Belmont Park Race Track: Elmont, New York

The elegant, ivy-framed, arched windows of the Belmont grandstand were even more magnificent up close and personal. John and Freddie stepped off the train and were quickly swept up into the fray of the busy day. The smell of food filled the air, and dust already flew about with the current races. Announcers and screaming fans could be heard from the seats themselves.

John lead Freddie over to the paddock to watch some of the horses as they were paraded about. Some pranced pridefully, some reared and bit with spunk, some had darker splotches across their coats, and some were moderately calm as they looked about, ears held high.

John presumptuously put his arm around Freddie, but mostly it was so he could talk to her without other's seeing or hearing him; and maybe a little bit out of protection in the huge mob of people.

"So, wot 'orse would ya put money on jus' by lookin'?" John mused in her ear as he waved his other hand out over the lot... "There be a lo' of them to choose from, an' ya can learn a lo' jus' from watchin'. Tuh dark spots on tuh 'orses means they are sweatin'... An' that means they are nervous, unless it be near their kidneys. Then they be ill."

He pointed out one specifically that had a few darker splotches all along them, "An' that filly be nervous an' ill. Bad combination. She probably shouldn' race today at all." John smiled at Freddie before changing to the others.

"Wot about that one though?" he pointed to one that reared and pranced pridefully. "A winner certainly, na? They are obviously at 'ome 'ere an' 'ave tuh pride of a winner?" He continued on and pointed to another, "An' then there's tuh silent but alert 'orses... Some wouldn' bet on them, but look at number t'ree there." He directed her gaze to a single colt that stood stoic, no splotches on his coat, and his ears tall and alert. "If it were me, that would be me bet." He grinned and stood tall again, stretching himself out but keeping his arm on the shorter latino woman.

"So again, wot 'orse would ya pick?" he smirked mischievously.

Freddie was casually dressed to the nines. A tea dress in deep magenta, bespeckled with pale pink orchids, contrasted fetchingly against her tan skin. A matching magenta bow popped strikingly against the sleek backdrop of her luscious dark ringlets. And matching purse and pale pink mary janes completed the outfit; with small silk roses detailing each of the clasps. Overall, it was a flattering ensemble for both her figure and her profession. 

Stepping from the train, she looked calm and collected, even as she was dwarfed by the bustling crowd. She moved through the throngs of people seeking exodus from the train platform with surprising ease, and fell into step with John as smoothely as if they'd done this a million times. She gave no protest as he ushered her toward the paddock, nestling comfortably into the crook of his arm as he guided her protectively through the crowd. The weight of his 1911 pressed stiffly against her side as he pulled her close, but it didn't seem to bother her. In fact, she felt somewhat reassured by its presence. Leaning into the hard, heavy outline, she clutched a small basket full of flowers tightly between them; each stem and blossom carefully prepackaged according to type and color. 

There were blue delphiniums and bright red poppies corked in small vials of "water", white roses and bright yellow tulips carefully wrapped with individual packages of "fertilizer", and several small bouquets pre-wrapped for purchase tucked amongst a variety of other loose flowers. As they walked, Freddie kept the basket clutched unusually close, stopping briefly every now and again to sell a single flower to rather shady looking characters here and there, the men all seeming pleased to tip her exorbitantly for the quickly wilting blooms. 

As they stopped abruptly near the holding pens, Freddie was jarred from her business dealings by ACTUAL conversation. She smiled softly as she took in the information, noting the demeanor and physicality of each beast in turn. Truth be told, she had no idea where the kidneys would be on a horse... but she imagined it couldn't be much different than a human. Muttering softly to herself, she moved along the fence line, fully confident that John would keep pace without explanation. With discerning dark eyes she assessed each animal in turn before puffing up... at least as tall as she was able... to make her choice. "That one," she declared confidently, indicating a younger looking, smallish, dark brown stallion with a fiery temperament. The horse was currently giving his jockey a fair amount of grief about loading into a nearby stall, which tickled Freddie to no end. "Definitely that one," she giggled gleefully. "And maybe that one," she mused, turning her attention to a slightly older looking bay stallion who stood so stoic among the others that he seemed almost statuesque. 

"So," she turned to John with a smirk, "Are my odds better with a spread? Or should I go all in?" 

