by Richard Neer
He was as shocked as I was to find that Townes was alive.
“And he was calling himself Winston Bogie all these years?”
“That’s the name they gave him. Apparently that’s what he was mumbling when he first got there.”
“I can’t expect you to know this, but John Lennon had taken to calling himself Dr. Winston O’ Boogie. Townes was on his way to New York to mourn Lennon when the accident happened. That name was probably on his mind when he crashed.”
“For all we know, Townes thinks he is John Lennon. I want to get Carla here as soon as possible.”
“She’ll want to see him right away. After forty years I think she can take some personal time off from Home Depot. You don’t want to bring him here instead?”
“The head nun and I talked about that. We need to be a hundred per cent sure it is him. And he hasn’t been out of the convent for decades. Travelling that far would be disorienting if not traumatic.”
“You’re probably right. You want me to come along?”
“Charlene has been making noises about getting back and rehearsing for the show. She can take my car back. You’re better off staying put to keep the concert moving forward. I think Moses should drive her up here. I’ll ride back with him. Maybe even bring Townes with us if he can handle it once he sees his wife.
Ginn was the next call. He said as much as he hated the MDX, he’d drive Carla up to Kitty Hawk in my old heap. His Mercedes was a two-seater which wouldn’t work if there were four of us coming back. Besides, the weather was becoming an issue and the roads could be icing up.
He still seemed a little off and I asked him why. “What’s bothering you, big man? Did Lex Luthor finally kill Superman?”
“Hah. No, I been reading that piece of shit Dugger wrote. I know there’s plenty of White Supremacists in the world, and maybe more of them aren’t scared to show their faces now. I’m telling you King, if this book ever sees the light of day, it’s gonna get a whole lot worse.”
“Come on Mo, that crap is all over the internet for free. Who’d buy a book by some unknown ex-cop in South Carolina? And who’d publish it?”
“Hate to say it, but he makes the main character awful sympathetic. Can’t say he had me doubting myself, but there’s lots of stupid people it could sway. Ain’t like it’s To Kill a Mockingbird for the other side, but some sick folks gonna take it seriously.”
“Well, he’s been working on it for years. Hopefully, it’ll never get finished.”
“Might help if his computer crashes and burns.”
“Accidents do happen.”
Ginn sounded more angry than I’d heard him in a long time. “Might take more than an accident. You know me, I’m into readin’ history. This thing riled the hell outta me. Lincoln lets the South secede instead of fighting the Civil War and the Southern states do much better than the North. Triumph of Christian ideas and American values is how he puts it. I can see a lot of low info folks buying into it.”
“Let’s talk about it after you bring Carla here. I’m on board with whatever you decide man, you know that. Hey, Charlene’s back from her little tour. Jason’ll let you know when to pick up Carla.”
“I s’pose this is like a Christmas miracle. Man presumed dead found alive after forty years. Hosanna. Later, 5-0.”
When she entered the room, Charlene’s looked as befuddled as I’d ever seen her. “You won’t believe this, Riley. I was in Colton’s room. Neat as a pin. It’s pretty Spartan but there’s a small desk. An old TV with rabbit ears.”
“Vow of poverty extends to the guests, I guess. No surprise there.”
“That’s not it, sugar. When Colton excused himself to take care of a spill in one of the rooms, I looked on his desk. I didn’t find one notebook. I found three. Filled with songs. There must be a hundred in there. The few I looked over seemed as good as Dream about Tomorrow. He’s sitting on a gold mine.”
39
When I told Charlene that Ginn would be on his way with Carla Townes, she changed her mind about driving to Savannah to rehearse. “I can wait another day. I wouldn’t miss that reunion for the world.”
I found myself softening on her. She’d been great on this trip --- revealing a compassionate and giving nature I hadn’t often witnessed before. She also showed what a relentless businessperson she could be when necessary. As always, she was intelligent, lively company and she cared for me a great deal. I could almost forgive her former trespasses, but not quite.
