Her Winning Ways by J.M. Bronston (12)

 

“Lindy is well known around town, especially in the theater district, around Times Square. He’s a big favorite with the actors—they like to stop by before a performance and chat with him a little. They say he brings them good luck. They give him treats and they teach him tricks, and have their pictures taken with him. And the tourists, too. They all stop and ask about him. My mom keeps a scrapbook of his photos and his newspaper clippings.”

“He’s a beautiful animal,” Annie said. “And I could see he’s well-schooled.”

“I’m guessing you know something about horses—I saw the ranch address on your license. So you know a good quarter horse when you see one, don’t you?”

“Yes, I do. And I saw your work with the crowd yesterday. Just like our horses—trained for cutting and herding, which is really no different from crowd control. Just that here in New York, it’s people instead of steers.”

“Well, yes. Similar. Except Lindy has to deal with maybe a little more danger. Armed attackers. Terrorists. Crazy people.” He laughed. “And the press. And TV personalities. He gets interviewed a lot. And photographed. So he has to know how to be polite and how to show off for the public.”

“On the TV, they said something about an award you both got. I didn’t get to hear the whole story, but I had the impression it was for something heroic.”

Bart looked both embarrassed and a little proud. “Oh, that.” He made a face, as if to say it was all in a day’s work. “It was really Lindy, more than me. Back in February, I guess it was. There’d been a fire, in one of those old brownstones just off Broadway. Some of those houses and hotels have been there a long time and are pretty run down. I was patrolling along Ninth Avenue and Lindy smelled smoke down the street. He knows to signal me when there’s danger—he kind of pulls his head up and bares his teeth—and he led me to this place where a fire had started in the basement. I got there fast as I could but it was already moving to the floors above. I called for police backup and the fire trucks. But in the meantime, I heard kids crying inside. The front door was locked and the smoke coming out from under was black and thick, and the kids were screaming so I had to work fast. Most of us cops wear a quick-deploy survival bracelet, so I had about twenty feet of paracord. Just pulled it loose real fast, knotted it round the doorknob and then to the saddle and Lindy pulled that door right off the frame. I got right inside and found those kids, four little ones, all hanging on to each other, screaming and so scared. Got ’em out right away, piled ’em up on Lindy and by the time the fire trucks arrived, Lindy and I had those kids out of there and up the street. Turned out their mom had gone to the corner to buy some groceries and she’d locked them in so they’d be safe. Almost lost them all. There were some folks upstairs, too, but the firemen got them out in time. I figured Lindy was the hero that day, and the media was all over the story.”

“That’s very impressive,” Annie said. “So along with all his charm, he’s also got a good story to tell his kids.” She laughed and corrected herself. “I mean, for you to tell your kids.”

Bart paused. Then, quietly, he said. “Lindy’s a good police horse. That story is just the most recent. There have been others. He knows how to do his job.”

Annie sensed that something had stopped the flow. So she tried a different tack.

“So how did Lindy come by that name?”

Bart’s attention returned to her.

“Lindy?”

Again he paused, as though deciding where to start.

“Well, to begin with, this Lindy used to be my dad’s horse. And there were other Lindys before this one. ”

He saw she was surprised.

“Oh, you didn’t know, of course. See, my dad was a mounted policeman before me. The first Lindy was a gift to him and the others just followed naturally after. It’s a long story.”

They both got ready for the long story. She put her elbows on the table and rested her chin in her hand. He stretched his arms expansively along the back of the booth, as though he was about to take in years of history. His eyes took on a storyteller’s distant gaze.

“Back when my dad was a kid, there was a restaurant on Broadway, in Times Square, that was owned by a guy named Gus Lindberg. Now, everyone called him Lindy, so when he opened the restaurant, he decided to call it by his nickname. Now, I’m not saying Lindy Lindberg was a shady character, because I don’t know that for sure. But I do know he opened the original place during the speakeasy days, back in the twenties, during Prohibition, so he must have had the right connections. And I know the place was popular with the old-time Broadway crowd, including gamblers and mob types. Also, theater people, the old vaudeville acts, comics. Newspaper people, too, the theater critics and sports writers. And later on, when television came in, the TV producers, too. They came to hang out with each other, to trade jokes and stories and catch up on the latest gossip.

“And they also came to Lindy’s for the cheesecake Lindy’s wife made. Lily Lindberg’s cheesecake was something special and pretty soon Broadway folks were all fans of the cheesecake at Lindy’s. In fact, I think it was Lindy’s cheesecake that started America eating cheesecake.”

Annie looked quizzically at him.

“Really?”

“Really! You could Google it.”

“Okay. If you say so.” She made a mental note to do a little research on the subject.

Bart continued, past the interruption.

