Private Dublin

Chapter 87

There is something unique about horse racing in Ireland. Similar cheering, clamoring crowds can be found at other racetracks around the world, as well as the thunder of hooves on turf, the thrill of a wager on a runner with a meaningful name, free-flowing alcohol, party atmosphere, beautiful surroundings... these are all replicated elsewhere. However, as I stood watching the Derby Day scene at the Curragh, listening to Mo-bot and Sci follow the action of Lawrence Finch’s clandestine syndicate and place bets of their own that followed Propaganda Tre’s flow of dirty money, I realized that the quality that makes Irish racing so special is its magic.

I’d noted that Ireland was a special place when I’d first seen it from the air, and it was brought home to me again as I watched beautiful, gleaming thoroughbreds come charging down the final straight. Somehow the Irish still keep wonder and mystery at the heart of their everyday life and I think that is part of what makes them such a hospitable people. They want to share the magic they’ve discovered. They want to welcome strangers to their beautiful corner of the world and showcase the wonder of it. And that ethos means every Irish endeavor is doubly celebrated, not just for the joy of the pursuit itself, but for the fact that it is an expression of that wonder. There is a unique quality to this country that everyone can feel, but few can describe, and in that magic lies much of what makes Ireland so special. At least that’s how it seemed to me as I absorbed the Derby Day atmosphere.

Lawrence Finch rarely bet on his own horses, but one of his was victorious in the race before the Derby, the 3:25 challenge for horses over three years old. The winner was a five-year-old gelding called King Finch. I watched Finch and his entourage cheer the win and saw him leave his box.

That was my cue to make my own way out of the grandstand. I navigated the throng of racegoers, many of whom were now cheerfully unsteady on their feet, making my way to the winners’ enclosure, where I stood beside the gate and watched people coming and going.

I waited until I saw a particularly drunk man staggering away from the enclosure with his arms around a woman in a peach-colored summer dress. I started toward them and deliberately bumped into him. When we collided, I apologized profusely and snapped off his lanyard without him noticing. Mollified by my display of remorse, he and the woman went on their way, and I tied the lanyard around my own neck before heading to the gate.

It was thronged as people were changing stations between races, and everyone wanted to be in their chosen spot before the Derby started. The hustle and bustle helped me because the steward gave my pass only the most cursory of glances before waving me through.

I found Lawrence Finch in the winners’ circle awaiting the return of King Finch. He was surrounded by people who were congratulating him and celebrating his moment of triumph. He spotted me as the horses were led in, and this time he didn’t smile. In fact, his mood turned instantly sour. His eyes blazed with anger and he nudged Jackson Kyle, who immediately started toward me.

I was in no mood to deal with underlings and followed the white-painted railing around the enclosure, pressing through the assembled crowd as though it wasn’t there. I didn’t break stride as I encountered Jackson but slugged him in the mouth before he had the chance to open it. He fell hard, and the people around us gasped and backed away.

Someone shouted for security, but I was in front of Lawrence Finch before anyone could stop me.

He flinched and took a step back.

“Don’t worry, Mr. Finch. I promise I’m not here to hurt you,” I said. “I’ve come to finish you.”