John smiled as Freddie pointed out two choices. Giving her shoulder a pat, he pointed at the more stoic of the two horses. "'E's more calm, na exertin' 'is energy. 'E's a strong first look. Tuh feisty one, a good choice too but 'e's usin' up strength. We can look at 'is numbers an past races. If 'e looks good, then we can put some money on 'im."

"Are my odds better with a spread? Or should I go all in?" Freddie asked, turning to John with a smirk.

He returned an equally mischievous look and rubbed the shoulder his hand was resting on. "Well, tuh bettin' can get confusin'. A spread, or exotic as it be called, can net ya more money but it be a lo' more difficult to win wit'." He nodded, "An' then there is wot we call a straight bet which be a bet on one 'orse." He turned his gaze back to the horses for a bit, keeping his eyes on them.

"I think ya should probably bet straight for now. Maybe place a show bet on one or both of your picks. Unless they don' race toget'er. Show bets be a bet that tuh 'orse ya pick places first, second, or third. If they do, ya win. But I wouldn' put all your money down on one race." He smirked again before looking down to Freddie. "If ya do that, then you'll be done before we even see nine furlongs."

He turned toward the grandstand and began to walk for the tellers, "We should probably go bet before tuh races start. We still need to check tuh 'orse's numbers." John guided Freddie back through the busy crowd and made their way to the tellers to place their bets on the horses that would be racing... There were numbers for the Aqueduct as well and John grinned as he looked over the earlier races. "Ahh wonderful!" he pointed to the board that said War Admiral and Seabiscuit had both placed in their races. His finger guided Freddie's eyes as she followed and looked back to him as if asking -is that good?- John smiled to her, "I bet on bot' of them placing in their race. First or second. War Admiral won 'is race, Seabiscuit placed in 'is." He did a small victory dance, "That means I won me bets." Leaning in closely, he whispered into her ear, "About twenty-t'ousand for a four 'undred dollar bet." He smiled looking at Freddie. It wasn't a large turn around like with drugs, but it was good fun, and a profit regardless.

John took a breath and calmed his happy nature, clearing his throat as Freddie laughed at him. "Anyway. 'Ow about we get up there an' place a bet for ya and I'll get me winnin's wired to me account."

The two made their way to the teller who looked to them, "Yea, what'll it be this time, Shoaltz? Another shit bet?"

John blinked, "Ya wound me Bartleby." He pulled a ticket from his pocket and handed it to the man, "I think ya owe me this time. Jus' like last time, an' tuh time before. Maybe your jus' angry 'cause I know me 'orses bet'er than you." He winked and put his hand on Freddie's back. "Now, this young lass would like to place a bet, ya unnahstand? Ya think ya could do your fockin' job an' keep your smart arsed remarks to yourself?"

"Yeah yeah, oh...ohhh... Shit Shoaltz." Bartleby looked up and gave a nod, "It'll be taken care of." He turned to Freddie, "And what may I do for you, my beautiful, sun-kissed...beauty?" His face twisted up a bit as he failed to be more seductive in his word choice, but it was too late now. Bartleby simply leaned forward, ticket book in his hand and ready to write her bets down.

Freddie laughed unabashedly at the man's hapless attempt at flattery. "You can focus on the horses, cabrón," she told him flatly. "I want to see the aggregates for number..." she trailed off for a moment, craning to look back over her shoulder, "...um... 9... in the purple, and number 6... in the green." 

The squat little man behind the counter eyed her incredulously for a moment before shuffling through a small stack of papers. He seemed somewhat sour as he laid two spreads side by side; a dizzying spectacle of numbers. Freddie glanced at the information, her eyes crossing a bit as she tried to decide where to look, but it was as good as greek to her. So she turned to John, instead. 

"I have no idea what I'm doing, Juanito. Qué mierda esta? What do I do with it?" 

John chuckled, looking over the numbers and ran his fingers along the names. "'Ere ya go, Freddie... See these numbers 'ere? Those be your wins to your losses. Nine, -Danny Boy-. That be your feisty one. 'Splains a lo' bein' named for an Irishman." John snickered to himself, "'E's placed eight of tuh last twelve races 'e's been in, an' won t'ree of those." He looked at Freddie, "Those be pret'y good odds. I'd put a small stack on 'em to place..."

