Billy Palmer

by Ronald Zastre

  “I can’t believe you’re trying to blame—” Gwen said defensively.

  “Folks please!” Manny interrupted. “I didn’t come here to try to focus any blame. I just would like to see the things he wrote. Can I see the stuff you’ve got?”

  “I guess. I’ll go look for it,” Gwen said leaving the room.

  “Don’t tell her I told you,” Tom whispered, “but she borrowed some money from Billy and was supposed to edit that writing for him, but never got around to it. I read quite a bit of it and I’ve got to tell you, I thought some of it was damn good. There’s one story I really liked.”

  “About Vietnam?” Manny questioned.

  “No, no, there was nothing about the war. Fiction stories, and like I said some of it was interesting. I feel sad about old Billy, he wasn’t a bad guy at all. He never caused us any trouble, but it was just that Gwen went through so much shit with Campbell. She really tried to make that marriage work. She just couldn’t accept that the problem was Campbell himself, and just blamed the war. In her head everyone involved in that fiasco was lumped into the same boat.”

  “You had a brother that was there, didn’t you?” Manny asked Tom.

  “Yeah, Stan.”

  “He came back okay?”

  “Oh yeah, he’s a great guy. Shit, a hell of a lot more normal than most people I know. You know Billy came through here one time. He was looking for work and I wanted to hire him, but Gwen raised hell, so to keep the peace I didn’t go through with it. Billy knew he wasn’t wanted and left the next day,” Tom said.

  “I’m finding out that a lot of people looked the other way when it came to him,” Manny returned.

  “I wonder why, it didn’t make sense to me?” Tom said.

  “The jail thing, and then he was gone for a long time.” Manny kind of shrugged. “When he did come back, he didn’t have anything, so people just assumed he had gone bad.”

  “Yeah, I can still see Billy getting off that bus here in San Antonio, a tiny, little bag in his hand. He looked so sad. Something bad had happened, I could tell, but I couldn’t get it out of him? I never did understand how he got in all that trouble years before. I never heard of him hurting anyone, except that idiot Bueler. Old Billy was always funnier than hell and so easy going.”

  “We all lied about that Tom, and I was as much to blame as anyone.”

  “Jesus Manny!”

  “I know, I look back, and I am not proud of myself.”

  “Talk about looking back? It was strange, his family didn’t care much about him, and I’ll never understand that. You know, his dad was a fairly good guy, but he had this thing about Billy. I never could figure out why? Lots of Gwen’s opinion is based on that. Billy’s mother went with the old man too.”

  *

  Gwen came back with a box filled with papers. Manny picked some out and looked through what he had in his hand. “Boy, there’s a lot of writing here.”

  “It’s nothing but junk, I tell yeah,” Gwen said.

  “Do you mind if I take this, I’ll bring it back?” Manny asked.

  “Nah, keep it, I have no use for it,” Gwen said.

  “I guess I’m wondering why you didn’t attend the funeral?” Manny asked.

  “Many people there?” Gwen countered.

  “No, just Cassey and I.”

  “Cassey, Cassey Miller?” Gwen returned.

  “Yes.”

  “You two got married, right?” Gwen said, accusingly.

  “Yeah.”

  “Still?”

  “Still married? Yes.”

  “The two of you, his ex-best friend and his ex-girlfriend. How romantic,” Gwen said with the accusing tone.

  “At least we went!” Manny exclaimed, a little angrily.

  “I had three day’s notice, and in case you can’t figure it out,” Gwen returned, also angry, “it was a long way to go. I don’t know what you do for money, but Tom and I have to watch what we spend?”

  “Very pragmatic of you,” Manny stated.

  “Billy was very pragmatic, as I’m sure you knew.” Gwen stood glaring at Manny. “Do you think he would have approved?”

  Manny hesitated, not wanting to continue the argument. “Yes, he would have understood,” he said quietly.

  “Look, Manny, I appreciate your going to my brother’s funeral, but we just weren’t a close family,” Gwen said calmly with a sad voice. “I hadn’t seen him in years. What the hell difference would it have made to Billy, if I was there or not?”

  “Not much that I can see,” Manny said, shaking his head.