I said, “I know you’re not a shrink, but what did you make of Townes?”
“Hard to say. He talks like a ten year old. But the lyrics he writes are pretty sophisticated. Ain’t Cole Porter, but who is these days? His melodies are sweet. It’s amazing that whatever area of the brain he uses to write these songs wasn’t affected by the accident, and maybe even enhanced some. But otherwise, he’s a babe in the woods. I doubt he could function on his own.”
“Different skill sets. Stone used to tell me he was shocked that some artists he interviewed couldn’t put a full sentence together, but their lyrics were almost Shakespearean. What are you going to do with the notebooks?”
“Need to get them copyrighted. We’re trusting Webster to do the right thing, but them lawyers can be slippery. Even though Trip says he destroyed the original notebook, all of those songs were in the notebooks I found. I guess Townes repeated himself once he lost or gave away the first one.”
“Did you take all of the notebooks?”
“I left one that looked like he was still working on.”
“I’ll tell Sister Annunciata that we have them and they’re safe. I wonder if Webster or Trig knows about the others and if they’d try to steal them if they do.”
“Did I tell you I’m packing? And I ain’t talking about my titties.”
Same old Charlene.
~~~~~
Ginn got to the convent with Mrs. Townes a little after ten the next morning. Carla was dressed in her Sunday finest and she was all nerves. The anticipation of seeing her husband after forty years overrode anything any of us could do to calm her down.
Sister Annunciata felt that we shouldn’t tell Winston anything in advance about the visitor. We waited in the conference room. Carla had brought Townes’ cherished guitar, which she laid face up on the table. She also had an album of photos from their time together.
Carla fidgeted. Charlene sat beside her and Moses and I stood near the window, a few feet away. The silence was pregnant with expectation.
When he came into the room, Carla gave a yelp when she saw how he’d aged. Colton Townes just gave the group a blank stare, then smiled when he saw Charlene.
Annunciata spoke. “Winston, this lady knows you very well. Do you recognize her?”
“Pretty lady. Cheryl? Bad with names.”
“No. I’m talking about the pretty lady sitting next to her.”
He shook his head. “Welcome to Saint Agnes. Will you be living here with us?”
Carla had no words, her eyes dry but filled with disappointment.
I whispered, “Carla, is this Colton?”
Her voice was choked and small. “Yes. It is. Colton, I brought your guitar.” She held it out to him.
“Old. I wish I knew how to play.”
“You can play it. You’re very good. Try.”
He took it from her, grasped it awkwardly and strummed it with his thumb from the high E string to the lower one. “I wish I could play. Could you teach me, Cheryl? You told me you play.”
His eyes never left Charlene. Carla was holding herself together, just barely.
Charlene said, as if speaking to a child, “Winston, this lady has some pictures of you from a long time ago. Let’s look at them”.
Carla opened the album and set it on the desk in front of him. He looked disinterested in the pictures, but dutifully thumbed through the pages.
The faded photos were carefully curated. Each had a date and location noted in small precise letters, when an
d where each was one taken. Carla watched as he turned the pages slowly, hoping he would find one that would trigger memories of their time together. Townes seemed bored, as if viewing photos of an acquaintance’s grandchild.
Then his eyes lit up as he pointed his finger at a three by four Polaroid. “Chip. I know Chip. That’s Chip. Where is he?”
His wife could no longer contain her tears. She turned away began sobbing. Townes was fixated on a picture of his old self with a yellow Labrador retriever.
“Chip. Did you bring Chip? Where is he, my best friend? Chip.”
He stroked the photo like it was the real animal.
Carla said, “I’m afraid Chip is no longer with us. That’s you with him, a long time ago.”
“I was handsome. So was he. Thank you ma’am, for bringing me a picture of Chip. Can I have it?”
Carla ran to the door. Charlene followed. Colton Townes had no idea who his wife was nor did he take particular notice of her leaving.