Looking across to the other papers, he pointed out the numbers again, "Six, 'Eaven's Devil. Numbers na as good, but 'e's still likely to place." He tapped his fingers on the numbers, "Seven out of fifteen still isn' bad. 'E's placed in ova 'alf of 'is races. Wot is interestin' is 'e won six of those, an' made show on tuh sevent'." John grinned looking at Freddie. "Well I think ya picked some winners, me flower." He looked at Bartleby, "Twenty to place on nine, twenty to place on six." He looked at Freddie, "Unless ya wan' to put more or less... Your choice lass. Wot'eva ya pick, pay da man an' take tuh tickets. Jus' tell 'im tuh amount ya wan', an' tell 'im on which 'orse. Then we can pick ot'er 'orses an' go again, or leave. Your choice."

John smiled at Bartleby and Freddie.

Freddie beamed up at John, doing a little happy dance of her own. She was used to people calling her flower, what between her surname and her shop, but there was something unique about the way he said it. And it wasn't just his goofy accent. "Twenty on both!" she barked at poor Bartleby, laying her cash on the bar. The man grumbled a bit as he noted down her bets, handing over her tickets as he scooped the cash off the counter with a sigh. 

"Yer killin me, Smalls," the man joked and Freddie shot him a glare cold enough to freeze the depths of hell. "Speak to me like that again and I just might," she hissed with a frigid latin fire, letting the man flounder a moment under her harsh gaze (despite the fact she had to look UP to glare at him) before bursting into good natured laughter a mere moment later. "NAH! I kid, Tonto, I kid," she chuckled as she snatched her tickets from Bartleby's shaking fingers. 

Taking John's arm again she moved away from the counter, clearly done with this particular part of the day... at least for the moment. "We'll be back!" she called, half-teasingly, over her shoulder.  Doing her best to keep pace with his long-legged strides, she scuttled along next to John. "So," She looked up at him expectantly, her cheek resting warmly against his shoulder, "now we watch, yes?"  

John couldn't help but chuckle lightly at Freddie's stern look; much akin to a chihuahua, damned vicious ankle biters. Bartleby stuttered and stammered, unsure how to handle the way Freddie had talked to him...

"I'm sorry ma'am, yes m-ma'am, it won't h-hap-pen ag-gain m-ma'am, my ap-p-pologies!" he rattled off, almost like he was used to having to back track. John's chuckling grew the more Bartleby stumbled over his words. When Freddie burst into laughter, John lost his salts and erupted into a boisterous guffaw with her. Bartleby, stunned by the display, just stared and blinked. He tried to chuckle with them, but knowing he was the root of their entertainment left him feeling deflated and annoyed. "Yea yea, laugh it up..." he mumbled as the two of them moved away.

John smiled at Freddie's question. "Aye me dear, now we watch." He led her out onto the grandstands where one race was being watched. The horses rushed quickly around the track, hugging the inside of the turns. "Watch them run. Elegant, beautiful. I'll own messen one someday." Freddie looked up to him, but he seemed entranced by the majestic beasts carrying the small men on their backs. The dirt flew from their hooves and the ground shook as they thundered by. The cheers from the crowd were near deafening. It wasn't worth trying to talk at the moment, but John looked down at Freddie and his smile was nearly ear to ear. He pointed to them both, then pointed down the stands before taking her hand and leading her closer to the finish line.

"'Ere!" he yelled out over the crowd as they started to quiet down. "We can sit 'ere an' watch the races, see wot ya think." John smiled at Freddie, his face bright like a child's on Christmas morning, like a young school boy who just got detention with the hot teacher. "I think you're gonna enjoy this, lass. One'a your races be next... Nine, Danny Boy be racin' in this one. Ya feelin' excited yet?" He chuckled enthusiastically.

Freddie stopped short as John lead her out onto the crowded grandstand. "So many people," she muttered softly to herself, surveying row after row of long wooden benches packed with jerking, writhing bodies. She watched as the first round of horses stampeded by, and all the people rose and cheered in tandem; their heads twisting en masse to trace the beasts down the raceway. It was comical to the newcomer, but also beautiful in a strange way... to have so many strangers moving reverently in unacknowledged unison, connected in their single-minded devotion to something so wholly apart from themselves, voluntarily in exuberant submission to something entirely outside of their control. 