  “Don’t get prissy with me!” Gwen shouted. “You guys were always together when you were kids, and then after he comes back, nothing. I heard all the stuff about you and that tramp Cassey going out behind Billy’s back. Great home coming he had. Comes home and his girlfriend is shacking up with his best friend. I guess you couldn’t be friends anymore, huh? Gee, I wonder why? Sounds like you needed to be at the funeral more than I did.”

  “I’m just trying to—” Manny hesitated.

  “Trying to what? You know Manny, what’s done is done, and I appreciate what you think you’re trying to do. It may sound noble, but just admit you’re doing it for yourself, so don’t try to bullshit me, okay. And tell Cassey, I said thanks for going to the funeral.” Gwen spun on her heels and walked away.

  *

  Tom saw Manny out to the car. “Look Manny, between you and I, I’m sorry about Billy. Like I already said, he was an okay guy, but you know how convoluted family dynamics can be and when the fix is in, it just is.”

  “Yeah, it’s just that after it’s too late, where do you go to get it right in your own head?” Manny asked, shaking Tom’s hand.

  Chapter 11

  Manny was sitting at his desk in his office, staring out the window. The phone rang and he picked it up.

  “Manny,” Cassey said on the other end, “I’ve been sorting through that writing you gave me, that stuff you got from Billy’s sister. How come you never read any of this? Didn’t you say Billy came to you about it?”

  “Not me directly, he talked to Frank Nesbit. Billy thought that because Frank was doing copyright he might know something?”

  “Did Frank read any of this?”

  “Geez, I don’t know? Frank just said that it was a waste of time. There was no money to be made from an unknown author. I think that’s what he said because it was a long time ago? What’s up, anything good?”

  “Good? I’m no expert Manny, but this one story I’m cleaning up is really something. It’s called Timtown. Some kid called Tim finds an alien base that’s abandoned, but it’s still chewggling along. It’s run by a computer that the kid calls Mr. V, Mr. Voice. I’m just a quarter of the way through, but I can’t put it down. Billy was quite the writer, Manny. I’m fixing it as I go and I should have a cleaned up copy by tomorrow. You have got to read this. This story would make a hell of a movie.”

  “No kidding!” Manny sat forward. “I never figured Billy to be a writer, he never did any when we were hanging around.”

  “Well, he sure as hell figured it out somewhere along the way. When you getting home?”

  “Not too much longer, I’ve got a couple of things to wrap up. I located that guy that put Billy and Tainer in for the medal, and guess what?”

  “Oh, oh, you’re happy about something. Could it be this requires a trip to, let’s say, a warm climate.”

  “Florida Babe, about as warm as it gets.”

  *

  Manny was sitting enjoying the fire he had built in their large stone fireplace. “This is about the only thing I can really say I enjoy about winter, a good stiff drink and a roaring fire,” Manny said to Cassey, as she walked in carrying a stack of papers.

  “Here’s the first six chapters, good reading,” Cassey said, giving Manny the stack of papers. She had a proud, accomplished look on her face.

  “That was quick, you must have put some work into this?”

  �
��Not really, Billy had it all pretty much together. I just had to figure out where, and there it all was.”

  Manny started reading, the clock on the fireplace mantle said 6:34.

  *

  At 8:51, Manny got to the last page and put the manuscript down. He got up and walked into the kitchen, opening the refrigerator getting something to drink. He closed the refrigerator and went out of the kitchen, heading to the rear of the house. He walked into Cassey’s office, next to their bedroom. Manny stood watching Cassey work at the computer, scanning pages into the machine.

  “Got any more?” Manny asked.

  Cassey turned part way around, still working as she spoke. “What’d you think?”

  “You didn’t change anything, it was that way, the story?”

  “I edited typing errors, some grammar, many spelling errors, but didn’t change a thing.”

  “Wow!” Manny said. “I don’t know what to say. I mean, I’m no expert either, except that I like to read and I appreciate a good book, but I am truly amazed. Billy really came up with something, huh?”

  “That’s what I’m thinking, and it gets even better. I’ve got two more chapters finished.”

  “All right lady!” Manny exclaimed.

