Most people follow the money after crimes are committed. In Kentucky, A. L. Wright knows you follow the sporting. The race had been run. Business was settled. Money exchanged hand fast enough to singe the surface of greasy hands waiting to make it legitimate.
Most of the tourists were hung over and snuggled away wherever their energy or will ran out. I wasn’t any different. Neither my guest nor I had been ready to unclench our limbs. My wake up call came at 6:30 a. m. instead of eight. Not even her warmth kept this native turned Florida body from waking up shivering under these damp sheets.
Last night’s mint julep subduing my sense was the only thing keeping me from lapsing into Florida street lingo. The plush burgundy and gold tapestry curtains cascading around the north window view Of I-64 reminded me that I was not in this Brown Hotel room on my own dime. My guest appeared accustomed to awakening in hotel rooms with strange men. The ring on her finger told me that someone else would have the last say on that subject.
Me, I was in and hoped to be out before the start of that conversation. A thirteen hour drive would put enough distance between me and the issue to keep me out of trouble. At least that is what I thought. Being unlucky in horses this weekend meant I was probably going to be unlucky in fate on this Sunday morning. The right call can change a man’s my plans.