Homewrecker - Wrecking Crew Racing

The lives of the infamous Wrecking Crew

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Maria Graziano
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Homewrecker - Wrecking Crew Racing

Post by Maria Graziano »

The Aqueduct Racetrack was conveniently located off the Belt Parkway in Queens adjacent to the JFK International Airport. Although, the tracks' regulars typically took the subway; the "A" train services the Aqueduct. The heavy smell of cigar smoke hung in the air and the chattering of people of all ages and from all walks of life placing their bets at windows filled the patrons' ears. Small white pieces of computer spit-outs documenting bets littered the floor as people often just tossed down their losing bets. A large television screen showed the activity on the track here at "The Big A" while smaller screens surrounding it showed the action at other tracks -- Philadelphia Park in Pennsylvania, River Downs in Cincinnati, the Pimlico in Baltimore, Del Mar in California.

Many late afternoons, from the early to mid nineties, would find a young girl with dark brunette hair pulled back in a pair of mid-shoulder length braids scrutinizing the finicky Thoroughbreds as they were walked around the paddock before their race. A heavy set man with graying dark hair -- the girl's beloved uncle -- would stand beside the girl, mentioning statistics from the daily program, lightly cursing the handicapper for a newspaper's incompetence, or pointing out athletic traits of the horses being walked around the paddock. Lively discussions would arise between the two over which horse deserved money on it -- that stallion is a bit on the heavy side, this long-shot doesn't have a chance in hell, it's a waste of money to bet on a mare against four geldings and a pair of stallions. The regulars had a soft spot for this pair (who, when there was no races at Aqueduct, could often be spotted at Belmont Park and occasionally at Saratoga) and enjoyed overhearing and, at times, partaking in their lively discussions.

The uncle's death of a sudden, unexpected heart attack in 1997 was greatly mourned by his family and friends -- as well as the cadre of quirky gamblers he had met at the track which constituted a second family for the uncle. There was not a soul, however, that mourned his loss more than the young girl.

Her almost ghostlike presence at the track became a near staple for several years. After school, she could be found wordlessly watching the races from the grandstand. Her mourning period was long but by her eighteenth birthday, the young girl had grown into a feisty woman who was quick to exchange witty banter with the regulars. She had managed to be awarded a two-thirds scholarship to New York University and the rest of her education (as well as pizza and beer money) was made by betting at the track. She had a shrewd eye for Thoroughbreds (however, her few attempts at betting on Standardbred harness racing always left her in the hole) and a supernormal ability to play the odds.

She was just another member of the quirky regulars at the "Big A". Although pretty, she didn't do much to accent her beauty. Instead, she more often dressed and acted in a standoffish demeanor which the gamblers found oddly refreshing in a woman and entertaining all at the same time. The front half of her dark hair would be pulled back, leaving the rest to fall against her shoulders. She was typically dressed in a tight "New York City Strength Club" t-shirt (either short or long sleeves depending on the weather) and was in excellent shape as her younger brothers insisted that she be fit and able to protect herself in such a rough city. Olive colored pants dangled low on her hips and while she wore very little makeup, her dark eyes were often highlighted by a gray shadowy color that MAC cosmetics called "Greystone" and accented with "Nehru" which furthered her aloof air. With a well-thumbed racing program in one hand, she'd lean against the brick wall, contemplating the horses in the paddock, or stand against the fence, rooting on her favorite.

Tragedy again struck several years later when the older of her two younger brothers disappeared suddenly and was followed shortly by the disappearance of her youngest brother. Foul play was suspected but nothing was ever discovered. The young woman's visits to the track came to a halt as she spent many months looking for her brothers. Then shortly before the start of her senior year of college, she too mysteriously disappeared without a trace. Three young adults from the same family disappearing was big news for a while but, as is typical with the media, the public soon forgot about the case as there were few leads to report and fewer scandals associated with the story.

The regulars at the Aqueduct Racetrack still tell stories of their young peer to the newcomers to the track or share stories among themselves. They speak of her knowledge of handicapping with an almost reverent tone and wonder what happened to the snappy little brunette they came to grudgingly respect and even cherish. Then they sigh heavily at such woes of the world and tap their rolled up racing programs against their knees as a signal of a topic change before discussing a possible exacta bet for the next race.
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Maria Graziano
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Post by Maria Graziano »

Perhaps it was unusual for a well-paid TDL duelist to be more comfortable in this noisy, smoke-filled atmosphere than in the Arena, but Trinity Downs (mere miles from the Wrecking Crew's home stadium) was like a second home for Maria Graziano -- just as Aqueduct had been before her accidental "arrival" in RhyDin. Most certainly Maria had more in common with Thoroughbreds than with the duelists that frequented the Arena -- both the breed of horses and Maria were high strung, high maintenance and cocky but with sleek, athletic builds and fierce competitive spirits.

