.
Finding the money to bet was easy.
The dame lent it to him. Where she got it he didn’t ask. He promised
to buy her something nice. Something
sparkly and suitable for a princess, he said.
Placing the bet was
tougher. It was hard to find a bookie out in the sticks. Monty thought
he’d find one in town, and he had no reason to doubt him. He’d catch a
ride with one of the locals, he decided. He stood in the side of the
road and waited, the yellow dirt coating his paws. After a while he
realized he’d probably never get a chance to place that bet. The only
traffic here was the occasional tractor heading to yet another endless
field, the farmers waving at him in their cheerful way as they passed
The money was safe in his pocket, next to a crumpled Skittles
wrapper and an old bus ticket to Albuquerque . Safe, he thought sourly,
but doing nothing for him. He needed to place that bet. He was running
out of time.