  *

  The clock on the mantle read 2:58 A.M, the fire was out, and Manny was still sitting, reading, when Cassey walked into the room, stretched and yawned. “Damn Manny, you still at it?”

  “Me, I don’t see you turning in yet?”

  “I’m going to have to. I won’t be able to finish it until I get at least a little sleep. You going in this morning?”

  “I don’t know, how many more chapters you got?”

  “I’m through with chapter 26, about ten more to go, but I’m getting bleary eyed. Anymore and I’ll start making too many mistakes. Pretty damn good huh?”

  “Fabulous story, what an imagination. Billy sure knew how to put a story together. I’m going to send this off to Mark Tainer as soon as you’re done. It’ll be interesting to see what a professional thinks.”

  “I wonder if Billy ever got a copyright for this story?” Cassey asked. “Who would own it at this point?”

  “I have no idea, but I can check with Slauson, our legal eagle, he should know how to find out. I would imagine his closest relatives. Shit, wouldn’t that be something, those buggers getting rich off Billy after they treated him like that.”

  Chapter 12

  Manny was sitting in the kitchen opening up a can of dog food, the phone cradled between his chin and shoulder, waiting. George of the Jungle, the Anderson’s dog, was sitting patiently his tail swishing quietly on the tile floor. George was a big—Multinational—as Manny described him to people that asked. “He’s one part Afghan, one part Irish Wolfhound, one part German Shepherd, and one part ugly,” Manny was fond of saying. “Best damn dog I’ve ever known,” he would also throw in.

  George was more dedicated to Cassey than Manny, but that was to be expected because Cassey took George with her everywhere she went. George of the Jungle wandered into the Anderson’s back yard, years before, a scraggly, under nourished bag of bones that couldn’t have been more than a few weeks old. Manny and Cassey had no idea—at the time—just how big the dog was going to get.

  “Yeah, this is Manny Anderson for Mark Tainer. Yes, I see. No, that’s all right, just leave a note that I called and that I sent him some material, and it should be arriving in the next couple of days. No, it’s not unsolicited, he asked me to send it. Could you put on the note that I found the material to be fascinating. Yes, Anderson, Manny, no I’m not an author. Yes, thank you, have a nice day.”

  *

  Manny was dialing the phone again, watching George play in the snow outside. It was a sunny, bright, winter wonderland out in the back yard, and George was racing around, running with his muzzle deep in the snow, looking like a big shaggy, four legged snow plow.

  “Shit, I hope he remembers where everything is, that could hurt if he runs into something solid.” Manny chuckled to Cassey, as she walked up and looked out the window.

  “Oh, look, it’s so pretty out there,” she said, looking at Manny

  “Looks great from where I’m standing,” Manny agreed.

  “I’m going skiing in a bit, want to join me?”

  “Nah, it’s good for my heart and I promised myself to avoid those things.”

  “You smuck, I go golfing with you.”

  “You like to play golf, and I don’t care to ‘work’ at my skiing. Give me a big hill and I’ll be right there with you.”

  “Last time we down hilled, you couldn’t walk for a week,” Cassey chuckled.

  “Loved every minute of it though.” Manny looked back outside. “That’s it you big, dumb, dodo, enjoy yourself!” Manny yelled at the dog. George heard him through the glass and stopped, looking at Manny attentively, snow covering his muzzle, his tail wagging furiously. “You knuckle head, you don’t know any better do yeah?” Manny shouted at the dog.

  “I don’t what?” a man asked, suddenly on the other end of the phone line.

  “Oh hello,” Manny responded. “Oh sorry, I was talking to my dog. Dumb bugger doesn’t have a care in the world, even likes playing in the snow. Can you imagine that?”

  “The snow can be fun, sometimes, I guess,” the man on the other end returned.

  “Spoken like a man in Florida,” Manny laughed. “Mr. Walsh, my name is Manny Anderson and I would like to talk to you about Vietnam. If that would be okay?”

  “Ah, do I know you?”

  “No, I’m sure you don’t, but I promise, I’m not a reporter or anything like that. I ya. . .I’m u for Marines that possibly knew a friend of mine, and your name came up. You were a Marine Lieutenant, Feb. 1967 to June 67, 2nd Battalion 5th Marines?

