Pulp Fiction, 1943 · page 71 of 100
12 Sports Aces, May 1943 — page 71: what you’re looking at
What you’re looking at
# Page Description This is story prose from a pulp fiction magazine, page 69 of what appears to be a horse-racing story titled "Homestretch Headache." The narrative follows a jockey named Jackie who deceives a man named Tip Murray by claiming his child is ill to prevent him from reaching the racetrack in time for the fifth race. Jackie intends to ride a horse called Bad Boy illegally in Murray's place. The visible text concludes with a dramatic description of the race itself, with Bad Boy making a late charge through the field as it approaches the finish.
📄 Transcribed text from this page (OCR, searchable)
Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.
HOMESTRETCH HEADACHE OLLIE stared at Jackie. His wrinkled: little face hesitated, then ,brightened, as if the sun came out from behind a cloud. His quivering lips start- ed to say something, but Jackie inter- rupted. “You take the Boy to the saddling shed when it’s time. I'll be there.” Jackie found a phone booth in the bet- ting area under the stands. He dialed a number, which he had memorized earlier. Tip Murray would have to rush right over from his broadeast to make the fifth race. If anything delayed him, even mo- mentarily, he would not make it. “This is Mr. Murray’s houseboy,”* Jackie said. His heart was hammering so loud he thought the switchboard op- erator at the broadcasting studio would hear it. “Mrs. Murray asked me to get this message to her husband. His young- est kid is sick—he’s very sick. And will Mr. Murray come home immediately? Yeah ... that’s right. The youngest.” Jackie hurried toward the weighing in. Tip Murray would not be on hand in time to stop him from being up on Bad Boy at the starting bell in the fifth. If anything could stop Tip, delay him, that message would. Jackie heard the roar of the crowd swell to a crescendo, then die away—and he knew another race was over. This ee thing he was doing was illegal. He had to’ win now. He had to. If, after what he was doing, he lost— But no other rider could possibly win on Bad Boy. Would Tip. un- derstand that? Jackie’s knees trembled as he checked with officials, had his substitution ap- proved. He felt the eyes of the Pinks, the track police, on him. Bad Boy pranced nervously, irritably. in the paddock. He was ten to one by the moving figures on the tote boards and he was carrying only 114 pounds. Gallant Wise and In-A-Hurry were getting the heavy backing at two to one. They were the figure horses in this race. “Tip’ll be here any minute,” Hollie said. His voice quivered. At the first bugle, he gave Jackie a leg up. But he was reluc- tant to let the horse go without Tip. Bad 69 Boy was jittery, more impatient than he’d ever been. The second bugle sounded sharply. Horses began moving up the tunnel. Jackie saw the top thoroughbreds. thought of the fat $40,000 prize. Gallant Wise had been a consistent winner at Jamaica, Empire and Aqueduct. In-A- Hurry was yet unbeaten as a three-year- old. The horses finished their brush around the turn, moved for the starting gate. Bad Boy reared, wildly jerking. The speaker boomed, “They’re having trouble with Bad Boy. Bad Boy’s in. And he’s backed out again! Gallant Wise is in. In- A-Hurry is in. Fleetaway is waiting.” Jackie spoke soothingly to the quiver- ing red. “Bad Boy is in now!” The tension erackled. “And—there they go-o-!” The large field was away from the bar- rier in a bunch. Bad Boy had the bit in his teeth. The racers on the outside swung in to the rail. Jackie waited for the clear- ance, then turned the big red to the rail behind the others. He pocketed him care- fully, to slow him, taking the fast track’s dirt in his face. Fleetaway and Gallant Wise surged as they passed the stands. It was Fleetaway by half a length on the rail. Gallant Wise by a head. Rosab and In-A-Hurry. Bad Boy was rucked. Rosab moved up. Fleet- away was through. It was Rosab and Gallant Wise on the far turn. Bad Boy was stretching. Jackie took him outside, for room, and then Bad Boy was on his way. It was Rosab and Gallant Wise. Bad Boy gave Fleetaway and In-A-Hurry his heels. It was Bad Boy in the third slot. Bad Boy cocked his head. He took the bit away from Jackie. He was top-dog and he meant to show it. He would not see any horse ahead of him. Bad Boy made his challenge. He cut to the inside, shouldering Gallant Wise from the rail. Into the stretch—Bad Boy threw every ounce of bone and spirit into the charge. He came abreast of Rosab, drew ahead. He blitzed away his power as he cut to the fore by two lengths. And then it was Rosab again. Rosab GComichoo a <S) (Eo) an)