John placed his hand on her shoulder and guided her past a group of enthralled devotees to the top of a long aisle, that lead down to the fence line of the racetrack. Standing at the top, Freddie looked down at the packed pews on either side and couldn't help but muse aloud, "It's almost like mass!" Her pitched voice was strained above the noise of the crowd, but she tried anyway, pointing out a man to the left who clutched his ticket in clasped hands that were pressed to his forehead; muttering fervently. "Look! See?!" she called with a somewhat excited tone. Though for someone with no religiosity, the meaning would've been lost. Kissing her tickets, Freddie crossed herself and mumbled something in spanish softly under her breath.   

John pointed down the stands, and Freddie tilted her head in mild confusion. "I don't unDER...!" Suddenly she was moving forward, cut short by the jerking start as John took her hand. She tensed for a moment at the unexpected and somewhat intimate intrusion, but relaxed into his grasp as his warm, strong hands coaxed her closer to the finish line. Her hands felt miniscule in his; her thin fingers almost dainty as they clasped his palm, despite the smoothe calluses that covered her finger tips. Her thumb traced lines along the back of his hand as she looked up into his beaming smile, trying not to wiggle in place as his excitement and glee infected her. 

He guided her to a seat close to the finish line, and just far enough back to have a pristine view of the raceway. It was hard for her to sit still as they waited for the starting gate to be reset and the horses to be loaded in. Her whole body thrummed with excitement and anticipation, and she fidgeted about like a toddler at church. The racers were set, and the announcer's voice rang out enthusiastically over the speakers, whipping the crowd into a veritable frenzy. John guided Freddie's gaze to the starting gate, and she couldn't help but bounce a little on the spot. "That's my horse! That's my horse!!" she cried jubilantly, tugging on his arm.

Wait...was she still holding his hand??  

John couldn't help but bounce as she tugged on his arm. He was excited to see her so worked up over horses, though he wasn't sure if it was for the race and the new experience, or if it was for the fact that she stood a decent chance at tripling her money on this race alone.

"Aye, lass, it is your horse. Number nine. An' we be in PERFECT view for tuh finish." He smiled and pointed to the starting gate. "Get ready... They will start in jus' a moment."

Almost as if the announcer was waiting for John to finish, he came over the speaker. "The next race will be eight furlongs. From stall one to stall nine, in this order, we have; Almost Illegal, Kiss and Tell, Vegas, Danny Boy, Ransom Paycheck, Made of Honor, Endless Possibilities, Wild Rose, and Bourbon. The race will begin shortly." The click as the speaker turned off had John's heart racing. This was his favorite part, watching the horses jump out of their gates. He looked at Freddie who's eyes were glued on stall four.

"'E's gonna do jus' fine, Freddie. Don' ya worry." John took a breath and, before he exhaled he heard the click of the speaker come back on.

"Get ready lass, 'ere we go!" he yelled out as an alarm bell went off. Sounded much like that of a fire house bell. The gates swung open and the horses jolted off, quickly heading into a group on the inside wall of the track as they passed in front of the grandstands, and right in front of Freddie and John...

"AND THEY'RE OFF!" rattled loudly through the speakers in the stands and the people lifted to their feet. "Kiss and Tell takes an early lead, Ransom Paycheck and Vegas pulling in closely as they head into the first furlong. Danny Boy and Almost Illegal following on their hooves!" The man continued to call the race as the horses rounded the first turn, but John's and Freddie's eyes were fixed on number nine; Danny Boy. He was trapped in the grouping and couldn't get an edgewise on either side of him.

"Let off on 'im, pull back boyo an' let them around ya then get on tuh ot'er side an' pull through!" John muttered out rather loudly as the jockey started to make Danny Boy weave a bit to widen their position before allowing Almost Illegal to slip in front of him. "That should 'elp..." John mused to himself before looking at Freddie. She was shaking, either in fear or excitement as the horses came out of the first turn and hit the straight away.

"Keeping a good lead we have Kiss and Tell, Vegas following with Almost Illegal pulling up on Vegas' rear! Ransom Paycheck has fallen back and Danny Boy is starting to gain ground on the straight away!" John smiled and nudged Freddie a bit...

