"Better not." He felt virtuous.
"Oh, come on," Clay said, and ordered. With the faintest of misgivings Fred Collyer drank his third. Couldn't he still outwrite every racing man in the business?
They left after the third. Fred Collyer bought a fifth of bourbon for later, when he had finished his story. Back in his room he took just a swig from it before he sat down to write.
The words wouldn't come. He screwed up six attempts arty poured some bourbon into a water glass.
Marius Tollman, Crinkle Cut, Piper Boles, Amberezzio.... It wasn't all that simple.
He took a drink. He didn't seem to be able to help it.
The sports editor would give him a raise for a story like this, or at least there would be no quibbling about expenses.
He took a drink.
Piper Boles had earned himself a thousand bucks for crashing into Salad Bowl. Now how the hell do you write that without being sued for libel? He took a drink.
The jockeys in the 10th race had conspired to let the only straight one among them win. How in hell could you say that?