It had been a fantastic early morning run and training session at the track. Everything went smoothly and Blue Tuxedo's injury seemed to be healing well: the daily injections worked wonders. His time was 42 seconds less than his brother the championship's favoured to win. The jockey was just putting his uniform in a gym bag when he heard over his shoulder.
"Mr. Javier Santiago Alvarez that is your name?" An unknown face questioned, in an strange accent and articulation with each syllable, all while smiling and somewhat looking at the photos. Information otained of him and others fanned out in his hand; he wanted the victim to be fully aware of the situation at hand.
"Tell me would I be correct in assuming that you are fully aware that you stand to gain a lump sum payment of five million dollars for a win Saturday,"Watching for facial expression.
"And could I conclude that one is informed on a price of three million if he shall take second." Signaling for one of the enforcers to move closer.
"Alvarez you will come in second, collect a reward of such, and I will pay you 8 once our picked champion crosses for a victory." At the movement of a finger of the older man the thug lifts him up by the throat.
"Is there any misunderstanding about what is being asked? Do you agree with my terms and conditions?"
Javier made hast to get back to the estate of his boss's brother in order to provide Mr Bishop with knowledge as to what took place at the arena's stables-- which had been provided by the derby. The middle aged man felt that their Thoroughbred would be safe; if anything was to possibly happen it would be easy to proof fawl play. Then again what had taken event already went unnoticed by all. Besides moving the champ would not only look suspicious but mean a withdrawal from the race; something that Bishop would never do two days before a running-- more so with only three tournaments left in the chase for the cup.
Cold cast iron gates that enclose the vineyard close behind the midsize sports utility vehicle, leaving a faint tail of dust and pollen in wake, as it speed over cobbler stone pavers. Usually while traversing the drive, out of forged habit, he would look among the old ceddar trees that line the route for long forgotten objects: an Easter egg made from plastic left by Mrs Bishop for the numerous grandchildren over the years; Christmas decorations hung at random by members admist the large family moons ago; maybe the well-preserved and well housed zombie or other monsterist being orphaned by little William ages passed. It never required much attention to stumble upon such memories. Today though this regimental part of him was hushed. Javier cleared the welcome, before the keys were retrieved from jacket pocket, and ran into the study faster than a rocket fuel powered jack rabbit.
ODD-- he thought it. Bishop could always be found in the study during those hours before dinner. The brothers set the time aside for cigars and a game or two of chess; unless family was in town--- then it would be Texas Hold 'Em. Maybe the two were down in the wine cellar.
The space was cold, artificial light struggled to keep it's presence flickering, there was an absolute unpleasantness strung along the aroma present. The scent when inhaled chocked him, it held a burning sensation going down, unlike the smoke that lingered at times from Bishop's occasionally enjoyed cigar; unlike the fragrance of the leafs ghost it was not flavored. A sinister taste swept the palate.
The storage room was lined with aging wine preserved in clear glass bottles. The center nearly over taken by rare amphorae more rarely carboys mixed between
old seasoned barrels. One barrel in particular stood out, maybe because cause it was to meticulous, the air seemed to be plaged by what it housed.
A cautious sound of the one inch of gravel covering the floor, that had periodically been sprinkled with a little water to retain the desired and recommended humidity, crushed underfoot as he crept closer.
The strong pungent-smelling and offensive odor, like a mixture of gasoline and alcohol, was unfortunately becoming more familiar; its producer was at harmful substance that can vaporize at room temperature.
Finally stomaching the gas, that grew more intense with each inch closer to an odd source of, he opens the casket to revile formented grapes floating in gallons of embalming fluids around Mr Bishop's headless body.
The unforgiving months that passed total now just shy of two years. Detective Joshua McElroy can officially conclude the 'Royal Bishop' case -- taking its title from reports at the news station. Marcus Bishop will at some point rot on some classified tropical island paradise, smelling like pinà colada with a particular rum cocktail in hand, protected by U.S Marshal; due to his testimony on his little brother's activity.
The trio from Somalia, that killed Mr Bishop and two others in the employed hands, faces time beyond one life sentence in federal prison. Cawrala Husain Burhaan looks to receive the death penalty for his multiple crimes committed all over the globe while trying to rise the Horn Of Africa as the Poppy capital of the world.
It took some interesting technical undercover work profromed by many orginations to learn about the drug war between cartel and Mr Burhaan. The findings connected dots unknown to most law enforcement agencies and between the lines they drew lied the truth of Bishop's kingdom. Gabriel Martinez told cawrala if his horse beats his own champion owned by business partner William J. Bishop he would hand over 25 percent of the area to do as one wishes.
Detective McElroy reads the paper his partner handed him. Learning more about Javier with the article stating: " 32 year old, native to Oaxaca, Mexico, formal jockey and trainer for billionaire W.J. Bishop Jr. will be taking over the empire in accordance with the last will and testament of Liam Sr.
He refolds the print and lays it down, over the file for the case numbered HD3472/04062002, in lager letterhead the words: THE CHAMP REMAINS. THE WAGES OF SIN WINS.