"Can ya see, lass?" he chuckled as the horses headed into the next turn, "I 'ope ya can, 'cause 'ere they come!" The thunderous hooves rattled the seats as the nine, beautiful, thoroughbred horses closed in on the finish line. John grabbed Freddie's hand excitedly and squeezed, he was excited for her.

"Coming out of the second turn we have Kiss and Tell, Vegas, and Danny Boy all fighting for the win. Kiss and Tell seems to be loosing steam! Ransom Paycheck is closing on the trio with Almost Illegal right behind! Made of Honor is making his move now, Endless Possibilities is pulling closer from the rear! Wild Rose and Bourbon are fighting to stay in the group!"

John watched as the group of horses spread out on the last straight away as they rushed for the finish line... "'Ere we go boyos, give 'em 'ell an' give a good show!" John cheered, letting go of Freddie's hand as he started clapping along with the roaring crowd.

"And in the last stretch we have Almost Illegal swinging around to take the lead position, Vegas holding in second with Kiss and Tell gripping a third position. Danny Boy is quickly gaining on the three! Danny Boy is passing Kiss and Tell, he's neck and neck with Vegas... Danny Boy is gaining on Almost Illegal, it's going to be close! It's neck and neck! AND IT'S ALMOST ILLEGAL BY A NOSE! DANNY BOY SECOND, VEGAS THIRD! RANSOM PAYCHECK, KISS AND TELL, ENDLESS POSSIBILITIES, MADE OF HONOR, BOURBON, AND WILD ROSE BRINGING IN THE REAR! THERE YOU HAVE IT FOLKS! ALMOST ILLEGAL, DANNY BOY, AND VEGAS TAKING THE STAKES!"

The crowd was roaring with cheers, boos, cries, curses, and about every emotion you could think of. John looked at Freddie as he cheered loudly, but frowned noticing the look on her face. "He didn't win... No gané nada," she pouted a bit. John smiled and chuckled, "No, me Flower, 'e didn', but 'e placed... Which was your bet." He grinned. "As long as Danny Boy won or placed, came in first or second, ya win your bet." He grinned as her smile began to return and she realized she had, in fact, still won!

Freddie bounced on her heels, tiptoeing up in a feeble attempt to watch the horses being led off the track. "Oh I like this," she giggled cheerfully. "Do you do this often? I think I'd like to do this more often," she mused. "Maybe if I win more, I can save for my own horse. I'd call him... Padre Santo... or Sagrada...hmm... or maybe Bishop... OH or El Padrino." Spreading her hands in the air as if envisioning the name in lights, Freddie tossed her head back in laughter; her curls bobbing along with the melodic noise. Obviously she thoroughly enjoyed the sacrilegious jokes. Suddenly she gasped, and turned to John, smacking his arm excitedly, "Wait! Yo se, yo se, yo se. I will name him TEA!" She cackled gleefully, "And we could have Earl do the racing." Of course she would never ACTUALLY suggest such a thing to the Godfather, but the idea tickled her nonetheless. "Just imagine his monocle bouncing... up and down and up and down." With a squealing laugh she bounced in her seat, mimicking the way a jockey rides.

Realizing she'd gone maaaybe just a bit too far, she cleared her throat and tried to regain her composure. She smoothed her dress, and straightened her headband, pulling a small compact mirror out of her basket to check her lipstick. "So," she beamed up at John, clearly happy as a lark, "Now what? Who goes next? Do we wait? Or bet more? What do you think, mi querido?"

The announcer came over the speakers again, setting up for the next race...

"Well, Freddie... Ya bet on two of tuh races. Means ya probably wan' to wait until tuh second race is done. Then we can go an' collect your winnins." John chuckled before eyeing the horses. Only five this time, and they were setting up in the far stalls. "This race will be shorter. Six furlongs this time. Ya see them on tuh ot'er side..." He pointed across the midfield, "Your pick, 'Eaven's Devil, be gettin' ready." John smiled and looked back to Freddie who seemed to be getting excited again. Another race, more excitement, more adrenaline pumping ecstasy. "I'll 'appen it'll start soon."

