Dead if You Don’t

118

Monday 14 August

Moments after Kipp ended the call with Edi Konstandin, a text came in from his horse-racing tipster.

He stared at the text in disbelief. A horse called Mungo. A horse called Kayleigh’s Mother.

He rang Forbes.

‘Tony, is this some kind of a joke?’

‘Joke, Kipp, what do you mean?’

‘These horses are real?’

‘Absolutely. Both horses are working really well at home and they are strongly fancied. I would be very keen on both of them today.’

Thanking the tipster, he ended the call. Unreal. It had to be a bok. His luck, finally, was on the turn. He had a guardian angel!

He dialled his private bookmaker who placed all his bigger bets for him. ‘Justin, there’s two horses today and I want one hundred thousand on each of them.’

‘Are you sure? Two hundred grand, Kipp?’

‘Yes, I’m sure. Can you take it?’

‘That’s some way above your normal range — I’d have to have collateral — and I’d need to lay some off.’

‘I can give you collateral.’

‘How much?’

‘The full amount if you need it. I should be able to get it to you by around 1 p.m.’

‘OK.’

Ending the call, Kipp Brown sat very still. Those two horses had to be a sign, didn’t they?

He emailed his COO back.

Then he sat, very still, deep in thought. Had he just been dug out of one hole only to fall into another?

Shouldn’t he just count his blessings?

Every half-hour throughout the rest of the morning he checked his account. But no money came in. At 12.30 he called Edi Konstandin who apologized profusely, but his computer system was down and he was unable to make any transactions. His geek was on it.

Konstandin’s geek was still on it, two and a half hours later.

Kipp was shaking with frustration. His bookie was unable to place the bets without a major portion of the cash being deposited.

It wasn’t until close to 5 p.m. that the money finally hit his account.

Despondently, he checked the racing results online. In the 3 p.m. at Brighton, Mungo had come under starters orders, but then refused to leave the gate. The moment a horse came under starters orders, the bet on it was valid. He would have lost the entire amount. In the 4.15 at Doncaster, Kayleigh’s Mother had been three lengths clear when a nutter had sprinted, naked, across its path, freaking out the horse, which threw its jockey.

Relief surged through him. Maybe, he thought, some days you should count your blessings — however few and far between they were.