“Now, when Prohibition ended, Lindy continued to run it as a regular restaurant. And it continued to be a hangout for the Broadway regulars—shady and otherwise. And, like I said, that included sports writers. And it just so happens that one of the very best sports writers of that time was my mom’s dad, my granddad Malone. Jimmy Malone wrote for one of the old New York newspapers, long gone now, like most of the old great ones. Maybe you’ve heard of some of them—like the Journal-American, the World Telegram, the New York Herald-Tribune. Well, sometimes Granddad Malone’s columns were about Lindy’s and the guys—and the dolls—that hung out there. And because they were a very mixed and interesting bunch of people, and because the stories my granddad wrote were so great, the columns got a lot of attention for the restaurant and Lindy was convinced my granddad’s stories were what made it the famous place it became. And, being an honorable man, Lindy figured he owed Granddad a special thank you. So right around that time was when my dad was born, in 1950, and old Lindy was so grateful, he wanted to give the baby—my dad—a special present, something that would live on, long into the future. And what he did was he wrote in his will that when the baby grew up, on his twenty-fifth birthday, he would receive a sum of money, held in trust for him, which was to be used to help him in whatever career he would have chosen for his life’s work. It was a hefty sum, and of course it had accrued interest over the years. By the time my dad was twenty-five, he was already in training to be a mounted cop, and he knew how he wanted to use that money. What he wanted was to have his own horse.

“Now it just so happens that when my mom’s family, the Malones, came to this country way back in the early 1800s, they’d settled out west, in Wyoming, up north of where you’re from, up by Casper.”

That took Annie by surprise. “So of course,” she said, “you noticed right away that I’m from Laramie—not far from your people. Small world.” She made another mental note to check out the Malone ranch—see just how close these “neighbors” were. “Is the ranch still operating?”

“Sure is. When I was a kid, we used to go out there every year. I spent most of my summers on the Malone ranch. And my dad did, too. So he knew, if he was going to get his own horse, he couldn’t do better than to head out to Wyoming and get one out of that herd. So he went and chose what turned out to be the first of the Lindy horses, a beautiful, smart bay yearling, and of course he named him Lindy, after his benefactor. He brought that Lindy back to New York, and donated him to the force to be trained for police work. When that one—the first Lindy—was too old for police work, Dad returned him to stand at stud on the ranch. And he sired the Lindy I’m riding now.”

“That’s a real coincidence. So you’ve got Wyoming roots, too,” Annie said.

“That’s why I noticed right away from your driver’s license that you were a Wyoming girl. And that your home address was a local ranch near Laramie. So I figure you know horses.”

Annie smiled. “We’re a cattle ranch, but of course we have some horses. Good quarter horses. Like Lindy. Maybe, if it’s okay, I could—oh wait—”

She was interrupted by the arrival of Katie and their food.

“You could what?”

“Never mind. It can wait.”

Katie set down their plates. “Enjoy,” she said, and she was off.

The aroma of savory lamb stew under the browned topping of mashed potatoes replaced all thought of horses and ranches and police work. She’d save her question till later.

“This looks great,” Annie said, “and it smells great.”

“I promise you,” Bart said, “this is the best you’ll get anywhere in New York.” He held up his glass of beer. “And here’s a toast to your visit, and to your winning that contest. And maybe to more visits some time.”

They clinked glasses. She smiled, he smiled, they tucked into their shepherd pies, and a few minutes passed before Annie said anything.

“Do you suppose I could get the recipe?”

“I doubt it. No way Keenan will share. But I could ask my mom. I think hers is even better, though I wouldn’t say it out loud around here.” Then he remembered. “There was something else you wanted to ask, wasn’t there?”

“Yes, there was something else I wanted to ask.” Annie hesitated, because she knew she might be overstepping. But this whole trip had been so full of extra treats, she decided that maybe her good luck hadn’t yet run out. “I’m going to be all tied up tomorrow, and probably the rest of the week, too. I don’t expect we’ll meet again while I’m here, and I was wondering if it’s possible that maybe tonight we could go back to the stables and you could introduce me properly to Lindy. I’d love to take a couple of pictures with him—as a memento of this trip?”

“Hey, that’s a great idea.” He restrained a satisfied little fist pump. “But I meant what I said about seeing to it that you get a proper tour of this city. And I didn’t mean just tonight. You shouldn’t be wandering alone without a proper escort and I’d like to be your escort for the rest of your time here.”

She looked into her shepherd’s pie. What was left of it. She scooped up a forkful of lamb.

She hit the mental rewind button and went back to where she’d left off.

“Does that mean you have access at headquarters any time?”

“Why, sure. I can go in there whenever I’d like. Tonight would be great. It’s quiet. Only the night shift is on. Let’s do it. I’d like you and Lindy to get better acquainted.”

“Then let’s skip dessert,” she said. “It’s been a couple of really packed days and I have to be up early tomorrow for more of the same.” She finished the last bit of her Guinness, Bart did the same, got his credit card charged, and with a warm good night to Katie, they were heading back across town on the blue motorcycle.