John and Freddie looked on as the announcer started off again, naming the horses. Neither of them cared except for 'Heaven's Devil', number six ready to run. They cheered as the horse's name was announced, then got quiet in anticipation for the start...

It all happened so swiftly; the alarm bell rang, the gates swung wide, the announcer struck up his play by play calling, and the horses took a jolting leap from the stalls. Heaven's Devil took a quick lead, but he seemed to peak in a hurry as the other four horses gathered in. The straightaway was damaging to Freddie and John's mood as Heaven's Devil fell behind by three strides, pulling up the rear of the race going in to the turn.

"Cack-'anded jockey! I'm gonna throw a clemmy at 'im if 'e don' let that 'orse loose! 'E's 'oldin' 'im back!" John groaned out as he watched the other four horses lengthen their lead on Freddie's pick. He placed a comforting hand in the middle of her back and leaned in to her ear. "This be tuh part where ya start to pray to 'ooeva ya will. It ceartainly waint 'urt." John pursed his lips, adding to his grim look. He took a deep breath and muttered something quietly under his breath then looked back to the horses.

Almost as if their urging could be heard by the horse and the jockey themselves, Heaven's Devil kicked into gear and jettisoned forward with renewed spirit as they came out of the turn. It was the last stretch, a two furlong run for the finish line, and Heaven's Devil was moving at twice the pace of the leader.

"Flippin 'eck!" John reached up and grabbed his hair, tugging the style right out of it. "'E jus' might do it!" He looked at Freddie, "'E jus' might fockin' do it!" He chuckled and looked back to the race that had enveloped Freddie and the rest of the crowd. Heaven's Devil was half a length from surpassing the leader and they still had a furlong to run.

"'Es GONNA do it!" John's tune changed excitedly. "C'mon c'mon c'mon ya mot'er fockin' beauty! Ya can dooo iiiiiiIIIITTTT, YAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAS!" The stands erupted in praise at the upset. Heaven's Devil had pulled out the win by a full length and a half. John clapped and cheered, then turned and grabbed Freddie's face, planted a kiss on her, and pulled away to yell some more! It was clear he was excited, they both were!

...But... He had kissed her!

The thought hadn't even fully registered yet, but he turned and looked at her, stopping and blinking for a bit as she stared back, her jaw practically on the floor. "I'll 'appen ya should join me 'ere more often. You're good luck!" He looked back to the track, then quickly to her again, "An' I think I like ya, good luck or na... You're a good'un."

John grinned. It was cocky, it was annoying, it was intoxicating. They stared at each other for what seemed like forever before Freddie broke the silence.

Freddie stammered, struggling to catch her breath. Between the upset of the race, the kiss, and the slowly dawning realization that she'd kissed him back, it seemed her vocabulary had suddenly atrophied to little more than a litany of indecipherable, semi-human noises. At first is was something like a croak... then a barely a breath... a soft, distinctly feminine sigh... and a creak... a humming... finally a shy giggle. "I... umm... heh," she fought desperately to collect her thoughts, pressing a hand to her flushed cheeks. Her eyes searched his face, then the track, then her shoes.

'Well," she thought to herself, 'obviously it's a good day to go all in.' With a soft chuckle, she allowed the inebriating warmth provoked by his cocky attitude to radiate through her, dissolving whatever vestiges of modesty she might still have. Catching his gaze she smirked at him playfully, "Suerte, hm? Must be. Cuz I really scored big today." She winked at him coquettishly and then snerked softly at herself, fluffing her curls as she looked out over the emptying race track.

"So... um... What now?" She smiled up at him coyly, fanning herself with the betting tickets. Suddenly it seemed like kind of a loaded question.

John snatched the tickets from Freddie and skipped off towards the betting windows, teasing the woman, "Well, are ya comin'?" He chuckled, looking up the stands at Freddie who seemed EXTREMELY shell shocked. "We got'a go turn this in to get your money."

He waved her over and put his arm around her shoulders, pulling her in close and guiding her over to the tellers, back to Bartleby, a huge smile across his face to rub extra salt in the wounds. "Rieght, lass... So wot you're gonna do is give those tickets there to Bartleby 'ere, an' 'e's gonna give ya tuh winnins." He turned his gaze to Bartleby who was already frowning, "All of 'em. Ya know I can calculate tuh odds quicker than you."