He said, “Did that lady know Chip? Is that why she’s crying? He died?”
I said, “I’m afraid he did. The lady’s upset because she was close to you a long time ago and you don’t remember her.”
“Tell her I’m sorry. I have chores to do now. Can I have the picture of Chip? Mine to keep?”
~~~~~
In Annunciata’s office, Charlene and I were sitting in front of the headmaster’s desk while she consoled Carla on the sofa. The tears had ceased but she was shaken to the core.
Townes had gone back to his room to rest, cradling the picture of his dog. The nun said, “There’s no doubt in my mind that that Winston is your husband. Those photos are clearly him. And he did recognize the dog.”
Carla said, “Chip was short for Chippewa. Colton took that dog everywhere. Even to his concerts. When he left, I was surprised he didn’t take Chip with him. That dog must have meant more to him than me.”
The nun said, “That is absolutely not true. The neurologist said that with brain trauma, the memory is selective and very often, it’s the last thing the person was thinking before the injury. As it heals, some areas recover faster than others. Obviously, Winston or I should say Colton, hasn’t healed fully.”
“Will he ever?”
“The doctor couldn’t be sure. He has shown cognitive progress in the time he’s been here. I’m told when he first arrived, all he could speak was baby talk.”
“What about an operation? Could that help?”
The nun looked over at Charlene and me. “Brain surgery is risky and very expensive. Our resources are limited. We’ve worked with him, but rehabilitation is a long process. We do our best but we’re not experts in that field.”
Carla wasn’t about to concede anything. “Medicine has come a long way since then. There must be new techniques, new methods.”
The nun was sympathetic. “As I said, it’s expensive.”
I said, “Carla, if you’ll accept the proceeds from the concert, I’m sure that would be enough to at least bring in a specialist who can give you a prognosis and a treatment regime that might yield some results.”
Charlene said, “So there is hope if you decide that’s what you wanna do.”
“He earned all that money with his talent. I’ll spend every dime of it if it can get him back to what he was.”
Annunciata said, “Carla, you may have to act as if you’ve just met. Be his friend. His companion. I’m sure the docs will do all they can.”
Charlene said, “And miracles do happen. I’m living proof of that.”
Charlene told her how she’d been diagnosed with Stage Four breast cancer and given only months to live. That was over three years ago and she is now cancer free, without undergoing any surgery or chemotherapy.
She continued. “I’m not saying it’ll happen with Colton. But have faith. Pray. And you might find whatever you can have with him is real rewardin’.”
Carla stared straight ahead for a moment. “Sister, is there room for me here? To live, I mean.”
“We’ll make room as long as you need it. I think you can see that he’s comfortable where he is. I wouldn’t recommend trying to move him right away. You’ll be his legal guardian and I’m sure you’ll do what’s best for him.”
“I will. I don’t have much but I’ll send for my things. Mr. King, I’ll ask you one last time for your help in getting me settled here.”
“It’d be my pleasure.”
“And Ms. Jones, I hope you’ll handle the business side. I’ll trust whatever you say is fair. You both have done so much more than I had any right to expect and you have my gratitude from the bottom of my heart. I promise I’ll pay for your services as soon as I can.”
Charlene was misting up. I said, “No need for any payment. We’ll do whatever we can to help. Merry Christmas.”
40
Back on Hilton Head two days later, Ginn and I savored the first evening single malt we’d enjoyed together in some time. We were finally caught up and rested from the long drive home. The concert was the day after tomorrow and I hadn’t talked to Charlene since our return --- she was busy with last minute details.
Ginn was still uncharacteristically quiet. I knew that he would eventually tell me why he was so morose, but my attempts were met with stoicism. Had Dugger’s book shaken him that much? Maybe the Macallan would loosen his tongue.
Sure enough, into his second helping of his preferred nectar, he said, “You looking all fat and happy, 5-0, like you already done your good deed for Christmas. I say we only got half the job done.”