As other members of the Wrecking Crew began to diversify their portfolios and enter the world of business, it seemed only natural to Maria to invest her money (and a good deal of Bode's) in the only venture of which she had any real experience -- Thoroughbred racing. Wrecking Crew Racing Stables, of which Maria owned 60 percent and Bode 40 percent, was born a year prior with a modest collection of colts and fillies and a trainer she felt confident in -- Wes Cloinger Junior. Maria was unwilling to buy anything but the youngest horses, wanting Wes to have a fresh start with what he was given.

Maria took a deep inhale as her two-year-old filly, Homewrecker, was led from the stable area into the side paddock. The filly's exerciser ducked down as a track official slid a red # 3 jersey over his head, signifying Homewrecker's position in the starting gate. She slowly released the deep breath as Bode reached a rough hand up to rub her back. Homewrecker had been one of the more expensive acquisitions to their stable and, while still very young for a race horse, she was beginning to show promise. She was also Wrecking Crew Racing Stables' sole entry in the eighth race of the day -- a five furlong sprint for two year old fillies. It would be Homewrecker's first race as it would be for the vast majority of the fillies entered.

Bode slung an arm around Maria's waist, peeling her away from the paddock area. They twisted through the gamblers crowding the paddock area as they attempted to get a better look at the young horses. Due to the fact that few of these young horses had run prior races the daily race program would show only the workout times or the results of the few races that the fillies had been entered into, so bets would have to be placed based on aspects such as the fitness of the horse.

"That lil' filly's gonna be fine," Bode said in his gruff manner.

"I know," Maria replied distantly as she dropped her weight onto the metal bench of the grandstand. As a wealthy owner, the luxury of watching from the clubhouse or suites was available to her but she found that both wore on her patience. Among her many vices, impatience would certainly near the top. She was simply not the type of owner to twiddle her thumbs while waiting for the race to begin. Instead, she was the type to pace anxiously until her investment crossed the finish line. Bode eased down beside her, knowing his wife well enough to know that any small talk at this point would further inflame her nervous energy.

The horn sounded over the loudspeaker system and the horses began to file out of the paddock area. The pair's gaze stuck to Homewrecker. The sleek bay with four white stockings was a filly true to her breed -- her bones were light and fragile, her personality was indomitable, her legs were tight with lean muscles. Antonio Garcia, the top jockey at Trinity Downs, sat atop the filly who seemed more interested in playfully nipping at her outrider, a dappled quarter horse, than her surroundings. Wes and Maria had worked hard to convince Antonio that he should ride Homewrecker instead of a horse from a more established stable. After witnessing one of her breezy workouts, Antonio was convinced that Homewrecker was a contender.

A middle-aged bulky man in jeans, a non-descript buttoned-down shirt, and a sports jacket took a seat next to Maria and Bode. Bode's gaze drifted towards him, recognizing him as a private investigator that Maria occasionally hired. He was not surprised that the man would meet Maria here. Maria wasn't the nine-to-five, office-type. She conducted business wherever she happened to be at the time. To her, the race track would be as good a place as any. He gave the man a brisk nod which the man returned in kind before turning his gaze on Maria. Bode watched long enough to notice that the man seemed to have decided that his client was far too engrossed in the action on the track to start a conversation before the end of this race. Instead, the private eye (What was his name again? Bode couldn't remember or perhaps he just didn't care enough to try.) absently shuffled the manila folders in his hands. Unconsciously, Bode slipped an arm back around Maria, taking a long sip from the bottle of beer (he'd taken a like to horse racing initially for the encouragement the establishment seemed to give drinking) in his free hand.

For such a short race, the starting gate was positioned along the back stretch. Therefore, Maria's eyes were torn to the video monitor in the infield to watch as the horses began to load. The announcer's voice droned in the background. "Princess Tooka and Bhagavad both enter without too much trouble. The crowd favorite at 5 to 2 odds, Alexandria's Brave is in. Next in is Grace in Trouble, Disoriented Amy, and Gimmesumsugar. Disoriented Amy is causing a bit of trouble. It looks like they're going to have to reload her and try again. In the mean time, Congi and Homewrecker are loaded up. Disoriented Amy is now back in. The field's set."

A bell sounded and the gates opened. Suddenly eight young fillies leapt forth, straining to get a good jump out of the gates.
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Maria Graziano
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Post by Maria Graziano »

The man wearing the sports jacket (who was successful as a private eye in large part due to his lack of distinguishing characteristics) went unnoticed by his client until the fillies had passed the finish line and were brought back up towards the front stretch to be freed of their saddles and jockeys. Antonio Garcia swung off Homewrecker and removed the lightweight racing saddle before giving the filly a friendly pat to her rear flank -- the type of pat that one football player gave another after a good play. Not until after Homewrecker's lead was returned to her exerciser did Maria acknowledge John Wilson, a nondescript name for a nondescript man.