Bartleby grinned, sarcastically, as he waited. Freddie smirked and took the tickets from John, giving them to Bartleby; a snarky glance following the tickets as if Freddie knew she was pissing him off. John simply smiled at the exchange as Bartleby took them and began calculating the winnings.

"So, wot did ya think of tuh races, Freddie?" John's eyes drifted over her head as he finished the question, eyeing a particularly rough looking man in uniform. The two made eye contact before John's brow raised and he blinked a bit before he brought his gaze back to Freddie, awaiting her answer.

Freddie scooped up her basket of flowers and hurried up the steps, playfully chasing after John as he wandered away with her tickets. She allowed him to drape an arm over her shoulders as she caught up to him, and responded in kind by sneaking an arm under his jacket and around his waist. As they reached the teller's window, she smirked cockily upon realizing that poor little Bartleby was still working. Tiptoeing up to slide her tickets across the counter, she giggled with caustic glee as the squat little bookie counted out her winnings with a sour pout.

"I like them," she smiled over her shoulder at John, a tinge of worry creeping into her expression as her eyes followed his gaze over her head; her grip tightening instinctively around the handle of her tote basket. Freddie took her winnings from Bartleby with a nervous glance and quickly nestled them carefully between the bouquets.

"But not as much as I think I like you, cariño mio,"  she cooed with syrupy affection, slipping her arm into his. Laying her head on his shoulder she shot him a 'just go with it and let's get out of here' kind of look as she guided him away from the window and what or whomever was behind her. They'd barely made it three steps when a tell-tale click echoed down the covered tellers alley. "Fredericca Louiza Florez," a booming voice reverberated off the riveted metal grandstands. "Ay chinga," Freddie cursed under her breath as the man's gravely voice rang out again, "Stay where you are. You're under arrest!!" 

Clutching her basket to her chest, Freddie gripped John's arm tightly and broke for the crowd near the paddock, praying the officer wouldn't open fire on civilians. For a woman with such short legs she moved with surprising speed and agility. She was only a few steps behind John when they melted into the bustling crowd, the grizzled officer following hot on their heels. With John slipping quickly out of view, Freddie frantically evaluated their options for escape:

Keep pressing forward?

Double back and blend into the crowd?

Try to slip onto the train unnoticed?

Nab a horse and make a break for it??

Struggling to maintain her slipping grip on John's hand, she squeezed hard and tugged; trying to get his attention. She had an idea... it was crazy... but it just might work. Besides, he wanted a horse anyway, right?

John cringed as the voice rang out. "Fock me!" was all that he managed before Freddie was tugging him along and into the crowd, the officer attempting to keep an eye on them. They continued running through, knocking over a few people as they ran. Multiple yells rang out as people were shoved and bowled over.

"This way lass!" John yelped out, heading for the paddock. Freddie tugged on his arm and he kept running. She tugged again, still no avail. Yet a third time and he finally turned and looked at her, "Wot is it?" He continued to run, but he had his head cocked so his ear faced her and he could hear her request... Or her plan.

She didn't say anything, but pointed out to the horses. John slowed down to a halt for just a moment before shrugging. "Fock it." He looked back to Freddie. "Keep up wit' me."

John hopped the railing from the grandstand and rolled as he hit the ground. Hopping to his feet he looked up at Freddie who stood about five foot aove him now. "C'mon lass! Le's go! Na time to dilly dally. Jump!"

Freddie looked over her shoulder at the encroaching officer before dropping her basket to him. "If you look up m-"

"Na now lass, jus' fockin' jump!" John interrupted. So she did, and landed daintily on her feet. They turned and took off across the infield of the paddock and to the stables. John tugged the tucked away 1911 out of his holster and hurried inside. "Sorry lads!" he aimed as he spoke... "I'm gonna need to borrow an 'orse!" With merely jockeys and stable hands in the room, it was easy to take one...

The workers scurried quickly and got a horse ready for them. John climbed on and held his hand out to Freddie. "Up lass! We need to be gone."

Freddie shook her head, "It's better if we split." She was already hauling herself up the slatted stall wall, using the height to mount a nearby stallion... bareback. Her dress crept up her thighs as she straddled the beast's back, revealing the .380 acp strapped snugly to her thigh. Leaning over she took the basket from him, and fished all the cash she'd made that day from betwixt and beneath the blossoms. "Here," she demanded, shoving the money into his hands... much more than just her race winnings, "You take the cash, I'll take the products."