  “Yes, I was Hotel Company, 2nd Platoon leader. What’s this about?”

  “I was wondering if you could spare me some time? I’m interested in finding out about a buddy of mine, he served with you.”

  “What is his name?”

  “Was, I attended his funeral a couple of weeks ago.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry, ah, I don’t know what to say?”

  “You wouldn’t mind?”

  “I don’t see why not, what was his name?”

  “Would it be any trouble if I came to you, Minnesota is the shits this time of the year and I need an excuse to see Florida. I promise, this is on the up and up. Billy Palmer is the name.”

  “Palmer?” Walsh was quiet for a long moment. “The name Palmer doesn’t ring any bells. I’m sorry. I hate to waste your time, it’s a long way to come for nothing. Were you in the service?”

  “No, but my son is. You wouldn’t be wasting my time, really. Do you play golf?”

  “Oh yeah, golf and I have a love—hate relationship going.”

  “Ah, a comrade in arms. I’ll spring for the golf, if you don’t mind?”

  “I guess, come on down. I’d be happy to meet with you, but I’ve got to warn you I take my golf serious.”

  “Wouldn’t expect any less Mr. Walsh.”

  “You can call me Dan, seems were going to be golfing buddies.”

  Chapter 13

  A taxi pulled up to the club drop at an expensive looking golf course, and Manny opened the passenger’s side rear door and stepped out into the warm Florida sunshine. Manny had a big smile on his face as he breathed in the damp, warm air. He headed toward the rear of the cab, meeting the driver there at the trunk.

  “You can’t imagine how great this feels,” Manny said, stretching his arms out to take in the warmth of the sun.

  “Come from someplace cold, I take it?” the Cabbie said friendly.

  “Frostbite Falls, Minnesota,” Manny replied

  “Rocky and Bullwinkle! I thought that was a made up place,” the cab driver replied.

  “It was an opportunity sorely missed,” Manny declared. “You’d know what I mean, if you’ve ever been up there in the winter.”

&
nbsp; “Cutbank Montana,” the Cabbie announced, “you’re not telling me anything I don’t know.”

  “I heard that’s not the end of the world, but you can see it from there.” Manny quipped, as the cab driver took the clubs out of the truck and handed them to Manny.”

  “Every time I here that, I do think of good old Cutbank. Enjoy the time you have in paradise,” the driver said, as Manny handed him a tip and nodded.

  An average height man dressed in golf clothes was walking toward him.

  “Could you be Manny Anderson, the famous Minnesota golfer?” the man asked.

  “That would be me.”

  “Well, we’ve got a hell of a day for it. I hope you brought some talent. Dan Walsh,” he replied as he held out his hand to shake.

  “I had some before the snow banks swallowed my ball,” Manny returned, as they shook hands. “I’m probably a little rusty, but it’ll come around after a few holes.”

  “I hope you don’t mind me picking this place? It’s a little pricey, but a damn good course.”

  “Oh no, I was thrilled. I’ve seen this place in the golf magazines and I don’t mind paying for pleasures like this,” Manny said excitedly, as they headed up the sidewalk, bordered with deep-green, luscious plants, topped with brilliant flowers standing three feet high. “Thank you for seeing me.”

  “I don’t know if I can help you, it was a long time ago, and I have racked my brain and I still don’t remember any Palmer.” Dan Walsh held the door open to let Manny through into a posh, expensive looking club house. “I guess you must be serious though, coming all this way and springing for a day here.”

  “I’m on sort of a mission, and the telephone or email just isn’t any fun, not like this anyway.”

  “They’re convenient though.”

  “Not all the time. A guy I know fell in love with a three hundred pound woman that passed herself off as quit the opposite.”

  “I guess face to face has some security to it,” Dan agreed.

  “Besides, what better way to spend a day?” Manny was all smiles as they entered the pro shop. “Especially after what I’ve been enduring the last few weeks.”

  “I was sorry to hear about your friend. I have to admit though, it’s been a long time since I’ve really thought about Vietnam. Time does heal the worst of wounds.”

  *

  Manny and Dan Walsh were out on the driving range warming up for the round. Manny was hitting, Dan Walsh watching.