"Hey, John," she greeted him with a warm smile, her mood greatly enhanced with the results of the race. "Got somethin' for me?"

John straightened the stack of manila folders in his hands before handing them over to Maria. Each folder was labeled neatly with a name from her short-list of candidates for the empty spot on the Wrecking Crew. "Sure do. Some of those look pretty bad -- an addict here, a marital affair there. It's all in there."

Maria groaned outwardly at the reply as she began flipping through the stack. The search wasn't going well. Any candidate with talent didn't seem to have the star personality necessary and any candidate with the star personality didn't seem to have the matching talent. She came to a stop on the folder labeled "MacLaren, Chase" and was positive that name hadn't been on her short-list of possibilities.

"What's the deal, John?" she asked in her rough short manner, holding the folder up. "You doin' scoutin' for me now?"

John leaned in enough to get a look at the name on the folder before offering his client a shrug. "I know she wasn't on your list but I read the sports sections. From what they said, she seemed to be a candidate. I didn't talk to anyone or do surveillance or anything. I just collected some background newsclippings."

Maria's attention was drawn from the folder in her hand as Bode gave her a squeeze with the arm around her waist. Her dark eyes traveled up to his face. She knew that most people in the Arena and media were flabbergasted by their relationship and were merely waiting until their marriage broke down. Maria didn't let it hurt her feelings. Maria had come to the conclusion that most in the Arena wouldn't know love if it walked up to them with one of those "Hello, my name is: Love!" stickers on its jacket and stepped on their foot. Bode and Maria had a partnership; they were teammates in life.

Of course, it certainly helped that she couldn't keep her hands off of him. His personality and attitude reminded her of that country music star from back home -- Toby Kyle? Toby Keith? Maria couldn't be sure of the name. She was never much into music, especially country music. Bode BoJangles was definitely a bad boy but had proven himself, at least in her eyes, to be a very good man.

Bode nodded with his head towards Homewrecker who was prancing happily, seeming to know that everyone around her was quite pleased with her second place finish, as she was led back towards the stables by her exerciser. A cool down, a hosing off, and a grooming session would follow back in the stable area. The attention would be appreciated by Homewrecker and was well-deserved.

"That filly's almost as pretty as her owner," Bode joked quietly in Maria's ear. Maria smiled softly, nudging Bode playfully with an elbow. He gave a light chuckle and returned to silently soaking in the unique atmosphere of horse racing.

The "MacLaren, Chase" file in her hands again caught her attention. Her smile was overtaken by a slightly annoyed frown. She was irritated with the press as many had not confirmed the rumors with her before printing them. Maria mentioned to Chase that she'd like to discuss the possibility of employment and then next thing she knew she was reading in the papers that Chase had been offered a contract. Maria whole-heartedly believed that Chase herself was behind those rumors and, therefore, any interest she had in determining how good a dueler the woman was quickly faded. She had made the mistake once with a duelist who was more in love with herself and fame than with the concept of a team. Maria was hoping to avoid that particular mistake this time around.

"Well, this one can be tossed," she grumbled, dumping the folder into Bode's lap so that she could peruse the others.

That, most likely, would have been the end of the "MacLaren, Chase" file and newsclippings if Bode had been paying any attention to Maria and John. However, Bode hadn't been listening to a lick of the conversation and the name on the label meant nothing to him. He wouldn't have known this Chase MacLaren woman from a hole in the wall. Bode simply assumed that the folder had been dropped in his lap because Maria wanted his opinion on this particular prospect. Always looking to avoid his wife's easily aroused temper, he decided to at least appear as if he'd been paying attention by removing his arm from her waist to flip open the folder and shift through the newsclippings inside.

One particular picture within the folder caught his attention. Bode narrowed his hazel eyes at it and shook his head. "Damn tabloid reporters."

The curse snagged Maria's attention. His anger towards tabloid reporters was simmering just beneath the surface since the incident at the hospital several months prior. Maria didn't wish to bring up what had happened with anyone other than that voodoo priestess she still saw regularly and Bode wasn't the type of man to initiate conversations about negative emotions. Therefore, he buried his anger, hurt, and confusion in beer and worked it out in the gym.

Her gaze did not linger on Bode long, afraid that she might spot hurt or sadness in his features. Her dark eyes dropped to the picture and remained there, studying it instead of her husband's face. The caption attached by John caused her jaw to drop and she quickly reached out to snag the picture from Bode.

After a long moment of simply staring at the picture in her hand, she let out a soft curse which was drowned out by the horn calling the entries for the next race to the starting gate.
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