Cheshire Cat Smile

[Josef Carroll Boudreaux]

Late Afternoon

 

March 15th, 2019

 

East Shore Equestrian Center

 

 

 

 

 

Turf flipped up in small curved pieces of shrapnel, scent of wet earth newly sprung from beneath snow enough to chill his lungs. Cat’s nostrils puffed minute surges of frosty colored breath, the man trying not to push the aging Saddlebred too fast from his winter slumber.  The weather had just broken and the poor boy had been cooped up for a lot of  it.  New York seemed to spring back to life with its fancy clubs and stadiums, but it was hard going still for the more refined luxuries he enjoyed.  Racing ponies for money, sure they were available…. a good polo game seemed out of the city’s re-surging reach at the moment.  Not many places to board him that had a good run.  Actually, nowhere he knew of at the moment.  This was the best there was and it left a lot to be desired.

 

Leather boots were slipped with his polo kneepads, riding them low around his calves to stretch them out again –nobody worth mentioning around the board knew they didn’t go with equestrian wear anyway-  circling the shining horse around the recently fluffed track one more time.  Knees tensed, lifting him out of the saddle forward in a heavier lean to stretch the back of his legs.  Seems he was a bit out of shape too.  Riding pants had been a bit snug, off-white inner chapped in black to match his boots.  Sharp black riding jacket was a little slim fitting, even his damn tie felt a bit stifling, finger reaching up to flip the jacket’s button open.  Too much winter bourbon and not enough hiking.

 

No.

 

Too much winter bourbon, worrying, and being a hermit at his work table.  Ignoring the world. Only living his business.

 

A ‘closed until further notice sign’ had been on his front and back door for the last several months.  A big project had come in; huge lot of antiques brought up from the south was keeping him occupied.  Pieces he hadn’t seen in years.  Some had been underwater and his talents were trying desperately to salvage as much as he could.  A distinct lack of his mob come callin’ had sealed the deal for the signs’ special appearances, coupled with a recent competitor’s shop burnt to the ground.  After the casino and scarce mob Mason, shuttering his store and not opening it for anyone was an easy one.  Not sure what was going on in the great underworld, but he wanted no part of it.  Didn’t really have a way to get hold of Mason, wasn’t willing to throw away the gentleman in him and show up at her doorstep.  Honestly, he was drunk as hell the night... errr morning? he’d taken her home and really didn’t remember with distinct clarity anyway.  Wasn’t in contact with any of his competitors, so he wasn’t going askin’ what they’d done to be perished.

 

Disappearing without a trace was never part of their deal either.  He knew what he made was superior, so it wasn’t the product.  Something had happened.

 

Not his business.

 

Cat was done, heave in his breath prompting the old blood Easy to pull him to a slow and dismount, flipping the reins over the horse’s head to walk him for a bit before rubbing him down. After yanking up the kneepads to their proper, his fingers reached up at his freshly barber shorn hair to brush at the amber colored rooster tails that never seemed to lay flat at his forehead.  Couldn't walk with the damn pads around his calves anyway, the things sliding easily up the oiled black leather riding boots to seat where they belonged.  Constant odd hoard of black corded charms at his wrist tinkled quietly, unconscious wiggle to adjust them slight.

 

The day was thick, slightly warmed ground and cold air making a low lying fog.  It wasn’t helping his bones.  Cold, breath misting as the former most eligible bachelor in the Easy made quite a curious, but welcomed, sight on the eyes walking the track with his horse.  A comfortable walk that only came with “breeding” and a complete lack of giving two shits what anybody thought.  Rarely seen in the big mess of rebirthed society..  Nobody got dressed up for anything anymore.  Such was the pity.

 

Fingers played with his hair again, slowing to keep pace with the horse.

 

Damn mob.

 

The whole situation clung at the back of his brain like bad midnight brandy on a hot morning.  A rotgut of thoughts that weren’t easy to shrug off.  He couldn’t lie and say there wasn’t a twinge of concern, but it was selfish.  Somewhere in the middle of a lulled relaxed drunkenness he’d heard something he’d forgotten and it pulled at him.  Always searching for something that was no longer there, or something he believed still told tales.  Maybe it was time to pull up stakes.  Word was that something was moving in the Order.  He didn’t like it, didn't trust it, especially since they held such a lack of fondness for him on all levels.  Of sorts.  They didn’t like being rejected, especially by someone with such unique… gifts?  Shoulda stayed for his doctorate instead of dropping out of the school for Doctor Evil wizardry. Might have been able to do something about the bastards.  Might have also become pretty dead too.

 

He watched his feet a moment, the ever present mischievous slight upward tilt to his lips becoming a full on grin before shaking his head to himself.  World needed to relax, slow down.  Unfortunately, he had a hunch it was not heading in that direction.