“You’re right. There’s a lot more to do call it a wrap. I promised to help Carla get settled, get her things shipped up there. You can help --- call Arthur Blank and tell him her Home Depot days are over.”
“Shows what you know. He’s been out of that gig for years. Full time Falcons owner. But that ain’t what I’m talking about and you know it.”
We were approaching the shortest day of the year, the Winter Solstice, and the sun had already set by five thirty. The weather had done another somersault though, and the high tomorrow was going to brush up against seventy.
“All right, my taciturn friend. I’m listening,” I said.
“That old man up there only got half his wits about him. Maybe his wife can do fine when his royalties come in, but that man got robbed of something bigger than a bunch of tunes.”
“Charlene’s arranged for one of the top brain docs from the Mayo Clinic to fly in and see what can be done. Knowing her, she’s already trying to locate Jesus Segundo to see if he’ll lay his hands on the man.”
Segundo was the man/god that Charlene gave credit for her miracle cure. Last we’d heard, he was somewhere in Central America doing good deeds. I was skeptical that he had cured Ms. Jones, but I couldn’t come up with another explanation, nor could her oncologists.
“That ain’t it either,” Ginn said. “That cop left the man for dead. If he got to the hospital right after the crash he might not be on Queer Street now.”
“So you think I just forgot about those two assholes, is that it?”
“Seems like it after Alex gave you that lecture. I give you credit, you say you tried to find a way to put ‘em behind bars. Told me you talked to that hot lookin’ FBI chick Sarah about it.”
“That I did. I told you she thinks we can’t make a solid case, even if Townes’ memory suddenly comes back and he fingers Dugger.”
“So that’s it? They get away with it? And that Dugger dude just spews his racist bullshit and we let him?”
“Hey, now that Townes is alive, the idea that murder with no statute of limitations is off the table.”
“Just saying there be times when the law can’t serve up justice so someone else has to do it. You being an ex-fed and all, I s’pose that ain’t your way.”
“Boy, two scotches and your memory is shot, my friend. You’re forgetting how we planted guns on that builder down in the Caymans? He’s still in jail for something he didn’t d
o, courtesy of you and me.”
“Deserved that and more. He killed a man, 5-0.”
“Which we couldn’t prove. We did what we could. I could argue the point with you until Tomey gets home with our Chinese take-out, or I could tell you what I did do about Dugger and Bolton.”
“Better be good.”
“I made a call to Crain. Somehow Dugger’s computer got infected and his hard drive was wiped out. And lo and behold, he had his backup drive attached at the time and that got fried too.”
“Golf clap. I bet he’s got copies somewhere. And how does that hurt Bolton?”
“Getting to that. Seems that he can afford to play golf all day and live in that nice house because his wife is a big time realtor up in Beaufort. Sweet six figure income. He’s got a modest pension and social security on his own.”
“So what? He’s still living large.”
“Indeed. While she’s out selling houses, he’s at the links slapping the ball around and screwing the club’s treasurer. Somehow, his emails to that lady got forwarded to his wife’s account by mistake. I expect he’s in for a world of trouble.”
“Smartly done. But it’s not enough.”
“You want to go up to his house and piss in his swimming pool? His wife’s a tough lady. My guess is she won’t just divorce him, but she’ll make sure the club knows he’s been doing the treasurer. That’ll get him kicked out. His wife’ll get the lion’s share of the assets.”
“Punishment still don’t fit the crime.”
“How about we paint graffiti all over that fancy golf cart he tools around in?”
“You still ain’t taking this seriously. Looks like I got to do what I got to do.”
“My dark angel. What do you got to do?”
“Better you don’t know. Could use a little help so’s I don’t get caught.”
“As long as it doesn’t involve killing anyone. I won’t help you with that. I’d even go so far as to tell Tomey you’ve been a bad boy if you do.”
