Read Online The Horse With My Name by Bateman - Free Book Online Page A

six a.m. and the sun just a dull glow behind dark clouds to the east; one minute he was watching horses galloping past and the next there I was smiling as I came towards him, cupping my hands against the diminishing sound of thunderous hooves and shouting didn’t he think it was cruel to get horses up so early.
    As Geordie McClean eyed me curiously, two guys carrying shotguns rushed up to intercept me.
    ‘What are you doing here?’ one snapped.
    ‘What the fuck do you want?’ followed the other. Their accents were northern, and so was their attitude. I didn’t reply, I just kept my smile in place and my eyes on Geordie. Their hands ran over my denim jacket, probably searching for a designer label.
    They continued to shout questions, but I ignored them and concentrated on McClean, coming across the chewed-up ground towards us. It had been several years since we’d met, but if anything he looked younger, fresher. He was wearing a Barbour jacket, a flat cap, wellington boots and a look of surprise that slowly transformed itself into a smile.He was puffing on a thin cigar which he removed as he approached and extended his hand. As he did the two gunmen glanced at each other, then let me go. ‘Dan the Man!’ McClean exclaimed. ‘Dan the Man – how the hell are you?’
    ‘Cold, wet and intimidated, thanks. Can’t even go rambling without—’
    ‘It’s private property, son – but Jesus! Dan the Man! In the flesh. Jesus, Dan, appearing out of the mist like the fucking Grim Reaper! What are you doing here?’
    ‘I got redirected from your stables.’
    ‘No! What are you doing here at all? I haven’t seen you since, like, New York.’
    ‘I know. I heard you named a horse after me. I’m here to collect my royalties.’
    He grinned widely. ‘Dan – you should have called. I could have had you barred.’
    ‘You probably would too.’
    I glanced at the gunmen, who’d now retreated several yards but were still keeping an eye at me as they leant against the side of a Land Rover emblazoned with an angular green IAR logo. I looked back to McClean. ‘I was just passing, y’know. Thought I’d look you up.’
    ‘You never call me, you never write, and here you are – Dan the Man.’
    ‘Yes, I think we’ve established who I am. Now who are you? Sheikh Abdul Lottsahorses or what?’
    He took another puff on his cigar. ‘I’m the man who’s giving racing a fucking good kick up the arse, that’s who I am, Dan. As you no doubt know already.’ He gave me a serious look, and I shrugged. ‘So what’re you really doing here, Dan? You don’t strike me as an early bird. You don’t look like you’ve even been to bed.’
    ‘It’s the new look. Hangover chic.’ I smiled. ‘I want towrite a book about Dan the Man. And about the business. About you. How you can switch horses midstream, boxing to geegees, and still make a mint. You know the kind of book. Like the last one.’
    ‘The last one, indeed.’ He nodded for several moments. ‘You know, my lawyer wanted to sue.’
    ‘I didn’t even mention him.’
    ‘You know what I mean. But I said no. Because I thought it was bloody good work. I’m not much of a book man, Dan, and I’m not sure I emerged smelling of roses, but then maybe I don’t – not these days anyway, eh?’ And to emphasise the point he kicked at a lump of horse shit which managed to splatter across the front of my jeans. We looked at each other for several moments before he said, ‘Sorry about that.’ I shrugged. I’d been knee deep in it before, and would be again. McClean took a deep breath and nodded towards the horses that were now galloping back in our direction. ‘Ah now, Dan, I thought boxing was the thing for me, but this, it’s an entirely different ball game.’
    I nodded encouragingly.
    ‘And I’m not sure it’s one I want written about. But let’s talk about it. Come up to the house for lunch. I’ve some business first, but sure, let’s talk. It’s good to talk.’
    I