At 2PM Liz walked into Max's office and quietly shut the door. This was a scheduled meeting on a very sensitive subject. She took a seat opposite Max. He finished the email he was writing and turned full attention to Liz.
"First, I want to thank you for all the help with the Falchion negations and care. We could not have done it without you."
Liz nodded, "Thank you, sir."
"Now, what did you find out from your contacts about prison racers?"
Liz shook her head, "It's a disgusting subject I hate to discuss. The dark side of our sport." Liz paused for a moment to compose herself, and then continued. "Most of the poor beasts are trafficked directly by the prisons. The buyers pay as little as possible and whip them hard till they die. Sometimes they get lucky and win. They always race dirty and will attempt to maim other ponies. The PLRB is all over prison farms like a bad smell to ensure things are miserable. For these ponies, it's all about the punishment."
Max, who had been sitting back listening with steepled fingers sighed heavily. "That's far worse than I feared. What percentage of the competition are they likely to represent at Yearlings?"
"Usually it's between 30 - 40%. It depends on the year and the crop of criminal ponies. Some of the state prisons actually run their own stables. They are the worst of the worst." Liz fixed Max with a steely gaze.
"You know, I almost bought the breeder pony that got mixed up with my brother in the hospital."
"Be glad you didn't. You would have been classed as a prison breeder and subject to all of that discipline regulation. The PLRB would have you on speed dial, and they would make you treat Tony and Roger the same as the thug breeder." Liz looked down at the desk, then continued. "Those poor thug breeders have it the worst. I understand the saying is 'bred until dead'."
"The reason I asked about all this is because I need to understand the competition and how they operate, especially the scum as they are the most desperate and dangerous. What's the breakdown of the rest of the competition?"
"Well 20% typically are investor groups. Most of these don't have a real clue how to win big races. Some have streaky horses. Another 10% are start-up operations like this. The rest are the big racer farms and trainers. They are your real competition. Most are friendly and on the level, some are not however. Whatever you can imagine has happened at lest once."
Max laughed. "Make sure Tony knows about the competition, all the relevant details. I want him to understand he's gonna be watched like nothing he has ever seen. Believe it or not Tony has quite a head for strategy. He just needs to understand the game."
Liz nodded, "I will sir. I'll brief him on all this before the meet."
"Good." Max nodded approvingly and Liz started to stand, when Max spoke again. "One more thing I don't think I mentioned that you should know. In addition to Tony being a track athlete, he also knows karate."
That got an eyebrow raise out of Liz.
"First degree black belt. Mom and dad made him learn it because he was the ol..hemmmp. Gods. Sorry. Had to cough." Max realized how he had almost slipped and it scared him to death. He quickly recovered and continued. "Tony was an athlete, but openly out", Max lied.
"Ahh", Liz nodded. "I think I understand.....And he insisted on being shod? with iron shoes?"
"Nailed on to his hooves old school", Max confirmed. "I did it myself. Tony requested it."
Liz let a smirk cross her face. "Tony doesn't know it yet, but he has one hell of a spin kick."
Max laughed, "He'll be very happy to hear that."