Tugging the scarf from her hair, she wrapped the flowers tightly and tied them securely around her waist. She fished the tiny pistol from her garter with one hand, wrapping the other into the horse's mane like reigns. Cutting in antsy circles, Freddie frowned at him, "I'll go back by the people, and draw atención. You go the back way across the stables. I'll meet you back at the market as soon as I can."

Leaning in close she kissed him brusquely before taking off across the green, giving him no time to argue or protest as her small form galloped away with flawless style; leaving a wake of flower petals and trailing dark curls behind her.

"Freddie, no!" John called out, before cursing quietly under his breath. If anyone should run by the people it was him... They weren't EXACTLY after him. It was her they wanted. However, he didn't argue and took off in the other direction. The only thought on his mind? -She rides incredulously well- John looked over his shoulder in time to see her escaping the track, one man hopelessly in pursuit on foot. He shook his head and kicked his majestic beast into a speedy gallop.

The market. Why the market? Aside from obvious reasons... The uniform called her by name. They knew her and would probably ransack her shop. Better if she wasn't there. Hopefully her things were hidden well enough, or her 'people' would take care of that problem. What about Bartleby? He'd give John's name up in a heartbeat... That would need to be handled. John looked behind him and sighed. Maybe another day. Maybe Bartleby would grow some balls. If so, John would certainly consider cutting him in on some sharking at the tracks. None of that mattered now, though. He had to get home... And a horse wasn't the fastest way. He slowed the horses run to an easy trot once they were far enough away from the track.

"Wot tuh fock 'appened back there?" he chuckled to himself, shaking his head.

A few hours of silent horse ride lead John back to the market. Freddie's horse wasn't in sight, but that didn't mean she hadn't made it there and ditched the beauty; sad as that would be. He tied his new acquaintance to the metal stairs that led up to his office from the outside of the building. "Reight, lass. Ya be good. I'll get me boys to bring ya some wat'er an' food."

He made his way to the office and slipped inside, flipping the light on and getting a drink. Tonight had been much different than planned.

"Jackie boy! I need ya to get some wat'er an' some 'ay. An' a bunch of carrots an' celery. Go quick. There be an 'ungry colt outside!"

"What?" Jack questioned. "I... Guess? I'm on it boss, whatever ya need." John said nothing as Jack walked outside, but the following, "Fuck me! A literal colt? Where tha fuck is he gonna keep that?" John laughed to himself as he sat at his desk and waited for Freddie.

A few shots rang out as Freddie hurdled the low fence separating the green from the outside world. But between the hordes of people scattering like panicked cockroaches and the obvious advantage of a thoroughbred racehorse, Freddie was able to shake her pursuers with relative ease. She doubled back a few times, and went out of her way to loop through several different districts, but eventually she made her way safely back to the market... albeit with a few more blisters and a few less bullets. 

When Freddie finally cantered into the market, there was already hay and food enough for two stashed beneath the stairs. Despite the other colt being nowhere in sight, Freddie assumed the new addition could only mean that John had made it back before her. Sliding wearily from her horse's back, Freddie climbed the stairs to the office with a bow-legged waddle. She hadn't ridden so much since childhood. Her hips ached, and her thighs burned. But it had been exhilarating. 

Knocking lightly on the office door, Freddie entered without waiting for John to answer. With an almost drunken kind of goofy smile plastered across her face, she headed straight for the liquor cabinet. It was definitely time for some bourbon.

John chuckled at Freddie; her goofy smile, her wind-blown hair, the bowlegged walk she had. It was all too much. He took a sip of his drink waiting for her to retrieve her own and come back to join him.

"Welcome back..." he smiled, slightly intoxicated.

"'Ell of a first impression..."

They laughed and talked throughout the rest of the night, finishing the decanter of John's bourbon before both passing out in the office. John was kicked back in his chair, feet resting on his desk. Freddie was curled up in the plush, leather chair across from him at his desk with a blanket tossed over her. New friendships were something beautiful and blossoming... And these two looked as if they would be an amazing pair.