No Good Brother. Tyler Keevil

you,’ I told him. ‘Then you’re on your own.’

      He reached over and grabbed my bicep. ‘Here she is,’ he said.

      He pointed to the far side of the enclosure. It’s a moment I remember well, and not just because of all that came after. She seemed to emerge from the mist, on account of her being entirely white. Even her mane was white. She had a long stride and drifted over the ground towards us, swift and effortless. The guy atop was just along for the ride. She flew down the straightaway and soared past, her head straining at the reins. Then she was gone.

      ‘Hell,’ I said.

      I knew nothing about horses, but I could tell she was really something.

      ‘Morning spirit, or spirit of morning,’ Jake said. When I looked at him curiously, he explained: ‘That’s what her name means. Shenzao.’

      ‘And she’s valuable.’

      ‘She’s rare,’ Jake said. ‘There aren’t any white racehorses.’

      ‘I’ve seen white racehorses before.’

      ‘No you haven’t.’

      ‘How do you know what I’ve seen?’

      He held out his hands, as if gripping an imaginary box, and moved it up and down. It was a gesture he used when explaining something that he thought was very simple.

      ‘You’ve seen grey horses that look white. She’s actually white.’

      ‘Like an albino.’

      ‘It’s called Dominant White. And a potential winner – unlike most of these nags.’

      She was across the paddock now, floating like a phantom through the mist. Just beautiful. The elderly woman was slow-tracking her progress through the binoculars.

      ‘What the hell do the Delaneys want her for, anyway?’

      ‘Ah hell,’ he said, and kicked the bottom rung of the fence with his boot. The timber reverberated ominously.

      ‘You said you’d be straight with me.’

      ‘They honestly didn’t tell me.’

      ‘But you have an idea.’

      He dropped his smoke in the dirt, and checked his watch. ‘We better get a move on. I told Ma we’d swing by at eleven. You know how she is.’

      ‘Jake.’

      ‘I’ll tell you after, okay?’

      ‘No more bullshit.’

      The horse was coming back. This time the jockey had slowed her to a canter. In passing the elderly woman, he tipped his cap, and she clapped vigorously, almost comically, the sound echoing across the enclosure. Shenzao carried on, high-stepping and tossing her mane. As she got closer she tilted her head to look at us sidelong, and snorted dismissively – as if she already suspected that we were up to something, and that it involved her, and that the result would be no good for any of us.