“And you need to build a race track where Black Fonso can be kept in shape?”
“That’s correct.”
“Why don’t you use the course at one of the tracks where the horses are not running?” he asked-a natural question.
“We could do that,” I replied, “but some tout would be certain to get onto it. If we’re to clean up, the training must be done in absolute secrecy.”
“I can understand that now,” said Rappe, as he mulled the matter over. While I lay no claim to telepathic powers, it was easy to read his thoughts: he was wondering how he could get in on this deal.
I have made proposals to numerous people for crooked bets on the races. If these bets had been made as I proposed them, the bookmakers would have lost thousands of dollars. Everyone who was ever approached on a deal of this sort was interested, but not one of them ever gave any thought to the fact that it was basically dishonest. Rappe was no exception.
“Mr. Rappe,” I confided, “I am not a wealthy man. I can’t afford to buy the equipment we need. That is why I was looking at your salvage material. Perhaps you would be interested in helping to defray the expenses of training Black Fonso.”
He jumped at the bait without bothering to see if there was a hook attached. “I would! Provided, of course, that I could share in the profits when you clean up.”
“Naturally,” I replied. “Mr. Rappe, I’ll make you a proposal. Tomorrow, if you will meet me, I’ll take you to see Black Fonso. If you’re still interested, we can make some sort of deal. If you will furnish certain sums to purchase equipment and further the project, we’ll let you in on the betting.”
“Both Mr. Bruno and I would be interested,” said Rappe. “We will go with you.”
I had Black Fonso out at Palatine at old Jim Wilson’s farm. When Black Fonso came prancing out of the stall they were visibly impressed. He stood sixteen hands high and had a satiny black coat, with not a spot on him. He was really a beauty - black as night and with a spirited gleam in his eye. They were very enthusiastic.
The next day I called at their place of business to discuss terms. Bruno seemed the more impressionable of the two, and I had learned that he wrote the checks for the firm. This made him doubly valuable in my eyes, and I addressed most of my talk to him.
I explained why Black Fonso must be trained in the utmost secrecy if our plan was to succeed. I was quite frank about the inevitable expense.
It was agreed that Rappe and Bruno would pay certain costs to be passed on by me from time to time. In return, on the day that I selected to run Black Fonso as a ringer, they would be given an opportunity to wager as much as they liked.
A few days later we brought in Black Fonso from the country and stabled him near the Harlem track. We clocked him one morning at the Harlem seven-eighths course. The season had closed and we had the track to ourselves.
Rappe and Bruno held a stop watch and I used a timing device then used in harness racing. It was a mechanical clock, which was started or stopped by blowing into a rubber tube attachment. It gave us a double check on Black Fonso, who ran the course in one minute, twenty-seven and a fraction seconds.
At that time, this was considered very fast, although present-day horses have been speeded up so that 1:27 for a seven-eighths course now would tag a horse as a hopeless plug. Rappe and Bruno were extremely gratified. Of course, in this case, there was no faking on the distance.
“When do we make the killing?” Bruno wanted to know.
“At the right time,” I replied. “First, we must race an inferior horse under the name of Black Fonso so that authorities at the course will become familiar with him. I have a suitable horse for this purpose.
“Also,” I pointed out, “we must get Black Fonso in tiptop shape. We must have a place where he can be exercised secretly. I have located some equipment suitable for the purpose. In a few weeks, the odds should be long enough so that we can run him in and make a real cleanup.”
While I knew that it was not good policy to touch a potentially rich sucker for insignificant sums, I did get a few hundred from Rappe and Bruno to pay Black Fonso’s training expenses. I told them that I considered it better to train him in the country, away from prying eyes. They could see the logic of this.
What I didn’t tell them was that Black Fonso was a “Morning Glory”-a type of horse that is not uncommon, even today. He makes a sensational showing and looks like a world-beater in the morning; but in the afternoon’s competition, he folds up completely. Black Fonso was a whiz in a morning work-out but a washout in an afternoon race.
Another thing I didn’t tell them was that the horse entered at the track as Black Fonso was Black Fonso himself - he was the one and only horse I had. He didn’t need another horse anyway to make a poor showing - he was quite capable of doing it himself. And of course we helped him along this path to obscurity.
It is the custom, on the day that a horse is entered in a race, to withhold all feed, giving him only a small amount of water. This helps to put him on edge by the time he goes to the post. We always saw to it that Black Fonso had even more than his usual daily intake of hay and water-a precaution to keep him from winning, if by some freak of luck, he might come near it.
He was never in the money, however, and every time he raced and finished back of the field, the odds on him became longer. In three weeks the odds against him were 10 to 1. I went to Rappe and Bruno and told them I had decided on a date when the horse running as Black Fonso would be withdrawn and the real Black Fonso would be substituted.
“Put us down for about $300,” said Bruno.
“Don’t be foolish!” I scoffed. “Here you have an opportunity to clean up and you talk of a paltry $300. I thought I was dealing with men who knew how to bet.”
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